#and thought it would be nice if they had somewhere safe to go

[annyeongffs]

𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞. || 𝙝.𝙝𝙟 (𝗠)

x𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘨. 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘶𝘯𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘦. 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥’𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦. 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘫𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨.

x𝐰𝐜: 𝟷𝟻.𝟻𝚔

x𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘳! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘯! 𝘩𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘯

x𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥’𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘶; 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳; 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴-𝘵𝘰-𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘤, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵. 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘱𝘰𝘱 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴.

x𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: ��𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵.

𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓷𝓮 || 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓽𝔀𝓸 (coming soon)

—

you’re already sweating, and the island breeze hasn’t even touched your skin yet.

you’re tired, jet-lagged, and overstimulated. you left your brain somewhere between a screaming toddler in gate d7 and the second broken escalator in this godforsaken terminal, and if you hear one more unintelligible, staticky announcement buzz overhead on the intercom, you think you might scream– or cry. both options are on the table.

your phone buzzes with a text from minji as you trudge towards the baggage carousels.

TEXT FROM: MIN MIN <3

do not kill the best man. i’m begging you. play nice for me, please?

you would love to respect the bride’s wishes. you really, really would.

but fate has other things in mind for you.

because as you’re weaving through tourists and sunhat influencers and stepping over someone’s forgotten neck pillow, you spy a tall figure waiting by the baggage claim with the power to light a thousand fires of annoyance inside you.

hwang hyunjin.

the best man, in title only. the one person on this earth capable of making your life a living hell for eight months straight. who clashes with you over and over again during every round of wedding planning.

the man who insisted chartreuse was ‘underrated’ and ‘vibrant’, and then had the audacity to send you six different kinds of ugly cupcakes in a pinterest board named “trust the vision.”

the man who submitted your joint wedding party itinerary in comic sans font. unironically.

he’s standing in front of carousel five now, dressed like a vacation ad: white linen button down, sunglasses on his head, fresh smoothie in hand. he looks tan. relaxed. and entirely too smug.

you, on the other hand, haven’t slept since you left your apartment for the airport yesterday.

he doesn’t see you at first– not until your suitcase wheel catches on what seems to be thin air, and you lurch forward, almost faceplanting into a promotional stand for reef-safe sunscreen.

that’s when he turns.

a smile overtakes his face, but it’s not the warm kind. it’s a little disingenuous, curling at his lips with that smug edge that drives you up the wall. he waves you down as if he’s happy to see you; you know better.

“oh wow,” he calls out, loud enough that three other people look up. “don’t tell me you flew all this way just to glare at me in person.”

you smile back. it’s not friendly, not at all.

“and here i thought they confiscated sarcasm at customs,” you say with false sweetness. “what a shame.”

he grins wider; like he thinks this is fun. like he doesn’t know you’ve been single-handedly holding this wedding together with duct tape and espresso.

you’re going to kill him.

you roll your eyes as he makes room for you to stand next to him by the carousel.

“have a nice flight, y/n?” he asks as though he cares. you glare daggers at him– you know he was in first class while you got stuck behind a snoring grandpa in coach. he just chuckles, sipping from his smoothie. you don’t bother answering.

you wait in barely-restrained silence until the bags start coming through the flap, eyes scanning the line for your many suitcases. there’s your carry-on roller, your backpack, and then two large checked bags that seem to have multiplied during the flight. you tug them without ceremony, nearly toppling over when you hoist them off the conveyor belt.

hyunjin spots his single, sleek navy suitcase almost immediately and lifts it with maddening ease, never once spilling a drop of his smoothie.

“jeez,” he says with a low whistle, eyebrow raised as he eyes your luggage mountain that you’re attempting to condense into a pile you can safely drag behind you, “what’s in all this? your entire wardrobe?”

“excuse you,” you snap defensively, “it’s a wedding. there’s a dress code, a climate to consider, and an itinerary of things we don’t really do all that often. and unlike some people, i don’t plan to show up looking like i just rolled out of bed.”

he smirks. “right. because this trip absolutely called for ten pairs of shoes.”

you roll your eyes again and start hauling your many items toward the exit, heaving your travel bag over your shoulder in the process. hyunjin follows, the picture of relaxation: backpack slung across one shoulder, suitcase rolling behind him, drink still in hand as he strolls effortlessly out of the airport.

you stop next to the cab pull-up, trying to fish out your phone to call an uber. a bright yellow car interrupts your luggage shuffle, the vehicle lurching as it halts to a stop– hyunjin is already beside you with one hand out to signal it. you look at him with confusion.

he exhales, loud and exaggerated, and motions for you to give him your bags.

“look,” he says, voice low and resigned, “we’re going to the same place anyway. you might as well just get in.”

you snort, surprising him. “you’re joking.”

“nope. just get in the cab, and nobody gets hurt. i’ll even give you the front seat.”

you concede with a smirk and drop your bags on the curb, making him groan before he picks them up to put them in the back.

