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milfgyuu · 10 months ago

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Lowlifes [M] Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x Fem!Reader Tags: 11.5k, f2l, smut, fluff, humor, foundfamily, gang?au, 18+ Summary: Seungcheol grows tired of watching you fool around with a string of loser boyfriends and steps in when an ex shows up somewhere he's not welcome which unravels years of feelings lost in translation. Warnings: SMUT 18+, MINORS DNI!! mxf unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, lots of making out both in public and private, lots of touching, holding, soft manhandling, language, physical violence, mentions of injuries, broken bones, etc. not super detailed but very much implied they are in an illegal crime crew/gang/ring whatever. people are drinking in the bar and getting lit bc it's big dawg dk's bday ok. i think that covers it.

Seungcheol knows he should mind his business and he’s well aware that you can handle your own problems because you take great pleasure in reminding him of your capabilities.

That doesn’t mean he’s not watching out of the corner of his eye as you’re pacing back and forth at the far end of the bar. Your phone is glued to your ear and you’re obviously upset, throwing your free hand in the air with a string of expletives falling from your lips so clearly that he doesn’t have to hear you to make them out. It’s obvious who’s on the other end of that call and just knowing you’re still speaking to your ex irks his nerves.

He drinks down the remainder of his beer as he continues monitoring from a distance, running the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip with thinly veiled irritation.

When you hang up the phone, mid-sentence, it takes everything in you not to turn and drive your fist through the wall. All the pretty promises and apologies…you knew they were empty. You knew he would disappoint you yet again. You’re more angry with yourself for being stupid enough to hope he’d come through for once but instead of being here with you and your friends, trying to work shit out, he’s running with his new crew.

Things were always tumultuous with Jae and never going to work out, which you knew very early on, but you just loathe being wrong when you give someone a chance. It was a fool’s hope to think he might turn it around and make you feel better about letting him into your life to begin with.

The truth of the matter was that Jae just wanted to be a part of your crew and when they refused to let him in, he went and found another and tried to drag you along with him. There wasn’t a chance in hell that you’d leave them, your family, but you tried to make things work and it bit you in the ass more times than you could count.

You’re pissed as all hell when you slip back into the booth, right into Seungcheol’s side. He’s warm and familiar, and when his arm falls around your shoulder it tempers your rage just a touch. Another thing Jae couldn’t stand…how close the two of you were.

Seungcheol has been by your side since you and your brother were kids. You three have been thick as thieves, literally, for so long that you were more comfortable with him than anyone else in the world. You loved, trusted, and respected Seungcheol to a fault.

He also notoriously let’s you get away with pretty much everything.

So, for no reason other than needing a distraction and hoping to get a rise out of him, you take the cold fresh beer he’s yet to touch right out of his hands and bring it to your lips. He makes an amused sound and pinches your shoulder where his hand rests.

“That doesn’t belong to you,” he grumbles, though he doesn’t do anything to stop you from taking whatever you want.

You swallow another small mouthful and set the beer down, pushing it back into his grip. The little gasp of surprise you let out when his big hand catches around yours before you can let go of the glass makes Cheol grin which is an improvement from the scowl he’s been sporting for most of the night.

“You gonna tell me why you’ve been so grumpy?” you ask, leaning into him so he can actually hear you over all the noise, “You only nurse a beer when you’re in a shit mood.”

He lets you pull your hand from the cold glass but doesn’t put any distance between your bodies, he lessens it instead. You’re so close that he doesn’t even need to speak loudly for you to hear him. “I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to me.” His deep rumbling voice can be felt this closely and the alcohol in the warmth of your belly feels fizzy.

“I’ve known you longer than anyone else here,” you reason, “You can’t hide anything from me.”

Seungcheol snickers, “Oh, I bet I could.”

You don’t get the chance to try and one up him because your phone buzzes incessantly in your lap. Pulling back, you both see who is calling and Seungcheol kisses his teeth in irritation. You silence the call, sending your ex to voicemail and you’re about to reach for your own drink but another incoming call prevents you.

“You want me to answer it?”

Seungcheol’s tone is dangerous so you silence the call again and continue reaching for your glass. “He’ll give up.”

That isn’t typically the case but you're praying this once it is because you really don’t feel like dealing with Jae’s bullshit any more than you wish to handle a pissed off Seungcheol or get a lecture from your brother. Jeonghan, over-bearing and unhinged as he is, will talk you to death when you make a poor choice as if his entire lifestyle isn’t comprised of the ones he’s made. Better to keep him out of it too.

Cheol will give you a piece of his mind but he’s more like your big, scary guard dog and even though you’re never on the receiving end, you know he’s got a nasty bite so you’d prefer to keep the leash short and not dangle bait before him. The last thing you need is Seungcheol winding up in a cell because of you…he toes that line enough as it is.

Unfortunately, nothing is going your way tonight and your phone lights up again. Normally you’d leave it alone but another part of you, one far and detached from who is calling, still fears the guilt of missing back-to-back calls heavens forbid something has happened.

It’s the only reason you’re answering, shouting over the noise, “You’d better be dying. What the hell do you want?”

“Baby, I just need to talk to you and you’re ignoring me,” he whines back and bile gathers at the base of your throat, “I already said I was sorry! Your friends don’t even like me so I don’t know why you asked me to come. They don’t think I’m good enough for you.”

“You’re not good enough for me,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth, beyond caring about his feelings at this point, “You’ve proved that time and time again and I don’t need them to tell me what I already know. I’m busy. Don’t call me again.”

“Wait, wait!” he calls out to you desperately - it makes your skin crawl, “I’ll come pick you up, sweetheart. I’ll take you somewhere real nice, just us two, ok? You just stay there and I’ll come get you.”

Your face bunches up incredulously, “Don’t bother showing up now! The olive branch I extended by inviting you tonight no longer exists. I don’t want you here and I’m definitely not going anywhere just the two of us. I’m with my crew and you’re with yours,” you argue back, “That’s what you chose, so that’s what you get.”

There is silence on the end of the line and then laughter.

“You’re lucky you’re hot because it’s a distraction from how fucking crazy you are! I swear to god, you’re just trying to piss me off so I’ll pay more attention to you! Is that what you want? Want me to drop everything to be with you? Like you don’t get enough fucking attentio-”

“Hang up,” comes a growl from your left and when you look over, Seungcheol is seething.

You don’t waste another breath except to say, “Don’t call me again,” before disconnecting..

As you tuck your phone back between your thighs you accidentally meet Jeonghan’s gaze from across the table. His eyes flick between you just having ended another call and Seungcheol who looks like he might shatter the glass in his hand at any given moment. He raises a brow, his silent way of asking if everything is okay and you wink back like it’s totally fine. No worries. Not a thing wrong or out of place.

Which, it probably would have been if your phone hadn’t vibrated again a minute later.

It’s just the one time so you thought it was a fluke, a misdial, but then it buzzes again….and again. Then it’s a continually buzzing stream of new alerts so you pull your phone out and find sixteen unread messages. You don’t even bother reading them and shove the phone back between your thighs. Just. Shut. Up.

Minutes pass and you’re trying really hard to enjoy Chan’s little impromptu performance at the bar, and it sounds lovely, truly, but it’s difficult to focus on anything at all between your efforts to internally process your ex’s fucking audacity and to ignore furious heat rolling off Seungcheol’s body still so close to your own..

He’s wholly enraged and you can feel it.

There is maybe a solid seven minutes where your phone sits silently and you’re about to turn to speak to Jihoon and then…another text comes through. Seungcheol’s patience finally wears through and he plucks it from between your thighs before you can react. You watch quietly, not bothering to argue with him as he forces a shut down before pocketing it inside his jacket.

You still stare at him like some admonished teenager and he stares back with a small smirk, daring you to say something. He’s not doing it to punish you - that’s the reason you don’t push back - he’s going to make sure you enjoy the night just like everyone else. He knows it’s not going to happen if you’re glued to your phone and so do you.

Narrowing your eyes, you smirk back. “You’re giving that back later, right?”

His answering grin is troubling. “I might make you earn it.”

You toy with the idea of asking how but that line of thought is mercifully interrupted by a round of shots for the whole table being delivered and passed around. You had to wait the additional four minutes of having to sit through Hoshi giving an impromptu speech that almost dissolves to tears because he’s probably (definitely) two shots too deep and then it’s back to chaos and you’re finally free to be a part of it.

Your mood lifts tremendously over the next hour so being present in the moment with the people you love. Hao’s girlfriend Jessie passes you a sticker sheet with little glittery hearts and stars which end up all over the bar, in joshua’s hair, the tip of Jun’s nose, the bathroom walls, and some litter the dance floor. Woozi steals a couple for the back of his phone case and when you run out she supplies you with temporary tattoos. Almost everyone has at least two imprinted on their skin by the time those are run through.

When your hands are empty and your drinks all run dry, an old country western song crackles over the speakers and suddenly you’re being dragged out onto the floor by Mingyu who is hell bent on trying to replicate some old line dance you’re sure he’s fabricated in his foggy mind. Something about heels and toes, and being swung around your partner - it’s fun and somewhat terrifying when he’s nearly lifting you off the ground mid-spin.

It’s not his fault that he’s got long legs and two left feet when he drinks so it’s mostly the two of you skipping in circles, laughing and completely out of breath, but it’s a blast.

And then you catch something out of the corner of your eye that makes you stop dead in your tracks. Mingyu doesn’t even notice that you’ve stopped until he trips over your foot, looking down at you in confusion. “You givin’ up on me?”

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

The voice comes from Joshua in the corner, which means somehow word spread about tonight’s falling out without you knowing, and now everyone is looking at your ex, boldly and moronically standing a few feet away from you which is several feet too close for their liking. Unsurprisingly, it’s Hoshi who’s already in his face, smiling in the most menacing fashion. “This is a private event so unfortunately for you, you’ll have to fuck off.”

Jae scoffs aloud, “I don’t give a shit about your party.”

Then his scowl twists into a smirk but it’s cruel and mirthless, his eyes falling on you and Mingyu who had at some point out of habit placed his body just in front of your own.

“I came for my girl but it looks like she’s already moved on for the night, throwing herself at one of you sorry assholes because I couldn’t make time for her. Typical.”

Mingyu anticipates you trying to step around him and quickly catches you around the waist to hold you back at the same time that Seokmin stands from his chair so quickly it falls backwards and lands with a loud clatter. “Watch your fucking mouth,” he warns menacingly.

“Watch my mouth? I’m just pointing out that facts. I should have known that’s why she suddenly didn’t want me here,” he goes on like every pair of eyes on him aren’t glaring daggers, “Would have ruined her plans to get shit-faced and open her legs for whichever one of you looked at her first.”

Jeonghan hurls himself at Jae with an opened switchblade in his hand but, thankfully, Joshua and Jihoon catch him first, and the bastard laughs knowing none of them would let Jeonghan get close enough to do something stupid. Not with witnesses around anyway.

Jae tilts his head, speaking directly to Jeonghan with his hands in his pockets and condescention dripping from his tongue, “You’re her big brother,” he pouts, just pouring salt in the wound, “You’re really just going to sit back and allow all your friends to take turns with your little sister? The crew’s designated whor-”

He barely forms a smirk before Seungcheol appears out of nowhere and suckerpunches him in the mouth so hard the crack is audible throughout the bar. Unfortunately for Jae, he’s still conscious when he hits the ground, broken teeth and blood pouring from his maw as he screams in excruciating pain. You’re sure his jaw is broken and you’re glad.

Absolutely no one moves to help him. Hardly even bats an eye.

Then, Seungcheol draws his leg back and kicks Jae in the stomach which means he’s not done and after what your ex just said…you’re not sure anyone in your crew will step in to stop him. You move instantly, pulling yourself out of Mingyu’s protective grip to push your way to the front where you’re relieved to see Vernon already attempting to pull his friend away and he does but not before your ex’s hand is crushed under the sole of Seungcheol’s boot and the screaming starts anew.

When you reach them, you immediately put yourself in the middle without hesitation, both hands against Seungcheol’s chest in an effort to calm him down before he loses it completely. One of his hands is still clenched at his side and you’re trying desperately to get him to look down at you. He doesn’t but his other hand comes up to sit at your hip and that’s enough of an acknowledgement that you relax, just slightly.

You turn just your head to look down at Jae who’s never looked more pitiful. Covered in blood, dirt, snot, and tears.

Seungcheol glares over your shoulder at the broken man on the floor, his arm now firmly seated around your body in a possessive display as he growls, “Always running your fucking mouth,” then he nods in your brother’s direction, “I should let him cut your tongue out.”

Jeonghan’s knife spins dangerously between his deft fingers like he’s itching to use it.

He’s no longer restrained, nearly deranged, and begins stalking toward your ex who flinches away and frantically shakes his head, unable to speak with his mangled mouth. Your voice cuts clear into the charged air. “Jeonghan,” you call out and your brother stops mid-step to look up at you patiently. You shake your head at him and he concedes but the fire in his eyes is palpable.

He smiles down at Jae, voice lilting and deadly. “You’re safe…for now,” he tilts his head, crouching down to get closer, “And don’t bother running back to your crew for help or hope for some form of retaliation,” He pauses, covering his mouth with his knife, giggling with feral delight dancing in his eyes, “I bet you didn’t tell them where you were going or who you were fucking with because they never would have let you come and I can only imagine how pissed they’re going to be when they find out.”

Jae’s brows furrow indicating his confusion and Jeonghan laughs again, wiggling his long fingers, tapping them with the point of his blade. “How do you think your ring leader lost two fingers on his right hand? That pretty scar down the side of his face? It was an improvement if you ask me,” he croons and Jae’s eyes widen with renewed horror, “Loyal little lap dog ever since and hilariously, still harboring a rather sweet crush on my darling sister. Small world, huh? We’ll be sure to let him know how you feel about her and who’s responsible for,” he waves his hand with an air of distaste, gesturing to Jae, “This.”

When Jeongan stands again, his smile falls flat and you turn your head quickly, tucking it into Cheol’s chest when you hear the crunch and subsequent thud as your brother stomps and knocks Jae out cold. It’s cruel, perhaps, but now knowing who exactly he’s been working for, you’d consider this a mercy compared to wait awaits him.

Seungcheol lifts his chin with a silent order and Junhui and Mingyu are already stepping forward to haul Jae’s unconscious form out of the bar with Joshua leisurely striding behind them, Jae’s phone in hand. They’ll dump him outside, a few blocks away. He’s lucky they’re not animals - Josh will use Jae’s phone to deliver a personal message to his crew but beyond that, he’s no longer your crew’s problem. Retaliation isn’t even a concern in this situation.

The atmosphere is obviously soured and you can still feel the rage swirling in the air. There isn’t a single member of your crew who wouldn’t have loved a turn. Even Minghao, calm and even, the most level-headed in situations like this has a particular air of cruelty about him in the moment and Jessie at his side tucks away a glittering pair of brass knuckles. You don’t have to glance around to they are waiting for an order and Cheol still has his eyes focused on the door. There are also a few patrons who are not associated with your crew, the kind who know when to mind their business, but even they seem to be waiting to be told what to do next.

So, you clear your throat and try to paint on a pretty smile.

“Pardon the interuption,” you sigh, each head in the room swiveling in your direction, “Turn the music up and order another round for the whole bar,” you glance up to find Seuncheol already looking down at you and you pat his chest, “Drinks are still on the big guy so you’d better take advantage while he’s still feeling generous.”

Thankfully, its enough to get everyone moving again, your crew falling right back into the party swing as if nothing happened. It was so easy for them to flip the switch sometimes. From volatile back to joyous - back to shots, and karaoke, and dancing.

Seungcheol was still furious though. He doesn’t bounce back nearly as fast.

“Why don’t we take a walk out back?”

He doesn’t budge for a moment and you say his name a little more firmly this time to which he reponds, “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. Let’s go.”

No one asks questions or follows the two of you when he takes your hand and leads you out the back and into the crisp night air. It’s dark but the moon etches just enough light that you can still see each other easily. Seungcheol’s shoulders are tense and you watch his fists clench and unfurl methodically. They’re also red and angry after making direct contact with Jae’s teeth. The thought makes your gut roil.

“Choi Seungcheol,” you lightly grumble, “You can’t go around hospitalizing every asshole that is mean to me.”

Nothing at first and then there’s a little huff of laughter. “I can absolutely do just that, or worse. Besides, I only hit him once.”

“You broke his jaw…and probably a few ribs with that kick,” you sigh and lean back against the building, glancing up at the sky. “My point is that I know you can but that doesn’t mean you should. If you get arrested, who’s gonna take care of me?”

He smirks. “Spoiled.”

“Your fault,” you roll your eyes and really look at him. “I didn’t know he was working for Kaito, obviously. You know I would’ve cut him off completely If I had.”

“I didn’t know either,” he admits, shrugging off your surprise, “Jeonghan must have found out and kept it to himself. You know how he likes to hold onto things until its useful. Your brother is kind of a sadistic asshole sometimes.”

“Hannie is just eccentric and has weird hobbies,” you counter with a small grin, “Besides, he’s your best friend so think about what that says about you.”

He just winks in response. It’s maddening and attractive, per usual.

“Mhm,” you hum quietly, pleased to watch him unwind in front of you, because of you. “I’m glad to see you’re in a better mood,” you tease him, “I thought for a few that you might have been mad at me.”

Cheol lets out a long sigh and digs his hands into his pockets. “I’m never mad at you.”

You cross your arms and quirk a brow at him, “That’s a blatant lie and you know it. I can’t even count how many times you’ve chewed my ass out for one thing or another.”

“The handful of times that I have yelled at you came directly after you did something dangerous,” he argues back with a short laugh, “Calling your ex, that fucker in particular, makes me question your judgement and maybe your sanity, but it’s not a reason for me to be mad at you. If anything it’s mild frustration.”

You narrow your eyes at him. It’s more than mild. “Say what you need to say, Cheol.”

He squares his shoulders, face serious much like his tone. “You’re too smart to keep choosing assholes that let you down over and over again. So, why do you do it?”

You purse your lips. “Touche,” he’s not wrong, “I am self aware enough to admit my track record is shit but there is not a lot to work with. It’s not as though our dating pool is stellar, Cheol. We’re lowlifes…we associates with other lowlifes. Nice boys like girls like me until they realize I’m not worth the trouble.”

He sputters out a laugh and steps closer, just enough to lower his voice in the echoing alley way. A touch closer and you could probably steal a little body heat you’re starting to wish for. “You are the trouble,” his eyes sparkle when he says it, like its a compliment, “Nice boys too soft for you anyway and we’re not lowlifes…we just live a little differently. You can do better,” he smirks when you roll your eyes again, “You can…you just don’t.”

You uncross your arms and spread them out before you. “Oh, any suggestions? I forgot you were a dating expert-” then you break into a laugh and Cheol is throwing his head back, knowing what’s coming. “Oh, wait! I forgot. You’ve not had a girlfriend in what? Five years? Eight?”

He snatches both your hands out of the air and pushes them back toward your chest, trying to reign in his amusement and overall urge to smother you. “You’re high maintenance enough. Why the hell would I need a girlfriend? I’ve got enough on my plate.”

You reach out and lightly punch him in the chest. “You’re a big boy, Cheol. Don’t let me hold you back. I can handle myself.”

At this, he snorts and pulls a hand out of his pocket to point at you. “You can handle yourself? Did I not pick you up in a police station two months ago for speeding…again?”

You pull off the wall with your mouth open to defend yourself and he abruptly pushes you right back against it and continues. “Who taught you how to drive and took the blame when you ran over Jeonghan’s bike when you were fifteen? Who showed up at three in the morning to pick your drunk ass up at that halloween party just so you could puke in my car and my bed…all night?” he pushes closer and lowers his voice “Who bailed you out of jail four months ago when you took a glass bottle to someone’s head in club and it turned out to be a fucking cop?”

“He looked like any other perv fondling girls on the dance floor!” You shout, eyes wide and wild as if someone would overhear, “How was I supposed to know he was a cop?! And why does it matter? He was a creep and I’d do it again!”

Seungcheol is simply dissolving into laughter, his earlier shit mood absolutely erased, and then as your volume grows he starts attempting to shush you though it’s half-assed.

“Shhhh,” he laughs even harder, “I know, I know. I’m just teasing,” he grins when you finally crack a small smile, “Honestly, I was so proud of you that night. Took fifteen stitches to sew him back together and I hear it’s left a big ugly scar.”

You scoff in disbelief at his blatant pride. “Proud?! You chewed my ass out the entire way home.”

“Quit doing dangerous shit without me,” he shrugs unapologetically, “If you’re gonna get yourself in trouble, at least make sure I’m there to back you up.”

You roll your eyes, placing your cool hands under your chin to warm them. A cold wind whips through the alley, tossing his soft black hair around. Naturally, he steps into the wind’s path, blocking you from the worst of it because that’s what he does. It grants you the opportunity to slide a little closer and he chuckles, catching on very quickly to what you’re trying to do. Use him as both a human shield and personal heater.

He looks down at you with that soft gaze you know is only reserved for you. As you’ve grown older together, you’ve learned that it’s best to avoid basking in it for more than a few seconds at a time. Your eyes dart down to his chest and back up again, not quite meeting his eyes this time. “It’s colder than I thought it would be tonight.”

He pulls your jacket a little tighter around you. “We can go back inside if you want.”

Whatever you want - it’s always whatever you want. Sometimes you just want to know what Seungcheol wants.

You hold eye contact with him now, just watching to see if his expression changes at all. It’s almost dizzying, staring at one another so closely. A stupid decision on your part, honestly.

“What if I asked you to take me home?”

Simple. “We can go home. Just gotta grab my key-”

You shake your head with a small laugh. “Actually, I think we should go back in and sing karaoke.”

His lips pull up, always quick to pick up on the game. “What song? I love karaoke.”

“Liar. You hate karaoke,” you grin, “Why do you give into anything I ask?”

His smile is so beautiful - it always has been.

“I do not give into everything,” he corrects you and then huffs in amusement, “Go ahead, try your luck but put some actual thought into it. You know most things are negotiable for lowlifes like us.”

“Great! So, you’ll let me drive your car tomorrow night?” you bat your eyes at him soo prettily. It’s in the bag.

He hardly budges. “No,” comes from those plump lips more clearly than you’ve ever heard it in your life and you instinctually pout like a child which amuses him. “I said put some actual thought into it. You’re a terrible driver.”

“You also said to try my luck,” you answer and it comes out more like a grumble, “Which has apparently abandoned me tonight.”

The way you drop your shoulders and pull yourself inward knocks him off kilter and his smile drops in a split second. When he speaks again, his voice is just a touch deeper - less playful, more gentle. The change is so slight that anyone else would miss it but you’ve got that shift of his rooted in your memory at this point.

“Your luck? Maybe,” he tips his head in consideration, close enough that he’s slipped his arms around you, big hands splayed comfortingly against the middle of your back, “I’m still here though.”

You know you should put some space in between your bodies right now but that little voice that is usually telling you to mind your boundaries is so far away in the moment that you do the opposite. Closing the distance, you look up at him as you slip your hands around his waist beneath his jacket. “Yeah, you’re always here for me. Aren’t you?”

When he dips his head closer, his tone is surprisingly serious. “I hope that’s not an actual question at this point.”

His free hand comes up to catch the back of your neck as you move to pull away, to ask him to explain or just to confirm that what you’re feeling is mercifully mutually, but you’re trapped - body painted against Seungcheol’s in the moonlight. It’s probably the most intimate position you’ve ever been in with him and your heart thrashes in your chest.

“I’ve always been right here,” his nose and lips brush your cheek as he speaks, “Patiently waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” you ask too softly but he smiles, you can feel it against your skin.

“For you to get tired of playing house,” He chides gently, “You already have a home with me and you know it.”

To say it out loud for the first time is almost staggering for Seungcheol and it’s a devastating revelation for you. Each time you tried dating someone new it had felt like a cheap replacement to distract you from the despairing thoughts of loving Seungcheol and him not loving you back, but he was there. Watching, waiting, already belonging to you in every way the entire time.

The first sound out of your mouth is escaped laughter. It’s soft and disbelieving.

Seungcheol smiles as he pulls back enough to see your face. “You genuinely didn’t know?”

You shake your head back and forth, still laughing, and the dimples in his cheeks pinch as he’s rolling his eyes at you, snickering to himself. “You’re the worst. I seriously thought you were playing dumb on purpose,” he groans, though his hands meet in the middle of your back now, comfortably laced like he plans on staying this way for a while. “Tell me. Who are all those idiots in there to you?”

Easy. “They’re my brothers.”

“And who am I?”

Your lips twitch and he smirks. “You’re just…Seungcheol,” saying it makes everything so plain and simple. So obvious. “You’re my Seungcheol.”

“Exactly. Have I ever felt like a brother to you? Like just a friend?” he prods, pretty white teeth still on display. He’s going to drive his point home like always.

“Listen, jerk,” you poke him in the chest with a long sigh, “Of course you never felt like those things to me. I didn’t want to see you as just a friend and definitely not as a brother, gross,” you grimace at the thought, “But just because I felt that way about you doesn’t mean I thought you felt the same. I thought it was all very one-sided and I was just going to eventually get over it.”

He raises a single brow. “And,” he blinks pointedly, “Have you gotten over it yet?

“Unfortunately not.”

“Good.”

Good because he’s truly out of patience at this point and he’s going to make sure you know exactly how he feels without question.

And that’s how you find yourself caged up against the wall outside the bar, Seungcheol’s lips hungirly claiming your own. His hands trace your body outside your clothing until he gets tired of the separation and you jolt feeling his cold hands against your waist beneath your shirt. There isn’t a second of stillness. He’s constantly moving, shifting, giving, taking.

You’re no better.

The second he kissed you it was like a flood of energy zapping each and every one of your nerves. After your lips, your arms were quickly in motion, wrapping around his neck and shoulders. Fingers threading through and tugging at his hair. He touched you and kissed you so thoroughly that despite the fact that is freezing and you’re indeed, exposed outside while your friends are just on the other side of that back door, you want more.

More, more, more.

Seungcheol does too.

“Let’s go,” he mumbles between your lips, still too enthralled to pull away.

It makes you laugh, though it’s a little delirious because he’s back to sucking and biting pretty little marks onto your neck, and you peel your eyelids open to see the fog from your breath as you speak. “It’s Seok’s birthday,” your mouth pops open with a silent gasp as he bites you again, “We can’t just leave.”

He drags himself back up and meets your eyes, grinning, “Like hell we can’t. Go get in my car,” he digs his keys out of his pocket and passes them over, “I’ll let the boys know we’re leaving.”

You stand there for a moment, keys in your outstretched hand, “Wait!” you realize he’s already opening the door. He’s so serious. “What are you going to tell them?”

He shrugs, “That we have better things to do.”

Appalling. “Seungcheol!”

Now he’s smirking. “Alright, alright. I’ll tell them we’re leaving and going back to my place to fu-”

“SEUNGCHEOL!”

“You don’t want me to lie and you don’t want me to tell the truth,” he blinks back at you, “I am not sure what you want from me, baby.”

Well. Brain melted. If he’s calling you ‘Baby’ he can do whatever he damn well pleases.

“I’ll be waiting,” you laugh, quickly spinning on your heel before you drag him away and he doesn’t get a chance to tell anyone you’re leaving. They probably wouldn’t notice for a few hours anyway. You shake your head, hurrying your steps toward his car.

It feels like you’re waiting an eternity but it’s only been a few minutes and when you glance out the window he’s already hurrying back. You’re not sure if he just caught the first person he saw and told them to pass it on or if he walked in and announced it to the entire bar but you honestly don’t care. You’re maybe fifteen minutes from the garage, Cheol’s permanent (and your home away from) home. He’ll probably make it in eight with the way he drives.

“I’m surprised to not find you in the driver’s seat,” he laughs, shutting the door and immediately bringing the car to life.

“You’re the better driver and I’d like to get there quickly.”

Smirking, he smoothly backs out of his parking space and peels out onto the road. “I think you’re plenty good at speeding. If your record has anything to say about it.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Ok, so you’re better at speeding and not getting caught. This is why I handle the other business aspects.”

His hand slips over the middle and lands on your thigh, kneading and flexing possessively.

Watching you handle business has always intrigued and infuriated him. You’ve swindled awful men out of house and home - lining your crew’s pockets with all the spoils. It had always been a fine line between letting you work while recognizing how good you were at your job and trying not to strangle every dickhead who thought that fake smile you gave them was genuine. “Might have to retire you now.”

You pout in his direction knowing his moody comment is nothing more than his protective, if not slightly dominant, nature coming through. He’s not at all serious, even if he’d like to be. “You gonna take care of me so I don’t have to work anymore?”

He grins at the suggestion. “You know I’ll take care of you, baby. Minghao is plenty good-looking. We’ll start using him instead.”

You snort at the thought. “You’re better off sending, Jeonghan. He's pretty, charming, and he knows exactly how to get what he wants out of anyone. Why do you think I’m so good at it? Learned from the best.”

“Yeah,” Cheol turns, the wheel smoothly gliding through his hand, “I don’t typically have to worry about you stabbing or torturing anyone though.”

“Typically?” you turn in surprise, laughing, “Are you saying it has been a concern?”

He looks at you with a brow quirked. “Once or twice,” he scoffs, “You are way more like your brother than you realize.”

“Oh? You got a thing for him too?”

He snickers in response, shaking his head. “Little shit.”

He squeezes the meat of your thigh again and you realize he’s shifted his hand higher, his fingers spread wide, the pads biting into your jeans. “Quit flirting with me and drive faster.”

The only sound that follows is his quiet amusement and the roar of the engine.

Pulling into the garage, you’re feeling too charged from the quiet, electrifying tension. It makes you feel jerky, like every movement of your body takes too much effort and every surface you touch shocks your skin. You’re already eyeing the stairs leading up to his loft but he’s taking his sweet time coming around the front of his car, waiting for the garage doors to roll back down. You want to barrel straight into him but you don’t exactly trust your legs to carry you.

The doors close with a loud thud and he looks over at you still standing near the passenger door. “You look nervous,” he smiles softly, making his way around the car until his hands are seated over your hips. “We don’t have to-”

“No, no, that’s not it,” you huff out a laugh, “I think all the anticipation made my body stop working. Everything is tingly and sharp, and I don’t think I can move. Stop laughing at me!”

He can’t. Seungcheol is simply beside himself. You really can’t blame him. Truly, too horny and excited to walk? That’s got to be a new one. It certainly is for you.

“I can carry you, it’s fine.”

But he is still shaking with laughter and we’re talking a whole ass flight of stairs. It’s not fine, though Cheol is already scooping you up and you're frantically trying to situate yourself on his back because that seems like the safest option and you’re already off the ground. He’s not putting you back down until you’re both behind closed doors.

“Oh my god,” you bury your face in his shoulder as he takes the first few steps up the stairs, “This is such a bad idea!”

His hands are firmly seated beneath your thighs and your arms are wrapped so tightly around his shoulders that you’re not even shifting much as he carries you but it’s nerve wracking and honestly, a bit embarrassing. He’s incredibly proud and stubborn so there really is no hope in convincing him to put you down anyway.

“Stop panicking,” he laughs, now halfway up the stairs, “I’m not even struggling so your lack of faith in me is hurting my feelings. You act like you’ve never seen me workout. I do it for a reason.”

“I thought the reason was just because you like to beat people up.”

He huffs in amusement, “Fighting isn’t fun when you’re not winning.”

“Well, you always win so you must be having a blast,” you pinch his earlobe, rolling your eyes since he can’t catch you doing it.

When he reaches the landing, he digs into his pocket, unlocking the door with one hand and then kicking it shut once you’re both inside. Then he lets you slide down his back but before your feet actually hit the ground, he’s spinning around to pick you right back up. He laughs at the sound you make, quickly grabbing his shoulders and crossing your ankles at his back. Cheol flips the lock on the door and takes you into the small kitchen, setting you down on the counter.

“I always win when you’re watching,” he plants his hands on either side of you, leaning closer, “You get mad at me when I don’t, so, I stopped losing.”

He looks up at you with a boyish grin and you bring your hands up, lightly touching his cheeks with your finger tips. You’ve seen his soft skin mottled with bruising more times than you cared to think about. “I don’t care about losing,” you murmur, lost in thought, “I just hate it when you get hurt.”

Tracing a finger over his right brow you remember that night years ago when he returned from a job with it split wide open, blood dripping down his pale face. Busted lips, fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and an awful limp. It was the first time you ever saw him so…broken.

You yelled at him for getting hurt but cradled his face in your hands the whole time. While Minghao sutured it closed, you continued cursing at him and everyone else who’d gone out that night but you never let go of his hand. When Joshua reset Cheol’s shoulder and he nearly passed out from the pain, you sobbed. For days you’d been furious with him yet you stayed over at his place for almost two solid weeks to take care of him.

Putting him back together with your own two hands was the only way you could convince yourself that he was okay and from then on, you accompanied him on most jobs. Anytime things got messy, he’d come out victorious, and the very few times you weren’t there, he returned nearly unscathed. Bloodied knuckles at most.

Your fingers must have drifted down to his lips because he kisses them and it brings you back to the present. He smiles against your fingertips and you move them under his jaw, out of the way, just so you can kiss him again. It’s soft, slow, adoring and his hands slide into place right at your lower back, his fingers pushing beneath your shirt to stroke your skin.

When they make contact, his fingers spread wide, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. It makes your back arch, pitching your hips forward, and leaves you sitting poised for the taking but even then he takes his time. In the back of your mind, you’re sure he can feel your heat against his groin and it must be driving him just as insane as it does you.

Despite the body heat, when he pushes your shirt up a little further with his busy hands, you shiver at how cold you still are. It’s accompanied by a breathy little gasp that makes him pull away grinning, eyes still watching your mouth. “Still cold?”

“Yeah,” you admit, “Do you ever turn the heat on in this place?”

“Only when you’re here. I don’t usually need it.”

Of course not. Big manly man.

“You’re going to need it if you’re still hoping to get my clothes off.”

Cheol pays no mind to your change in tone. The one you use to nag him to death. Instead he scoops you right off the counter, starting toward his bedroom. “I can warm you up myself just fine,” he says in an equally haughty kind of way.

The kind of way that shuts you up because the only other thing that you could possibly manage is some pathetic giggle. He even makes a show of hanging onto to you with only one arm because he’s just so strong and you humor him with an ‘oh wooooow’ that makes him crack, laughing as he lets you slowly drop to the floor.

Your hand remains on his chest, nervously pinching at his shirt as you look around the room. You’ve been in here before just…not for anything like this. “Why does this feel normal and not normal at the same time,” you pause, realizing there is actually something different that you hadn’t noticed right away.

Seungcheol let’s his hands drop away so you can walk over to his dresser to sate your…curiosity? Surprise? “You said I needed more personal decorations around the house,” he clears his throat, watching as you carefully lift his picture frames off the furniture to examine them, “I figured pictures were personal enough.”

There is one of Cheol as a teenager standing proudly beside his first car. Another with a few members of the crew all grinning around a card table. You loosen a soft laugh remembering that night clearly. Mingyu and Hoshi shouting over the table like banshees…all because Hoshi got caught cheating and blamed it on his favorite designated target.

You pick up one you don’t recognize but smile at the familiar faces hanging out of the windows of a car you do recognize vaguely. The job details were hazy but you know you remember that car for some reason.

Seungcheol must have noticed you squinting at it because he comes over and stands behind you, pointing at the picture. “You don’t remember this one because you broke into a case of wine coolers the moment we were all home and accounted for,” he chuckles, his breath tickling your cheek, “Almost seven years ago now.”

“I hated waiting for you guys to come home,” you pout, pointing to the picture, “Why do I remember this car though? It’s so familiar.”

He laughs again and this time you spin toward him like the reason he is laughing is clearly painted on his face. It’s not but he fills in the blanks without prompting.

“Jeonghan caught you in the backseat of that exact car making out with Seungkwan, of all people,” Cheol grins at your grimace “We hauled you both off to bed, tucked you in, and agreed not to tell a soul. I honestly don’t think he knows about it either. You guys were wasted.”

“I definitely do not remember doing that but I did oddly stop drinking wine coolers not long after that night,” you sigh, tucking away the embarrassing story to kick your self over later.

“Guilty subconscious?”

Shrugging off your jacket you give him a fake laugh which eventually morphs into a grin. “Were you jealous back then?”

He takes your lead, removing his clothes one piece at a time. “I was always jealous,” he admits and you let yourself stop to watch as he grabs at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. It leaves him only in his jeans, belt already unbuckled.

You’re the opposite, jeans kicked to the side, but your hands rest on your shirt, too busy looking at Seungcheol to force yourself to keep moving. He’s no better, eyes glued to your hips, to your underwear, your legs, and then his eyes bounce back up to your face, finally noticing the way you’re looking at him.

He takes a slow step forward and then another.

“I’m not perfect,” he cautions, another step closer, “I’m stubborn and jealous,” one more step until you’re touching, “I don’t like sharing. If one of the guys flirts with you, even as a joke, I’ll probably rip their head off. Might happen more than once but I’ll get over it eventually, I promise.”

“Hmm,” you smirk as he stops so closely you can feel the heat coming of his body, “A little sensitive?”

“Maybe.” His smile is so pretty and disarming because now his hands are on you, palms rubbing circles into your hips before sliding back and down over your ass. “You’ve been chipping away at my self control for over a decade and now you’re half-naked in my bedroom. I’ve hit my breaking point, baby. I’m going to be selfish with you.”

You shift just enough to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it in the general direction of your pants, and settle your arms around his shoulders. “I think it’s only fair because I have always been selfish with you and i’ll be so much worse now,” you grin and he let’s out a heavy, husky chuckle, tightening his thick arms around you, “I’m going to be a menace.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“I’m still cold.”

Then he’s kissing you again, your hands quickly moving from his shoulders to his waist, pushing his jeans as low as you can before he’s forced to part and pull them the rest of the way off, laughing and stumbling with you toward the bed. You land first, quickly shuffling under the comforter for warmth and he’s right behind you, rolling you onto your back to cover you with his body. It’s an added layer of heat and you wiggle beneath him when his thigh pushes between your legs.

Seungcheol wants everything all at once and hates having to choose but loves knowing he’ll get the opportunity to do it all in good time. For now, he can’t seem to keep away from your lips, can’t stop the noises he makes everytime you tug at his hair or scrape your nails against his back and he hopes to god they leave bright red scratches in their wake.

He wants to watch you get shy and embarrassed when he works out with them on full display. His ego is a beast and it’s going to be riding a high for a while.

When you push up against him, he gives you a little space to quickly undo your bra before it’s tossed to the floor and he’s slipping a little lower, his face pressed against your soft, warm chest. His mouth dances from one breast to the other and you moan into the open air of his bedroom, one of your hands still rubbing his back, smoothing over his muscles mindlessly. His perfect teeth graze your nipples and you grind down against his thigh.

He pushes it higher and repeats the action over and over until you’re steadily working yourself up and then he shifts, taking that relief away from you. Your eyes pop open in surprise but he kisses you again before you can speak and his right hand slides into your panties, wet and uncomfortably cool against your folds now that his thigh is gone.

He doesn’t waste time, running his middle and ring finger up and down until they’re so slick-coated that there is hardly any resistance when he slips them inside you, stroking up against that spot that has you arching your back off the bed. It’s almost cruel how quickly he gets you there and even worse that he hardly touches your clit before you come, stars flashing behind your eyes.

Seungcheol kisses your face through it, whispering sweet, filthy praises against your skin. That’s my girl, you’re so fucking good for me, baby. Sound so pretty right now, wanna hear you say my name just like that.

It’s a miracle you don’t come again the second he pushes into you because he doesn’t stop talking unless his mouth is occupied and he’s too good at multitasking. The only time you get a break from his wicked words is when he’s bottoming out and your ears are ringing so loudly that you can’t even hear him anymore. He must realize it too because his mouth was moving and now, he’s just grinning, eyes trained on your lips when he draws his hips back a little and pushes back in.

His pace varies because he likes watching the breath get caught in your throat, breaking up the gorgeous sounds spilling from your lips. For all the taunting and talking he’s done, he’s just as worked up as you are and suddenly sits up on his knees which changes the angle. He spreads your thighs further apart, almost crudely, and props your ass a bit higher. At first, he wraps his hands around your thighs for leverage, digging his fingers into your skin but it’s not enough, he needs more.

When he moves his hands to either side of your waist, he locks in the perfect position to go as deep as possible and the sounds you begin making are far more desperate, the pitch swinging higher and higher until he’s moaning and panting, driving into you faster and harder than before. You know you’re going to come again, and fast, so when your eyes meets his, and he purses his lips, letting spit drop from his plump lips onto your clit, he doesn’t have to tell you aloud what to do.

You bring your own hand down, rubbing yourself until your limbs start twitching. Your breaths are so shallow and ragged, your fingertips messily bumping against the base of his cock where he plunges in and out of your cunt recklessly. He looks just as far gone as you do but the second your eyes meet, he smirks and it’s your absolute undoing.

When you orgasm for the second time it’s so intense that all of your muscles lock up aside from your legs which shake uncontrollably and Seungcheol groans, hips stuttering when he feels the overabundance over warm liquid spilling out around his cock, splashing against his groin and stomach, dripping onto the bed. He stills, filling you so completely full that you can’t even breath without adding to the mess you’ve both created.

It takes several long minutes of heavy panting and blinking to get your heads on straight and he still doesn’t pull out. Not even when he slumps down against you, grinning and kissing you lazily. He’s doesn’t give a single fuck about the mess, even going to so far as pumping his hips a few times, laughing when you hide your face under your arm at the lewd sounds echoing through the room.

It’s playful at first, those half-hearted thrusts, but then his kisses turn into little nips, his mouth starts spilling those dirty words in your ear and it’s not long until you can feel him getting hard inside of you again, having never pulled out in the first place. He keeps fucking into you slowly, swallowing the sound of your whining, revelling in the way your nails no longer just rake over his skin but painfully dig into it over his shoulder blades.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t speed up. Doesn’t give you the chance to wiggle away from him when the sharp tingling of overstimulation bleeds into, “Oh, fuck, Cheol, I’m gonna come again…fuck…”

And you do until tears stream down your face and he pulls out, flips you over, and puts it right back in, fucking you brutally until he’s moaning and cumming, and you’re nearly ready to pass out in the bed you’ve both absolutely ruined. You hear him speaking but can’t make out the words and then maybe your eyes close because you’re sated and exhausted.

It doesn’t last long though because Seungcheol is attempting to drag you from sleep because he needs to clean you both up and change the sheets before anyone crashes for the night but you’re not budging.

Until you feel the sensation of thick fingers pushing into your cunt and you mumble aloud, “Absolutely no…straight to jail.”

Seungcheol laughs at you having not even moved when you said it and removes his hand. “I tried waking you up nicely and you kept ignoring me. Besides, it’s all starting to spill out and I like seeing you full. If you keep laying here I’m going to end up fucking it all back in and giving you more.”

Rolling onto your back takes an incredible amount of willpower and Cheol’s helping hands because your hips are stiff as all hell. He’s patient, not pushing beyond your limits even though you’re sure he could go a few more rounds without tiring in the least. Affection swirls in your chest and it takes him by surprise when you reach a hand up and around his neck to pull him down to your lips.

HIs body relaxes into the bed, pressing his weight more firmly into the mattress to keep the pressure light where it covers your own. He kisses you tenderly, his hands moving softly and slowly over your skin, and your mind is emptied of all but the feel of him. It’s overwhelming, how deeply attuned you are to one another and yet your body continues to demand more.

Your kiss is broken off in a choked moan, Seungcheol’s, when your hand snakes between your bodies. He drops his forehead to yours, taking in a deep, shaky breath when you rub the head of his cock into the mess between your folds. “Again?” he questions, even as his hips push forward of their own accord.

“Again…” you breathe out, tipping your face up to catch his bottom lip with a gentle nip, “..and again, and again, and agai-”

The delirious smile on your face drops open as he pushes back inside. Your tight, swollen cunt aches with the intrusion but each shockwave that pulses through you is laced with pointed pleasure. The effort to keep his pace even and gentle is difficult but Cheol finds very quickly that there is something incredibly arrousing about slow, deep, intimate fucking.

He’s never experienced anything like it because he’s never had you.

Yet here you are beneath him, clawing at his back and shoulders, moaning against his throat, and he knows it will only ever be like this with you. He knew he was ruined for all others years ago but in this moment he fully understands the weight of it.

Seungcheol will never want anyone but you.

And when you unravel together again, you look into his eyes and know it too.

The next morning it takes an unprecidented amount of effort to wake up.

Your body aches and joints pop in too many places when you stretch your limbs as if you’ve been asleep for years and not mere hours. It’s easy to pinpoint the loss of warmth at your side, Seungcheol hardly ever sleeps in and it’s evident by the smell of fresh coffee wafting in through the open bedroom door.

Slipping into the shirt he’d left you and your jeans from last night, you wander in and out of the bathroom and head straight to the kitchen. Cheol knows you don’t drink coffee but you do love the smell of it so the sight of a full, almost untouched pot makes you laugh. His mug sits abandoned in the sink so you rinse it out and refill it, carefully balancing the full cup in your hands as you leave his apartment and head down the stairs into the garage.

Joshua is the first person you find, unsurprising as he never seems to get hungover no matter how much he drinks the night before. He’s sitting at one of the work tables pouring over a set of blue prints for a new job when you walk by, chuckling and swatting away your hand when you ruffle his hair. “Morning Joshie.” He waves over his shoulder as you keep walking.

It’s relatively quiet in the garage for a Saturday morning but most of your crew is probably passed out from the evening prior. You would have stayed in bed longer too if someone wasn’t missing from it - someone you still haven’t found. Instead, you happen upon Jeonghan and Mingyu working on an engine…you think…again, not your expertise.

“Well, well, well,” Jeonghan drawls as he catches you approaching from the corner of his eye, “If it’s not my darling little sister,” he grins and leans over to kiss your cheek when you stop in front of him, “Whatever are you doing here, in the garage, smelling like sex and coffee, so early on this delightful Saturday morning?”

You give your brother a deadpan stare and Mingyu snickers behind him.

“Where’s Cheol?”

“Bringing in another delivery with Jun in the back,” Mingyu mumbles half-way under the hood with tools in hand, “Should be finishing up soon.”

Jeonghan leans against the car and crosses his arms. “Is this an official thing?”

You know he’s only asking because he loves you both so deeply that if there were any chance of it being a fling where feelings are inevitably going to be trampled, he’s putting an end to it immediately. He’s so fiercely protective that he’d step in to protect you from yourselves without hesitation.

“That man would have to be thirty feet deep in the ground to leave me.”

“Isn’t the saying ‘six-feet deep’?” Mingyu laughs, still focusing on his task.

“I said what I said and honestly thirty-feet still might not be enough - you’ll probably have to bury me with him.”

Jeonghan relaxes, shrugging off the tension in his body with a loose laugh. “Good to know,” he grins, eyes soft and gentle once more, “I always knew you’d end up together once you both gave up the world’s most stubborn ass competition.”

He’s not wrong. Who knew a little communication could go a long way? Certainly not you and Cheol.

Two cars pull up outside the open garage door across the way and you wiggle your fingers in greeting when Vernon, Hoshi, Wonwoo and Jihoon all pop out looking absolutely exhausted. You turn and set Cheol’s mug down on the counter behind you and pull out a stool to take a seat and hang out.

“Wonwoo wouldn’t let us stop for breakfast please tell me there are still leftovers from lunch in the fridge,” Hoshi complains loudly. He absolutely still looks a little drunk.

Jihoon shoves him to the side and makes a beeline for the fridge around the corner, the two of them cursing and bickering as they go. Wonwoo and Vernon pull up a stool next to you and now you’re feeling a little guilty for only bringing one mug down.

“Where’s Cheol?” Wonwoo asks, pushing his glasses up and shaking out his messy hair.

Jeonghan tosses a thumb in his direction, “Delivery.”

Wonwoo nods and Vernon taps your shoulder. “Hey, you’re here kinda early. Where did you go last night? Lost you at some point.”

Your cheeks heat. There are some of the guys you make crude jokes with and some you don’t - both Vernon and Wonwoo being on one side while Mingyu and Jeonghan are on the opposite. “Oh, I uhhh-”

“Notice anyone else missing last night?”

“Jeonghan-”

Vernon’s brows pinch together in thought. Mingyu stands up, setting down his tools before wiping his hands on his pants. “You know,” he grins, “Guy who lives in a garage, goofy laugh, kinda mean…”

Wonwoo breaks out in hysterics and Vernon’s grin is entirely visible though you’re sure he is trying to make it disappear when he says, “Oh! Oh okay…yeah…that makes sense. So, you’re like…yeah?”

You snort in response nodding your head. “Mhm, we’re like yeah.”

“Who’s like what?” Hoshi says around a mouthful, coming up to join you with Jihoon stomping past him empty-handed to go help Joshua.

“Her and Cheol finally got together,” Wonwoo supplies and Hoshi’s eyes light up.

“Oh my god!!! That’s so exciting!” he dances over and drops his food on the counter, which Mingyu picks up to polish off while he’s distracted. Hoshi wraps you in a bear hug you try to fight off and then you’re up and out of your chair being squeezed and swung around, “This is such great news!!!”

Thwap.

Hoshi blinks and you slide to the floor. When he touches the back of his head, it’s wet and he turns to find a rag on the ground. It takes less than two seconds to figure out who threw it because it’s Seungcheol’s thundering voice that calls out, “Put her down and get to work, asshole.”

“Asshole?” Hoshi mutters, kicking the rag, “I’m the asshole?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes, “Oh, he’s going to be unbearable,” he smacks your arm lightly, “Hey, do us all a favor. Take him back upstairs and tie him up or something would ya?”

“Inappropriate,” you snort just before big familiar arms wrap around you from behind.

“Morning baby,” he breathes against your hair before he’s planting a hot kiss on the side of your neck, “Sleep well?”

Everyone very quickly finds a way to mind their own business.

“Slept just fine,” you smile, turning your head to kiss him properly. “Now apologize to Hoshi, you beast.”

He sighs, dropping his head dramatically against your shoulder. “Hoshi!” he shouts across the way, “I’m sorry. Order breakfast for everyone on me.”

“All is forgiven, bro!” Hoshi salutes him in response and the others start gathering to make their requests. Food fixes almost anything in this house.

Cheol laughs and kisses your hair. “Happy?”

“Very,” you hum, turning in his arms, “Brought you coffee but it might be cold by now.”

“That was nice of you.” Now that you’re finally getting a good look at him you see he’s wearing the dark blue cargo pant, white tank top combo that drives you fucking insane. You’ll sit for literal hours on end just to watch him work on the cars in that exact outfit. Even better when he’s got oil smatterings here and there. The thick leather gloves he sometimes has hanging out of his back posket when not in use.

Mechanic Seungcheol is one of your favorite fantasies sprung to life.

“I wasn’t doing it out of the kindness of my own heart,” you retort, “I was trying to get something out of you in return.”

“Oh?” he smirks, “Like what?”

“Kiiiinda hoping I’d get you back upstairs for a few favors.”

His hands slide along your arms until he’s managed to bring them up and around his neck and then he’s got you caged in, clasping his own low on your back. “I’m sure we can make time for that,” he mumbles along the seam of your lips, brazenly, and very openly making out with you in the next breath like there aren’t several people in the garage along with you.

“MAKE IT QUICK. WE’VE GOT SHIT TO DO.”

Cheol tosses up a middle finger in Jeonghan’s general direction and shouts back, “Well, I’ve got your sister to do and that’s more important. Work can wait.” Your mouth pops open in amusement and he takes advantage of your distraction to hoist you up into his arms, making his way toward the stairs to his apartment again. When he speaks again, it’s only loud enough for you, “I think I’ve got just enough time to fuck you over the kitchen counter and make a fresh pot of coffee before I have to come back down, whoop your brother’s ass, and get back to work.”

“Your time management skills are-” you cling onto him a little tighter as he starts up the steps, “- very impressive.”

“You should see my oral presentation skills.”

With that in mind, you lean over his shoulder and shout down, “YOU CAN HAVE HIM BACK IN AN HOUR.”

“AN HOUR?!” Jeonghan hollers back, absolutely exasperated because he knows this is going to be an ongoing battle for months if not years on end. “WHAT PART OF WE GOT SHIT TO DO DID YOU TWO NOT UNDERSTAND?”

Cheol sighs and puts you down to open the door, hanging over the railing with a flat look on his face. “I’ll rip the transmission out of your car with my bare hands and toss it into the river if you open this door.”

Jeonghan scoffs but Cheol grins and cuts him off, “And then i’ll take the knife in your glovebox and split open every individual stitch in the interior.”

Those are serious fighting words between car guys. You think.

Jeonghan narrows his eyes and then huffs, hands on his hips. “You guys are the worst.”

Cheol blows your brother a kiss as you drag him inside and you can catch a hint of amusement on Jeonghan’s face just before you seal yourselves inside.

You’re okay with being the worst, so is Seungcheol.

Maybe being a couple of lowlifes isn’t such a bad thing after all.

Thanks for reading! 💖

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#svt fanfic #scoups fanfic #svthub #kvanity #seungcheol fanfic #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #svt smut #lana writes

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mrsbarnesblog · 5 months ago

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˖˚⊹ unspoken

➤ summary: after a heated argument, Rafe is terrified he’s pushed you too far and that might actually lose you

➤ w/c: 1.6k

➤ warnings: allusions to sex, hurt/comfort, insecurities, fear of loss

masterlist

The room was only lightened by the bedside lamp, casting long shadows over the bed where you and Rafe lay tangled in the sheets. The air was thick with the weight of the situation. Your small argument, just a simple misunderstanding, somehow quickly took the wrong turn, and you both said things that you didn’t mean to.

You were fighting, pouring all the pent-up energy and exhaustion from work, and Rafe’s stubbornness didn’t exactly make it easier. It felt raw and vulnerable, and then suddenly it all led to you stumbling into your bedroom and ripping your clothes off each other.

Your breathing was still heavy, and your body was still feeling hot and tingly from what had happened just a few minutes ago.

Rafe's chest rose and fell beneath the sheets, his arm thrown across his forehead as he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He hadn't said a word since the argument in the kitchen, which was so unusual of him. His kisses and the way he touched your body weren’t in his typical longing and teasing way; they were angry, almost desperate. Now, there was a silence hanging between you, thick and almost suffocating.

And you knew that partly it was your fault. Blinded by the rage and hurt, you said something that you would’ve never said in the right mind. Something that you should’ve never used against Rafe, knowing his sensitiveness about this topic. But the words about you better get out of his life and you not even knowing why you were still there left your mouth before you could actually process it.

You instantly regretted it. Seeing the sudden change in his face and eyes and the way his posture became more tense, another sharp reply died on his tongue. You wanted to say something else, soften the situation, but it was too late when Rafe dealt with the problem the only way he knew—he kissed you with all he had, not allowing you to say anything else. Pulling you flush against his body, he gripped the back of your neck until you answered him with the same energy.

Your words felt like a bucket of cold water, and he panicked, knowing that it might be it. Rafe knew that sex was not a good way to solve a problem, but it was the only thing he thought he was genuinely good at. He wanted to please you, to beg you to stay, so he led you to your bedroom, even if he felt empty inside, even he couldn’t say anything out loud because of the lump in his throat.

Now, as the argument faded away, when it all seemed too stupid to even argue about, it was weirdly uncomfortable. Rafe’s mind was spiraling. He was too scared to even look at you, too afraid that the simple move or word might push you to get up and actually leave.

You slowly turned onto your side, as if afraid to make noise in the dead silence of your bedroom, your heart pounding with guilt and worry, unsure of where to even begin. You could feel the emotional distance between you two, and it stung. Rafe wasn’t usually the type to get vulnerable or emotional, yet you knew that he took everything too close to his heart. This time, something had shifted in him, and it left you unsettled because you were the reason. You could feel his presence next to you, but it was different.

Slowly, you reached out and laid your hand on his chest. He flinched, but then, after a moment, his hand covered yours, squeezing gently and letting out a shaky breath. He didn’t say anything, but the tension between you was palpable.

"I didn't mean it." You whispered, your voice thick with regret. "I didn’t mean to make you think that was the end. I just… I was angry, and I didn’t know how to say what I really felt. But I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to leave you." You stopped for a second, noticing the way he clenched his jaw. “I’m so sorry.”

The words seemed to hang in the air for a beat before Rafe finally moved, turning to face you. His eyes were raw and tired, and there was a certain despair in them that made your heart ache. He reached up slowly, his hand trembling as he gently traced your cheek with his fingertips, as if trying to reassure himself that you were still here and that you weren’t slipping away from him.

“I thought… I thought you were done with me.” He murmured, his voice thick with emotions. “I thought I’d messed up too much, that I’d pushed you too far. And I couldn’t take it, I couldn't imagine not having you in my life.”

You felt his breath hitch as his thumb grazed the corner of your mouth, his gaze softening with a mix of relief and still-present fear.

“Oh, Ray…” You said gently, reaching up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ve never pushed me too far. We fight, we argue, but I don’t want to lose you. I love you. I love you too much to just walk away.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he blinked them away quickly, but it was too late—you saw them, the rawness in them that he was trying so hard to hide.

His chest tightened, and he exhaled shakily, a sob escaping him before he could stop it. He pulled your still naked body close, burying his face in your neck, his hands gripping you like he was afraid if he let go, you’d vanish.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out, sneaking one hand around your waist to find some comfort in the feeling of your skin on his. “For being so difficult and stubborn. I don’t know how to be better. I don’t know how to make you understand how much you mean to me.”

You held him tighter, your hand running through his hair as you soothed him. “You don’t have to be perfect, Rafe. You just have to be you. And that’s enough for me. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a long while, you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms. The anger had faded, replaced with something deeper, another level of trust and vulnerability that were new for your relationship. With how hard it was for Rafe to open up and express himself, it was a big step, and you wanted to do everything in your power to make him comfortable.

Rafe still wasn’t entirely sure of himself, but you could feel him beginning to trust in your words as his body relaxed against yours, his breath slowing. His hand never left your face, his thumb still tracing the curve of your cheek like he was trying to memorize every detail of you.

“I was so scared.” Rafe murmured, his voice trembling as he buried his face in the curve of your neck. “I thought I’d lost you... and you’re my entire word.”

You felt his breath warm against your skin, and your heart ached at the tremble in his voice. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, your fingers brushing the stray hair from his forehead. “You’re not going to lose me, Rafe.” You said softly, your voice carrying all the reassurance you could muster. “Not tonight, not ever. I promise.”

His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line like he was trying to hold something back. But then he shook his head, his blue eyes locked on yours, glassy with unshed tears. “You’re the only thing that makes sense in my life. I don’t know what I’d do if you—”

You didn’t let him finish. Leaning in, you kissed him deeply, your lips catching his in a way that was tender but still confident enough to show that what you said was true. His hand slid up to cup the back of your head, his grip firm like he needed this connection to anchor himself. When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as the weight of the moment settled around you.

“You’re stuck with me, Rafe Cameron. And don’t think that you can get rid of me this easily, even if you’re annoying me sometimes.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, shaky and uncertain, but it was a laugh nonetheless. “Good.” He said, his voice barely audible. “Because I don’t think I could handle it any other way.”

You smiled, your hand smoothing over his back in slow, comforting strokes as his body began to relax against yours. He exhaled a deep, shuddering breath, the tension that had gripped him loosening with every beat of your heart.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore; it was warm and allowed you to finally fully enjoy the presence of each other. Rafe pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering there as if savoring the moment. And as the hours stretched on, the night wrapped around you like a cocoon, and you both were too lost in each other to care about the outer world.