“you’re being suspiciously nice today, hyun.” you say as you open the door, greeting the driver with a politeness you never bother to use on hyunjin.

his voice drifts from outside the cab. “don’t get used to it. i just want to get to the resort in one piece.”

he’s already sliding into the backseat while you pull up the address to give the cab driver. as you settle in, you catch him stealing a glance your way in the rearview mirror– half amused, half like he knows exactly how much you hate this whole setup.

you roll your eyes, making sure he hears the annoyed huff you let out while the cab leaves the airport in silence.

welcome to paradise.

–

the next disaster strikes at the check-in desk of the resort.

“i’m sorry, what?” you choke out in disbelief.

the concierge gives you an apologetic smile, eyes darting between you and hyunjin. “it appears the travel company booked you and mr. hwang in the same room by mistake, but there are no other suites available on the same floor as the wedding party. we’d be happy to put a rolling bed in the room if you are uncomfortable with the arrangements since it’s just a single queen bed.”

you shake your head, incredulous. “no, no, no. i can’t room with him! what’s the nearest suite on the next floor up?” you ask, desperation coating your voice.

the lady opens her mouth to respond, but hyunjin interrupts her before she can start clicking away on her computer. “that won’t be necessary, she can stay in the same suite that was booked. we’ll just get the rolling bed.” he says with authority.

you stare openly at him, mouth agape.

“no.” the word leaves your mouth firmly, but hyunjin shakes his head, turning to you.

“y/n, it won’t kill you. and you know damn well that minji will go full-on bridezilla if her maid of honor isn’t on the same floor as the rest of the wedding party.” he reasons like it’s the easiest option in the world. like you won’t want to throttle him if you’re forced to share the same space for five days.

you try to form words, to speak coherently, but all that comes out are squeaky gasps and stutters. hyunjin’s lips tilt into a smirk before his gaze swings back to the concierge, nodding shortly. 

“we’ll be perfectly fine in the shared suite, ma’am.” he declares with a charming smile.

the woman nods and types something on the monitor before reaching under the counter and pulling out two room keys with the number 319 on them. “alright, you’ll be on the third floor, two rooms over from the bride and groom. your bags will be brought up to you. please don’t hesitate to ring the front desk with any concerns you may have, and i hope you enjoy your stay!”

you follow hyunjin to the elevators with poorly concealed rage.

“what the fuck was that?” you hiss the moment you round the corner.

he shrugs like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about, pressing the button and slipping his hands into his pockets. like you’re not about to share a room for the better part of a week when you can already hardly be trusted to share a group chat with civility.

“you just decided we’d room together?” you whisper, voice sharp. “without even asking me?”

“oh, come on,” he mutters, glancing around as the elevator dings. “you think they could have moved you upstairs without a scene? face it, y/n. minji would’ve had an aneurysm. and you—” he steps inside, tilts his head at you like you’re something he can read easily, “you’re not exactly subtle when you’re spiraling.”

you follow him in with a glare, dragging your carry-on behind you like a deadweight. the doors slide closed and he hits the button for the third floor.

ten seconds of silence follow.

then twelve.

then– you can’t help yourself from going for a jab, still mad as hell that he had the nerve to speak for you like he did.

“i bet you snore like a freight train, don’t you?” you ask, arms crossed defensively.

“only when i’m dreaming about the day we fly out of this island and never have to speak again,” he replies without missing a beat.

“trust me, i’m counting the minutes,” you scoff.

 the elevator pings open before you can insult him further.

–

when hyunjin slides the keycard into the door and pushes it open, you aren’t sure what you’re expecting.

but you stop short when you enter behind him and see the scene inside.

there are rose petals littering the bedspread. candles arranged lovingly on the nightstand. a small chocolate heart rests on each pillow, and you think you spy swan towels on the bathroom counter, beak to beak, mid-kiss.

you and hyunjin freeze simultaneously in the doorway.

“…you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you breathe in horror.

“romantic,” hyunjin deadpans.

“shut up.”

you both spring into action, abandoning your luggage.

he starts gathering petals off the bed by the fistful, tossing them into the trash can as if touching them for too long will burn him. you march straight to the bathroom and snap the swan towels apart with more force than necessary, like they’ve personally offended you, and unwind them from their shapes until they’re back to being innocent hand towels.

a candle flickers as hyunjin snuffs it out.

“jesus,” you mutter, furiously snatching lipstick-stained doilies off the table. “did they think we were on a honeymoon? this is madness. maybe they confused us for the bride and groom.”