For the rest of the night, words became unnecessary. Instead, there were soft kisses, quiet touches, and the unspoken promise that no matter what, everything is going to be okay. Wrapped in his arms, you felt the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was peace.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe imagine #rafe x you #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x y/n #obx x you #obx rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe cameron one shot #rafe fic #outerbanks rafe #obx x reader #obx fanfiction

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guzmanstark · 2 months ago

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“I’m not gonna disappear, you know,” Eddie says, lowering his mug to meet Buck’s eyes.

“W-what?” Buck stammers, blinking away like he got caught doing something wrong.

“You keep staring,” Eddie says, carefully, “like I'm gonna vanish. Or go back to Texas without telling you or something. I'm not.”

It’s been hours since Buck met him at the airport, drove him home, made him tea. And Eddie’s felt the weight of his gaze the entire time. Buck hasn’t said much, which Eddie isn’t surprised by, honestly. He’s not really in the mood to talk himself. But there’s something quietly devastating about the way Buck is looking at him. Eddie’s not sure what to do with that.

“Sorry,” Buck says.

Eddie sighs. “Don't apologize, it’s not…I don't mind that you’re looking. Just—you know you can talk to me, right?“

“I know,” Buck says. He’s trying to sound casual but his voice comes out just a little unsteady. Enough for Eddie to catch it.

“It’s, uh, it’s not that,” Buck adds, after a beat.

“What?”

“I don't—I don't think you’re gonna vanish. It's just… you look different.”

“You mean this?” Eddie rubs at his chin self consciously.

Buck’s eyes flicker momentarily to Eddie’s face before his gaze drops again. He nods.

After Eddie got the call, he couldn’t help but blame himself. He should have been there. Maybe if he was, Bobby would still be here—with his team, with his family. Not for the first time, Eddie felt like he couldn’t bear the sight of his own reflection. He felt small, useless. He thought maybe it would get easier with time. It didn’t. And with each day, as the guilt grew, so did the stubble on his face—thicker, darker. An awful reminder of the time that passed since Bobby—

Eddie sets the mug down, afraid it’s gonna shatter in his grip.

“You don’t like it?” he asks, and the words taste like ash in his mouth.

“No it, uh, it looks good. You always look good. It’s just—god, it’s stupid.”

“Hey,” Eddie bumps Buck’s foot under the table, keeps it there. “Whatever you’re feeling, it’s not stupid.”

“I’m…” Buck exhales, “I’m not sure if you’re real.”

Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it.

Buck shrugs. “Told you it’s stupid.”

“No! No, um, I—what do you mean I’m not real?”

There’s a moment where Buck doesn’t say anything, just stares at his own hands on the table, fidgets with his fingers. Eddie waits. Doesn’t push.

Eventually Buck speaks.

“After the lightning strikes, after the uh—“ Buck clears his throat, “the coma. I had this thing I used to do every morning. A-a checklist. To make sure I wasn’t dreaming. That I was still me.” Buck’s eyes stay locked on his hands, and Eddie desperately wishes he’d look at him again. “Ever since he—“ Buck stops, swallows, sniffs. “I wake up and I pray for this to be a dream. An awful, terrible nightmare. I pray, Eddie. And it’s—“

Buck’s hands are shaking. Eddie reaches out, takes them in his own.

Buck finally looks up. His eyes are impossibly sad and impossibly blue, and Eddie is struck by how beautiful he is. It’s a weird thought to have at that moment, but it’s true nonetheless.

“Sorry, this is so embarrassing,” Buck says, a little wetly.

“Hey, it’s not embarrassing, okay? You’re dealing with it. We all are.”

“Look, I know you’re real. I know that. But also just—everything is so different, you know? Nothing makes sense anymore and you look different. And it’s like—like, how do I know I’m not dreaming?” Buck says. “Does that make sense?”

It doesn’t. But Eddie gets it anyway.

He wraps a hand around Buck’s wrist, lifts his hand up to his face.

“You feel that?”

Buck doesn’t say anything, just looks at him.

Eddie closes his eyes, presses his face into Buck’s hand a little more.

“I’m here, Buck.”

Buck’s hand starts moving on his face, careful fingers trace his cheeks, his jaw, his chin. Eddie’s breath catches when a thumb ghosts over his bottom lip.

“You’re here,” Buck says, voice barely a whisper.

Eddie nods.

“He’s really—“ Buck's voice cracks. “He's really gone.”

“I know,” Eddie says, because what else is there to say?

Eddie’s eyes sting. He lets go of Buck’s wrist and places his hand on Buck’s shoulder, thumb gently grazing the base of his neck. He wishes he could press his lips to his temple, like he does with Christopher. He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls him in, presses their foreheads together.

They stay like that, breathing together, until their eyes are red and their cheeks are wet. Eventually Buck pulls away, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his cardigan.

“Thanks,” Buck says.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. For—for being here, I guess.”

Eddie wants to tell him that he’s always going to be here. But that’s not true. He's leaving in a few days. He’s always leaving.

“Hey, you have a razor here somewhere, right?” is what he says instead.

“Come on, you don’t have to do that,” Buck protests, and Eddie is pretty sure he catches a small hint of a smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. ”I think I do.”

#idek what this is. just a little missing scene #too short for ao3 so i’m posting here #buddie fic #buddie #911 #911 abc #mine.fic

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cloudtransprncy · 4 months ago

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One Night Only - Directors Cut

Jennie Kim X Male Reader | 8k words

One night. That’s all you ever get. By morning, she’ll be gone. You’ll tell yourself this was the last time. You’ll both know it’s not.

AN: Ya’ll might remember this if you followed me last year. Spent the last few weeks reworking it—call it the director’s cut. Also Jennie is still my ult and so her coming back into the light is great.

Consequence. The word sits heavy in your mind as you watch the city from your hotel window. Thirty floors below, New York keeps moving. Never stops.

You flick ash from your cigarette. Every choice has weight. You know this. You called her anyway.

Jennie's mouth is on yours, soft and demanding at once. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and expensive gin, sweet and sharp. Her full lips part against yours, tongue sliding against your bottom lip. Her fingers pull at your hair, just rough enough to send shivers down your spine. Between kisses she breathes, "This is stupid," but her body presses closer, breasts pushing against your chest, hips finding yours.

Commitment. You've spent years avoiding that word. Being tied down always felt wrong. You need movement, new cities, different faces. Maybe that's why things fell apart—she saw what you couldn't admit. You'd always choose the road over staying still.

Her skin burns under your hands, smooth and impossibly soft. When you slide your palm down the curve of her waist to the flare of her hip, she sighs against your neck, her breath hot on your skin. "I've missed this," she says quietly, like she's admitting something she shouldn't. You back her against the wall, pinning her with your body. She arches into you, head tilting back in invitation. You feel her pulse jump beneath your lips when you kiss her throat, right at that spot that always makes her grip your shoulders tighter.

The hotel room is all clean lines and empty space. King bed with white sheets. Bathroom with too many mirrors. Mini-fridge you've already raided. View of the city that probably costs extra. Your record label covers it, so you don't care.

As a kid, you'd search for Virgo in the night sky. Stars were constant when nothing else was. Jennie's like that. No matter how far you go, you always circle back to her.

In the half-dark, her eyes catch the light from outside. She's always seen through you, always known the parts you try to hide from everyone else.

---

She'll come. She always does.

You know she's with someone else now—an actor with a jawline made for billboards. In her world of flashbulbs and red carpets, he makes sense. But you were there first, and somehow, you're still not gone.

It's been a year since you ended things, if you can call it an ending. When you call, she answers. When she texts, you drop everything. Some connections don't break clean.

Stop. Go. Stop. Go.

A day between Chicago and Toronto shows up in your tour schedule. When you hear she's in New York for some event, changing your plans feels inevitable.

At sunset, you text her from your hotel room. The message is simple: Here for the night. Room 3045.

She replies with just a question mark. Your conversations have become this—shorthand that only works because you share history.

"I'm in the city for one night," you say when you call her. The silence on her end isn't hesitation; it's calculation. Background noise filters through the phone—glasses clinking, people talking.

"I got a room, for me and you" you add. "One night only." You hang up knowing she'll decide whether to come. You also know what that decision will be.

The knock comes at 12:17. Three quick taps.

When you open the door, your breath catches in your throat. Jennie leans against the frame, champagne glass dangling between her fingers, but it's her body that has your full attention. Her black dress hugs every curve like it was painted on, stopping mid-thigh to reveal legs that seem endless. The material stretches tight across her hips, then tapers at her waist before swelling to accommodate her breasts. The neckline dips just low enough to make your mouth go dry.

"Started without me?" you nod toward her drink, trying to sound casual while your pulse hammers in your ears.

"Needed something to get me here," she says, her lips curving into that smile that's haunted you for months. Her eyes are dark and knowing, lined with perfect black wings that make them look even more dangerous.

Jennie walks in like she owns the place, hips swaying with each step. Those knee-high socks hug her calves, leading up to a thin garter belt that disappears beneath her dress—a promise of what waits underneath. Her skin glows warm and golden against the black fabric. Her dark hair tumbles in loose waves past her shoulders, the kind of perfectly tousled look that makes your fingers itch to grab it.

Her perfume wraps around you—roses with something darker underneath, expensive and intoxicating. The scent that's followed you to hotel rooms across the country, lingering on your sheets and clothes long after she's gone.

She finishes her drink and sets the glass down with deliberate slowness. Her red-painted nails catch the light as her hand moves to your chest. "We shouldn't keep doing this," she says, but her fingers are already working your shirt buttons, knuckles brushing against your skin with each one. Her touch leaves heat trails down your torso. "It's not fair."

"When has anything been fair?" you ask. Her mouth curves into the smile that's always meant trouble.

"Never," she agrees, pressing her hand against your chest. "So we might as well take what we can get."

When she kisses you, it feels like she's taking something back, something she left with you months ago. Tonight, in this room, she's not the girl from magazine covers or someone's girlfriend. She's yours again, temporarily.

"It's been a while," she whispers against your mouth.

"Too long," you admit.

The door clicks shut behind her. You have until sunrise.

Something electric sparks between you the moment the door clicks shut. The air feels different - charged with memory and want. Your bodies remember each other before your minds can catch up.

You're on the couch in minutes, her weight settling into your lap like she belongs there. This kiss is different from the ones you remember - hungrier, more desperate. Her tongue slides against yours, and you taste gin and desire. Her body presses against yours, soft in all the places you've missed.

Your hands find her curves through the thin fabric of her dress. You squeeze her ass, pulling her closer until there's nothing between you but clothing. She moans into your mouth when you press your hardness against her. You can feel her heat even through layers of fabric.

Jennie breaks the kiss, a thin strand of saliva connecting your lips for a second before it breaks. Her eyes are dark pools reflecting the city lights outside. They hold yours with an intensity that makes your throat tight.

"I've missed this, Owen," she whispers. Her voice is rough at the edges. She grinds against you, slow and deliberate, the friction making your breath catch. Her fingers tighten in your hair, pulling you back to her mouth. This kiss is deeper, messier, with teeth and tongue and need.

Your hands slide under her dress, finding warm skin. The sound she makes when you touch her bare thighs shoots straight to your groin. You push the fabric higher, revealing more of her, inch by inch. Her breathing quickens as her hips roll against yours. Her nipples are hard points pressing through the fabric, rubbing against your chest.

She lifts her arms as you pull the dress over her head. You toss it aside, forgotten before it hits the floor.

Moonlight spills through the windows, painting her skin silver. She's all smooth curves and shadows in the half-light. Her body is a map you once knew by heart - the slight curve of her waist, the fullness of her breasts, the dip of her collarbone. You take it all in again, relearning her.

Your hands can't stay still. You need to touch every inch of her, remind yourself that she's real. Her skin is impossibly soft under your fingertips, warm and alive. Each touch makes her shift against you, seeking more pressure, more contact.

The sounds she makes are better than any song you've written. Small gasps when you squeeze her thighs. A sharp intake of breath when your thumb grazes her nipple. Low hums of pleasure when you find a spot she likes. Each sound builds on the last, creating a rhythm that guides your hands.

You need to taste her. Starting at her collarbone, you press your lips to her skin. Salt and sweetness and expensive perfume fill your senses. She sighs, her head falling back to give you better access. You work your way across her shoulder, down her arm, learning the texture of her skin with your mouth.

When you reach her breast, you feel her whole body tense in anticipation. The skin here is softer, more delicate. You circle her nipple with your tongue, feeling it harden further. Your hand finds her other breast, thumb rolling over the stiff peak.

"Oh my god," she moans when you take her nipple into your mouth. Her back arches, pushing more of her into your face. The taste of her skin goes straight to your head like strong liquor. Her chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath.

Your free hand slides down her stomach, fingers spread wide to feel as much of her as possible. You trace the edge of her panties, feeling the lace against your fingertips. She rocks against your hand, seeking more pressure. You cup her between her legs, feeling the heat and dampness through the thin fabric. Jennie gasps, her thighs trembling as you press your palm firmly against her covered pussy.

"Fuck," she breathes, grinding down on your hand. Her fingers tighten in your hair, pulling hard enough to make your scalp tingle. The slight pain only makes you harder.

You move to her neck, dragging your teeth along the sensitive skin below her ear. When you bite down - not hard enough to mark, but enough to make her feel it - she whimpers, her whole body shuddering. Your thumb makes slow circles against her covered clit while your teeth work at her neck, finding the spots that make her grip your shoulders.

"I forgot how good you feel," you say against her skin, your voice rough with wanting.

"I want to feel you too," she says, eyes locked on yours. Her pupils are blown wide with desire. Her hand traces up your arm, across your shoulder, around to your back. Her nails dig into your skin, leaving trails of sensation. She tugs at your shirt, impatient now. You let her pull it over your head.

Her hands are everywhere at once, exploring your chest, your shoulders, your back. Her touch starts gentle but quickly turns hungry. She leans down to kiss your neck, her lips hot against your pulse point. Her teeth graze your skin, just hard enough to make you hiss.

As her mouth works its way down your chest, a thought flickers through your mind - does she do this with him? Does she make these same sounds, move in these same ways? The thought knifes through the pleasure for a split second before her touch pulls you back.

Nothing exists outside this room. Not her boyfriend. Not your tour. Just her hands on your skin and her breath in your ear.

"Fuck! I need your dick in my mouth," Jennie says, her voice thick with desire. She slides from your lap in one fluid motion, her body moving with practiced grace. She settles between your legs, her knees pressed against the hotel carpet, thighs spread slightly apart. Her hair falls forward, framing her face as she looks up at you through her lashes.

In the half-light, she's a vision – lips parted and swollen from kissing, chest flushed and rising with quick breaths, her breasts full and nipples still hard from your attention. The garter and stockings against her bare skin create a contrast that makes your mouth go dry.

She runs her hands up your thighs, fingers pressing into your muscles. Her red nails stand out against your skin as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants. There's something almost reverential in how she tugs them down – slowly at first, then with growing urgency. Her eyes never leave yours, even as she licks her lower lip in anticipation.

The fabric slides past your hips, and your cock springs free, hard and aching. A small smile plays at the corner of her mouth as she takes you in. She leans closer, her breath warm against your sensitive skin. When she finally looks up at you, her eyes are dark pools of hunger and something deeper – a look that's always been reserved just for you.

"You can have it tonight," you say, your voice rough as her hands wrap around your cock.

"All of it?" Jennie asks with a smile that's pure trouble. Her eyes don't leave yours. You nod, unable to form words.

She leans closer, parts her lips, and lets a strand of spit fall onto the tip. The warm wetness makes you twitch. She uses her fingers to spread it down your length, coating you. Her hand starts moving in slow strokes that make your breath catch.

Jennie sweeps her hair to one side, giving you a clear view. She doesn't break eye contact as she moves closer. Her breath hits you first, warm against sensitive skin. Then her tongue, wet and soft, circles the head of your cock. Your hands grip the couch cushions.

When she takes you into her mouth, the heat is shocking. Her lips stretch around you as she slides down, taking you deeper than you expected. Her tongue works against the underside, finding spots that make your thighs tense. The wet sounds fill the quiet room.

She pulls back, only keeping the tip in her mouth. Her tongue swirls around it, teasing the sensitive spot just underneath. Then she moves down again, a little deeper this time. The rhythm is maddening – not enough to get you there, just enough to keep you desperate for more.

Jennie pulls off completely, her hand still working you in slow strokes. She looks up, studying your reaction. Her free hand moves to your balls, cupping them gently, then rolling them between her fingers. The touch is unexpectedly tender compared to the hunger in her eyes.

"You like that?" she asks, knowing the answer. Her thumb traces circles at the base of your cock while her other hand continues its exploration. "You always did."

She leans down and runs her tongue from base to tip in one long, wet stroke. Then does it again on the underside, where you're most sensitive. Your hips lift off the couch involuntarily. She smiles at your reaction, clearly enjoying the power she has over you.

Jennie takes her time, alternating between her mouth and her hands. Sometimes she focuses just on the head, sucking gently while her hand works the shaft. Other times she takes you deep, then pulls back to circle the tip with her tongue. There's no pattern to follow, nothing to prepare you for what comes next.

Her hand slides lower, massaging your balls again before moving even further back. The unexpected pressure makes your whole body tense. She watches your reaction with dark, knowing eyes.

"Hold my hair," she says, pulling off for a moment. She grabs your hands and places them on either side of her head. "I want you to watch."

With your hands holding her hair back, you have a perfect view of her face, of her lips as they stretch around you again. She takes you deeper this time, her eyes watering slightly at the corners. The sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge.

She pulls off but keeps stroking you with her hand, tight and slick with spit. With her hair pulled back, you can see everything – her flushed cheeks, her bare shoulders, the tops of her breasts rising and falling with each breath. She looks like something from a dream you've had too many times.

"You just can't stay away, can you?" she says, her voice low and teasing. Her hand never stops moving on you. "Always calling me back. Always wanting one more night."

She takes you back into her mouth, just the tip, sucking hard before releasing you with a pop.

"You think about this when you're with other girls?" She speeds up her strokes, twisting her wrist in a way that makes your vision blur. "Bet you do. Bet none of them do it like I do."

Her words hit something deep inside you – a truth you don't want to admit. You tighten your grip on her hair, pulling just enough to make her eyes flash. She smiles, knowing she's struck a nerve.

"That's why you keep coming back," she continues, dropping her head to lick a slow circle around the base of your cock. She moves lower, taking one of your balls into her mouth, sucking gently while her hand keeps working your shaft. The dual sensation makes your legs shake.

When she looks up again, there's challenge in her eyes. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Before you can answer, she takes you deep into her mouth again, all the way until you hit the back of her throat. She holds there, swallowing around you, her eyes never leaving yours. The sensation is overwhelming – wet heat and pressure and the sight of her taking all of you.

"Fuck," is all you can manage, and she hums in satisfaction around you.

Jennie works you with perfect focus. Sometimes she takes you deep, her nose nearly touching your stomach, staying there until she needs to breathe. Other times she pulls back to use her hand with her mouth, twisting her wrist in a way that makes spots dance behind your eyes.

Every few strokes she pulls off completely, gathering more spit, making everything wetter, messier. Saliva coats your cock and her chin now, catching the dim light. It should be gross but it's the hottest thing you've ever seen.

Time stretches and blurs. It could be minutes or hours. There's just Jennie's mouth, her hands, the heat building at the base of your spine.

She changes her approach, focusing just on the head, sucking harder while her hand works the shaft in quick, tight strokes. The new sensation makes your leg muscles jump. You feel yourself getting close.

"Fuck, Jennie, I'm—" you try to warn her, reaching to pull her head back. You want to make this last, to feel more of her tonight.

She slaps your hand away, hard enough to sting.

"You're giving this to me now," she says, voice raspy from having you in her throat. "And you're giving me more later." Her tone leaves no room for argument.

Jennie doubles down, moving with new determination. One hand squeezes the base while her mouth works the rest. Her other hand slides between your legs, fingernails lightly scratching your inner thigh. The unexpected touch makes you gasp.

She takes you deeper again, moaning around you like she's enjoying this as much as you are. The vibration, the suction, the sight of her – it all becomes too much.

The orgasm hits you like a punch. Your vision blurs at the edges as waves of pleasure roll through you. Jennie doesn't pull away, keeping perfect suction as you come. She swallows around you, the motion extending your pleasure until you're gripping her shoulders to stay upright.

She keeps going until you're too sensitive, until you have to gently push at her shoulders. Only then does she finally release you, looking up with satisfaction in her eyes. A small drop of white clings to her bottom lip before her tongue darts out to catch it.

She reaches for your discarded shirt and wipes her mouth and hands, casual as if she'd just finished a meal. The sight of her using your clothes like this only adds to the intimacy.

Jennie rises to her feet in one fluid motion, her body unfolding before you. She's petite but perfectly proportioned - slim waist, delicate shoulders, toned legs that seem to go on forever despite her height. Standing there in just her knee-high socks and garter, her small, perky breasts catch the dim light. Her skin has a golden glow against the darkness of the room.

She steps between your legs, looking down at you with hooded eyes. Her slender fingers reach for your chin, tilting your face up to meet hers. The gesture is possessive, almost commanding. She leans down, her straight dark hair falling forward to frame both your faces, creating a private world. Her lips find yours, softer now but still hungry. You taste yourself on her tongue, salt and skin.

"I'm not done with you," she whispers against your lips. "You brought me here. We're gonna make the most of it." Her fingertips trace your jawline before she steps back, grabbing your hand to pull you toward the bed.

As you follow her across the room, the city sounds filter through the windows – car horns, distant music, the constant hum of life that never stops. The soft lighting catches on her skin, giving it a warm glow that makes you want to touch her all over again.

Jennie moves onto the bed with natural grace. The curve of her spine draws your eye down to where her waist narrows before flaring into her hips. The small black thong she still wears cuts across her skin, the thin fabric disappearing between her cheeks in a way that makes your mouth go dry.

She positions herself in the center of the bed, her movements deliberate and unhurried. She folds her legs into a 'W' shape, showcasing their length despite her petite frame. The knee-high socks create a striking contrast against her bare thighs. The entire pose is an invitation you could never refuse.

Her hands begin to move across her own body, touching herself with slow confidence. She traces circles around her small breasts, fingers dancing across her skin with a self-assurance that's hypnotic to watch. In the dim light, every movement feels like it's meant just for you.

You notice how different she looks now compared to when she arrived at your door. Her carefully applied makeup is smudged around her eyes. Her hair, once smooth and perfect, is wild from your hands. She looks beautifully undone, more real somehow, and even more stunning for it.

She runs a finger across her lips, still swollen from taking you in her mouth. Then trails it down her neck and over her chest, drawing your eye along the path.

"Come here," she says, her voice low but commanding. She rolls onto her back, her body a landscape of curves and shadows in the half-light.

Though still wearing her thong, the thin black fabric does little to hide what's underneath. As you move closer to the bed, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband and slides it down her legs with deliberate slowness. The last barrier between you disappears as she kicks it aside.

With the same unhurried confidence, Jennie reaches down and uses her fingers to part herself. The gesture is both vulnerable and bold – showing you exactly what you've been missing all these months. Even in the dim light, you can see how wet she is, glistening with want.

You climb onto the bed, feeling the expensive sheets against your palms. The fabric is cool and smooth, a stark contrast to the heat building between you. The mattress gives slightly under your weight as you move between her legs.

Jennie is breathtaking beneath you. Her skin has a slight sheen in the low light, catching the glow from the bedside lamp. Her dark hair fans out against the white pillows, framing a face that's haunted your dreams for months. Her chest rises and falls with quickening breaths, her small breasts topped with hardened nipples that beg for your touch.

But you're not rushing this. Not after all these months apart.

You start at her ankles, where the knee-high socks still cling to her calves. Your lips press against the delicate bone there, feeling her pulse beneath the skin. She watches you through half-lidded eyes as you work your way higher, placing open-mouthed kisses up her calf.

When you reach the top of her sock, you peel it down slowly, revealing more of her skin inch by inch. The newly exposed flesh gets special attention – your lips, your tongue, even the gentle scrape of teeth that makes her shiver.

"What are you doing?" she asks, but there's no impatience in her voice, just wonder.

"Appreciating the view," you murmur against her knee. "Been thinking about this body for months."

You move to her other leg, giving it the same treatment – slow, deliberate kisses that make her skin prickle with goosebumps. Your hands slide up her thighs as your mouth follows, feeling the muscles tense and relax under your touch.

Her inner thighs are softer, more sensitive. When your tongue traces the crease where leg meets hip, she gasps, her fingers flexing against the sheets. The scent of her arousal is stronger here, making your mouth water.

You detour, moving up to kiss her stomach, the dip of her navel, the subtle ridges of her ribs. Each breath she takes makes her abdomen rise and fall beneath your lips. You work your way to her breasts, taking your time with each one – circling the nipple with your tongue before sucking it into your mouth, feeling it harden further.

"Owen," she sighs, arching into your touch.

Your hands never stop moving, exploring every inch of her like you're memorizing her by touch alone. The curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the softness of her sides – all of it perfect, all of it Jennie.

You make your way back down, leaving a trail of kisses from her sternum to her stomach. Her breathing quickens as you move lower, anticipation making her shift restlessly beneath you. When you reach the neat strip of dark hair between her legs, you pause, looking up to meet her eyes.

"You're fucking beautiful," you say, your voice rougher than intended.

Her eyes soften for just a moment before that familiar challenge returns. "Are you going to stare all night, or are you going to do something about it?"

You answer by settling between her legs, pushing her thighs wider. You can't help but stare at the view before you. There's something almost reverent in how you look at her – taking in every detail, every curve and shadow. Her thighs part further, an invitation that needs no words. Between her legs, you notice she's not completely bare – a neat, dark landing strip of hair points down like an arrow, the contrast of it against her skin making your mouth water.

The scent of her hits you first – warm and musky and distinctly Jennie. You breathe her in, letting it flood your senses and cloud your thoughts. Nothing exists but this bed, this woman, this moment.

You lower your head slowly, maintaining eye contact until the last possible second. The first broad stroke of your tongue makes her gasp. You take your time, exploring her with long, flat licks that cover her entirely. Her taste is familiar yet new – sweet and tangy and addictive. You could drown here and die happy.

"Fuck," she breathes, her hips already lifting slightly to meet your mouth.

You switch to softer, more focused touches, tracing her folds with the tip of your tongue. Each pass draws different sounds from her – soft sighs that gradually build to more urgent moans. You map her with your mouth, relearning what makes her breath catch, what makes her thighs shake.

When you find her clit, you circle it slowly, teasingly, not giving her the direct pressure you know she craves. Her fingers find your hair, tightening in frustration.

"Don't tease me," she warns, but there's no real threat in her voice – just desire strained to its breaking point.

You smile against her before giving in, wrapping your lips around her clit and sucking gently. The reaction is immediate – her back arches off the bed, a strangled curse falling from her lips.

Your free hand slides up her body, finding the toned plane of her stomach. You press down firmly, holding her in place as your mouth works against her. The contrast of your hand on her abs while your tongue explores her most sensitive areas makes her writhe beneath you.

She's getting wetter, her arousal coating your chin as you work. You move your tongue in circles, then switch to quick flicks across her clit that make her thighs tremble. Each change in pressure or rhythm pulls new sounds from her throat.

"Oh god, right there," she gasps when you find a particularly sensitive spot.

You slip a finger inside her, feeling her heat clench around you immediately. She's impossibly tight and wet, her body welcoming the intrusion. You curl your finger to find that spot that always drove her crazy. When you find it, her whole body jerks like she's been shocked.

"Right there," she gasps. "Don't stop."

You add a second finger, stretching her gently while continuing to work her clit with your mouth. The combination makes her hips buck wildly against your face. Her hands tighten in your hair, pulling almost painfully.

With each thrust of your fingers, you quicken the tempo, driving deeper into her. Her muscles clench around you rhythmically, like she's trying to pull you further in. Your tongue never stops its assault on her clit, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention.

"Owen," she moans, her voice breaking. "I'm so close."

You pull back just enough to look up at her, your fingers still working inside her. "You still think about this when you're with him?" The question slips out before you can stop it. Your thumb replaces your tongue, circling her clit as you watch her face.

She glares down at you, but her body betrays her, clenching around your fingers. "You're such a dick."

"But you're here anyway," you say, curling your fingers against that spot that makes her whole body jerk. "In my bed, not his."

Her breath catches. "Shut up."

You lower your head again, sucking her clit between your lips while adding a third finger. The stretch makes her gasp, her back arching. You can feel her getting closer – her thighs tensing, her breathing becoming irregular. Her entire body is flushed with heat, a thin sheen of sweat making her skin glow in the dim light.

You establish a relentless rhythm – fingers pumping while your tongue works her clit. The wet sounds of your movements fill the room, mixing with her increasingly desperate moans.

Just as she's about to peak, you ease back, slowing down just enough to keep her on the edge.

"Tell me you missed this," you say against her inner thigh, your breath hot on her wet skin.

"Don't stop," she pleads, hips lifting to chase your mouth.

You stay just out of reach. "Tell me no one does this like I do."

Her hands tighten in your hair, trying to force you back down. "I hate you," she says, but there's no conviction in it.

"No, you don't." You circle her entrance with your fingers, teasing but not pushing in. "Say it, Jennie."

She fights it for a moment, pride warring with desire. Then breaks. "No one does it like you do. Now please—" her voice cracks with need, "please don't stop."

The desperation in her voice sends heat through your entire body. You give her what she wants, diving back in with renewed hunger. Your tongue circles her clit rapidly while your fingers press firmly against that sweet spot inside her. The dual sensations push her toward the edge fast.

Her legs wrap around your head, thighs clamping against your ears as her body tenses. Your free hand reaches up to find her breast, pinching her nipple between your fingers. The added stimulation makes her cry out, her voice cracking with pleasure.

"Owen," she warns, her voice tight and strained. "I'm gonna—"

"Come for me," you command, increasing the pressure, the speed, giving her exactly what she needs.

Her breathing turns ragged, her moans more frantic. The muscles in her stomach tense under your hand as her body coils tight, ready to snap. Her inner walls clench rhythmically around your fingers, the first tremors of her orgasm beginning.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh—" Her words dissolve into a broken cry as it hits her. Her back arches high off the bed, her body going rigid. Her thighs shake violently around your head as waves of pleasure crash through her.

"Oh my God!" The words tear from her throat as her fingers pull painfully at your hair. Her body convulses beneath your mouth, wave after wave of pleasure washing over her. "You're so good at that, Owen."

She bites her lower lip hard, her neck straining as her hips jerk uncontrollably against your face. You don't let up, working her through the peak, extending her pleasure until she's gasping and writhing from the intensity.

The aftershocks ripple through her body like tremors, her skin flushed and damp with sweat. Only when she weakly pushes at your head, too sensitive to take any more, do you finally ease back. You place one last gentle kiss against her before resting your cheek on her inner thigh, looking up at her wrecked expression.

Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, her eyes closed, lips parted. She looks utterly spent, flushed and beautiful in her satisfaction.

After a moment, Jennie gathers herself, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looks down at you, her gaze dropping to your obvious arousal. Without a word, she reaches forward and spits on it, her saliva glistening as she begins to stroke you. You groan at the contact, your body responding instantly to her touch. You don't let up, working her through the orgasm, only easing the pressure when her hand pushes weakly against your head, oversensitive.

You place one last gentle kiss against her before resting your cheek on her inner thigh, looking up at her flushed face. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, her eyes closed, lips parted. She looks wrecked in the best possible way.

After a moment, Jennie gathers herself, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looks up at you, a predatory gleam replacing the post-orgasm haze in her eyes. Without warning, she reaches for your cock and spits on it, her saliva mixing with the wetness still coating her lips from going down on you earlier.

"Now," she says, voice raspy and demanding, "I'm going to fuck you."

She doesn't wait for your response, just straddles your hips and positions herself above you. Her thighs flex as she hovers, teasing you with the heat of her center just inches away from where you need it.

"Tell me how bad you want this," she demands, one hand flat against your chest for balance.

"Just get on my dick already," you growl, grabbing her hips to pull her down.

She resists, maintaining control. "Say please," she taunts, her eyes challenging you.

You nearly laugh. "Fuck you."

"That's the idea," she says with a wicked smile, then finally sinks down in one swift movement, taking you to the hilt.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you hiss as her heat surrounds you. She's impossibly tight after her orgasm, still pulsing slightly from the aftershocks.

"You're so fucking big," she gasps, adjusting to the stretch. There's no sweetness in her voice – just raw appreciation for how you fill her.

Jennie starts to move, not with gentle rises and falls but with demanding, forceful motions. Her thighs flex powerfully as she lifts herself almost completely off before slamming back down. Each drop makes a slapping sound that fills the room, punctuated by her sharp gasps.

The sight of her riding you is mesmerizing. Her small breasts bounce with each movement, nipples hard and dark against her golden skin. Her stomach muscles visibly tighten with each rise and fall, showing off the definition in her abs that she works so hard for. Her hair, now completely wild from your hands, whips around her shoulders as she moves.

"Touch my tits," she commands, grabbing your hands and placing them on her chest.

You squeeze roughly, pinching her nipples the way you remember she likes. Her head falls back, exposing the elegant column of her throat, a string of curses falling from her lips.

"Fucking hell, your cock feels so good," she says, grinding down hard. "Tell me you've missed this pussy."

"Every fucking day," you admit, thrusting up to meet her movements. The force of it nearly bounces her off you, but she adjusts her balance, her strong thighs gripping your sides.

She leans forward, her hands braced on your chest. The new angle lets her grind her clit against your pubic bone with each thrust. Her nails dig into your skin, leaving crescent marks that burn. Her face hovers above yours, her hair creating a curtain around you both. Sweat beads along her hairline, one drop sliding down her temple to her jaw.

"No one fucks me like you do," she admits, the words sounding torn from her. "No one."

With a surge of need, you move between her thighs, pressing her into the mattress. Her legs wrap around your waist, drawing you closer. Your eyes lock as you drive into her, taking control of the pace.

"Fuck, I missed this tight pussy," you growl, watching her eyes flash at your words.

"Shut up and fuck me harder," she snaps back, digging her heels into your lower back.

You slam into her, setting a brutal pace that has the headboard cracking against the wall. Each thrust jolts her body up the bed, her hair splaying across the pillows like spilled ink. Her small breasts bounce with the impact, nipples hard and begging for attention.

Your hands move to her waist, fingers nearly meeting around her small frame. The contrast of your large hands against her tiny waist makes your head spin. You can feel her hip bones under your thumbs, the delicate architecture of her body beneath your palms.

"Like that? This how you want it?" Your voice is rough, almost unrecognizable with need.

"Yes—don't fucking stop," she gasps, her nails raking down your back hard enough to leave welts.

You lean down, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss. Your tongues battle for dominance as your bodies slam together. The taste of her—sweet with a hint of salt from her sweat—fills your senses. You break away to trail bites down her neck, leaving marks that will remind her of this night long after you're gone.

She arches into you, offering more of herself. You take advantage, moving to her shoulder, then her arm, leaving a trail of bites and kisses along her skin. The salt of her sweat makes your head spin. When you reach the sensitive skin of her inner arm, she lets out a surprised gasp that turns into a deep moan.

"Oh fuck, don't stop," she pants as you run your tongue along the delicate skin of her armpit, tasting the most primal part of her.

In this position, you can see everything—her face contorting with each thrust, the way her stomach muscles tighten when you hit deep, how her lips part on silent screams when you find the perfect angle. Her hair sticks to her temples with sweat, dark strands clinging to her flushed skin.

Sweat makes your bodies slide together, the hotel room filling with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin. You grip her thigh, pushing it higher, opening her wider. The position stretches her leg up toward her chest, showing off the flexibility from her years of dance training.

"Harder," she demands, her voice breaking as you comply. "Fucking wreck me."

You reach down, gripping her jaw, forcing her to look at you as you pound into her. Her eyes are wild, pupils blown with arousal. "This what you came here for? This what you needed?"

Her breathing changes, becoming more ragged. You recognize the signs—she's close again. You adjust your position slightly, hitting that spot inside her that you know drives her wild.

"There!" she cries out, her nails digging crescents into your shoulders.

You maintain the angle, the rhythm, watching her face as pleasure builds. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her body tenses beneath you, on the edge but not quite there.

"Let go," you urge, your thumb finding her clit. "Come for me again."

She shakes her head. "Not yet—not without you."

Something snaps in you at her words. Without warning, you pull out completely and flip her over in one rough motion. She gasps, surprised by the sudden movement as you manhandle her onto her hands and knees. Your hand lands hard on her ass, leaving a bright red handprint on her skin.

"Fuck!" she cries out, more in arousal than pain.

You grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back as you position yourself behind her. Sweat drips down your chest, landing on her back as you line yourself up. You can hear her panting, waiting, her thighs trembling slightly in anticipation.

"This what you want?" you growl against her ear, your chest pressed to her back, cock teasing her entrance.

"Yes," she hisses. "Give it to me."

You slam into her without further warning, burying yourself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The sound she makes is primal—half scream, half moan. Her arms nearly buckle under the force, but you hold her up with your grip on her hair.

"Fuck!" she cries out, her fingers clawing at the sheets.

You establish a punishing rhythm, each thrust making her entire body jerk forward. Her hair is wrapped tight around your fist like a leash, forcing her back to arch at a severe angle. Sweat makes your bodies slide together, your skin slapping against hers with obscene wet sounds. The musky scent of sex fills the air, heavy and intoxicating.

"Look at you taking it," you say, giving her ass another sharp slap that leaves a fresh handprint. "Always said you were made for this."

She looks back over her shoulder, her face a perfect picture of pleasure-pain, mascara smudged at the corners of her eyes. "Fuck you," she pants, but pushes back harder against you, contradicting her words.

The sight of her is overwhelming – her narrow waist flaring out to perfectly rounded hips, the elegant curve of her spine dipping then rising, her hair tangled in your fist. From this angle, you can see everything – the way her back hollows out, how her ass bounces against your hips, the glistening evidence of her arousal coating you both.

You lean forward, running your free hand up her side to roughly grab her breast. The position pushes you deeper, making her gasp. Your fingers find her nipple, pinching hard as you maintain your relentless pace.

"Oh god," she moans, her arms shaking from supporting her weight. "Don't stop."

Her body is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, making her skin glow in the dim light. You can see the muscles in her back shifting beneath her skin with each impact, the way her shoulder blades move as she braces against your thrusts.

"Owen," she warns, voice strained with need. "I'm so close."

Her words push you closer to the edge. You increase your pace, chasing both her pleasure and your own. Each thrust now has purpose, driving deeper, harder. You can feel the pressure building at the base of your spine, your control slipping with every sound she makes.

"I'm close too," you admit, rhythm becoming erratic. "I'm gonna cum."

Her body tenses beneath you, muscles tightening as she approaches her peak. You can feel it building—the way she clenches around you, the trembling in her thighs, her increasingly desperate sounds.

"Oh my God, Owen!" she cries out, her voice breaking on your name. "Fill me up!"

Her orgasm crashes through her—you feel it in the way her body convulses, in how she rhythmically tightens around you, in the broken sounds that escape her throat. The sensation of her pulsing around you pushes you over the edge.

Your release hits with an intensity that whites out your vision—powerful, overwhelming, unstoppable. You empty yourself inside her, every pulse accompanied by a wave of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. Her body milks you, drawing out every last sensation until you're both trembling from the force of it.

As the intensity fades, you collapse beside her on the bed, pulling her close against you. Your arm wraps around her waist as you press gentle kisses to her neck and shoulder. Her body still trembles with small aftershocks, her breathing gradually slowing to normal.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The only sounds in the room are your labored breathing and the distant city noise filtering through the windows. Sweat cools on your skin, making you shiver slightly. Despite the roughness of what just happened, she turns toward you with unexpected tenderness, her small hand coming up to cup your cheek.

She presses her forehead against yours, eyes closed, just breathing you in. A small, almost inaudible snort escapes her as she tries to catch her breath – a startlingly human sound that cuts through the haze of post-sex euphoria. It makes her seem more real somehow, more Jennie than the polished celebrity the world knows.

Her chest still rises and falls rapidly, her heartbeat a quick rhythm you can feel where your bodies press together. Her fingers trace idle patterns on your skin, moving from your chest to your shoulder and back again. It's these quiet moments that always feel more dangerous than the sex – this gentle intimacy that makes you think of what could have been.

"Shit," she finally whispers, a small laugh bubbling up. She looks slightly dazed, her makeup completely ruined, hair a tangled mess. "I forgot how good we are at that."

You brush a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. The gesture is too tender for what this is supposed to be, but you can't help yourself. "Some things you don't forget."

She looks into your eyes and you see a complex mix of satisfaction and something deeper—a longing that mirrors your own. Her hair sticks to her face in damp strands, her skin flushed and glowing in the dim light. Even like this—especially like this—she's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

As she lies in your arms, her breathing gradually steadying, you can't help but think about what might have been between you in another life—one where you could stay instead of always leaving. One where "one night only" wasn't all you ever had.

---

Hours later, once you’re sure she’s asleep, you slip out of the bed. The sheets make a soft sound as you untangle yourself from her limbs. She doesn't stir.

The hotel room feels different at 3 AM. Quieter. The luxury that seemed impressive earlier now feels hollow, just expensive emptiness. You find your sweatpants on the floor where she pulled them off you hours ago.

The balcony door slides open with a whisper. Thirty floors up, the city spreads out like someone spilled light across black velvet. You light a cigarette, cupping your hand against the wind even though there's no one here to see the brief flare of your lighter.

Inside, Jennie sleeps. Her small body barely disturbs the white sheets. In the dim light filtering from the bathroom, you can see the marks you left on her neck, her shoulders. Evidence that you were here. That this happened.

She belongs to someone else now. The thought should bother you more than it does. Maybe you're just used to it - this pattern of coming together briefly, then separating again. Maybe you've convinced yourself it's better this way.

You take a deep drag, feeling the burn in your lungs. It's cold out here in just sweatpants, but the chill feels necessary after the heat of her body against yours for hours.

You've never been good at staying. It's not a point of pride, just a fact, like your height or the sound of your voice. Commitment feels like drowning to you, always has. You've tried to explain this to her before. She said she understood, but the way she looked at you afterward told a different story.

Below, taxis crawl along streets like yellow insects. People spill out of late-night bars, laughing too loud. The city that never sleeps. You'll be gone from it tomorrow. Another show, another hotel room indistinguishable from this one.

You wonder if her boyfriend knows where she is tonight. If he senses something when she slips back into their shared life tomorrow. If he can somehow smell you on her skin despite the shower she'll take before going home.

The cigarette burns down to your fingers. You flick it over the edge, watching its orange tip tumble into darkness.

Jennie knows you better than anyone. This is the thought that keeps you up at night in cities whose names you sometimes forget. She knows your body, your sounds, the things that make you come undone. Worse, she knows the parts of yourself you try to hide from everyone else.

A melody forms in your head. Something slow and hazy, like smoke curling off a cigarette. Words follow naturally - about being in town just for one night. About needing her. About the room you got for just the two of you.

You mouth the words silently, testing how they feel:

I'm in town for one night,

one night only

I came around to put it down, for one night only

Your fans will think it's just another song about sex. They won't know about the way Jennie looked at you when she came. How her body felt like coming home. How you're already planning when you can see her again, even as you tell yourself this was the last time.

Just one night

Got a room for me and you, for one night only

You wanna ride for a lifetime, this is one night only

The song takes shape in your mind, already feeling like a hit. Your producer will love it. Your label will push it. No one will know it's about her. No one except Jennie, if she ever hears it.

The city is turning blue at the edges when you finally go back inside. Morning approaching. Soon you'll have to leave for the airport, for the next city, the next crowd.

Jennie hasn't moved. You slide in beside her, your skin cold from the night air. She makes a small sound in her sleep and shifts toward your body heat, instinctively seeking you out. Her hand finds your chest, rests over your heart.

You wonder what she'd say if you asked her to come with you to Toronto. You won't ask. You both know the routine by now.

One night only. It's never enough. It's all you can handle.

END.

#cloudtrnsprncy #malereader #smut #kpop smut #cloudtsmut #jennie kim #jennie #male reader x jennie #Spotify

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rqnarok · 9 months ago

Text

summary: dark!old man!logan would do anything for the sake of you going back into his arms.

cws/tags: smut, mdni! old man!logan. obsessive behavior. fem!reader. logan calls himself ‘old man’. pet names. unspecified age gap. unstable power dynamic. crying. soft dom!logan. sub!reader. not proofread.

You’re not sure if you can even call him your ‘ex.’

The both of you never had the ‘talk’, and never did have any middle ground stating what kind of relationship this is.

Logan’s way older than you - way more mature - “Need t’be fucked by a real man, ‘s that it, baby?” way more experienced.

No matter how heated the night before, Logan still turns everything cold with his aloofness - and you - you never feel brave enough to speak up against it.

With a heavy heart and numerous self-loathing sessions, you concluded that it was time to let him go - convincing yourself you deserve someone more. Someone you’d be comfortable with to ask for something more.

And you did, well, that’s what you tell yourself as you busied yourself with everything else. Withdrawing from him little by little, texting him things such as ‘Can’t meet you today, sorry’ or ‘Something else came up..’ to avoid ending up on his sheets.

Logan’s not stupid. He may be old, a fucking hundred years old something but he’s not dumb. He knows what you’re doing.

Reading the texts you sent him, he’d grumble curse words under his breaths before tugging off his glasses in a harsh movement.

He just didn’t think you’d last so long dodging him. Logan expected you to give up on the first day of the second week—he was wrong because it’s been a month, damnit.

Sometime during the unlabeled relationship that went on for almost a year already, you put Logan’s number on the list as your ‘alternative’ contact, making people ring his number when yours is not answering.

And Logan always answers your phone calls. He’d justify himself that it’s merely a habit that he’s still trying to break, but truthfully it’s to make sure you’re hanging out with the ‘right people.’

Logan fucking hates it when he’s hearing a guy’s voice on the other line—toughens himself to respond, lowering his voice and curting his answers. He’ll let them know you’re busy.

In the second month, you run back into Logan in desperation.

Your eyes are all puffy from crying because your last date was such a prick! He called you nasty-horrible-sickening names before erasing your number off his phone for no reason.

Logan opens his arms to welcome your hiccuping figure standing before him. Shushing you down and rubbing circles on your back - telling you to tell him who hurted you.

This dependency you hold on him makes his cock twitch. That he’s right: you still seek him out no matter how long it takes.

You don’t even notice how bad it gets—that’s the best thing. You never learn, huh?

That’s alright - because he’ll try for real this time. Groans out praises after praises to you, “What’s that, baby? Y’feel good?” Logan jeers overhead, holding himself over you with his hand gripping onto the headboard, “Too good?” He chuckles as his other hand thumbs on your puffy button.

His rough fingers pad up your clit, sending electricity throughout your body. Making you writhe underneath him and Logan scolds you in the softest way he can, “Stay still f’me, will ya?”

You can’t answer. You can’t even speak outside of high-pitched whines, a mess of your own saliva drips until it reaches your chin. Your whole body is finally sticky after it’s been cold for weeks. His fat cock driving onto his home over and over, better than anything you’ve ever felt before.

“Yeah, y’just need your old man, hm? No one else can t‘care of this pussy like I do, sweetheart.”

He maliciously slows down his movement to watch his length entering your wet folds, humming at the vulgar squelching sound, “Come take a look a’her, baby. She’s squeezing me in - misses me so much.”

The sight of him is trouble, messy greying hair and beard; chest full of scars. Everything you should’ve stayed away from.

”Yeayeahyea- Missed you so m-much. Ah-”

But you cannot think when he’s holding you like this - when he angles himself so his tip is continuously hitting against that spongy spot inside you that makes your body weak.

A string of ah ah ahs are leaving your mouth as he growls next to your face. “‘M cumming —”

His head falls back as he feels how your dripping pussy milks him dry, instantly following after as he buries himself deeper to make sure none of his cum drips out, “F-fuck. Good fuckin’ girl.”

When he’s finished, Logan falls atop you in tiredness before rolling himself slightly to the side so he doesn’t suffocate you with his weight. Pampering your tear-flushed cheeks with slow kisses - the feel of his beard burning onto your skin like a streak of fire.

“C’meback, sweet girl.” He whispers in a quiet voice, hoping you’d give in completely.

And you do - you always do.

Moments later, he’d have you resting on his chest, fingers combing through your hair to calm you down from the noises inside your head.

You don’t have to know that he was the one who drove your date away.

It’s a mistake that the boy called Logan’s number because he was so impatient to hear back from you. A goddamn mistake.

Because of that, Logan became aware of his existence and tracks him down. Threatens the other guy to stay the fuck away from you.

Poor guy almost pissed his pants in fright. Running away scared shitless after Logan let go of his collar.

Logan doesn’t know when exactly he turned into this wild animal. A sick old fuck who’d do anything to keep you in his embrace.

Why does it matter? Everything is in its right place now. He’ll make sure you’d never have to know about the things he’d do for you.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #old man logan #old man!logan #old man logan x reader #old man logan smut #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine #logan by nina <3

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urmum-lovesme · 3 months ago

Note

Can you right more of toxic!rafe x toxic!reader please. The first one was so good

more Toxic!Rafe Cameron and Toxic!Reader. . . say less

Rafe's Rover was parked somewhere off the far side of the Cut, deep between the trees far enough from prying eyes but still close enough that the sound of nearby waves carries through the cracked windows. The scent of weed lingers thick in the air, mixing with the familiar scent of the cars air-freshener. Smoke floats around them, illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard lights. Y/N leans her head back against the seat, letting out a slow, drawn-out exhale, a white cloud curling above her.

“You’re a bad influence.”

“You’re acting like you didn’t ask for this.”

Rafe, reclined in the driver’s seat, lazily flicks ash down into the Diet Coke can she'd brought in with her, now long empty. Y/N tilts her head toward him, her eyes half-lidded.

“I didn’t ask to get this high. . . can't feel m'legs”

“That’s the point.”

Rafe chuckles, passing the joint back to her. She takes it between her fingers, bringing it to her lips and inhaling slowly. The burn is familiar, comforting even, but everything feels heavier, slower. The song playing through the car speakers- some crappy frat boy music Rafe switched on- feels like it’s vibrating in her bones. He watches her, his gaze lingering too long. She exhales the smoke in his direction, eyes meeting his through the haze.

“What?”

“You look good like that.”

Rafe shrugs, amusement flickering in his darkened gaze. Y/N scoffs, but the lazy grin tugging at her lips betrays her.

“You’re so fucking predictable.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that mean?”

Rafe shifts in his seat, tilting his head slightly. Y/N hums, tapping her fingers against her bare thigh, her sock-clad feet resting on the dash of the car. He'd always scold her when she did that, calling her spoilt, sometimes his hand coming out to drag her feet to the floor; but she never listened to him because who was he to tell her what to do?

“Means I know exactly how this is gonna go. You’re gonna get cocky, say some stupid shit n' piss me off”

“Nah. You’re wrong.”

Rafe takes the joint from her resting it between his fingers before speaking, his voice lower now. She raises an eyebrow at his disagreement.

“Oh? Enlighten me then.”

Rafe exhales, smoke trailing between them like a ghost as he places the joint down onto the can in the cup holder and leans over slightly, his forearm resting on the armrest between them.

“We’re gonna sit here, finish this, and then…” He glances over at her lips briefly before looking back up to her eyes.

“You’re gonna get all clingy n'whiny and start touching me.”

“Fuck you Cameron.”

Y/N lets out a laugh, shoving his arm and Rafe grins, but he catches her wrist, holding it between his fingers as he turns to face her fully. Y/N doesn’t pull away, just tilts her head, challenging.

“I’m right though.”

“You think you know me so well.”

“I do.”

He responded as his grip tightened just slightly. The air shifts, tension thick between them. The weed only amplifies it- the way time seems to stretch, the way the world outside the car feels insignificant compared to whatever this is between them. His other hand lifts the joint to his lips, taking a slow drag. It’s burning close to the end now, the paper crackling slightly as the embers glow red. Y/N watches him, eyes heavy-lidded, her lips parting slightly.

“You gonna finish that by yourself?”

Rafe exhales slowly through his nose, shaking his head to himself with a quiet chuckle. Of course she’d say that. She always does this-pushes just enough to get under his skin.

Spoilt princess

Without a word, he takes another hit, deeper this time, letting the smoke sit in his lungs. Then, before she can say anything else, his free hand finds her jaw, fingers pressing into her skin as he pulls her closer. His lips brush against hers- barely, just enough for her to feel how warm he is, how intoxicatingly close. Y/N doesn’t move away, doesn’t even think to. Instead, she parts her lips just slightly, and that’s all Rafe needs. He exhales slow, deliberate, pushing the smoke into her mouth, their breaths tangling, heavy and heady. Her lashes flutter, her fingers wrapping around his wrist as she inhales, taking it in, her body buzzing with the mix of weed and him. Rafe doesn’t pull back right away. His lips hover near hers, close enough that she can feel the smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Happy now, brat?”

His voice is low, teasing, dripping with something heavier. Y/N exhales softly, the last remnants of the smoke slipping past her lips. Her head feels light, her body warm, and his words send a shiver down her spine. But she doesn’t let it show. Not yet. Instead, she tilts her head, looking at him

“Almost.”

Rafe raises a brow, his thumb still resting against her jaw, pressing just slightly. His thumb glides across her skin before it tugs against her lower lip, tugging it down teasing her like he always does.

Like he knows he can.

Y/N’s breath hitches for a fraction of a second, but she covers it well, her gaze flicking up to meet his through her lashes. Slow, deliberate. She leans in, close enough for her lips to ghost over his, for their breaths to mix in the muggy air of the car. But she doesn’t kiss him. She just breathes in like she’s savouring him, stretching the tension between them just enough to make it unbearable.

Her hand drags down his arm slow and lazy, her nails skimming his skin before trailing lower- over his ribs, the plane of his abs, until her fingers graze his belt buckle.

And that’s where they stop.

Resting there.

Waiting.

Rafe watches her, his smirk growing sharper, his grip on her jaw never faltering. He exhales through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s holding back an amused grin.

"Told you I was right."

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sehodreams · 1 year ago

Text

fanta grape

TW and tags: threesome (late poly?), cheating, dubious consent (from smoking and drinking), toxic!Seunghan.

WC: 6.8K (okay we getting better at making shorter stuff)

Summary: Seunghan doesn’t need a clingy girlfriend, but Anton and Wonbin do.

Comment: I did say that pretty boys with fried hair were my weakness. I think the images make this look darker than what it really is, sorry if you expect something heavy dark, this is not it (except for Seunghan’s toxic behaviour).

7:30 PM was too early to give up.

You shifted in your seat, trying to concentrate on another thing that wasn’t the hour, how the light of the TV was slightly blinding you in the dark room, and how the skin under your thighs was sweating.

Half an hour before you had told yourself that nothing would make you leave without having a proper conversation with your boyfriend, but he not being there hadn’t crossed your mind, and you were just so relieved that his friends hadn’t asked you to leave, that the possibility of Seunghan not coming back with the knowledge of you being there just started to settle in.

Anton was already choosing a movie from the big carton box in Wonbin’s living room when you arrived, and Wonbin was picking a few beers when he saw you from his window, grabbing a fanta grape for you, perfectly knowing why you were standing there on his doorstep at 7PM.

Looking at the movie, between your boyfriend’s friends on each side, you tried to remind yourself why you were there.

Seunghan had dated you for almost half a year, he’s been your first everything, your first date, your first confession, your first boyfriend and your first orgasm, and everything was good, so you didn’t get why the sudden change with him.

Well, not everything was good, but didn’t all couples have problems? Why would he act so differently after some discussions and a few refusals?

It’s been days since the last time he answered one of your calls, and his messages were getting shorter and shorter, leaving you on read for hours and only answering when he knew you were asleep.

Sorry, been busy.

What kind of excuse was that?

You decided to have a talk with him to fix things, perhaps you weren’t paying enough attention to other signals, or perhaps he was getting tired of you not being able to go to his gigs and wait for him when he practised, but he knew how was your family when you started, so why was he suddenly pushing you to do things he perfectly knew you couldn’t?

‘’Can you call him again?’’ you asked Anton for the third time.

You didn’t dare to look him in the eyes while making that question again, but Seunghan wasn’t answering any of your calls, and you didn’t know what else to do, he had at least answered the first time Anton called him when you arrived.

You didn’t have to say anything for him to grab his phone and mark Seunghan’s number when you arrived. ‘’She’s here’’ he had said, and he had tried to pass you the phone, but Seunghan had ended the call before you could talk.

Still, even having bothered him enough after that first call, Anton did it, he called him, and to prove he was doing it, he showed you how his name appeared on his screen, ringing a couple of times before the woman’s voice saying you could leave a message, and that you knew a bit too well by that point, started.

Seunghan was declining the calls of his friends now.

You shifted on your seat, looking down at your hands and the drops of the cold can fall over your uncovered thighs.

Feeling stupid, you bit the inside of your cheek, trying to hold back your tears to not show how much you were hurting in front of the boys.

‘’Baby, what’s wrong?’’ Wonbin asked, looking at your shoulders get smaller and you blinking the tears away.

He knew what was wrong, everyone knew.

‘’Seunghan is seeing someone else, right?’’ you asked back, hands gripping the metallic object in your hands, leaving dents on it, and making your fingertips change from the reddish lively colour they always had to a pale one.

Both stayed silent.

‘’I’m so stupid’’ you sourly laughed, drinking the rest of your fanta.

Anton stood up to grab you another one, you knew it, but shaking your head you asked for a beer instead.

‘’But you hate it’’ he replied.

‘’Anton, I’ve been abandoned, could you please give me a beer?’’ you said, hurt, and as polite as always.

‘’Try mine’’ Wonbin offered, putting his bottle in front of you and surprising you, but resting your hand over his holding the drink, you accepted that he maintained it in the air for you, moved it closer to your mouth and tilted it for you to drink it.

It tasted terrible, you didn’t understand why they all drank it like water, you didn’t see the point of getting drunk, and usually, when you went out with them, you ended up being the one taking care of your boyfriend at parties instead of the other way around, like he usually promised before he made you sneak out.

Feeling even sadder, you moved his hand higher and drank a bigger gulp of that beer with earthy flavour.

Making a face at the end, and pushing Wonbin’s hand away, you didn’t want to say out loud how bad it tasted so Anton didn’t say an I told you that reminded you of your dad every time you made a mistake, like dating Seunghan.

Anton gave you another can of your fanta grape and sat with crossed arms, focusing on the TV again to not make you conscious.

‘’Thank you’’ you said, and he nodded.

‘’Just drink what you want, we buy that stuff for you anyways’’ Anton said later.

You felt piteous, and trying to brush the awkward moment you put yourself on, when your eyes saw Wonbin’s stash on the TV stand, you interrupted them again.

‘’Why aren’t you smoking?’’ you asked purely out of curiosity.

They used to always share a joint after they finished playing the same five songs they had an entire afternoon, and the first times they had even invited you to smoke with them, or well, Seunghan did, until Wonbin told him to leave you alone if you didn’t want to.

You didn’t like to stay there for long for that reason, you wouldn’t do anything at all, yet you felt like an uninvited guest sitting and limiting them with your presence because of all the things you couldn’t do, afraid of making them hate you every time you walked there with Seunghan pulling you by the hand.

‘’I thought you hated when the smell stayed on your clothes’’ Wonbin replied, and it wasn't a guess, he had heard you telling it to Seunghan when he tried to convince you that a hit wouldn’t hurt you.

You didn’t hate it solely because of that, you hated that it was an aroma hard to mask, and your dad was not as hard on you as he was before, but you still trembled every time you arrived at your house after spending an afternoon with a high Seunghan, afraid of your dad thinking that you were the one smoking it, and the consequences you would have to face.