“we are radiating passion and stability,” he says dryly. you throw a hand towel at his face.

finally, after the room looks more like a suite and less like a lover’s fantasy, you take a long breath. then you turn to the rolling bed by the window. it looks smaller than you guessed it would; thinner somehow, sadder. 

you plant your backpack on it with stubborn finality. “i’ll be fine here,” you declare.

hyunjin just nods and starts unpacking, but you catch the smallest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

“whatever helps you sleep at night.”

you open your bag with a snap. “i can think of a thousand things better than sleeping in the same room as you. this is all your fault, you know.”

he doesn’t take the bait; just keeps shaking out dress shirts and hanging them up in the shared closet, leaving you to spiral in your head while you lug in your other bags from the hallway.

you can’t believe your luck– or lack thereof.

hwang hyunjin, your worst nightmare, pain-in-the-ass extraordinaire… now your roommate for the entire duration of the trip. you don’t know what destination wedding deity you pissed off to land in a situation like this; but you’re ready to seek them out and kneel if it means you don’t have to share this room and its too-small bed with hyunjin.

you just know minji is going to lose her mind when you tell her what’s happening.

–

after what seems like a small eternity, you finish unpacking and stow away your luggage, your rosebud pink bridesmaid dress hanging neatly in the closet next to hyunjin’s suit like a mockery. 

you hog the bathroom long enough to freshen up, changing into your bathing suit and flowy cover-up, hair loose around your shoulders and sunglasses on. as annoyed as you are at the situation, you refuse to let him ruin your long-awaited vacation. you’ve earned every minute you’re about to spend drinking by the water with your friends.

you don’t bother to wait for him to change once you leave the room, taking the elevator back down to the main floor. you follow signs for the outdoor pool, weaving around the expansive resort, mouth threatening to drop open at the sheer luxury of it.

the place is massive: lush greenery meets the eye at every turn, walkways lined with palms and blooming hibiscus bushes that perfume the lazy island breeze when it ruffles your hair. the ocean glints serenely all around the resort, mid-afternoon sunlight bouncing off of every wave, and the sandy dunes just past the bar seem to call your name to go exploring. 

it’s paradise. the air is warm, the sky is impossibly blue, and your friends are laid out all around the shallow pool when you arrive, basking in the tropical weather and splashing around as laughter rings out. you can’t help the smile that spreads at the sight of it.

it’s so beautiful here– it almost makes you forget about the unbearable best man you left upstairs.

minji is the first to spot you, popping up from her lounge chair in a blur of white bikini and “i’m-the-bride” sash. “oh my god, y/n! you made it!” she calls happily, running over to you and squeezing you into a tight hug.

you squeeze her back just as hard, careful not to spill the drink she clutches. “i can’t believe we’re here,” you tell her with a grin. she drags you over to the rest of the group, and you go willingly, smile widening when the others note your arrival.

“y/nnie! oh my gosh, she’s here!” sana squeals. wendy waves and blows you a kiss from her spot next to the pool, jihyo beams as she dips her toes in the water, and you’re wrapped up into yeji’s arms without warning as she tackles you. her breath smells of mimosas when she yells delightedly into your ear that she’s never been happier to see you.

“okay, okay, let me force one of the boys to get you a drink,” minji says, turning to where the groomsmen are horsing around in the water. you wave at them as she calls for felix to get out of the water and find you some kind of alcohol.

sana snorts as you drop yourself into the chair next to her, shaking her head. “look at hyunjae. he’s such a menace, i swear. he’s been dunking jimin under the water every chance he gets.” 

you glance at where her boyfriend is, indeed, dunking on poor jimin, roughhousing like no tomorrow. the groom, minho, is laughing loudly at the whole thing, floating around with a beer in hand while he talks to yunho.

you settle into your chair with a contented sigh. the sun is warm on your skin when you kick your legs up, peering over wendy’s shoulder at the magazine she’s reading. you giggle to yourself; wendy lives for celebrity gossip. you’re not surprised she brought some with her.

across the pool, felix is tending the makeshift bar full of ingredients that the boys no doubt brought in their checked luggage. “y/nnie!” he calls to you, “pick your poison! what do you want?”

you shrug, shouting back, “go with your gut, just make it a strong one!”

he laughs and gets to work. minji comes back to your side, pulling her chair up next to you and sinking back into it.

she takes a generous sip of her cocktail before pinning you with a smirk. “so… a little birdy told me you and the best man were on the same flight. where should we start looking to find his body?” she jokes lightly, nudging your arm.

you nudge her back and roll your eyes. “he’s alive for now, no need to unleash the groom on me. and my flight was awful– i got stuck behind the loudest snorer on board.”

jihyo throws you a pitying look from the pool edge. “you poor thing,” she croons, “at least you only have to deal with hyunjin for a few more days.”

felix walks over, carefully holding out a multicolored slushy-style concoction that you hope is strong enough to make you forget about the rough start of your trip.

“frozen cuban breeze for the lady!” he jokes, handing it off to you. you beam at him and instantly take a long sip, the cold taste of the alcohol on your tongue refreshing.