You hated when Seunghan tried to force you onto things he knew would put you in a lot of trouble, it was nice that he had pushed you to do certain things you wouldn’t have dared until you met him, like wearing skirts, buying makeup and going to parties, but you had explained your reasons in detail for not smoking, and he had continued insisting.

Still, you never expected them all to not smoke for something you had told your boyfriend in supposed secret.

‘’That didn’t stop you before’’ you answered, taking another sip of your soda and trying to brush off the sudden blush on your cheeks, maybe you were overthinking it, you tried to tell yourself, why would they do something like that for you when they weren’t even something yours? They were your boyfriend’s friends, and nothing else, ‘’you can smoke if you want, don’t mind me’’.

Frowning, you let the new can rest over your thighs, and feeling the intense coldness bring you back to the moment, you saw how Anton didn’t waste a single second to light a joint up, happy to finally do something with his mouth now that he had your permission.

He always preferred smoking more than drinking, so you couldn’t understand how he survived the ‘’not smoking’’ rule they had created without your knowledge, and even if you weren’t around that much lately for it to be considered a real restrain, it still surprised you.

That didn’t change the fact that you had taken care of him on a couple of occasions though. Just like holding Wonbin’s hair when he got extremely wasted and threw up in strangers' bathrooms, you had let Anton sleep with his head on your lap when he smoked and ate a bit too much while Seunghan or Sohee ran to 24/7 convenience stores for something to bring him back to life.

‘’Do you want to try it?’’ he asked you, and you, deciding to do something different for your break-up, nodded.

‘’Do you even know how to smoke?’’ Wonbin inquired, laughing beside you.

‘’I’ve seen you two doing it more than enough’’ you quickly said, sounding different from usual and making Anton laugh, because it was true, especially with him.

Passing you the stick, you observed it for a good minute between your fingers, debating in your insides if it was worthy, but then you looked to the side, at how the drums frames of your boyfriend reflected the light of the TV, and you remembered why you were there.

Taking in air, you breathed, then moved it closer to your face, and seeing the little tip, you sucked it deep and nice.

They watched you as if they were studying you, having high expectations of your confidence, and laughing loudly when you coughed.

‘’Calm down’’ Wonbin took the joint from your hand, showing you how to do it right.

His lips barely touched it, and he nicely inhaled the smoke, holding it in like a pro, closing his eyes, and then slowly letting it out. It was an honest lesson, but you felt as if he had challenged you, and letting him pass it to Anton, you waited for your turn to prove yourself again.

This time you did it better, holding it in for longer, and softly letting it out like he did, watching him look at you with that cheeky grin.

It wasn’t even 8:15 when you checked again, and you had until 10 to stay and then go home, that was your curfew and you followed it religiously to avoid problems. So, watching Rocky get beaten once again on a TV old enough to be in your grandparents’ basement, you decided to close your eyes and let the weed effects take you, with an I have enough time in mind.

You wanted to see what was that magic that made everyone love it.

Leaning on the back of the couch, after many minutes, you started to feel conscious of different things, like the electric sound of the people cheering inside the old TV, the sticky sensation of the dirty fabric of the sofa under your recently shaved legs, and even more, the boy's legs touching yours on each side.

Of course they would be manspreading, they were in an indie/rock/you don’t know what the fuck band, so the way they caged you between their bodies and made you uncomfortable to find their own comfort probably didn’t even cross their minds.

Your eyelids opened when you heard a loud slam come from the movie, startling you, and you decided to watch the ceiling above you, recognizing the little spots from the humidity you had disliked since you stepped into that garage.

Wow, you really disliked, to not say hated, many things.

Just realizing it, you noticed that you disliked that garage from the first time you arrived, you disliked the old green couch that Wonbin made your boyfriend push from three streets down to his house, you disliked the old TV with static noise that your boyfriend and his friends made you watch, and you especially disliked that your boyfriend left you aside for all those things you hated without a doubt.

Why were you even trying it? You asked yourself.

After getting stressed for so many days, you didn’t have the energy to keep blaming yourself for it, and when Rocky had his first date with Adrianna, you laughed with the boys at Rocky’s corniness when he followed her around the ice ring.

Having seen that movie more times with them than necessary, that was one of the few scenes you honestly enjoyed, concentrating on it even when your boyfriend made you mad after he dropped a bomb like ‘’sorry, forgot we had this gig later, so I won’t be able to go to our date’’.

Or perhaps you concentrated because Anton always turned up the volume when that scene came since he saw you liked it too.

Watching them walk the street, you leaned to Wonbin’s side without noticing. His leather jacket felt glue-like against your cheek, but you didn’t mind, and looking at Rocky ramble about his turtles to catch Adrianna’s attention, you laughed when you saw the ugly pink lamp above them that was identical to the lamp Wonbin had put on one of the corners there.

‘’Rocky’s apartment reminds me of here’’ Anton said, referring to Wonbin’s ugly garage.

‘’What are you saying?’’ you interrupted him, ‘’Rocky is the original, Wonbin needs more than old cabinets, leaking pipes and granny lamps to catch him.’’

Wonbin only looked at you and shook his head with a smile, not even trying to defend himself.

When you focused on the movie again instead of the sensation of Wonbin’s leg pushing yours jokingly and his hand resting on your knee like he had done many times, Rocky was cornering her in his entrance, and on any other occasion you would’ve pushed his hand away, but when you saw the ambience of the movie get heavier, you couldn’t focus on anything that wasn’t the kiss about to happen and how cold his hand that previously shared his drink with you felt against your skin.

Wonbin’s hand was trailing a bit higher, still a decent distance from anything too alarming, and you felt something forming in your insides, like a little spark that you kind of liked, so you didn’t stop him.

When Rocky kissed her, you squeezed your legs, trapping Wonbin’s hand between your legs, dangerously high and near your panties.

The kiss was quick but deep, and you felt Wonbin’s hand fitting perfectly between your legs, long fingers and a wide palm, feeling good and making you clench around nothing.

You woke up, you were getting wet with the hand of your boyfriend’s friend between your thighs, and opening them to let it free, you shifted on your place, pulling down your skirt as much as you could.

‘’Everything okay?’’ you heard Anton asking after you had pushed his leg with yours when you freed Wonbin’s hand.

Looking at him with lost eyes, you nodded, trying to brush off what had just happened.

Concentrating on the screen again, you leaned against Anton this time, almost a bit too much, trying to put a little distance between Wonbin and you so his hand didn’t get lost again.

Anton directed his eyes at you when he felt you pressing your chest against his arm, and again, you didn’t mean to, it just felt comfortable to be against him, and you couldn’t think twice about what you were doing when you pressed your chest again.

Liar.

You lied to yourself once again, like when you told yourself Seunghan didn’t mean to make you cry with his jokes, or when he lied saying he wasn’t high so you let him sneak into your room in the middle of the night, or when he tried to make you eat an edible that Anton snatched from your hand before you could taste it.

Suddenly, with that memory, Anton protecting you from a danger you didn’t know, you wanted to get closer to him, and for the first time that night, you felt happy to have chosen such a skimpy outfit that did nothing to shield you from the freezing night.

You just put on what Seunghan liked, what usually caught his attention, because that was your goal, not to survive the air of the winter night, and the big sweater that you tossed to one of Wonbin’s bushes hadn’t helped you avoid your neighbours’ stares, but at least it fooled your mother enough when you left before your father came from work.

Trying to remember the name of the last five presidents to keep you sane (which soon became the name of the last five songs you heard while walking there), you saw the way Wonbin was paying more attention to you on his side than the TV in front of you two, and not being able to pull your eyes away from him and his messy ashy blonde hair, probably as dirty as his garage, still hugging Anton’s arm, your smile got bigger when he moved a string of your hair behind your ear.

"You're high" he affirmed, and you, not confirming it, only closed your eyes to the sensation of his fingertips grazing a little spot behind your ear.

Shit, you murmured inside your mind.

You were getting too wet for your own good, and that wouldn't have been a problem if you were with your boyfriend, he would've immediately noticed the change in your demeanour and would've taken you to the bathroom to give you a quick fuck (not making you cum), helping you endure the need until he could walk you home and waited for your sign so he could climb the tree near your window.

But he wasn't there, and you didn't know what to do to make your cunt stop pulsating around nothing.

Gulping, you moved your eyes to Anton.

Everything you were feeling had to be because of that stupid joint, and he’d know what to do, like he always does.

"Should we take her home?" He asked, noticing the way you were uncomfortable with both pairs of eyes over you, hiding your face on his side out of embarrassment.

"Hell no, her dad is going to shoot us" Wonbin quickly answered.

You laughed at that, the little giggle making them smile too, amused with your sudden happiness, an image of you they weren’t used to, but it was true, your dad would shoot at them if they left his princess with wobbly legs in his doorstep, and he would kill you later too, which was actually kind of upsetting, and probably the reason why you always thought everything twice, my dad is going to kill me if he finds out, so no one should’ve laughed, but you all did.

Still, your imagination made you squeeze your thighs, making you see another way in which they would leave you with said wobbly legs, and feeling a bit of relief from the pressure that was building in your abdomen, you shamelessly repeated the action.

‘’Look at this girl, what do you think you’re doing?’’ Wonbin asked with a grin.

You should’ve stopped, you should’ve listened to that part in your mind that told you that you were acting like a fucking slut and to go home, but you didn’t, and with an exhale, you lied on your back as far as you could, and looking at them, you waited for one of them to do something.

Your exposed skin started to prickle, and a stronger tingle installed between your legs when Wonbin��s hand posed over your knee again.

Even if they didn’t do anything intense, when Anton’s hand gripped your other knee, a mewl left your mouth, calling for them to do something else than just touching that part of you.

‘’Fuck, what should we do?’’ Anton asked, without a grin, licking his lips and a frown on his forehead, ready to eat his meal.

‘’Shit do I know, I just want to touch her’’ Wonbin said.

Anton was relying on the older to say something, and you kind of did too. If he sent you home, you doubted you could continue with your little show, or show your face to them ever again, and you would end up unsatisfied, but at least you would keep a bit of your pride that Seunghan had smashed.

‘’Her nipples are so hard’’ the younger commented, eyes fixed on your perky buds standing under your white top that did nothing to hide them.

They could easily see the outline of them under the thick fabric, making their mouths dry for a taste.

‘’If you open your legs for us, we’ll touch you, but only if you do, we won’t do anything unless you show us what you want’’ Wonbin declared.

Your escape, that was your opportunity to leave, you could stay with your legs closed, or you could stand and walk out, you were high, but not that high, and you had no reason to depend on any of them to go home.

Watching the movie, you inhaled as much air as you could.

You look pretty tonight, you know? with an unclear mind, you heard the dialogue, Rocky saying it to his girl before his fight.

That was your fight now.

‘’How do I look tonight?’’ you let the question out.

You had dressed for Seunghan, an outfit you wouldn’t have worn in your wildest dreams before and that made you feel like a clown walking around, a foreigner on your own skin.

That wasn’t you, and when the boys saw you, they watched you from head to toe before they announced that Seunghan had just left, which felt kind of nice too.

‘’What do you expect me to say? You look gorgeous, but I have to admit it bothers me that you didn’t dress like that to see me’’ Wonbin smiled.

‘’You have no idea how much I love how you look in this skirt, but it makes me crazy to think you had to walk here alone’’ Anton didn’t smile.

You look fine was everything Seunghan would’ve said, not even looking at you.

Both answers felt correct in their way, and not having any other reason to stop yourself anymore, you were single after all, you opened your legs, and being bolder than usual, you lifted the hem of your skirt for them enough to see your underwear.

‘’Shit, my baby must’ve been hurting so much’’ Wonbin teased, pressing his fingers over your clothed cunt and drawing the form of your lips over them.

‘’She looks in so much pain’’ Anton agreed, and his hand went to your tit, pinching one of your nipples like he had been wanting since he saw you cross Wonbin’s door.

Not wearing a bra, he used his thumb and index to play with them, making your mouth fall open with a silent moan.

‘’Don’t be like that’’ your back arched to give Anton better access to your chest, so he touched you better, like you wanted to be touched, ‘’be kind, please’’.

Wonbin closed his eyes and Anton shook his head, both smiling from ear to ear.

‘’Don’t worry baby, you took care of us, now we’ll take care of you’’ Wonbin pushed your panties to the side and slid his middle finger up and down between your wet lips, ‘’She’s dripping so much, I think I can push one inside without problem’’.

‘’Has Seunghan ever made you cum with his fingers?’’ Anton asked.

You didn’t want to answer, it was so private, something between you and your boyfriend (now ex), and they could see in your flushing cheeks and your wavering eyes how you wouldn’t put Seunghan to shame even if he didn’t treat you right, and that was even more adorable for them.

‘’It’s okay princess, you don’t have to answer, tonight you’ll learn how a real orgasm feels like’’ Anton answered himself.

Both of them had turned to you a long time ago, and making you spread more for them, to show everything, they engraved the image of your pussy glistening and the juices that reflected the only light there.

‘’So fucking pretty’’ Wonbin cursed, licking his finger that had just touched you, ‘’as sweet as I imagined’’ he groaned, fingers going to your clit to recollect more of your wetness.

All tender and inviting, Anton’s left hand went from your chest to your pussy, fighting with Wonbin to thumb your clit, until he won, and Wonbin had to feel content with filling your entrance with one of his fingers.

9:10 PM

You looked at the hour, reminding yourself that you had to leave at ten.

‘’I’ll get punished if I don’t get home by ten…’’ you cried when Wonbin added one more finger, pushing them in and then pulling them out until just the tip of his fingers stayed inside.

Anton kept making circles over your clit, repeating Wonbin’s action and licking his fingers before going back to his job.

‘’We’ll walk you home princess, don’t worry’’ Anton secured.

‘’Fuck’’ you moaned when Wonbin increased the pace of his fingers fucking you.

His guitarist's fingers were working you so well, and you never doubted he had a talent when he played songs for you while waiting for your boyfriend to arrive, but to feel the same fingers playing with your insides confirmed his talent even more, and soon your hand went to his wrist, trying to stop him from making you cry.

‘’Too good’’ you cried, forgetting that Anton was also the culprit of that tightness forming on your core, letting his stimulations continue.

‘’I know baby, I know’’ Wonbin smiled, stopping his movements and watching the minor rolling your little bud, making you tremble and tear up, squirming to escape a pleasure you had never felt so intense before.

That didn’t last long, Wonbin couldn’t let himself be overshadowed by another boy, and with your hand still wrapping his wrist, he went back to do scissoring motions inside you.

You didn’t know what name to call, little sobs escaping from you and making them laugh at how pretty you looked even when being and making a mess.

You were leaking over Wonbin’s couch, leaving a big dark spot under you, and if you had been conscious enough, you would’ve stopped them, but you felt such an intense pressure approaching you that you could only concentrate on the way Wonbin’s fingers were opening you so good and how Anton wasn’t drawing circles anymore, roughly moving his hand from one side to the other to make you cum.

He could see it coming, your chest heavily moving up and down while tears pricked your eyes, and he had to show you he was true to his words, unlike Seunghan, so he decided to teach you what a real orgasm felt like.

Clenching around Wonbin’s fingers, Anton flicked your clit while Wonbin rushed his fingers into thrusting harder, making you cum with his digits inside you.

Yes, Anton kept murmuring when he saw your abdomen shaking and felt your pussy quivering under his hand.

With toes curling, legs trembling and eyes rolling, you came over their hands incredibly strong, a little gush dripping over Wonbin’s palm and his couch.

That didn’t stop them, they didn’t care that you were cumming, and they continued until you convulsed and cried for them to please stop.

It wasn’t even 9:25 and they had already given you the best orgasm of your life.

Your body was numb after they stopped, your eyes dropped closed, and the tears didn’t stop rolling down your cheeks, making Anton clean them with his thumb.

‘’Are you okay?’’ he asked you because your tears wouldn’t stop.

‘’Yes, sorry, too good’’ was the only coherent sentence that you could form.

Looking bright, Wonbin left a quick kiss on your lips, wrapping your throat with his hand to maintain you in your position for him.

Anton, wanting one too, did the same thing, with his hand on your chest instead.

Taking turns, they stole the little air you tried to retrieve, making you more dizzy with their mouths than with the weed you had smoked not long ago and the beer Wonbin had given to you so lovingly.

Your body was warm, and you weren’t sure exactly what you wanted, but your nipples were in pain, needing more than the delicate friction of Anton’s fingers over your top, and whining, you wanted them to touch you like they had just done, or even more.

‘’One more?’’ Anton asked when he saw you trying to close your legs in your place, trying to find any kind of relief.

‘’Yes, please’’ you said, and he, feeling proud of his good girl, gave your pussy a soft smack, telling you to open your legs more for him.

‘’We can give you something better than fingers’’ Wonbin said, making you turn to him, and knowing what he was referring to, you nodded.

You didn’t need to think things too much, you wanted to feel good, you were just abandoned, and if they were two boys willing to give you a good time for a night, why would you stop now?

‘’But not today’’ Wonbin continued, making you let a painful noise out.

‘’Why?’’ you asked sad.

‘’We’ve been waiting so much for you, your first time with us is not going to be this way’’ Anton answered.

You were too deep in a haze to understand him, and confused, you could only blink when you heard him.

Because they were kissing you just seconds ago, they were leaning towards you, and each of them, seeing you under them from their own side, blocked the TV and the big clock from your sight.

‘’But I want to cum’’ you cried, not caring about anything else and interrupting them from continuing with their reasons to not fuck you.

‘’That’s okay baby, all we are saying is that we won’t fuck you tonight’’ Wonbin laughed at your request, ‘’we’ll definitely make you cum one more time, we can’t let our girl go home in pain, but you need to come back in your senses if you want us to fuck you’’ he explained.

‘’Our girl’’ Anton caressed your cheek while Wonbin trailed down his hand from your neck to between your breasts.

That sentence seemed too dreamy for him, having waited so long to say it, not daring himself to voice it when you weren’t really his.

‘’Your girl?’’ you asked.

‘’Our girl’’ Wonbin confirmed.

They always hated the way Seunghan treated you, such a cute little thing like you should always be treated like a precious doll, with care, and spoiled with the best things.

Sadly, the lucky bastard had found you before them, and they could only see you from afar, everything, from the friendship with Seunghan to your heart eyes directed at him, stopping them.

Anton was always the one putting your drinks on Wonbin’s shopping car, and the last hated paying for unnecessary shit, judging deep inside any coloured can that he saw in the same aisle of his beers, yet he let the youngest sneak the box with the memory of your smile when you opened his fridge and found what you liked.

I’m not her boyfriend, Anton said in his mind when he ran to grab your fanta grape.

I’m not her boyfriend, Wonbin reminded himself when he tapped his card.

But now you were their girl, and they would treat you like you deserved.

Not believing what you just heard, you felt so loved with their eyes over you and his hands roaming your body that you slid down on the couch, making your cunt easier for them to access, and with some difficulty you placed your hand over your pelvis, going down a bit more to push your folds apart and expose your entrance, presenting them your little hole clenching around nothing.

‘’Your girl’’ you exhaled, weak against their care.

Anton was faster than Wonbin, his hand quickly finding your pussy and cupping it to not let the oldest fuck you with his fingers again, pushing his own inside you this time.

The other, accepting his loss, lifted your top to let your breasts free, which bounced with the fabric pulling them up and then letting them fall down naked.

Your pretty nipples begged for them to give them attention, all hard and standing since you arrived thanks to the chilly air that had impacted you on your way there.

‘’Been dying for a taste’’ Wonbin admitted, letting Anton take his place with his fingers inside you and launching his tongue to lick your bud.

His velvet tongue felt amazing on your smooth skin, making you drip more over Anton’s digits.

Anton’s fingers were a lot longer than Wonbin’s, and he easily grazed a certain spot that made you gasp and shake your head at how intense it felt, receiving more of your leaking juices as a response when he pushed it again.

‘’Too much?’’ he asked, and it was too much, but you denied it.

Pulling away, he slowly went back in, trying to make you used to him and the size of his fingers.

‘’She wants more’’ Wonbin said, caressing your cheek and obliging you to let the lip you hadn’t realized you were biting hard, free. ‘’Ain’t I right?’’ he wanted you to answer.

‘’Yes,’’ you sighed.

Gritting his teeth, Anton did the same action, but quicker this time, pulling out his fingers and pushing them back in harder and faster, making you moan and nod at the thrusts.

‘’Aw she likes it’’ Wonbin commented, hand cupping your jaw and leaving a soft kiss on your cheek while his other hand stayed playing with the nipple he was previously licking.

Anton dragged his fingers in and out, liking the vision of you frowning and moaning under him, but even more, how you were receiving more attention than what you needed from Wonbin’s part.

That was what you deserved, undivided attention and care from them, to drown in pleasure and forget about everything that wasn’t worth your time.

Only they were worth your time.

Lost in the sensation of your cunt taking his fingers so well, Anton kept pounding into you, slowly at times, to then fuck you harder and faster until you cried and tried to get away from his hand.

Wonbin’s hand that fingered you just minutes ago moved to your tummy, pressing his palm to help you get closer to your orgasm while his nose nuzzled behind your ear and his breath hit your cheek.

‘’She’s so tight’’ Anton commented, wrists almost completely stopping and thumb brushing your clit.

‘’I know, she’ll take us so good later’’ Wonbin almost groaned.

You cried when you heard that, they were fucking you so good only with their fingers, you couldn’t even imagine how good their cocks would make you feel. You squirmed in your place, trying to close your legs to stop you from becoming so sensitive, not getting far with the boy's hands gripping your thighs and maintaining you in your position for them.

‘’You wanted to cum’’ Wonbin reminded you.

‘’Yes, I’m sorry’’ you said, biting your lip again and letting yourself be fucked by Anton’s fingers.

Anton didn’t hurry, gently moving the two fingers he had inside you in scissoring motions this time, he felt your warm and wet walls trap him.

‘’She’s going to cum’’ Wonbin said, recognizing your same expression from before, the way your chest was agitated and your body convulsing.

‘’Oh princess, cum for me’’ Anton demanded, needing to see your orgasm leaking down his hand just like you did for Wonbin.

Ruthlessly moving in and out his wrist, he enjoyed your face contorting for him and your pussy fluttering, and a heavier stream was released, making another mess over Wonbin’s couch and his hand.

You couldn’t feel your body anymore, and you had no idea at what time or how you got home, but when you woke up you were in your room with clean clothes and as relaxed as never.

Soon you were filled with anxiety, scared of how you had arrived and what would your parents say. You didn’t dare to go out of your room, and looking at the hour, you felt your nerves fall when you saw that your father had already left for work and your mother probably had gone out to do some shopping like she usually did that day.

You had no messages from any of them saying that they would talk to you later, and it was already passed midday, so you tried to think that things were probably all okay. However, you didn’t expect to see a message from Anton and Wonbin asking how you felt.

Come see us later, Wonbin had added.

What the hell had been that the day before? You stared at your wall for minutes until you decided that you wouldn’t know unless you asked it yourself.

Later that day, Sungchan opened the door for you when you arrived, his face pale at seeing you there.

You didn’t know who to ask for, so you timidly smiled at him and waited for him to simply let you in.

‘’Let her in’’ Wonbin said when he saw you, so Sungchan had no option but to let you.

Smiling, Wonbin tilted his head to where his kitchen connected with his garage, and you nodded understanding him, walking there with insecure steps.

‘’What the hell do you think you’re doing?’’ you heard Sungchan ask Wonbin in a whisper.

‘’You don’t care’’ Wonbin answered, not in a whisper.

Entering the garage, Wonbin’s couch was still there, covered only by a flannel where you dripped down, and suddenly an embarrassing memory came back to you in a flashback.

‘’I’m so sorry’’ you had apologized when the three of you observed the big spots you had left with your orgasms.

‘’It’s okay’’ Wonbin laughed, patting your back to console you.

‘’That’s kind of hot’’ Anton added, eyes focused on the way it showed perfectly how good they had treated you.

Now Anton was sitting on a single new couch that stuck out in the middle of the well-known garage, immediately smiling when he saw you.

There was a new face too, a girl sitting in the corner of the couch that reminded you of your old you, silent and feigning a smile, like when you waited for Seunghan to come back when he left you in painful silence with his friends the first days.

You walked to Anton, still wary, but more confident after he seemed happy to see you there.

‘’Hey,’’ Anton said, taking your hand to play with the tips of your fingers, to then pull you closer and make you sit on his lap.

His arms wrapped your waist perfectly, letting a greeting kiss behind your ear that made you giggle, making you feel comfortable on your new seat.

You felt the eyes of the new girl staring at you, and not wanting to be rude anymore, you talked.

‘’Hi,’’ you finally addressed the girl in the room when Anton rested his chin on your shoulder, closing his eyes and inhaling the aroma of your shampoo like he had been dreaming for months, ‘’Sorry’’ you continued, presenting yourself.

The girl denied with a cute smile, telling you that it was okay, and presenting herself as Seunghan’s new girlfriend.

‘’Seunghan’s girlfriend…’’ you repeated. She was cute, collected, calm, like you were when he met you.

‘’Yes, we just started seeing each other this month, how long have you been together?’’ she asked you, surely referring to you and Anton like a couple.

‘’Oh, it hasn’t been long’’ Anton answered for you.

A second later Sohee walked in, looking puzzled out for seeing you there, and especially, over Anton’s lap.

Almost immediately the rest of the boys came to the garage, all except Wonbin, becoming silent at the sight in front of them. Seunghan, who was more astonished than the others, froze at the entrance without understanding what he was looking at, his new girlfriend in the same room with his ex-girlfriend sitting over his bandmate’s lap.

Wonbin was the one who got him out of his confused state, pushing him to the side so he could cross the room to meet you, and sitting on the arm of the small new couch, he gave you a soft kiss on the lips, surprising everyone there, including you.

‘’We hope you all give us your blessings’’ Wonbin smiled, posing his cheek next to yours while Anton continued with his arms around your waist and his face hidden on your neck.

#riize smut #riize x reader #anton x reader #anton smut #wonbin x reader #wonbin smut #riize hard thoughts #riize hard hours

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straightouttherosebush · 4 months ago

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♡Licking Love off of Knives♡

Characters: Leona Kingscholar, Vil Schoenheit, Jamil Viper, Idia Shroud

Synopsis: These guys seem likely to degrade their partner, but how would they do it?

Content Warning: AFAB/Female! Reader, "Queen" used as gender neutral, NSFW themes (Degradation (verbal, sexual, physical), rough sex, vaginal sex, foot play (not necessarily fetish? Like, Vil uses kissing his boots to humiliate reader, idk you decide), bondage (shibari pretty much), oral (male anatomy), I must add that all characters are written to be 18 or over and that all of the actions happening here are consensual and any BDSM should be practiced with someone you 100% trust and have set boundaries with :D)

♡ Leona seems like the most likely to degrade his partner. Gloved fingers in your mouth or around your neck, squeezing, his mostly clothed body flush against your naked one. Bullying his cock into you while growling in your ear that you're a stupid slut good for nothing but taking his dick, if even that. Don't try to pull away because you're scared of the pain, either. You're fucking lucky, you should be grateful to be hooking up with a prince, of all things. He'll hold you in place and you'll be able to feel his long nails through his gloves as he tries to work himself inside your tight hole. Where the fuck do you think you're going, you pathetic whore? You wanted this. You had the audacity to tease him, after all. Little human cunt unable to handle beastman cock, crying like a little bitch and grunting from the pain of him stretching you out. He thought you were tougher than that! Where is that spunk? All growl and no bite, herbivore?

♡ You aren't getting what you want until Vil's whims are satisfied. This was your first time with him, but he realized that with every insult, you'd get a little... worked up. At least, as far as he could tell. Why else do you flush when he's harsh with you during dance practice? Why else do you clench your legs together as he dissects everything you did wrong and bluntly relays it to you? His mean words are divine, not even vulgar, and mixed with his voice? You are simply obliged to obey. He had his chin tucked into his collar as he looked down on you. His elegant legs were crossed and his eyes glared daggers into yours. Is it so hard to do? Did he expect too much of you? He must have if you are so incompetent as to not know how to properly pose. All he wants you to do is nuzzle up to the foot of his thigh-high boot and kiss it. That's all. He just wants you to worship him and keep a memento of your grovelling, but if you can't do that, maybe you don't deserve his long fingers inside you, hitting that spot inside of you just right as they curl. The moment you lay a kiss onto the toe cap and start kissing your way up the latex to his thigh, he starts smirking. His eyes, sharp as ever, coldly taking in your pathetic visage. As you make your way up to his thigh, your eyes plead with him as you let out a hushed "please, my Queen." He looks at you with squinted eyes and a wry smile, and scoffs. He didn't get that on camera, so let's try that again. For the millionth time. He doesn't think he stuttered, either. Get back down there.

♡ You've been tied up in Jamil's room for 30 minutes now. Masterfully tied red ropes adorned your body as you lay on his bed, legs forced open and arms tied behind your back. He was trying to work, and you were all over him constantly. And since you can't manage yourself around him, this is your punishment. Tut, tut, it's only been thirty minutes. Can't handle that much? Too bad. He still had studying to do and other duties to attend to even after that, so you had better get a grip on yourself quick, lest you be stuck there until Jamil turns in for the night. While he is able to remain focused, he will rarely glance over and flash a conceited smirk at you. Hearing you whimper and beg every so often was music to his ears, but he can't have that impeding him either. Your incessant whining is also now becoming a distraction. He suggests you cease it before he gags you. And that he does. With your own wet panties. Scarlet, just for him. Can you taste yourself? See how desperate and stupid you are for him? How absolutely cockdrunk you are and he hasn't even let you have it in weeks? So weak willed... and only for him, right? Come on, admit it. This is the only time he wants you to open your whore mouth. Oh wait! You can't! Oh well. But then he hears a few knocks on his door. Thankfully, he locked it, and you're so lucky he did. What's that? Kalim is asking for Jamil to start on dinner and wants you to dine with them? Ugh, fine. He supposes he can untie you and let you partake in the privilege of dining with the rest of the dorm at his side. But he does not forget, nor does he easily forgive.

Idia isn't typically the meanest, usually he's too meek to be so cruel. Especially not to his doting partner, may the Seven forbid it. However, right now? He's in a game lobby talking about your lackluster "under-the-desk" support. Ever since he caught onto you liking his more arrogant, mean side, he has been using it like crazy. The more he insults the use of your teeth, the more sopping wet you become. You cost his team a game because he was carrying and had to stop you from biting down on him. Way to go, jackass. You better not be touching yourself either, you don't deserve that. The fact that you can hardly see his face from under the desk works wonders for his confidence. He could never say these things to your face. Sure, to any of the normies outside, he probably could. He'd backtrack, but he could still say it at first. But when he's locked in, he's locked the fuck IN. The tips of his hair were still flickering pink, but his voice sounded rougher and a bit angrier than usual. Usually, loser virgin Idia would be shooting blanks by now. God can't you do your job right? You're not even playing, you have one job, and He's nowhere close to finishing. He doesn't care if your jaw hurts, he can't just reach down there, grab your hair, and fuck your face in the middle of a match. Can't. Love to, but can't.

Hello once again!!! I've had these headcanons for a bit so I worked them into little scenarios and I hope you guys enjoyed them! I put actual research into this chapter because as much as I am a degradee, I kinda felt like I was missing something. :>

I really don't know what came over me while writing Vil's part, I blacked tf OUT. I was thinking about the vampire Vil design while writing it because great GOOGLY MOOGLY, y'know?

I MIGHT also do a post on the characters I think would praise/worship their partners. Idk, heavy might.

Bye bye little shrimpies! ROSEY ♡

♡MASTERLIST HERE♡

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pretentious-blonde · 3 months ago

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the talk

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: the talk

warnings: death, crying, arguments, descriptions of dying, st lore, panic attacks, grief, therapy mention, yelling, suicidal tendencies???

a/n: i finally had some time to myself after getting accepted into my postgrad! also this was sad to write, i struggled with it, but i hope either way that it meets expectations.

series masterlist

Steve is trying not to crumble—something he’s horrifically skilled at by now. He attempts to cling to the details of the room.

The couch, the wooden floor, the secondhand rug—

Your bedroom door.

Everything suddenly feels so fragile, as if it’s all balancing on a precarious edge. He draws in a measured breath, chest so tight it makes him think of grief. Like trying to breathe through water, its thickness catching against his throat.

He hears a drawer slam shut in your room, your footsteps hurrying back and forth. And it hurts.

Hurts more than he ever would have expected. Because you didn’t know. And part of him almost envies you for that—envies the naive curiosity that led you here, not realising how deep the roots went. Not realising what you’d uncover.

There’s nowhere to go from here.

No smooth lie that can paper over what you’ve found.

He’d been so stupid.

Letting this spin out, never suspecting you’d pry in ways that cut this close.

His palms start to tremble, the betrayal sliding through his veins. Betrayal, yes—but not only yours. His own, too.

You both played a hand in this.

A door hinges open; you step out of the bedroom. Even that small shift in the air jolts him—reminds him he needs to act normal, though he knows he can’t.

Your presence usually stirs up tenderness inside him. Normally, his arms would ache to hold you, to keep you close.

But now they ache with something else entirely—something restless, hollow.

He’s not sure where to put them.

He’s not sure what to do.

Like the part of him that knows how to reach for you has been carved out, leaving only the wanting behind.

His gaze is stormy, and you’re standing only a few feet away, wearing one of his jumpers like it still means something—like this isn’t about to fall apart, and it’s not helping at all.

You’re wrapped up in this.

In him.

All he can think is how your curiosity dragged both of you into the fire. You barely notice the tension in his posture as you come over, the way his whole body looks ready to snap.

“If they’ve already run out of those hazelnut croissants, I swear to—”

You pause mid-thought.

He’s not even looking at you. Just standing there, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles look bloodless.

“Steve?”

Your voice is soft, uncertain, not at all what he expected to hear moments before. He doesn’t respond, can’t respond. He’s got that haunted, distant stare, like he knows a single wrong move might crack him open.

“Are you alright?” You step closer, caution in your voice. “If you need a moment, we can—”

“How long?” he cuts in, blunt and cold.

You freeze, attempting to decode his words.

“What?”

His jaw goes taut; you see the muscle twitch. When he speaks, his tone is low, like he’s forcing each word out through sharp edges in his throat.

“How long have you been—” He swallows, staring at the floor, too afraid to look at you. He doesn’t want to see your face right now. “How long have you been… keeping tabs on me?”

It sounds awful, but that’s what it was.

He lifts the notebook from the coffee table, like evidence presented in a trial. Pages flutter, showing the scrawl of your notes, the newspaper clippings. His fingers truggle to hold their weight.

“I—I don’t know what you’re—”

“Don’t.”

His voice cuts across the room. Harsh.

“Don’t you lie to me right now, alright?”

The situation’s already too fragile.

The notebook trembles in his grip. He stares at it, as if waiting for it to burst into flames.

“You need to tell me—right now—how long this has been going on.”

Your stomach lurches. His voice is so cold it hardly sounds like him at all. Gone is the gentle man who held you so close last night. Now he’s distant, like he’s bracing for something he can’t bear to face.

You can’t recall the last time he looked like this, body rigid, posture screaming that he’s holding himself together by sheer will.

One wrong breath and he’ll shatter.

Instinct tells you to reach for him. But this conversation is a landmine—one wrong word could blow everything apart.

Not just him; both of you.

You should’ve been more cautious. You knew this would hurt him, but not like this. Not to this extent.

“Not—not long, I swear—” you try, your voice stumbling.

He exhales raggedly, drags his hand through his hair.

“That’s not good enough.”

You’re not sure who he’s addressing—you or himself. His knuckles bleach around the notebook. When he finally meets your gaze, there’s no tenderness left.

“How long,” he whispers, laced with anger barely contained, “how fucking long have you been spying on me like this?”

Your stomach twists. He looks so pale. You can’t hold his gaze, so you stare at your socked feet, wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

“A few months,” you manage.

“A few months?” he echoes, voice climbing an octave in disbelief.

That long?

You nod again, your throat tight.

“Y-yeah, well, I don’t have an exact number—”

"You don't?"

He lets out a choked sound, halfway between a scoff and a sob.

“Because from the looks of it, you’ve been keeping a pretty good fucking track.”

His voice cracks on the last consonant, betraying him, and you see the glassiness in his eyes.

He’s on the brink of losing control.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammer. “I didn’t know what I was looking for—”

“That’s not the fucking point!” he roars, a sudden burst of rage that leaves you reeling.

You still did it.

In tossing the notebook aside, he feels as though he’s casting away the last shred of trust he had. It lands with a thump on the table, pages splaying out like an ugly secret finally bared. His face looks hollow. You watch as the devastation settles, and you realise how deep you’ve cut.

“You looked anyway.” His voice hitches, a painful break. “You—you let me pour my goddamn heart out, and you never once mentioned this?”

His accusation lingers in the air. The weight of your betrayal strikes you like a blow. Your eyes well with tears, but you stand rooted to the spot.

“It was just curiosity, Steve, I swear—I didn’t mean—”

“Curiosity?” he repeats, bitterness sharp as glass. “That’s your excuse?”

He’s so tense, you’d swear his heartbeat alone could crack bone.

“You—you weren’t telling me anything, Steve,” you say, trying to keep your own tears under control. You take a hesitant step toward him.

He flinches—barely, but enough to stop you cold.

He’s never flinched from you before.

“And—and I thought if I knew more,” you continue in a smaller voice, “maybe I could help.”

“Does this look like helping?” he snaps, voice scaling with every syllable.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“No, but—but it doesn’t matter anymore, right?” The words tumble out too quickly. “We’re—we’re gonna go away, and—" your hands lift in a silent plea, "and you can tell me all of this yourself. I’m sure I’m wrong, and you can—”

You stop because he’s not even looking at you now. Just staring off at the wall, body taut with fear.

He can’t fucking do that.

“You let me talk last night,” he mutters, pained, “knowing what that meant. How much it meant.”

“I do know,” you insist, desperate. “I do know what it means—”

But you didn’t.

Not really.

Not the way he lives it, every day.

“Then why?” he demands, voice piercing.

“I… I needed something. Anything. I thought if I understood you better—”

“Yeah?” he sneers. “What do you understand now, huh?”

He raises his voice, but the anger barely holds. It wavers, thinned out by something far more fragile.

He’s being cruel now, and he knows it. Throwing your mistake back in your face, twisting the knife.

But how can he not?

He loves you.

Told you so. Showed you last night in every word, every touch.

It wasn’t his choice to keep this from you. It never was. But he had to. He had to protect you—protect both of you.

And now here you are, standing in the wreckage with shaking hands and tearful eyes, threatening to bring the whole thing down.

To destroy everything—including yourself—in the process.

He can’t let that happen. So he goes back to what he knows. What always works.

Push.

Make it hurt. Break something if he has to, just to figure out what you know.

And if it turns out to be too much—if you’ve already seen too far into the darkness—then he’ll have no choice.

You’ll have made it for him.

And he can’t afford to let you stay.

“No, seriously,” he presses. “What did you learn?” He steps closer. “Because I need you to say it. Out loud. What do you think you found?”

He needs to know how dire this truly is.

You hesitate, heart hammering like a drum.

“...I know the mall was a cover-up.”

He flinches, like you physically struck him. Old memories tear across his features.

“Carry on,” he grits out, jaw muscle jumping.

“Steve…” you whisper, voice trembling. “It’s making you uncomfortable—”

“Is it?” He laughs—short, harsh. “Didn’t stop you before.”

Panic tangles with anger, lacing his words until they’re as sharp as needles.

“Anything else?” he demands.

Let him see just how far you went.

“What. Else?"

His voice dips, low. You can feel the tension like an electrical charge in the air.

“You’re… scaring me.”

Good.

“Well, you should be scared!” His voice rings out. “This is fucking scary! Don’t you get that? You need to tell me what else you know.”

You’re shaking as you answer, but his guilt is drowned out by his need to know.

“The earthquake wasn’t what it seemed.”

He closes his eyes momentarily, exhaling a shaky breath through his nose. He motions with a hand for you to continue, fingers jittery with panic. You draw in another unsteady breath.

“… you had something to do with Eddie Munson.”

The name is a lightning strike.

He jerks back, colour draining from his face. The entire world seems to tilt around him.

His face drains of colour. His mouth parts, but no sound comes out. Eyes wide. Staring straight through you like the world’s dropped out beneath him.

Not that name.

It hurt when he read it in your handwriting, but nothing would have prepared him for the sound of each syllable filling the charged room.

Grief and terror merge violently, rising so fast it makes him nauseous. Every carefully built wall, every coping mechanism, every stupid little trick he’s used to survive the years since—gone.

He can’t breathe.

“I—I can’t do this,” he stammers, voice barely more than a breath.

He turns without thinking, his body moving before his brain catches up. A blind, desperate need to get out.

“What?” Your voice spikes in alarm. “Steve, no, wait—”

"I can’t fucking do this.”

Way too fucking close.

His words are slurred with the rush of adrenaline, the absolute need to flee.

Shoes.

Where are his shoes?

He stumbles over the edge of the rug, trying to reach them, heartbeat pounding in his ears like a siren.

He’s jamming them onto his feet, grabbing blindly for his jacket. Each movement is frantic, borderline clumsy. He mutters under his breath, breath hitching as he tries to keep from hyperventilating.

“No, wait—please!—”

But he’s already bolted, crossing the living room in uneven strides. You follow him, tears welling uncontrollably, fear lacing your voice. You call after him, your pleas echoing off the walls as he pounds down the stairs to the bookshop.

“Steve!”

Your voice rings out behind him, but he doesn’t stop.

He reaches the bottom step, rushing toward the exit, fingers fumbling with the door. He yanks it open like it’s the only thing keeping him from drowning.

Morning sunlight floods the shop, and it stings his eyes.

It’s too bright.

Too fucking normal for what’s happening right now.

His heart hammers against his ribs, like it’s trying to punch its way out. Each breath is a gasp, caught up with emotions he can’t pin down.

He has to get out. He has to—

“Steve!”

Without warning, you lunge forward, arms wrapping around his waist from behind.

The impact jars him, halting his steps as your body crashes into his.

His hand clenches around the doorframe, white-knuckled. Your arms are desperate, shaking, locked tight around his middle, not letting him take another step further.

“Please—please don’t go.” Your voice breaks, high and wrecked. “I—I can’t do this again.”

You don’t know if you could survive him leaving like this again. The last time nearly destroyed you, and this time would be worse.

Because this time, it’s your fault.

If he walks out now, you won’t be able to reach him afterwards. You’ll have burned that bridge with your own hands.

You had one thought.

Don’t let him leave.

Because if he walks out that door, there’s a terrifying certainty in your gut.

He’s not coming back.

The sound of your voice splits something in him, yanks him back to the present, with only one word echoing around in his mind.

Again.

There’s a sob rattling in your throat—completely terrified.

He’s never heard you like this.

So utterly desperate.

“Please—I’m sorry—” You manage to get out. “I’m so sorry.”

Fuck, you sound young.

Like a kid who’s broken something important and doesn’t know how to fix it. Like you’re bracing for him to bolt.

He stares ahead, jaw tight, vision beginning to blur.

How did he let it get this far?

You’re trembling against his back, body convulsing with quiet sobs, and he can feel the weight of your collapse. It’s his fault he let it come to this.

Come to this again.

He’s doing it again.

His nostrils flare, and a tear slides down his cheek before he can stop it.

Were you like this the last time he ran?

He wants to scream. Or throw up. Or fall to his knees.

To be loved this much—and still be capable of hurting you like this—he doesn’t know how to live with it.

Even if what you did was wrong.

Even if it shattered something.

Even if he doesn’t know how to forgive it yet.

You’re not the only one breaking.

“Please don’t—don’t run away.” Your voice cracks in half. “Please— don’t leave me.”

Oh, angel.

That—that—is what finally does it.

His lungs seize. His vision goes white at the edges. And something inside him just snaps.

He chokes on a breath, spins around in your arms so fast your hands scramble to keep hold—and then you’re in his chest.

He wraps you up with everything he has.One hand cradles the back of your head as you bury your face into him, sobbing like your heart’s falling out of your body.

You’re both shaking now.

He squeezes his eyes shut, hard, like he can physically stop the flood rising inside him. His lips find your hair, as his arms tighten around you with a desperation that borders on panic.

Panic over how he’s supposed to keep you afloat, how to stop you from slipping under.

“I’m not gonna leave,” he manages, barely.

You sob harder at that, a broken sound from deep in your chest, and your arms cling tighter like you think he might disappear anyway.

You’re petrified.

“I’m here,” he whispers. “I’m here—it’s alright.”

But how could it be?

His own tears fall freely now, slipping down his cheeks and travelling toward his jawline. His chest jerks, uneven and laboured, each inhale snapping him in half.

He kisses the top of your head again, again, like repetition might make it real. Might fix it.

You’ll fall apart if he lets go.

He almost let go.

Your breath stutters, hitching in your throat. “I’m—I’m sorry—”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, voice trembling. “I know—I know you are.”

He doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do next—only that he can’t run.

Because he loves you.

God, he loves you.

And that love is carved into the way your fists are still gripping the back of his jacket. He pulls back just enough to see you, to cradle your face in both hands. His thumbs sweep gently across your cheeks, catching the tears even as his own keep falling.

“I’m not mad,” he whispers.

You’re swollen-eyed and blotchy, lips quivering, barely holding yourself together. He gives a wet sniff, the corner of his mouth twitching with tenderness, but nonetheless broken. He leans in and rests his forehead on yours.

“I’m not mad, angel.”

He means it.

He’s not mad—he’s fucking terrified. But you didn’t deserve his anger. Not when it pushed you past your breaking point. Not when you were just trying to understand him.

To love him better.

Even if it was misguided.

It spills out of him in a shaking breath. His body sags with the weight of it, and more tears slip free. You lift a trembling hand to his cheek, brushing his tears with soft fingers. He leans into the touch like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

“I didn’t mean to—” your voice catches, wrecked and tiny, “I just wanted—”

“I know.”

He knows.

His voice is thick. He’s never felt so emotionally raw, like every nerve ending is on fire. His hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb stroking your hair in a repetitive motion.

He knows what he has to do.

He hates it.

He hates being forced into a corner like this—into a choice that feels more like a noose than a path.

His whole life has been made up of risks—always choosing the uncertain route, the one that might lead to something better but usually led to something worse.

But this time, he knows what happens if he doesn’t act.

There’s no alternative. If he doesn’t tell you now, it’s over anyway.

And worse, you’ll still be in danger.

He loves you too much. That’s the truth of it. And some selfish, stupid part of him just can’t leave. Not when your body’s still vibrating in his arms.

You wouldn’t survive it, and he wouldn’t either, knowing that he did that to you.

You love him. That’s what makes it so impossible.

You’re both fucking fools.

It took him months to tell his therapist. To unravel the truth in pieces, to hand over the trauma one cracked fragment at a time. But he doesn’t have the luxury of time now. Not after what you’ve uncovered, with everything now at stake.

You need the truth. His truth.

“C’mon,” he murmurs.

He starts to pull away, hands careful, movements gentle. You resist instinctively, your grip tightening.

“I’m staying, sweetheart,” he assures, leaning in to press another trembling kiss to your temple.

He closes the door like it’s sealing off the rest of the world.His back rests against it for a second too long before he moves back to you.

“We…” he swallows, glancing up. “We need to have this talk.”

You nod, still crying, though your breathing has steadied enough to move. You hate that it’s come to this. That you pushed him here. That it hurts this much.

But you understand.

You let him guide you.

He leads you through the quiet bookshop, hand still wrapped around yours. Past the bright sting of morning light pooling in the windows. Past the shelves stacked with stories that suddenly feel too far away.

He takes you to the old couch in the back, tucked in a pool of shadows where the world feels slower. Where he helped you unpack your order all those months ago. He hopes the happier memories will help with the more raw ones he has to reveal.

His steps are shaky. He keeps glancing back like he needs to make sure you’re still there. When he finally sits, he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“You’re already too close.”

You blink at him, lashes still wet with tears.

“I—I can’t have you digging into this stuff anymore,” he says. “It was… it was stupid of me to let it get this far.”

He scrubs at his cheeks with his sleeve, breathing hard through his nose. He’s a mess—red-rimmed eyes, flushed skin, chest still heaving. He reaches for you again, pulling you closer until your thigh presses against his. He needs that contact, needs to feel you still here.

The silence stretches, brittle and loaded, and he’s steeling himself for the worst.

No more running.

No more hiding.

His fingers find yours again, and he holds on tight.

And now, his real story finally begins.

He exhales, shifting his weight on the couch, trying to find a position that doesn’t make him feel like he’s collapsing in on himself. He glances at you, begging for some kind of absolution he’s almost certain can’t exist.

When he speaks, his voice is rough, raspy with all the tears he’s been holding back—unsuccessfully.

“It started in junior year….”

He’s never forgotten those days. Never truly left behind the basketball courts, the letterman jacket, the face he saw in the mirror each morning—the King Steve facade.

He swallows, it’s been so long since he started from the beginning and now, saying it out loud, he realises something.

He really was just a boy when it happened.

“It started small.” He begins quietly. “Kid went missing—Will Byers. He was the first.”f

His gaze drifts down, searching the dusty floor for the memories.

A missing kid—hardly the biggest news story in small-town Hawkins, but it would shape everything.

“We didn’t think anything of it—I didn’t think. I was—”

He was busy throwing parties, failing class, cruising around town with the latest fling on his arm…

Only Nancy was not a fling.

She was special to him.

He grimaces, the weight of regret has settled behind his eyes.

Nancy.

The name still makes his chest tighten, even if the heartbreak has long since turned into something softer.

“I—I had a girl at the time, her name was Nancy. I didn’t think it was anything special, but…”

“But it was?”

It was.

He nods, pressing his lips together, remembering the nights he spent losing himself in those big eyes of hers, the way she made him feel for the first time. Like she wasn’t with him for the reputation alone. It wasn’t like she stuck around for it anyway.

“Yeah… yeah, it was.” His voice softens, eyes drifting somewhere far away. “I was so caught up in her, I didn’t even notice what was happening.”

A bitter breath. A pause.

“Her best friend disappeared next... right outside my window.”

He hadn’t given a shit about Barb when it happened. More concerned with what his dad would say about him throwing a party.

She was just Nancy’s weird friend. Too quiet, too awkward, too out of place. Invited out of politeness, not because anyone actually wanted her there.

And he let her leave alone. Didn’t think twice.

Didn’t care.

She died scared. Alone. In the dark. And he was upstairs—only thinking about getting a pretty girl into his bed.

Fucking idiot. That’s all he was.

He cringes at the memory, shame burning through him like acid.

She’s dead because he was too busy being a selfish piece of shit.

“I think that’s why it didn’t work out.”

His laugh is wet, choked, and bitterness lines the edges of it.

“That’s what Rob said, anyway,” he murmurs, voice thin. “Every time she looked at me, I could see it—what she was thinking. If she hadn’t listened to me… Barb would still be here.”

He swallows hard.

“And I get it. I do. I understand why she believes that.”

But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

She was his first love. His first real everything. And you don’t forget someone like that.

“Will came back,” he says quietly. “But Barb didn’t.”

His fingers tighten around his knee.

“But where he went… it wasn’t just some missing kid story. It was something else. Something wrong.”

He takes a deep breath, like he’s standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down, knowing there’s no turning back once he jumps.

This is the part he’s never let anyone close enough to touch. The part he’s fought to keep buried. He’s never wanted to put this weight on you. Never wanted you anywhere near this.

But you’re already in it.

And he can’t keep pretending you’re not.

“The old lab opened something,” he says, voice low and tight. “Something really bad.”

His hands flex in his lap, like he’s trying to ground himself.

“They were messing with this shit for years, without even knowing what they were doing. They—” his throat bobs. “They took kids.”

He pauses. His jaw clenches as his mind spirals—trying not to, but failing anyway.

What kind of life was that?

He thinks about El. About the pain in her eyes. She never told him the details and they weren’t always close, but they trusted each other in the way soldiers do—when you’ve seen the same kind of ruin and made it out alive.

She was just a kid.

They all were.

His chest tightens. He thinks about his students now—their crayon drawings, the way they laugh at silly stories. How small their hands are.

He can’t imagine one of them in a place like that. Used, then broken.

It made him sick.

“There were experiments,” he finally says, voice shaking. “They opened a gate. To another world.”

He looks up at you, and his eyes are haunted.

“One just like ours… but off. Alive, somehow. And it didn’t stay contained. It started to leak into our world.”

His hands curl into fists.

“It was hell,” he says. “And it came here.”

Hell.

That’s the only word that fits.

So many people gone. So many lives lost.

And somehow he’s still here. And most days, he doesn’t understand why.

“The things that came out of there…” he starts, then stops, swallowing hard. “They weren’t normal.”

His voice drops lower, rougher.

“Dogs that—weren’t dogs. Their heads would open up, and it was just teeth. Rows and rows of ‘em.”

Demo-dogs. The sanitised name for what they really were.

“I was the oldest. I had these kids with me—Dustin, Lucas, Max… they were just kids. They couldn’t fight those things off.”

His jaw clenches.

“I told them to stay back. And they did, they listened.”

A pause.

“But sometimes I just wish…”

The words trail off, lost somewhere in the weight of everything he can’t say.

His eyes drift, unfocused, filling with something heavy and distant—memories.

Memories of running. Of screaming. Of blood on the floor. Of holding the line so they wouldn’t have to.

They got out.

He didn’t.

Not all the way, because he’s still in it.

Still sees it when he closes his eyes. Still hears the growls. Still wakes up some nights expecting something to tear through his door.

His hands start to shake and you reach for them again without thinking, folding them between yours. Trying to anchor him, to say you’re there without speaking.

He flinches at first. Then lets you hold him.

Even though it breaks your heart to see him like this—to know you pushed him to this point—there’s no going back.

“We thought it was over after that,” he says, “but it never was. I graduated—barely. Didn’t get the grades for college, and my dad cut me off.”

It dawns on you then.

His parents didn’t know.

Because if they had, there’s no way they’d have cared about grades, not when their son had been fighting for his life.

He hadn’t told them.

You’ve always known their relationship was strained, but this must have torn whatever was left even further apart.

“Took the first job I could find… and that’s how I met Rob.”

You nod. That part you do know.

The stupid sailor uniform. The Scoops Ahoy jokes. The unbearable summer heat. The friend who became family. You know the version he’s told before—the warm, funny pieces, the lighthearted edits.

But you also know where this is headed.

The blueprints. The tunnels.

“The mall,” you say quietly.

“Yeah... The mall.”

He drags a hand through his hair, fingers getting stuck at the ends.

“I was such an idiot,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Thought it was over. That we’d won. That we could move on.”

But the past claws its way back too fast. Even now, years later, just thinking about Starcourt makes his stomach turn.

“Dustin came back from camp, excited about picking something up on the radio waves. Said it was gonna be big, so I went along with it. Rob did, too. We thought it’d be—like the movies, y’know? Some big scavenger hunt we could brag about. Something exciting for once.”

He starts to tear up at the memory. The meltdown of that summer is etched into him like his scars.

“Turns out the government weren’t the only ones interested. The mall was a cover-up—you got that part right. Some Russian organisation had picked up where they left off… only bigger.”

His breathing grows laboured, and you see him fighting the panic in his eyes.

“It was bad, so fucking bad, angel. I—god, I even got another kid involved. Couldn’t have been older than nine.”

He buries his face in his hands, shame radiating off him. He teaches kids that age now—thinks about how small they are, how trusting.

“We got underneath it,” he says quietly. “Me and Dustin. The others had no idea. We found this elevator that went down—way down. Like, military base deep.”

He swallows. You can hear it.

“They got out, thank God. But me and Rob… we got caught.”

He doesn’t look at you as he whispers the next statement. He doesn’t want to see your reaction.

“I don’t remember how long they tried to get information out of me.”

Your stomach twists at his insinuation.

Torture.

Not a fight. Not a scuffle.

Torture.

And he was just nineteen.

Barely out of high school, still half-boy, thrown into something no one should ever see.

What the hell did they do to him?

“I came to,” he continues, voice a little distant now. “And Rob was there. She was… not fine. But she was breathing. We both were.”

He runs a hand over his face, dragging his palm down.

“She told me about high school. How I was this total dick. Said she sat behind me, and I didn’t even know her name.”

Now, it’s the name written on his emergency contact.

“I didn’t even remember her. I was that guy.”

Your fingers brush his arm. He doesn’t flinch, he’s somewhere far off.

“We made it out,” he says. “We were so high we could barely walk—God knows what they injected us with. I don’t remember much, just pain. And the lights. And… Rob’s voice. Sometimes that’s what pulled me back.”

His lips press together.

“The kids had to rescue us,” he says quietly. “They saved me. When I should’ve been the one saving them.”

His whole body tenses, a tremor running through him as the image surges. Sterile halls. Screaming in a language he didn’t understand. Blood. Cold restraints. The sting of a needle.

And fear.

Not just for himself—for Robin. For Dustin. For all of them.

Still fresh, years later.

“It came back this time, stronger than before. The thing was two stories high. We made it out with the help of El—you don’t know her, but she was one of the kids. The experiments they did on her… she could do things. With her mind.”

“We got out, and the mall came down too. A cover-up for the cover-up, the perfect story.”

He shakes his head, a wry twist to his lips. Then his expression crumples.

“But the worst was the summer after…”

He doesn’t want to talk about this part. You can see it in the way he stiffens, in the tremor of his jaw. This is where his scars come from. You’ve felt them under your fingertips, wondered at their shapes.

“Kids started dying again. In ways that were… too familiar. We knew what it was. Knew it was back.”

His voice cracks on the last word, and a tear slips free. His shoulders tremble, and you tighten your grip on his hands.

“Eddie was who they blamed for it—town freak, Satan worshipper, all that bullshit.” He releases a shaky breath. “He was Dustin’s best friend. Looked out for him when I couldn’t. Made high school easier for him.”

He grits his teeth.

“We all knew we had to fight it again—El wasn’t there. We’d done it before, so… maybe we could again. But it was bad. Worse than before.”

He’s reliving the terror in real time—the helplessness that gnaws at him still.

“It was so painful, angel. We got dragged under at the lake. I went first, because—I don’t know, I could? I thought if it was me instead of them, then maybe they’d be all right. Maybe I’d make up for it somehow.”

He’s openly crying now. Tears slip down his cheeks in steady streams. All you can do is watch, your own throat closing with grief you don’t fully understand but ache to share. You stroke the back of his hand, feeling how futile the gesture must seem.

“It didn’t stop.”

Those three words fall like stones.

“There were bats—I think. I don’t even know what they were. Just… wrong. They kept coming. Tearing into me.”

Too fast to fight.

Too many to count.

“They latched onto me like—like they knew where to bite.”

Ribs. Side. Neck.

“I—I can still feel them sometimes. Even now. Like they’re still under my skin.”

He grips his side reflexively, as if the wounds still throb beneath his skin.

“I thought I wasn’t gonna make it.”

A twisted kind of admission. One that suggests a terrible resignation.

“And in a way…” His voice tightens. “It felt right.”

Maybe that’s what he deserved.

Maybe that was easier than surviving again.

“It made sense,” he breathes. “I mean—I was the one who stuck around. Maybe that was the end I was supposed to get.”

Then the sob rips out of him—harsh and sudden, like it’s been living just beneath the surface.

“But they got to me,” he forces out. “In time. They pulled 'em off me, and I was still breathing.”

Barely.

He swipes an unsteady hand across his face, blinking fast against the tears.

“We thought that was it," he says in a voice so hollow it almost doesn’t sound like him. "But it wasn’t—it was just the beginning.”

He can barely meet your eyes now. Won’t let himself see the fear and pity etched in your expression.