“god, lix, you’re the best,” you say with a hum. he mock salutes before diving back into the pool, splashing jihyo purposefully as he goes.

minji pins you with a look that you know spells gossip. “i heard from the front desk that there was some room trouble. did you get settled in okay?” she asks. 

you don’t answer right away, choosing to suck down more alcohol– you’ll need it to survive the day. “well… not exactly.” you mutter, catching the attention of the rest of the bridesmaids.

wendy drops her magazine like it’s on fire. “y/n, spill. now.” she demands.

you sigh before lowering your drink, deciding to just rip the band aid off. “it was a disaster of epic proportions. hyunjin and i are officially stuck in the same room for the whole trip.”

sana gasps as if the news is life-changing; it is for you. “holy shit, y/n. how are you gonna survive this?” she half-teases, half-levels. wendy’s eyes go wide and she attempts to cover a poorly timed laugh.

yeji is shaking her head. “this is not going to be very pretty,” she says solemnly, clutching her own drink with tight hands.

and the bride is too busy staring at you widemouthed to say anything. shock and a hint of amusement dances behind her eyes, sunglasses now lowered to stare at you. you poke her and go on, “min, it was horrible! he was acting so in-charge and bossy, and when i couldn’t say anything polite, he just charmed the pants right off of the desk assistant and told her we’d be fine rooming together! what was i supposed to do?” you groan.

jihyo laughs sharply, now floating near where your group has gathered, away from the still-rowdy groomsmen. “oh, honey. you really can’t make this shit up, huh?”

you cover your face with one hand dramatically, shaking your head at the absurdity of the whole thing. “it’s a nightmare. they wheeled in a rolling bed, but i still have to share the room with the devil himself for almost a full week. somebody kill me now.” you lament.

minji recovers and pats your back in sympathy, despite the grin that wavers on her lips. “y/n, i’m sure it’ll be fine. it’s just for a few days, and you can hang out in mine and minho’s room whenever you want.” she offers. you take another long drink of your alcoholic slush.

wendy lifts her glass of wine– you’ll never understand why she doesn’t like cocktails– and raises a toast. “to surviving!” she exclaims, and the girls all lift their drinks too.

“to surviving!” you all shout, falling into a fit of laughter at the soap opera that seems to be your life.

and of course, the universe chooses that moment to spit hyunjin back into your orbit. 

“what are we surviving?”

you hear his grating voice before you even turn to see him.

you shield your eyes against the sun as you spot him: walking up casually from the path, hands in the pockets of his pineapple-print swim trunks, long hair tickling his shoulders and breezy shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest.

he looks unfairly good– you don’t know if you want to sigh or scream, and that seriously bothers you.

“nothing, hyunnie. glad you could make it!” minji greets him, ever the diplomat between the two of you.

hyunjin’s footsteps crunch softly on the stone pathway as he approaches the pool, beer already in hand, the late afternoon sun catching on his honeyed skin. 

he takes a second to give you a maddening, cocky glare before his hand is at the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one; you don’t even realize that you’re holding your breath, fingers tight around your drink like it’s a lifeline.

he opens the last button with a casual flick and shrugs off the shirt, tossing it onto a nearby chair with ease. you swear you’re not staring. but damn, the guy’s built like a greek god who accidentally wandered into your island getaway.

you hate how attractive he is almost as much as you hate everything else about him.

he steps into the shallow water, sending gentle ripples across the pool as he makes his way to the cluster of boys already splashing around like unruly kids.

minho turns to the familiar face and breaks into a grin. “there he is! hyunjin’s made it!�� he claps him hard on the back, almost spilling his own beer. “finally, man. thought you might bail on us.”

hyunjin smirks, voice low but loud enough for the group. “never, minho. you’d have to kill me first.” he settles into the water with ease, sending a small splash towards yunho, who mock-glares but laughs anyway.

felix spots him and grins, wading over. “took your time, huh? we were about to send a search party.”

“had to make an entrance,” hyunjin replies casually, eyes flicking toward the far side of the pool where you sit like a queen with your girls around you. his smirk deepens, but you catch the briefest shadow of something unreadable in his gaze.

jimin pipes up, water dripping from his hair, “well, now that jinnie is here, let’s see if he can handle the reigning dunk champion, hyunjae. i might choke on pool water before we ever make it to the ceremony if he can’t be stopped.”

hyunjae throws a mischievous grin and gestures to the water between them. “bring it, hyun.”

hyunjin laughs, the sound easy and familiar, and you lean back and grab wendy’s magazine, pretending not to watch as the guys start to tussle in the pool like a bunch of boys on summer break.

your lips twitch despite yourself. you pretend to be deeply interested in the latest hollywood gossip as you actively ignore hyunjin, minji talking your ear off about how many things she wants to see and do in this massive resort.

across the pool, hyunjin settles deeper into the water, shoulder-to-shoulder with minho now as they nurse their beers. the late sun catches off the water in golden shards. the other boys are mid-conversation about something dumb—probably whether it’s socially acceptable to bring floaties into the formal dinner tomorrow—when minho pauses, tracking hyunjin’s eyes.