“There was someone else—another one of those kids from the lab. Stronger—smarter. He was behind all of it.”

His knuckles go white.

“He had this… world. A whole world that moved for him. Vines crawling through the ground. They were watching us. Telling him where we were.”

No plan worked.

“We tried to fight. Tried to run. But—but we didn’t stand a chance. It grabbed us. Around our chests, our—”

He stops, breath catching.

“It got me again. This time around the neck—tight—so fucking tight I couldn’t breathe.”

Again.

He mimics the motion briefly, a reflexive wince at the memory.

“I tried to yell—to tell them to go. But it was too late.”

He stares at the floor now, voice hollow.

“They got Max.”

She screamed. And then she didn’t. And he couldn’t do a damn thing.

The sob that follows is deep and shaking, your hand is still in his.

“Eddie was gone by the time we got back. Played the goddamn hero.”

Another tear rolls down, and he doesn’t even try to wipe it away.

“I told him not to. I fucking told them.”

His voice cracks—shattered glass.

“I was supposed to protect them.”

That was the whole point.

“I was supposed to be the one who could handle it..”

That was why he stayed behind.

He finally looks at you, eyes raw and bloodshot.

“I couldn’t save them,” he whispers.

Always one second too late.

“It caused the earthquake. Him. All of it was because of him. We never found a body. Never knew if it was over. So they left. Every single one of them, as soon as they could.”

Gone.

He swipes at his face with the back of his hand, useless against the tears.

“And I—I stayed. I don’t know why. I fucking stayed.”

He breaks then, openly and fully. His chest spasms with heavy sobs. Watching him fall apart like this is agony, but you can’t not watch. You can’t tear your eyes away from this man who’s spent years fighting alone.

“I can’t move past it,” he gasps. “No matter how hard I try.”

Why did he?

When none of them are?

His voice is totally wrecked. You reach for him again, hands unsteady, tears streaking your own cheeks. You're afraid that holding him might pull him deeper into it—this bottomless grief—but you hold on anyway.

Because someone has to.

“That’s—that’s the basics of it all—fuck—that’s all I can do,” he manages between sobs. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry. I just—that’s—”

He grits his teeth, trying to hold back the pain, but it tears out anyway—raw and guttural, a sound like a wounded animal.

It shreds through the room. Shreds through you.

You break, too. A soft sob escapes your throat as your hand tightens around his.

“That’s all I can give you right now,” he whispers.

And God, does he hope it’s enough.

He’s inconsolable. Stomach dropping. Eyes fixed on a patch of sunlight filtering through the bookshop window, like it might offer him a way out.

But there isn’t one.

There never was.

You sit there in silence, your chest hollowed out by everything he’s given you.

This poor man—battered, scarred, not just physically but soul-deep—who’s lived through horrors you’re only just beginning to grasp.

He’s still here.

He stayed. He survived.

Even when it would’ve been easier not to. You can’t imagine it. You can’t take it away.

But now, finally, you see him.

Every broken, ugly part.

You see all of him.

The only sound in the room is your sobs. His sobs. The line between where you end and he begins blurs, because the grief is so palpable it seems to swallow you both.

He’s curled in on himself, shoulders hunched and trembling, and you realise just how small a person can look when the weight of the world has nearly broken them. The world has been unfair to him—so unfair.

And now, it’s your turn to figure out what to do.

Because this isn’t a wound you can bandage with a few kind words. This isn’t the kind of trauma that has neat stages you can work through, step by painstaking step. And it sure as hell isn’t the sort of mess any textbook could solve.

A part of you sees the outlines of truth now. The pills in his bathroom. The flinches when someone claps a hand on his shoulder too hard. The nightmares and the shadows under his eyes. Suddenly, so many pieces click into place.

This explains everything.

Then why doesn’t it feel better?

You’re scared to speak, but you know he needs something. Everyone else is gone—scattered in the aftermath of what’s happened to him.

“Can—” Your voice breaks. You pause, inhaling shakily to steady yourself. “Can I… hold you?”

He lets out a low, ragged sound—somewhere between a groan and a sob—like he’s been waiting for you to ask, yet it pierces him all the same. There’s a vulnerability in the question that knocks the wind from both of you.

“God—yes.”

Please.

No sooner does he say it than you’re scrambling onto his lap. He clings to you with a force that almost hurts, but you don’t tell him to loosen his grip. You guide his head to your chest and hold him like you can piece him back together.

Like a parent would.

Like his parents didn’t.

You press your fingers into his hair, sliding them through the strands slowly, trying to calm the raging storm inside him. And still, he cries. Deep, shuddering sobs that jolt through his entire body. You can feel each one vibrating in your bones. Each one feels like a testament to how much he’s been carrying alone.

But you don’t know what to do.

All you can do is cradle him, let him unravel against you. Let him press his face to his borrowed jumper as his breath catches again and again. You whisper soothing things you won’t even fully recall later, meaningless words in the language of warmth and touch.

Your thoughts drift to Robin.

You wonder if she’s seen him like this—held him the way you’re holding him now. If she’s had to stitch him together each time the memories tore him apart.

The respect you already had for her grows fiercer, more profound. You owe her everything for keeping him safe long enough for you to stumble in and set off this emotional landmine.

Because that’s what happened, isn’t it?

You wanted answers, you wanted to help.

But in chasing those answers you pried open something he wasn’t ready to face—something you weren’t ready to face.

And even though you understand him more than ever now, it feels like a hollow victory. The cost is too high.

He rests against you, breath hitching. You want to tell him it’s okay now—that he’s safe. That this is the last chapter in some terrible book he can close forever and leave to collect dust.

But you can’t.

Because it isn’t over.

There was never any real closure, never a neat solution, and probably never any permission to share what happened in the first place.

The world kept spinning, and he’s stuck carrying secrets nobody else dared to shoulder, in a town that refused to see the truth. That’s the cruelest twist of all—he’s been trapped in silent torment, never allowed to speak.

Never allowed to heal.

And so, you hold him tighter, your arms a makeshift sanctuary in the face of everything that’s broken him. If you can offer him just one moment of peace, you will.

You will do whatever it takes, no matter how small, no matter how fleeting.

His sobs begin to slow, each breath growing more subdued as exhaustion pulls him under. You can feel the change in the tautness of his body, how the strength in his grip fades as if some internal dam finally burst and took everything with it.

Even so, you don’t stop combing your fingers through his hair, not for a second. There’s a desperate hope in your touch—that maybe, somehow, it soothes him.

It’s the only thing you can think to do.

He doesn’t speak first, he’s already said so much. Let out so many words that weighed on his heart like anchors. When his weeping quiets to unsteady sniffles, you're the one who breaks the silence.

“Are you alright?”

Your voice quivers, the question tasting flat on your tongue. It’s a meaningless thing to say in a moment like this.

Of course he’s not alright.

No one would be, after that.

But he feels a hint of gratitude that you asked anyway. Because you care enough to ask. That alone is worth everything to him.

He gives a slight nod against your chest, face pressed to your shirt as though letting go would mean losing whatever fragile tether he’s holding onto. His lashes are damp, sticking together every time he blinks.

He wants to say no, but words fail him. Nodding feels safer.

He feels a lot calmer than he expected, lighter, somehow. Free in a way he hasn’t been for longer than he cares to admit. It shocks him.

Somewhere deep down, a small part of him had convinced itself you would leave.

Everyone does. But you’re still here.

You’re not so easily frightened away.

He finally manages to lift his head, and the movement is tentative. A wince tightens his features when a dull ache throbs behind his eyes—headaches are the inevitable fallout of tears this heavy. But that’s a small price to pay. The real weight has been lifted from his chest, at least for now.

You look at him, eyes wet with sympathy. He hates it, hates seeing pity aimed at him; he’s never been good at being vulnerable like this. But at the same time, he can’t resent you for it. You’re only reacting to what you see.

Loosening his grip on your waist, his hands drift to rest on your hips, then your sides, drawing gentle circles through the fabric there. It’s instinctive, a way to ground himself in the moment. He ducks his head, letting out a shaky exhale that carries something like relief.

“I’m guessing we aren’t going to the coffee shop anymore,” he says, forcing a weak attempt at humour. It’s brittle and halfhearted, but it’s all he can manage right now.

Your laugh breaks through his gloom, watery and tender.

“I have coffee upstairs,” you say, eyes glistening as you try to steer the conversation toward something resembling normalcy. “But I don’t think we need any more caffeine today.”

He nods, swallowing against the lump in his throat, because that’s fair. His nerves are already shot, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, voice wavering. “I never would've dug if I’d known…”

He looks up, surprise flickering across his still-blotchy face.

“I wouldn’t have told you if you hadn’t,” he murmurs, and there’s a note of truth there that resonates in the quiet of the bookshop.

There was no easy way for this to come out, perhaps it was inevitable.

“Are you angry?” you ask, softly, like you’re afraid of his answer.

“No,” he says, more firmly this time. “I said I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, but you could’ve been lying.”

“I wasn’t.” His gaze flicks to yours, and he almost manages a faint smile.

He’s done with lying—for now, at least, with you.

He looks at the light streaming through the window behind you, how it outlines your form in a gentle glow.

Like a halo.

An angel.

The corner of his mouth lifts just a little, and he closes his eyes when your fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck again.

“What do you want to do now?” you whisper.

If that isn’t the question of the year…

What does he want to do?

Does he have to do anything?

His mind swirls with the aftermath of what he’s just revealed, the emptiness that comes after a storm.

Maybe he just wants to exist with you, quietly, for as long as the world will let him.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” he asks, voice nearly a plea.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, and you shake your head in affectionate exasperation.

“You don’t have to ask,” you tell him gently. “You know that.”

He nods, because he does. But still—he wants to be sure. He’s never liked assuming you’d just say yes, even when it’s obvious.

“Do—do we have to talk about this anymore?” he asks carefully, the question trembling on the edge of his breath. “I don’t know if I have it in me.”

“Do you want to?” you counter, eyes searching his.

“No.” It spills out of him faster than he intends, but it’s honest.

He’s relived enough horrors for one day.

“Then we won’t,” you say simply, tracing the line of his jaw with a touch so light it makes him shiver. “Thank you for telling me,” you add, voice dipping, “even if I didn’t give you much of a choice…”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you see the conflict in his eyes.

“It’s alright,” he manages. His breath hitches in his chest, but no more tears fall. “It’s better this way.”

He never thought he’d believe those words, but somehow he does now. Having you here, knowing you know—it’s one less burden on his shoulders.

“Okay.” You sigh, a rush of air that sounds like relief. “I’ll make dinner tonight—my apology.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, shaking his head.

You grin, a wry little smile through the tears.

“I can make pancakes again?”

A grin tugs at his lips in response, the memory stirs something bright in his chest. He tilts his head, pretending to mull it over.

“You drive a hard bargain,” he replies, matching your playfulness. And then there’s that giggle again—boyish, warm.

“I know,” you whisper, leaning down and pressing your lips to his.

The kiss is gentle, a lingering brush that sends a surge of heat and safety through him. He curls his fingers around your back, returning the affection with soft desperation, reluctant to let you pull away.

But eventually, you do. You slip off his lap and stand, offering him your hand, and he takes it. Your fingers thread together as you lead him across the bookshop floor, steps echoing softly, then up the stairs to your living space. A small ripple of relief settles into his heart.

Tonight, he’ll let you fuss over him—the way you do when you’re loving someone through their worst moments.

Not the overbearing, pitying kind that he’s used to, but your gentle brand of affection, full of small touches and sweet words.

He’ll try to help with dinner, even if you bat him away, rolling your eyes at his attempts. And he’ll let himself smile, because you smile back.

He imagines sitting across from you at the table, nudging your foot under it just to make you laugh.

He can already see you washing his hair in the shower, your fingers massaging his scalp. Maybe he’ll do the same for you, a soft sort of trade-off that seems impossibly intimate.

You’ll see his scars and he’ll let you touch them without shrinking back, even though it stings to think how they got there.

He’ll try not to feel guilty when he falls asleep on your chest for a change, instead of the other way around. He’ll let your warmth lull him into a gentle slumber. Sure, he’ll have to wake up earlier than you tomorrow for work, but he knows you’ll be the first one up to keep him company if he just asks.

And maybe you’ll drive him, so he won’t have a car, so he’ll have to call you when he’s done. A part of him wants that.

He knows he can ignore the old stresses for a little while—until the next weekend, at least.

He can’t miss therapy.

That would be a dead giveaway.

He’s dreading how he’ll need to dodge and weave around certain truths there. He hopes he’s good enough at lying, but at least he won’t have to lie to you anymore.

And that’s the part that makes him feel lighter than he has in ages.

No more secrets.

No more walls.

No more hiding this battered, bruised history from the girl his stupid heart beats for.

Because, for once, he’s not running from the truth.

And for once, he’s not running from you.

taglist: @daisy-is-a-writer @chiliwhore @kvroomi @just-lilita @negomi123 @catluver02 @tinythebunni @everythinghasafacee @irrelevantbutembarrassing @almostfullstarfish @aurora-austen @yourgirlfriennd @purpleyeswithgoldensparkles @keerysfolklore @carlyferrell

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x you #stranger things series #teacher! steve harrington #teacher!steve harrington x reader #teacher!steve harrington #teacher steve harrington

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luveline · 2 years ago

Note

gorgeous can we get bombshell reader and Spencer May be the first time he’s snappy with her bc he’s stressed and she’s just so taken aback and May be even tears up? And then just a fluffy ending with Spencer apologizing

thank you for requesting! fem, 2.2k

Spencer Reid is extra kissable when he's frowning. Button up and no suit jacket, sleeves pushed past his elbows and hair on the shorter side, he holds a certain confidence in his hands where they're tucked in his pockets. Sure of himself, and clearly agitated.

You're always on his side; you don't think twice about easing into the conference room to see what's wrong.

"Hey," you say with a slight lilt to your tone. You're always on his side, and always flirting. "What's wrong?"

"Why does something have to be wrong?" he asks.

Not mean. Not light. Somewhere in the solid middle, his gaze loyal to the laptop on the desk he stands behind. You step close enough to smell the subtle scent of his cologne, wondering if he can smell your perfume in turn, and if it's one he likes. You try to touch his hand and he takes the desk into his grip instead, leaning forward, out of reach.

"That's not what I meant to convey," you say, still flirting. You're not stupid, you realise his mood, but you're hoping it's somebody else's fault. "But if you aren't happy to see me then I'd definitely suggest there was something wrong."

"I'm just trying to figure something out."

This close, to your own credit, Spencer usually trips up. He's been getting better as you've grown closer, your 'torturing' —as the team likes to call it— only prompting the occasional blush or stammer. You don't flirt with Spencer to torture him no matter what anyones says and you never have, you flirt with him because he deserves to be complimented. He's andsome, intelligent, and courageous. What others might miss you see in blaring neon lights: he's a catch. You intend on making your intentions known, and if that means playing the long game or the slow burn, that's okay. You like to dance.

You put yourself between him and the laptop screen. He can still see it if he cranes his neck, and he does. "You look a little tired, handsome. Looking at a screen all day will hurt you in the end. Neck aches, shoulder cramps, eye strain. Though I can't help with the latter, the former…" His arm is solid under your hand, your fingertips running along the ridge of a stark vein.

He doesn't quite flinch away, but he moves quickly enough to startle you, lamenting, "Could you give me some space, please?"

That's all well and good, you rush to do as he's asked and step back because the very last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable and his voice is frankly acidic, but everything is moving too quickly, you're not as aware as you should be —you smash your hand backwards into a cold cup of coffee and knock it straight into the lap of Spencer's laptop.

"No," you gasp, grabbing the cup before the entirety of it can empty. Coffee wells between the keys and you go to grab it to– well, to do something.

"Stop it!" Spencer shouts, voice sharp as a knife. "You always do this," —quieter, venomous— "you can't help yourself."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I would answer you if I had the time. I'll be busy rescuing my hard drive before an entire month of work is wasted thanks to your dire need for attention."

He slips around you and stalks out the door, coffee dripping from the corner of his laptop in a sorry trail that shines in the fluorescent lights.

Your first rush of tears are driven by indignation; it was an accident, you didn't mean to do that, why would you ever do that? But the second, more encompassing rush is a hot mixture of shame and guilt. What have you done?

You take a hesitant step toward the door but don't bother following him. I'll make things worse, you think, bringing a hand to your face. Makeup marrs your hand as you wipe your cheeks. You stare down at the stains for a long, long time.

I'll apologise, you think eventually, rubbing at the mascara like soot on your palm. Just as soon as I look okay again.

You don't want Spencer or anyone to see you upset. You wear your makeup and your confidence for yourself, not to hide any insecurity but to embolden yourself, to be yourself. But to get to your desk you'd have to leave the conference room bared as you are, and you'd have to face Spencer, and the second option brings more tears.

This is all so messy, and it's your fault.

I'm such an idiot. I'm exactly what he thinks of me.

You sit in the chair furthest from the door with a pack of tissues from the cubby and rub your hot cheeks dry, streaks of mascara in the shapes of your fingertips like soot left behind. It's sitting that gets you —the shock of tears at being shouted at by someone you care about amplifies into a distress you can't explain. It's stupid, it's stupid. You press your face into your hands and curl in on yourself at the table, ears ringing. I'm so, so stupid.

—

The inside of Spencer's lip is bleeding, metallic on his tongue. He's white hot annoyance all the way to Penelope's office, choked as he tells her he needs her help.

"Spencer?" she said. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He realises what he's done. "Please, Garcia, can you do something? I really need to go."

He doesn't hear her response beyond her surprised but emphatic Sure, spinning on his heel to walk back the way he came. He rubs at his temple, moving between a slow trudge and a speed walk as he assesses the damage of what he's said. What did he say? your dire need for attention.

Your sniffing is something out of his fucking nightmares. Who does he think he is? You're sitting exactly where he left you next to that half empty coffee cup, a tissue scrunched in your trembling hands, visible in the small glass window of the door. You must be thinking of what he's said to have missed the sound of his footsteps, or perhaps he's left you too upset to want to look up.

He sees the moment a sob works through you, watches you hold your breath in a painful effort to keep it down, raising the tissue to your eyes and catching your tears before they fall. You're doing a lacklustre job despite your efforts, the oily shine of mascara iridescent on your cheeks. Or maybe that's tear tracks. It's hard to tell.

Spencer fights with himself. He doesn't know if deserves to come running back or if it would be more fair to send JJ or Derek in to comfort you.

"You made your bed," his mom would say, not without affection. "You have to lie in it."

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed to push away the memory, surveying the damage he's done carefully as he crosses the threshold back into the conference room. Your head lifts at the sound of the door, your stammer visible before you speak, "Spence– Spencer. Is your laptop okay? Did I break it? I'm so sorry."

Gideon would tell Spencer to be nicer. Hotch would say Reid in that stern shade of voice that's half disapproval and half fondness. They'd both tell him to be better, but neither of them have ever had to see you as you look now, tearstained and sorry, eyes wide with worry but shoulders tense. He has his role models, and yet none of them could possibly give him a way to apologise that could ever make up for they way he's made you feel.

Little dramatic, Morgan would say. Start with a hug, loverboy. Can't go wrong with a hug.

He should ask but he doesn't, a second transgression against you. Spencer pushes past chair and the sodden circle of carpet to your chair, pausing in case you're going to tell him to shove it. You lick your lips. "Did I break it?" you ask, as though resigned for a yes

He can't temper that amount of self-hatred on you. It doesn't suit you. He much prefers you the way you like to be, confident in everything, flirty and funny and soft, in both touch and touches. He takes your face into a careful hand, tilting it toward the light and weary of your shallow exhale. "I…" He begins and ends, stroking your tacky cheek with his index finger, as though brushing away an eyelash. If it were real he'd say make a wish, and you would wish for him or some similar sweetness, salacious smile to boot, or earnestness fit to fill a mountain. I wish you'd realise how pretty you are and stop denying me the pleasure of a beautiful boyfriend, you'd croon.

His fingers collect at your jaw and slip behind your ear as he cleans your skin with the side of his thumb. You lean into the touch, slashing his hesitancy in two.

"Sorry," he says, pulling your head toward his neck gently as he leans down to hold you. "I'm sorry. Don't be upset, please. Don't be upset "

"I'm an idiot–"

"No," he says, with the facts to back his denial. "I'm an idiot, I should never have upset you like this–"

"I broke your computer, it's just like you said–"

"I shouldn't have–"

"–I'm so needy I could've ruined all your hard work," you say, wriggling with guilt like you attempt to pull away.

Spencer really doesn't want to let you go now he has you, not until he's sure you'll stay in one piece. "If it's ruined, it's my fault for failing to back it up."

He should tell you that he's sorry for what he said. He knew it wasn't right he moment it escaped him, to speak to you like that, and accuse you of what he did. He basically called you selfish, uncaring. He implied it and worse, and for what? An accident? A mis-step that he practically forced you into?

"I never should've said that to you," he says, breaking his hug to crouch in front front you, searching blindly for your hand as he holds eye contact, looking up. You deign to frown down. "And I walked away. And you're crying," —his voice fries with sympathy— "because of me."

Your hand is limp in his. "I'm sorry," he says.

"It's okay." You sniffle and nod, lips struggling into a smile.

"It's not okay."

"Well, I hit your coffee over, so we're even."

"You accidentally spilled my drink, you didn't deserve to be mocked."

"Spence…" Your eyes half-lidded, you wince down at the cradle of his hand where it holds yours. "Did I break it?"

"I don't know. I got to Garcia's office and I knew I did the wrong thing, so I came back."

You swallow audibly. "I just wanted to make you feel better."

"I know." He stands again as your eyes well with tears to hug you, kissing the top of your head. "I'm sorry. That was all me, okay? I shouldn't have snapped at you."

What follows is agony. Spencer patting your back through a panicked bubble of tears, wretched in knowing he caused it, and worse is the look you give him as he wipes your messed up make up away in want of a mirror, like you're grateful.

"Does it look really bad?"

"N–no. You look really pretty," he says.

"Are my eyes puffy?"

A little. "No. You look great." He can't apologise anymore– it won't help you feel better now, it'll just assuage his own worry. What you need is a different reassurance. "It's hard not looking at you, sometimes, you look that nice. But you know that already."

"I don't mean to do that. I didn't mean to."

Spencer puts his hand above your heart. "I know you didn't. I really, really shouldn't have said it. I was being cranky and I struck out like a kid."

"...You're not just saying I look nice to get back in the good books, are you?" you ask.

Spencer leans in, nearly nose to nose with you. "Of course not."

You tilt your head as though you might kiss him. He knows you won't and he's delighted anyways. It means you're feeling okay. He's nearly forgiven, or, at the very least, you're not actively upset. "I thought I liked seeing you pissed off, but now I'm not so sure."

"It's not a good look on me," he murmurs. "But it looks great on you, if you want to get angry with me."

"Well now I can't. I know it's what you want."

"Can I give you a hug?" he asks.

You drop all your acts and slide your arms around his neck. He wraps you up slowly, one arm at a time, careful to put all the pressure exactly where you like it.

"That feels nice," you mumble.

He bends into you and rubs your back. "Yeah?"

"Don't," you warn.

He draws a shape into your back with his fingers, slow, tiny things that make you squirm. "Don't what?"

"You're tickling me." You don't sound unhappy about it.

"What?" he asks. "I can't hear you over the sound of me being a huge jackass. Sorry."

Your giggle is honey into his shoulder, sticky and sluggish as his circles turn to stars.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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yvaineseleneposts · 2 months ago

Text

Brother's best friend

A/N: Sometimes I know where I want the story to go but I cannot really start the story. So I am very sorry for the weird beginning...

Requested: no

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Reader

Words: 9k

Warning(s): none

It started with laughter from the basement.

I was home for winter break, curled up on the couch with a book and a blanket, when I heard my brother’s unmistakable voice. It was followed by another, deeper one—smooth, with a Swiss accent that never quite disappeared.

Nico.

My brother’s best friend. New Jersey Devils’ golden boy. And the boy I told myself I’d never fall for.

He had been around for years—quiet, respectful, funny in a dry sort of way. He always smiled at me in that polite, friendly way guys smile at their best friend’s little sister. And that’s all I was. The sister. The one who had braces for too long, who stole the remote, who tagged along to dinners when our parents forced him to include me.

But somewhere along the way, I grew up. And so did he.

He walked into the kitchen that night like he owned it, hair slightly damp from the snow, Devils hoodie slung low on his hips. He smiled when he saw me.

"Hey," he said. Just that. Simple. Like it didn’t flip my stomach every time.

"Hey, Nico."

“You’re home.”

“Yeah. College is off for the holidays.”

He opened the fridge like it was his. It always had been, really. He’d been eating our leftovers since he was sixteen.

"You want tea?" he asked, already boiling water. That was Nico. Kind without asking why.

I nodded, and we stood in silence for a beat. Not awkward. Just full.

My brother came in then, joking about some guy from high school who still hadn’t moved out of his mom’s basement. I laughed, but I watched Nico more. And he noticed.

Later that night, I was brushing snow off my jacket by the door when I heard the creak of footsteps behind me. I turned—and there he was. Nico, jacket half-zipped, cheeks flushed from the cold.

"You heading out?" I asked, trying to sound normal. Just normal.

"Yeah," he said. "Got practice in the morning."

I nodded, tightening my grip on the doorknob like it would ground me. “Don’t let my brother drag you into another midnight NHL binge-watch.”

He grinned, that crooked, easy grin that undid me every time. “He already tried. Told him I needed sleep. He accused me of getting old.”

I laughed softly. “He’s not wrong.”

Nico smiled, then looked at me—really looked. “You’re different this year.”

My heart paused. “Different?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “College suits you, I guess. You seem… older.”

“Time does that,” I said, my voice lighter than I felt.

He gave a small nod, like he wasn’t sure what else to say. Then, he reached out and gave my shoulder a brief, friendly squeeze. The kind of touch that meant nothing and everything.

"Goodnight, kiddo."

Kiddo. That stupid nickname he hadn’t used since high school. It landed like a stone in my chest.

“Goodnight, Nico.”

He left without looking back.

The door clicked shut, and the quiet came rushing in. I stood there in the dim hallway, jacket still in hand, heart a little heavier than before.

He didn’t know.

Of course he didn’t. Why would he? I had become a master of hiding it—smiling too casually, looking away too fast, pretending his touch didn’t burn through my sweater sleeves.

He still saw me as his best friend’s little sister. And I had no idea how much longer I could stand it.

The cabin was already warm by the time we arrived, logs crackling in the fireplace, the smell of pine and cinnamon filling the air. My parents were unpacking in the master bedroom. My brother was already knee-deep in a snowball war with our younger cousins. And me? I was pacing by the window like a girl waiting for something she swore she didn’t care about.

Nico was supposed to arrive today. He and his family had been coming to this ski lodge with us every winter since we were kids. It was tradition. Familiar. Safe.

And yet, this year, I felt anything but.

I kept checking the driveway. Every time headlights passed down the snow-dusted road, my pulse jumped. Every sound outside made me glance up. I’d even redone my braid—twice.

Pathetic.

“Someone��s antsy,” my brother teased as he passed through the kitchen. “You gonna throw yourself into the snow when Nico gets here?”

I rolled my eyes, too practiced to flinch. “Please. I’m just excited to beat you at Monopoly later.”

But inside? Inside I was a storm. Because no matter how hard I tried to shove my feelings down, they kept rising. Swelling. Tightening like a scarf too snug.

When the knock finally came at the door, my stomach turned over. I rushed to open it before anyone else could.

And then I froze.

There he was—Nico—his hair tousled under a beanie, cheeks flushed from the cold, grinning that easy grin.

But he wasn’t alone.

She stood beside him, wrapped in a perfect cream coat, sleek brown hair tucked behind her ears, boots too clean to have touched a snowbank. Her arm brushed his, her smile soft, confident. Like she belonged there.

“Hey!” Nico said, stepping forward. “Long drive, but—made it.”

I swallowed. “Hey. You’re here.”

He turned slightly. “This is Clara. She’s… uh, she came with me.”

Clara. Of course she had a name like that. Light and graceful and elegant in a way I never was.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, reaching out with a gloved hand. Her voice was honey and warmth.

“You too,” I said, somehow smiling even as the words cut my tongue on the way out.

My brother came barreling past me, pulling Nico into a one-armed hug. The mood shifted, laughter rising, bags being hauled inside, introductions being made. The energy buzzed around me like static, but I couldn’t move. I stood rooted in the foyer, watching the way she leaned into Nico’s side like she’d done it a hundred times before.

And the worst part?

He let her.

That night, while everyone played cards and passed around mugs of mulled wine, I sat in the corner chair, nursing hot chocolate that had gone cold. Watching Nico laugh at something Clara whispered in his ear.

He didn’t look at me once.

But I couldn’t stop looking at him.

He still didn’t know. And now, maybe he never would.

They were heading into the city—Nico, Clara, my brother, a couple of their mutual friends who had driven up for the weekend. There was talk of a club, a new place with velvet walls and overpriced cocktails. Laughter echoed down the hallway as they pulled on jackets, sprayed perfume, laced boots.

I lingered in the kitchen, hoping someone might say, You coming?

But the question never came.

Instead, Clara turned to me with a too-bright smile. “We’ll probably be back late. Don’t wait up.”

“Yeah,” my brother added, barely glancing up from his phone. “You’re not really a club person, right?”

I nodded like it didn’t sting. “Right. Have fun.”

The door closed behind them. Silence settled.

I ended up in the den, cross-legged on the carpet with our parents, playing card games and half-listening to stories I’d heard a dozen times. I smiled and laughed when I was supposed to, but it all felt muted. Distant. Like watching someone else’s life through a frosted window.

Eventually, the adults drifted off to bed, the house quiet again, save for the soft creaks of wood settling in the cold.

I stayed downstairs.

Curled into the corner of the couch with an old blanket and a book I couldn’t focus on. The words blurred as I kept glancing at the clock.

12:41 AM.

1:09 AM.

At 1:42 AM, the front door creaked open.