“dude, you’re staring,” minho says flatly, one brow raised as he tips his bottle toward the girls’ side of the pool where you’re still acting like hyunjin doesn’t exist. “again.”

“i’m not,” he lies effortlessly, sipping his drink.

“you are,” minho replies, not buying a word of it. “you’ve been clocking her like she’s about to sprout wings and fly off.”

hyunjin snorts and shakes his head, tossing a splash of water at him. “i’d love to see her go, so don’t even start.”

“start what? it’s not my fault you’ve got a thing for the maid of honor,” minho says breezily. “just admit it. it’s kinda hot. like, deeply concerning and a potential disaster, but hot.”

“minho.” hyunjin deadpans, “i do not have a thing for annoyingly type-A women who nag me about color palettes and centerpieces at five in the morning over text. so stuff it.”

hyunjin gives you one more glance, watching how you bury your head in a magazine as the girls start pestering you.

“you’re doing that thing again,” yeji is saying, sipping her drink without looking at you.

“what thing?” you ask innocently, eyes laser-focused on the trashy gossip page like it holds the secrets of the universe and not just some dating rumors.

“the ‘i’m-not-looking’ thing,” wendy chimes in. “it’s very convincing, to be honest. i totally believe you’re not watching him float around like a living calvin klein ad and thinking about how good he looks shirtless.”

you scoff, insulted. “i am not watching him. i’m actively avoiding eye contact, if you didn’t notice.”

“and failing,” sana sings. “we all saw the way you gripped your cup like you were in a hostage situation the second he started unbuttoning that shirt. but you can pretend all you want, girl.”

“pretty sure you forgot how to breathe for a second. i was about to throw you a pool noodle.”  jihyo adds helpfully from the water.

you cover your face with the glossy paper, groaning. “i hate all of you.”

“but not as much as you pretend to hate him,” minji says sweetly, reaching over to top off your drink like she’s doing you a kindness.

you don’t dignify that with an answer. mostly because you don’t have one.

yeji pokes your arm until you lower the magazine, grin mounting despite yourself.

even with the added strain of hyunjin’s presence, you can’t believe you’re here, in a tropical paradise, with your best friends all around you.

and the trip is only just getting started.

��

hours later, the sun has set behind the distant mountains, and the resort is alive with glowing strands of fairy lights tied between the palm trees. your feet ache from the heels you wore to dinner out in the pavilion– a grand affair with more wine and inside jokes than actual food– as you make your way into the main lobby, shoes echoing on the tile. 

hyunjin isn’t far behind you, dinner jacket slung over his shoulder and dress shirt sleeves rolled up to expose the arms that have been quietly driving you nuts all evening.

you don’t look at him– you refuse to. but you feel him.

he trails just behind you, just close enough to know he’s following.

you adjust your skirt and say nothing, enjoying the silence you know won’t last.

he doesn’t speak either. just the soft thump of his shoes on the tile, and your faint, traitorous awareness of how tired he looks in the low light when you catch his reflection in the closed elevator doors.

when the elevator arrives, you step in without a word. he follows. and once the doors close, the silence that settles isn’t exactly hostile– it’s just... buzzing. with too many things.

you cross your arms and watch as he leans against the far wall, head tilted slightly, staring at the floor numbers lighting up like he’s got nowhere else to be.

after a long beat, he says, “so, do you want to fight again now or wait ‘til we’re brushing our teeth?”

you huff a laugh before you can stop it, saying tiredly, “you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

he shrugs, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “gotta keep tradition alive somehow.”

you shoot him a glare. it doesn’t hit as hard when you’re slumping against the side rail like a woman with sore feet and the early onset of a lingering vacation headache.

“i’m too tired to fight you,” you mutter, the words honest.

“oh no,” he says gravely. “and here i was, hoping we’d wrestle over who gets the good pillow.”

your jaw tightens, but your voice comes out softer than intended, worn down with the weight of the day. “you already took the good bed. be happy with your win.”

“wouldn’t call it a win,” he murmurs. “have you seen that thing they rolled in for you? looks like it got exiled from a summer camp. i almost feel sorry for you.”