I heard them before I saw them—tipsy laughter, the clumsy shuffle of boots on hardwood. My brother first, grumbling about the cold and heading straight upstairs. Then Clara, giggling as Nico tried to unzip her coat, both of them flushed and close.

“Shhh,” she laughed, swatting at him. “You’re going to wake everyone.”

He murmured something back in Swiss German, low and soft, and she pulled him into her, hands tangled in the collar of his jacket.

I froze.

They hadn’t seen me yet—tucked in the corner of the dark living room. I could’ve said something. Cleared my throat. Let them know I was still awake.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I sat there, the book limp in my lap, watching the boy I loved wrap his arms around someone else.

She kissed him. Long and slow. And he kissed her back, hands gentle at her waist like they’d done this a thousand times. Familiar. Easy.

They whispered something I couldn’t hear, then stumbled upstairs together, laughing all the way.

When the silence returned, it was deeper than before.

I looked down at the book in my hands—half-read, forgotten. The words were still blurred, but this time, it was from something hot and heavy burning in the back of my eyes.

It hit me then—not just the jealousy or the sadness, but the space between us. The years. The life experience. The way they belonged in that world, and I was still here in mine.

The cabin looked like a postcard. Strings of lights framed the windows, candles flickered on the mantel, and snow drifted lazily outside like it had nowhere better to be.

Inside, everyone was dressed up for New Year’s Eve. Clara wore a deep red dress that made her look like she belonged in a magazine. My brother had on a pressed shirt and an old gold party hat. Nico—he wore black. All black. His sleeves rolled up, collar open, wristwatch catching the light.

And I?

I wore a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

It was the kind of night I used to look forward to. Champagne, cheesy countdowns, the glow of a fireplace and the people I loved around me. But this year, I felt like a prop in the background of someone else’s story. Like I was just… there.

They all played games, passed drinks, told stories from the past year. I sat beside them, nodding, laughing at the right moments, but something was slipping. I could feel it. I didn’t want to be bitter. I didn’t want to be that girl.

But when Clara leaned into Nico and whispered something in his ear, and he grinned like it was the best thing he’d heard all night, I looked away so fast my neck ached.

Around 11:40, I stepped out onto the back porch, away from the heat, away from the noise. The snow was still falling, soft and steady. I pulled my coat tighter and let the cold bite my cheeks. It felt… better. Real.

The door creaked behind me. Footsteps. I didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“You okay?” Nico’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

I forced a smile and glanced at him. “Yeah. Just needed some air.”

He stepped beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him. We stared out into the trees, lit faintly by the lights inside.

“You’ve been kind of... quiet,” he said.

I shrugged. “I guess I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

He studied me. I could feel it, even though I didn’t look at him. “Anything you want to talk about?”

Yes. You. Her. Me.

“No,” I said. “It’s nothing, really.”

He didn’t press. He just nodded slowly and looked back at the snow.

But I could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” he asked suddenly.

That caught me off guard. I looked up at him then—really looked. His brow was furrowed, eyes uncertain. Vulnerable, even.

“No,” I said, quietly. “Of course not.”

He let out a breath, his shoulders easing. “Okay. Just… wanted to make sure.”

I nodded, then turned back toward the trees.

It was almost midnight. I could hear the countdown beginning inside.

“…10…9…”

“Happy New Year,” he said gently.

“Happy New Year,” I echoed.

And then he was gone—back inside, back to her. Back to everything I couldn’t say.

I stayed out there a little longer, the muffled cheer from inside slipping through the windowpanes, the sound of a kiss I didn’t see echoing in my chest like a missed note.

The heat in Spain was different.

It clung to your skin, slow and syrupy, curling into your clothes and hair until it felt like you were wearing sunlight. The villa our parents had rented sat on the edge of a quiet coast, white stone walls and terracotta tiles, lemon trees blooming by the pool. It was beautiful. Picturesque.

And I didn’t want to be here.

Not because of Spain. Not because of the sea or the food or the lazy afternoons where cicadas hummed like background music. But because I knew who else would be here.

Nico.

It had been six months since New Year’s.

Six months since I’d watched him kiss someone else.

Six months since I’d promised myself I was over it.

I hadn’t seen him since. I buried myself in coursework. Internships. Projects. Friends who didn’t know his name. And it helped—kind of. The sharp edge of it dulled. The ache faded into a quiet kind of ache, one I could live with. Mostly.

Until now.

I arrived at the villa first. My parents were already relaxing by the pool, wine in hand, sunglasses on. His family was due that afternoon. I told myself I didn’t care. That I wouldn’t look for him. That it didn’t matter who he brought with him this time.

But when the front gate creaked open around sunset, I still peeked through the slats of the balcony shutters.

It was him.

No Clara.

Just him.

He looked the same, but also different. Tanned. Relaxed. His hair longer, pushed back from his face. A canvas bag slung over one shoulder, sunglasses tucked into the collar of his shirt. He was laughing at something my brother said as they hauled luggage up the stone steps.

I didn’t go down to greet them.

Instead, I waited until dinner was already underway, then slipped into a seat on the far side of the long table. I smiled when I needed to, passed bread, nodded when someone brought up university. But I didn’t look at him. Not once.

Not until I had to.

“Hey,” Nico said softly, leaning toward me as our parents dove into a story about the last time they'd been to this town.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my eyes on my plate.

He tilted his head, like he was trying to catch my eye. “Been a while.”

“Yeah. School’s been… intense.”

“You disappeared,” he said. There was no accusation in his tone—just curiosity. And something quieter. Wary.

I shrugged. “Life gets busy.”

He studied me for a moment. “You look different.”

“Spain’ll do that.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I finally met his gaze. His eyes were searching. Familiar. Still brown and soft and too kind. I didn’t like what they made me feel.

So I smiled—polite, distant. The kind of smile people give to old classmates they don’t really want to reconnect with.

“Well,” I said, reaching for the wine, “cheers to reunions.”

He clinked his glass against mine, his eyes never leaving my face.

But I looked away again, pretending not to notice the way his smile faltered. Pretending not to feel the questions he wasn’t asking.

And for the rest of the night, I made sure to keep a safe, sunlit distance.

The night air in Spain was thick with music.

Laughter spilled from open doors. Streetlights buzzed faintly above cobblestone roads. Somewhere in the distance, someone was playing guitar, badly, and it somehow made everything better.

I hadn’t planned to go out.

They had asked — my brother, Nico, some of the locals they’d met at the beach. Tapas, maybe a rooftop bar, some dancing. I'd made excuses. Homework. Headache. Something that sounded reasonable enough to hide the real reason: I didn’t want to spend another night watching Nico be charming under dim lights.

But when Nico had stopped at the door and looked back, eyebrows raised, and said, “Come on — you need this,” something in me cracked. I grabbed my bag and followed them into the warm Spanish night.

And it was fun. At first.

Sangria in glass pitchers. A rooftop with views of the dark ocean. String lights over the terrace, laughter rising into the stars. I danced with strangers, let the rhythm pull me out of my head, smiled until I forgot why I didn’t want to come.

But then I had one more drink than I should have. And another.

And suddenly everything was too bright, too warm, too Nico.

He’d been beside me for most of the night — teasing me gently about my moves, offering sips of his drink, making sure I had water. He was always like that. Kind. Attentive. And totally, infuriatingly unaware.

We ended up leaning against a stone wall near the beach just after midnight, a little away from the rest of the group. The waves crashed nearby. His arm brushed mine.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

“Fine,” I said. Then laughed. “A little more than fine, maybe.”

He smiled. “You’ve been different lately.”

“That a bad thing?”

“No. Just… different.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I missed you,” he added, almost hesitant. “You just vanished after the holidays. I get it if school was crazy, but I thought we were friends.”

I turned to him, the alcohol swirling in my chest like smoke.

“That’s the problem,” I said before I could stop myself.

His brow furrowed. “What is?”

“I can’t be your friend.”

The words dropped like stones between us. Heavy. Loud. Irrevocable.

He blinked, trying to make sense of it. “Wait, what—what do you mean?”

But I just shook my head, suddenly dizzy. “Forget it. I shouldn’t’ve said that. I’m—just drunk.”

He reached out, touched my arm gently. “Hey. What’s going on?”

I pulled away, not harshly, but enough. “I can’t do this. Be near you. Laugh with you. Pretend like I’m fine.”

His expression twisted — confused, hurt. “Why?”

I met his eyes for a second too long.

Then looked away.

“I’m going back,” I mumbled, pushing off the wall.

He didn’t stop me. Just stood there, hands clenched at his sides, watching me walk back into the blur of music and strangers.

And I didn’t see the way he kept staring after me.

My parent’s had allowed me to have my best friend join us on during our holiday in Spain. Her name was Lila — bright, bold, loud in the best way. She showed up three days after the night out, suitcase in hand, sunglasses on, tossing her arms around me like we hadn’t just last seen each other a few weeks ago back home. The house instantly lit up with her energy. My parents adored her. Her tan lines and oversized beach hats became part of the scenery.

And I clung to her like a life raft.

Because being near Nico had started to feel like drowning in silence.

Since that night, we hadn’t spoken about what I said. He hadn’t asked. I hadn’t offered. But I knew he remembered. I could see it in the way he looked at me sometimes — unsure, like he was trying to read a map in a language he didn’t speak.

The more he watched me, the more I avoided him.

With Lila around, it was easy. She pulled me into plans, took up my time, shielded me with laughter and inside jokes Nico wasn’t part of. We sunbathed by the pool while the others played volleyball. We took photos at the market and wandered through little coastal towns. I only ever saw Nico at meals, where I made sure to sit at the far end of the table, always between Lila and someone else.

But he noticed. I could feel it.

One evening, as everyone got ready for a dinner out, I passed Nico in the hallway. Just the two of us. My breath caught before I even looked up.

He paused. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I said, still walking.

He stepped in front of me before I could slip past.

“Are we okay?” he asked, voice careful. Too careful.

I blinked. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Because it doesn’t feel like it.”

I shrugged. “I’ve just been busy. Lila’s only here for a week.”

He hesitated. “Did I do something wrong?”

I looked up at him then, and it physically hurt to see the confusion in his eyes. The guilt. He was trying. He just didn’t know why it mattered so much.

“No,” I said softly. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why won’t you even look at me?”

That nearly broke me.

I shook my head. “I can’t do this now.”

He stepped back, nodding slowly, jaw tightening like he was biting back something sharp. “Okay.” And that was it.

He let me walk past him, and I hated how much I wanted him to follow.

The house was quiet, save for the hum of the fridge and the distant sounds of waves crashing against the shore.

I couldn’t sleep.

I’d tried. Tossing and turning, pulling the blanket higher, pushing the pillow into a different shape, but the truth was, I couldn’t escape it. The knot in my stomach, the way my chest tightened every time I saw him — every time he looked at me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

So I slipped downstairs, hoping the cool night air would clear my head, my mind, even just for a few minutes.

The kitchen was dark except for the soft glow from the streetlights outside, casting long shadows across the counters. I moved quietly, reaching for the water bottle in the fridge, then poured myself a glass.

I was too lost in my own thoughts to hear the footsteps at first.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

His voice came out of nowhere, making me freeze mid-sip. The glass was cold against my lips. I hadn’t even heard him approach.

I set it down on the counter and slowly turned around.

Nico stood there, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes searching my face like he hadn’t seen me in a hundred years. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. The air around him was heavy, thick with tension.

“I didn’t think I’d find you here,” he said softly, but I could hear the hurt in his tone, the way it caught on the edges of the words. “But I was hoping it was you.”

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught, stuck somewhere between my throat and my heart. He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Why are you avoiding me?” His voice was barely a whisper, the question coming out like a plea. “What did I do wrong?”

I wanted to back away. To put distance between us. But my feet stayed rooted to the floor. And before I could think, before I could move, he reached out, placing his hand on the counter next to me, trapping me in the space between his body and the marble.

“I don’t get it,” he said, his breath warm against my skin as he leaned in. “I’m your friend, aren’t I? But you won’t even look at me anymore. What changed?”

The way he said it… like he was searching for an answer he couldn’t find, something that had slipped through his fingers and now hovered between us like an unspoken confession.

I swallowed, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Nothing changed.”

“Then why are you so distant?” he pressed, his voice growing more frustrated now, though he was still gentle. “You keep pushing me away, like I’m a stranger. I’m not just some guy, you know?”

I wanted to scream at him. You’re not just some guy. You’re the one I’ve been in love with for years, and it hurts to be near you when you’re in love with someone else.

But instead, I just stared at him.

His hand was still on the counter, his other hand fisted at his side, and he was so close now. Too close. I could feel the warmth of his body, his pulse, the tension in his muscles as if he were holding himself back from something — from me. I couldn’t breathe.

“You’re hurting me,” he said, his voice softer, almost hoarse. “I don’t understand what I did, but you’re hurting me by acting like this.”

I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell him everything, to beg him to understand. To stop pretending that I could just be his friend when my heart was screaming something else entirely. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let him see how broken I felt.

“I can’t talk about this,” I whispered, the words trembling on my lips.

“Why not?” Nico asked, his voice urgent. “Why can’t you just talk to me? I hate this silence between us.”

I finally looked up at him, and the hurt in his eyes knocked the wind out of me. I felt so selfish. But I couldn’t say it. Not yet.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice raw, the quiet desperation in it making my chest tighten. “I can’t just pretend everything’s okay anymore.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, squeezing them shut as if I could keep the tears from falling. When I opened them again, his face was inches from mine, his breath mingling with mine.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.

I should’ve said something. Should’ve told him how it hurt to be near him, how I couldn’t keep pretending that I was fine. But I couldn’t. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I’d lose the fragile thread holding me together.

So instead, I pulled away, stepping back slightly, breaking the moment.

“I… I’m sorry,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I just need some space.”

Nico stared at me, his expression a mix of hurt and confusion, but he didn’t argue. He let me slip past him, retreating into the stillness of the night.

The air in the kitchen was thick with unspoken words, but there was no escaping it anymore. Not for me, not for Nico.

I thought I could walk away, slip past him and retreat back to the distance I’d been keeping. But when I turned to leave, I felt him — his presence at my back like a magnet, pulling me back, stopping me in my tracks.

His hand landed gently on my wrist, just enough to make me pause.

“I’m not letting you go without an answer,” Nico said, his voice calm but insistent. “Not without understanding why.”

I tried to breathe. Tried to steady the wild thudding of my heart. I wanted to run. Wanted to go back to the way things were — where I could pretend I wasn’t completely falling apart inside. But I knew I couldn’t. Not anymore. Not when he was standing there, looking at me like I was the answer to a question he couldn’t solve.

“I can’t keep doing this,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I can’t keep pretending, Nico.”

He stepped closer, crowding me in the small space of the kitchen. My back pressed against the counter as he closed the distance between us, trapping me in place. My breath hitched, the weight of him so close, the scent of him—his cologne, fresh air, the salt of the ocean—overwhelming.

“What do you mean?” His voice was almost desperate now, low and rough, like he was holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure, but the words were slipping out faster than I could stop them.

“I can’t do this. I can’t be your friend anymore, Nico,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “It hurts too much. Watching you with other people. Pretending that everything is okay when it’s not.”

His hand moved from my wrist to the counter beside me, his knuckles pressing against the marble as he leaned in just a little closer.

“Why? What’s going on?” He was searching my face, his gaze so intense I felt exposed, like every hidden part of me was laid bare. “Why does it hurt?”

I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breath. This was the moment. The moment I either ran from everything I felt, or I told him the truth.

I took a step back, trying to gather my courage, but it wasn’t enough to push him away.

“I can’t watch you with Clara,” I said, the words falling out in a rush. “Or anyone else. I can’t pretend that it doesn’t break me inside. I can’t act like we’re just friends when I—when I’ve been in love with you for so long.”

The words were out, and for a moment, there was only silence between us.

I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t meet his gaze. But I felt his eyes on me, waiting, and I knew I couldn’t take it back now.

“You’re in love with me?” His voice cracked, and I felt it in my chest — that raw, vulnerable sound that cut through the air like a knife.

I nodded, my throat tight. “I have been for years.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t say anything at first. I could feel the weight of his silence pressing down on me, and I wanted to hide from it. But he wasn’t letting me go.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Nico finally asked, his voice softer now, but there was still that edge to it — like he was trying to understand something that didn’t make sense.

I met his gaze for the first time since I’d spoken. “I didn’t want to lose you. I thought if I told you, it would ruin everything. I didn’t want to risk our friendship. And I… I didn’t think you’d feel the same way.”

He took a breath, letting it out slowly, like he was processing everything I’d just said. And then he did something that made my heart stop — he reached out, gently cupping my face in his hand, as though I were something fragile.

“God,” he whispered. “I had no idea.”

I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hand against my skin. I couldn’t believe this was happening. After all this time, after everything I had kept inside — he was here. And he was listening.

“I’ve been so stupid,” Nico said, his voice thick with regret. “I didn’t see it. All this time, I didn’t realize.”

My chest tightened as I fought to keep my emotions in check, but it was impossible. “It’s not your fault,” I said quietly. “I never gave you the chance to see it. I didn’t want you to.”

He shook his head, a small smile pulling at his lips. “You should’ve told me sooner,” he said softly. “I could’ve made this easier for you.”

“You couldn’t have,” I whispered. “I had to figure it out on my own. I had to realize that I couldn’t keep pretending.”

And then, without thinking, I stepped forward, closing the final gap between us. His hand was still on my face, and I leaned into it, closing my eyes as if that single touch could make everything make sense.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Nico asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid the answer would break something inside him.

I reached up and took his hand, holding it against my cheek for just a moment longer before pulling it away gently. “Because I was scared,” I said. “Scared of losing you. Scared that you’d never feel the same.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Then, finally, Nico took a step back, and I felt a pang of regret at the distance. But then he looked back at me, his eyes softer than I’d ever seen them.

“You’re not going to lose me,” he said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

My heart raced, hope and fear battling inside me. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Nico began, stepping closer again, his voice steady now, “that I’m not letting you walk away this time. Not without us trying to figure this out. Together.”

I didn’t know if it was a promise or a question, but either way, it was the answer I had been waiting for. And I couldn’t help but smile.

The silence between us had shifted. No longer heavy with the weight of unsaid words, but filled with something else. Something tentative and raw.

Nico was standing in front of me, his gaze searching mine, as if trying to find something — an answer, a sign, something that could assure him this was real, that we were real.

We were real.

I could feel it in the air around us, in the space between us that no longer felt cold and distant. But it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t the kind of confession that magically fixed everything. There was still so much left unspoken, still so much to understand.

I wanted to reach out, wanted to close the gap between us, but the words hung heavy in my throat. The uncertainty wasn’t gone, even if the fear was beginning to fade.

“So, what now?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, unsure how to move forward.

Nico took a deep breath, his gaze softening as he stepped closer again. The warmth of his presence sent a flutter through my chest, but this time it didn’t hurt — it felt like something else entirely, something new.

“I think…” he paused, his lips curving into a small smile, “I think we take it one step at a time. No rushing this. We’ll figure it out, together.”

The simplicity of it took me by surprise. It wasn’t complicated. It wasn’t some grand gesture. It was just him, speaking to me with that same honesty I’d always known him for.

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight in my chest lift, if only a little.

“What happens if I’m still scared?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

Nico’s smile widened, and he reached for my hand. For the first time in a long time, I let him, my fingers intertwining with his.

“Then we take it slow,” he said softly. “No rush. No pressure. We take it however you need it. And if that means we go a little slower, then we do that. But I’m not going anywhere.”

I felt something inside me shift — a kind of relief that I hadn’t even known I’d been waiting for. He wasn’t pushing me. He wasn’t demanding answers or making things difficult. He was giving me space to breathe. To be.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whispered, looking up at him, suddenly more vulnerable than I had ever felt. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You haven’t,” he reassured me, his thumb brushing the back of my hand gently. “You’ve been hurting in silence, and I couldn’t see it. I’m sorry for that.”

I shook my head, the tears I’d been holding back threatening to spill. “It wasn’t your fault. I didn’t let you see it. I couldn’t.”

Nico’s other hand came up, gently cupping my cheek. He tilted my face upward, and for a long moment, we just stood there, staring at each other. The warmth of his touch was the only thing that felt certain in that moment.

“I know now,” he whispered. “And I’m not going to make you carry this on your own anymore.”

For the first time in a long time, I let myself believe it. I let myself believe that maybe — just maybe — we could make this work.

We stood there in silence for a while longer, and for once, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was peaceful. Real. The kind of silence that speaks louder than any words ever could.

“Do you think we can be something more than just friends?” I asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Nico’s eyes softened, and he smiled. “I think we already are.”

And in that moment, everything I’d been holding in — all the fears, the doubts, the uncertainty — melted away.

We didn’t have all the answers. We didn’t know where this was going. But we knew that for once, we were both willing to try.

I took a deep breath, a smile tugging at my lips.

“I think I’d like that,” I whispered, the weight of the words more freeing than I could have imagined.

Nico pulled me closer then, and I let him. For the first time, I didn’t pull away. I let myself feel what I had been too afraid to admit — that this was real. That we were real.

His lips brushed mine, soft and tentative, like a promise. Like something new that we were only just beginning to explore.

The world outside the kitchen still felt uncertain. But for the first time in a long time, standing in his arms, I felt like maybe everything would be okay.

And as I pulled away, just enough to look at him, I knew we had taken the first step.

The days after that night felt like a new beginning. Nico and I still didn’t have all the answers, but everything was different — in the best way possible. We weren’t just friends anymore, but we weren’t rushing into anything either.

We took things slow. And I realized, more and more, that I was grateful for that. The pressure was gone. I didn’t need to force anything to happen. Nico wasn’t asking for anything more than what I could give, and that was exactly what I needed.

But navigating this new dynamic was trickier than I’d imagined.

It was different to look at him and know I wasn’t just seeing my brother’s best friend anymore. I was seeing someone who meant so much more than that. Someone I had silently pined over for years, someone who had become even more important to me than I’d ever realized.

The way he looked at me now was different, too. His eyes no longer carried that same casual warmth that came from years of friendship. There was something deeper there now — an unspoken promise of more, of us, of the future.

But sometimes, that look made me nervous. It felt like I was standing on the edge of something I didn’t fully understand yet.

The first week after our conversation was peaceful, a quiet kind of understanding settling between us. We spent time together with my parents and his, casually hanging out, no pressure. Nico would catch my eye across the table, offering me a soft smile, and I’d return it, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. We hadn’t talked about anything beyond that first confession — the kiss, the feelings — but there was something unspoken between us that felt more real than any words could express.

But then, one afternoon, as we sat on the balcony overlooking the ocean in Spain, the stillness between us broke.

“You know,” Nico started, breaking the silence as he leaned back in his chair, gazing out at the horizon, “I’ve been thinking a lot about that night.”

I glanced over at him, my stomach tightening. We hadn’t really talked about what had happened since. I didn’t know what he was going to say, but the fact that he was bringing it up meant he had been thinking about it, too.

I nodded, my voice a little unsure. “What about it?”

He turned to look at me, his eyes serious now. “I think… I think I’ve been an idiot.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. “What do you mean?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his expression conflicted. “All these years, I didn’t realize how much you meant to me. I kept brushing it off, telling myself that we were just friends. But the truth is, I’ve always cared about you. I’ve always felt something. I just… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

My heart skipped a beat, the words coming out of his mouth echoing in my chest. It felt like everything was coming full circle. But I didn’t know what to say.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Nico stopped me with a raised hand.

“I don’t want to rush this,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “But I just needed you to know that. I needed you to know I’m not just here because I feel sorry for you or because I think I should be. I’m here because I want to be. And I don’t want to let you go. Not again.”

I felt my breath catch in my throat. This was different. This wasn’t the Nico I had known for years. This was the Nico who had finally admitted what he’d been holding inside. The one who wasn’t afraid to be honest with me.

“You’re not going to lose me, Nico,” I whispered, my heart racing as I looked at him. “I just… I don’t know what this means. I don’t know how to be with you in this way.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at me with an intensity I hadn’t seen before.

“I think we both need to figure that out,” he said gently. “But I’m willing to try, if you are.”

I felt a rush of warmth spread through me — a mixture of relief and excitement.

“I’m scared,” I admitted, finally voicing the thing that had been lurking in my mind. “I don’t know how to navigate this with you. I’ve spent so long keeping these feelings inside, and now everything feels so... different.”

“I get that,” Nico said softly. “It’s a lot to take in. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

We sat there in silence for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air. The breeze from the ocean ruffled my hair, but I didn’t move. I didn’t want to move. I wanted to stay right there, in that moment, with him.

The next few days were filled with more quiet moments between us — long walks along the beach, quiet dinners with our families, and those stolen glances across the room. We were learning how to be around each other in this new way, navigating the line between friendship and something more.

But the moments that felt the most real were the ones when we didn’t talk. When we just were together — a gentle touch on the arm as we passed each other, the casual way he would smile at me, like we were sharing a secret.

It was the little things. The quiet gestures that made me feel like everything was slowly coming into focus.

One evening, we all went out for a late dinner at a small restaurant along the coast. The atmosphere was warm, and the lights glowed softly against the fading light of the day. As the night went on, our families laughed and talked, but Nico and I stayed on the edges, watching everyone, talking in quiet voices.

“Do you think this is crazy?” I asked him suddenly, a smile tugging at my lips.

He looked over at me, his expression thoughtful. “It feels like a dream, honestly. But I don’t want to wake up from it.”

I laughed softly. “Good. Because I don’t either.”

And for the first time in a long time, I truly believed it. I didn’t know where this was going, and I wasn’t in any rush to figure it out. But for now, I was content to just be here — with Nico. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

It felt surreal, almost like I was waiting for something to shatter — some moment when I’d wake up and realize this was all just a fleeting dream. But with each day that passed, the more real it became. Nico and I weren’t just tiptoeing around what we both felt anymore. We were moving forward, slowly, steadily.

The moment we got back home from Spain, everything felt familiar again, the steady hum of life going on as usual. It should’ve felt like we were back to normal, but things between Nico and me were different now.

It was subtle, in the way we exchanged glances, in the way we leaned a little closer when we spoke, in the gentle touches we shared when no one else was looking. But mostly, it was in the way our connection felt stronger, deeper. I didn’t have to question whether Nico was in this with me — I felt it in every word he said, in every smile he gave.

Tonight was supposed to be a low-key evening. Nico had suggested a movie night, but I wasn’t prepared for how different it would feel — just the two of us, lying on the couch, watching a movie, while the world outside seemed so far away.

We started off sitting side by side, just as we had before — the same comfortable silence that had always marked our friendship. But now it felt… different. Every time I shifted slightly, our legs brushed together, and I couldn’t ignore the electric spark that traveled up my spine.

I caught Nico glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, a playful grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, though I knew full well why he was looking at me.

He shook his head, his grin widening. “Nothing. Just thinking about how everything’s changed.”

I smiled, trying to keep it light. “Yeah, it’s kind of weird, huh?”

“Yeah,” Nico replied, his voice soft but warm. “But in a good way.”

His words sent a warmth spreading through me, and for a moment, we both just stared at the screen, lost in the quiet of the room. But the silence felt comfortable now. Natural. There was no tension, no awkwardness. Just us, together, sharing a moment.

I shifted again, this time allowing myself to get a little closer, and before I could stop myself, my head had found its way onto his shoulder. Nico tensed for a second but didn’t pull away. Instead, he relaxed into it, his arm slipping around my shoulders, drawing me closer.

“Is this okay?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, even though I was certain I knew the answer.

He let out a quiet chuckle, his breath warm against my skin. “More than okay.”

We settled into a comfortable silence again, watching the movie, but it was hard to focus on anything else but the way his arm was around me, the way his body was so close to mine, the way he was so completely present. Every small touch, every shift in position felt like something more — something I wasn’t quite ready to admit but couldn’t deny either.

My heart was racing, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to pull away. Nico didn’t rush it. He didn’t try to do anything — he just let me be, letting me get used to the idea of this. Of us.

The movie had long since faded into the background, our attention fully on each other now. Nico’s thumb was tracing small circles on my arm, sending a shiver down my spine with each movement. I could feel his steady breath, warm against my cheek, and the soft pressure of his arm around me that made my chest tighten with something I couldn’t name.

I lifted my head slightly to look at him, and he met my gaze almost immediately, his eyes dark and intense. There was something new in them — something more than just affection. It was the look of someone who was in tune with me, who understood what was happening between us.

“Nico,” I murmured, my voice barely audible, “are we really doing this?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against my forehead in a gentle, tender kiss. “I think we already have,” he whispered back, his lips brushing my skin.

I closed my eyes, my heart skipping a beat. Every word he said made it clearer — we were already here. There was no turning back, no more hesitation.

When I opened my eyes again, he was closer, so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my lips. For a moment, everything else faded away. There were no doubts, no fears — just the two of us, here, together.

I reached up, my hand finding its way to his cheek, and I pulled him toward me. Nico didn’t hesitate. He kissed me softly, at first, like he was testing the waters, unsure but wanting to be sure.

The world around us seemed to melt away. His lips were warm against mine, gentle but full of promise, and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning into him, deepening the kiss. There was no rush, no urgency — just the quiet, knowing feeling that this was exactly where we were supposed to be.

Nico’s hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me even closer as our lips moved in sync. My chest tightened, my heart racing as the kiss became more than just a kiss — it became everything we hadn’t said. All the words we had been too scared to speak, all the feelings we had buried under layers of friendship, now unfolding in this one moment.

And when we finally pulled away, breathless and a little dazed, I couldn’t help but smile.

Nico chuckled, his forehead resting against mine. “Well… I guess this movie night just got a little more interesting.”

I laughed softly, my fingers lightly tracing his jaw. “Yeah, I guess so.”

His smile was playful, but there was something more in his eyes. Something deeper. Something that told me we weren’t just two people caught up in a moment. We were building something real, something we both wanted.

The movie was long forgotten. But in that moment, as I lay against him, his arm around me, I couldn’t think of anything else I wanted more.

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