“better than sharing a mattress with you and your freakishly high body heat,” you retort, but it’s half-hearted at best.

the elevator dings, signaling you’ve made it to your floor.

by the time you make it back to the room, your legs feel like stone, and your makeup’s started to melt a little at the corners of your eyes. you toe off your heels the moment the door clicks shut behind you and let out a sigh that you’re too tired to keep in.

hyunjin watches you for a heartbeat before crossing the room to drape his jacket over a chair.

you don’t talk as you take turns in the bathroom– you make it a point to get to it first. you wind down for the night, carefully running your brush through your hair, dabbing off your makeup with gentle hands. you change into cotton sleep shorts and a silky top, and when you emerge, he’s in a too-attractive tank that shows off his muscles and loose drawstring pants, brushing his teeth at the kitchenette sink with one hand in his pocket.

he pretends not to stare at your legs while you act like the sight of his bare arms doesn’t ruffle you.

you feel a prickle of something—not quite panic, not quite something you’re willing to name—at the sight of him like that; like a person. familiar. not just a ball of annoyance and insults.

“bathroom’s yours,” you say quickly, walking past him.

he gives you a mock salute with his toothbrush. “yes, ma’am.” he says around the toothpaste. you fake a gag.

you pull back the sheet on the roller bed with growing dread– it’s even sadder up close. the thin, plasticky mattress crinkles beneath your hand, and the blanket looks like it came from someone’s attic: dated, patchy, too worn to really provide any comfort.

you sigh deeply, crawling onto it with defeat and exhaustion in your bones.

by the time hyunjin emerges from the bathroom, you’re lying flat on the roller bed, staring up at the ceiling like you’re contemplating all your life choices.

“you look cozy,” he says dryly, walking past you to flop onto the much more inviting suite bed with a dramatic exhale.

“just die already,” you mumble, all bite gone from your voice.

“already on my way,” he replies, one arm flung over his eyes. “i can feel my soul leaving my body every time you speak.”

you turn your face into the pillow to muffle a laugh. it’s not funny, but… it kind of is. you don’t really know– you’re exhausted, and everything’s stupidly hilarious at this hour.

“don’t forget to turn off the lamp,” you call over, halfway through arranging yourself into the least uncomfortable position possible on a mattress that seems to be made entirely of springs and squeaky rubber.

his voice is distorted by the arm still over his face. “only if you say please.”

you groan loudly, “hyunjin, i swear to god.”

he reaches over and flicks the lamp off anyway. the room is thrown into soft darkness, broken only by the faint glow of the fairy lights outside and the moonlight pushing through the curtains.

a minute passes.

then another.

somewhere outside, you hear cicadas. waves. a faint burst of laughter from a distant patio.

you shift again, the roller bed squeaking so violently you wince. you wait for him to say something snarky– but it never comes. instead you hear him roll over, the sound of the covers shifting, his breathing evening out.

in the dark, you close your eyes.

you don’t say thank you. he doesn’t say goodnight.

but for a minute- just a minute- you forget how much you’re supposed to hate him, wishing you were on that bed instead.

–

it’s ten in the morning, and you’re squinting at the ocean like it’s a mirage when the group finally makes it to the marina.

the sun is already high and ruthless overhead, beating down against the rows of sailboats bobbing in their slips. sunscreen-slicked skin and reflective water sears into your eyes without mercy as you follow the bridal party toward the pier, the too-blue sea calling your name like it’s daring you to jump in.

minji is practically bouncing today, hair tied back in a breezy scarf and sunglasses perched on her head, gushing to the others about coral reefs and clear water visibility and how she can’t wait to get under the surface. someone—probably felix���has already opened the cooler on deck and started handing out drinks. a speaker hums with something lazy and beachy.

minho has one arm around his bride’s waist, gazing at her with that lovesick looks that makes you want to simultaneously sigh and vomit. you’ll never say it aloud, but you’re dying to know what it’s like to be looked at like that by someone. you bury the thought with a pretend gag as you pass the happy couple, making your best friend laugh.

you tug your cover-up down your thighs and board the spacious boat with a deep sigh, trying not to wobble in your sandals. you’re vaguely aware of the boys tossing snorkel gear into mesh bags, minho calling dibs on the back hammock, and yeji attempting to balance a piña colada while applying SPF 80 with all the grace of a feral cat.

but you’re mostly just… hot. and a little hungover. and painfully aware that the one person who could send your blood pressure through the roof before noon is conspicuously absent, peace looming like a reward if he doesn’t show soon.

you glance back toward the path winding down to the docks.

“don’t say it,” you warn preemptively when wendy sidles up next to you with her hands clasped behind her back like she’s about to deliver a sermon.

“i wasn’t gonna say anything,” she says innocently. then she continues, “he’s only ten minutes late. maybe he overslept.”

“i hope so,” you mutter. “maybe he’ll miss the boat and i’ll finally know a moment’s peace.”

but of course, that’s when he appears.

hyunjin looks entirely different from the sleeping creature you left behind in the resort: barefoot. sunglasses on. coconut drink in hand like he’s already won whatever game he thinks you’re playing. he’s wearing a loose linen shirt, half-unbuttoned, and what you think must be the world’s most offensive pair of swim trunks. covered in cartoon sharks, if your guess is right. smugness practically radiates off of him like steam.

you feel your soul leave your body.

“morning, sunshine,” he drawls as he strolls down the pier, not a single ounce of urgency in his step. “miss me?”

you open your mouth, probably to threaten his life, but minji gets to him first.

“jinnie!” she waves, beckoning him with a smile. “we were starting to think you got lost!”

you roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of your skull, deadpanning. “you’re late.”

he lifts the coconut in mock apology and gives a lazy excuse, “blame the fruit stand. they ran out of mangoes. i had to improvise.”

you glare at him as he swings his long legs up onto the boat deck and takes a seat on the edge, letting his feet dangle like some kind of sea monster sent to ruin your life. of course he’d make being late look hot.

you busy yourself with adjusting the straps on your snorkel fins, pointedly not looking at him.

“put on your vest,” you snap, “the crew said everyone wears one while we’re out past the reef.”

he raises an eyebrow, eyes glinting with mischief. “you volunteering to strap it on for me, sweetheart?”

“i will throw you overboard.” you don’t even know if you’re kidding.

he grins, unbothered, sipping from his ridiculous coconut. “no you won’t. you’d miss me too much.”

you clench your jaw and pretend the sun is what’s making your face heat.

the boat begins to pull away from the dock, and yunho turns up the music. laughter rises from the front of the deck as felix does an impromptu dance for jihyo next to the sail rig. minji is shouting something gleeful from the bow, wind catching her scarf as she leans over, minho standing behind her with a concerned look at how close to the edge she is.

you sigh, leaning into sana when she sits down next to you.

“i’m so sick of him,” you mutter forlornly. she just pats your arm like she’s comforting a child, trying her hardest not to laugh.

“you better get used to this, honey. we’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”

but the sun is high, the mood is light, and even though hyunjin still sits across the boat from you, you feel your spirits lift.

–

you’re in heaven.

you’re lounging on a floatie in the most gorgeously clear water you’ve ever seen, shaded by a canopy of palms off the shoreline of a tiny island where the boat is docked. you’re easily a few drinks in, holding minji’s hand so the two of you drift together in the shallows.

“this is so perfect,” you sigh, “you definitely win best wedding destination, min. hands-down.” 

minji giggles, sipping her pineapple-themed cocktail. “yeah, this is paradise.” she says dreamily.

nearby, you watch jimin and hyunjae splash each other violently as minho and felix sit atop their shoulders in a game of chicken while yunho lounges on a float. hyunjin is refereeing, stopping the contest every so often with made-up rules and imaginary yellow cards.

wendy and sana are hunting for seashells over by the sandbar, and jihyo is still on the boat, tanning in the midday sun while yeji controls the music blaring from the speaker onboard. it’s all so perfect, so picturesque; like a moment straight out of a movie.

felix’s shout of outrage rings across the open water, followed by a splash– you look over, watching as he falls off jimin’s shoulders while hyunjae and minho whoop triumphantly. minji follows your glance, shaking her head at the rowdy boys.

she lets go of your hand to go give her husband-to-be a victory smooch, making the boys fake choke. it’s chaotic, and you love it.

you close your eyes and lay back down in the float to drift some more. it’s such a perfect day to spend floating peacefully in a slice of tropical heaven, letting the sun kiss your skin and the gentle bob of the waves cradle you like a lullaby. the world narrows down to the soft whoosh of the water and the lazy chatter of the others nearby.

then, with no warning whatsoever, water explodes against your side.

you jolt upright as hyunjin grins at you from a few feet away, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes far too familiar to ignore.

“thought you looked too relaxed over here,” he says casually, hair dripping with seawater.

“hyunjin,” you warn, but it’s too late: he’s already crouching low, scooping up a handful of water to toss at you again.

you retaliate, splashing him back with a grin tugging at your lips despite your best efforts. the floatie rocks wildly, and you almost tip over, laughter bubbling up out of you, sharp and unexpected.

he stills for a moment at the sound– shocked that you let him hear it. even moreso that he’s the one who drew it out of you. but he wears the surprise well, covering it with another obnoxious splash of water onto your floatie.

around you, the group’s noises fade into the background— it’s just the two of you locked in a splash fight, water glistening on your skin and the sun beating down hard, warm and overbearing as you relentlessly soak each other.

“you’re so annoying,” you huff, still engaged in splashing him like the world is ending.

he grins smugly. “some would say it’s one of my best qualities,” he quips easily, dodging the small wave you stir up.

a few yards away, yeji’s voice calls out to you from the deck of the boat. “smile, you guys!” 

you turn to see her with her phone out, documenting the chaos from all angles. you flip her off with a beaming grin as hyunjin comes up behind you and throws an arm over you, laughing in your ear. his presence so close is warming you more than the island sun, and the sound jars you– you don’t think you can ever recall a time where he’s laughed so freely around you before.

and then he’s dunking your head under the water.

you pop up with a disbelieving sputter, flicking your soaked hair out of your eyes. “oh, you’re paying for that!” you promise, lunging for him.

hyunjin doesn’t stand a chance. you catapult into him with a battle cry, knocking him over into the water and landing on his chest, both of you laughing manically as his arms come up around you. “take that!” you shout, a smirk of vengeance tugging your lips. you purposefully splash his face with water, feeling triumphant.

there’s a look in his eye you’ve never seen before.

he’s always been a schemer. but the playful glint in his expression is so light, so open, that you find your lungs malfunctioning when you can’t seem to get up off him for a moment. water drips down his face, his lips are parted on the brim of a laugh, and his arms are still hovering at your sides.

you can feel your heart flip just a little. not because of the hot sun, or the water dripping into your eyes, or the aftermath of your splash show—but because he’s looking at you like he’s seeing something he didn’t expect.

like you’re not the person he’s been bickering with for months on end.

like you’re someone softer; like maybe he is, too.

but then his lips curl upward, slow and lazy, and the spell breaks.

“you good, or are you planning to drown us both?” he teases, voice a little hoarse from the seawater. you blink. your hands are still braced against his chest, and his arms are still around you like he can’t decide whether to hold you steady or let you go.

you scramble backward with as much dignity as someone who just launched themselves at another human can manage. “you dunked me first,” you mutter, cheeks hot.

“yeah, well,” he shrugs, lips twitching. “you looked like you were about to float away. what would minji say if i just let you drift off into the ocean?”

you splash him once more for good measure before paddling toward the boat. “you need therapy.”

he calls after you, laughing. “takes one to know one, y/n.”

behind you, the chaos of the group drifts back into focus– minho yelling about losing his sunglasses, jihyo demanding a change of playlist to something “more twerkable”, yeji waving her phone and shouting something about candid photography gold. whatever passed between you and the best man is long gone now, dissipating like mist under the hot summer sun.

but as you haul yourself back onto the ladder and sit at the edge of the boat, catching your breath, you glance back; just once. you allow yourself only that.

hyunjin’s still in the water, floating on his back. arms out. eyes closed. like someone who’s completely at ease.

you look away before he catches you staring.

–

after spending lunch bickering over who gets which sandwich and reapplying generous amounts of sunscreen, the boat moves to dock on the far side of the small island, where the edges of a reef sit vibrantly under the shimmering water.

you lean over the side of the deck, squinting into the shallows. the reef sprawls out below in a kaleidoscope of color—swirls of deep purple, bright orange, electric blue—its ridges rising like sunken buildings through the clear sea.

“okay, kids,” yeji says, clapping her hands like a camp counselor, “buddy system. no exceptions. if you get eaten by a barracuda, minji will kill you, and then i will kill you again for ruining the wedding photos.”

you snort as everyone pairs off around you, starting with the bride and groom. jihyo and felix are already jumping in together, masks on and flippers in hand. hyunjae and sana toss their snorkels into the water like they’ve been waiting their whole lives for this. wendy grabs yunho before anyone else can as jimin pushes yeji into the sea.

you hesitate with your gear in hand. and of course, of fucking course, that’s when hyunjin strolls over.

“guess that leaves you and me, sunshine.” he says smoothly, the words grinding your gears.

you sigh, tugging your mask down around your neck and wondering if violence counts as a crime out here in the open sea. “just drown me already. save us some time.”

he smirks. “oh, i would, but minji would never let me hear the end of it.”

you jump in first– partly to escape his smug expression, partly to cool your too-warm face. the water is hot on the surface but cooler the deeper you go, crisp and bright and open. a second later, hyunjin dives in after you, slicing through the surface cleanly like he’s done this a hundred times before. you don’t know whether you hate or admire his ability to be perfect at everything he tries, but you’re fairly certain it’s hate.

for the first few minutes, it’s all group chaos: kicking fins, echoed laughter through snorkel tubes, the occasional shout of “look over here!” as someone points out a school of fish or an oddly shaped rock they’re convinced is a sea turtle.

but gradually, the others spread out along the reef; some heading toward the boat, some drifting closer to shore. and somehow, through the swirl of saltwater and sunlight, you and hyunjin end up floating a little too far out.

it’s just the two of you now, suspended in the blue.

beneath you, the reef glows like it’s lit from within. above, the sun filters through the surface in fractured ribbons, dancing over his shoulders as he treads water beside you.

you kick your fins lightly, trying to orient yourself back toward the boat, but the reef stretches on and on, a glittering underwater city. it’s quiet out here; quieter than it should be, with the group’s laughter far behind and only the hush of the sea in your ears.

hyunjin floats beside you in silence, gaze scanning the reef below.

then he taps your arm. gently– just two fingers against your elbow. you glance over, and he points.

you follow his hand.

just below, a sea turtle glides through the water like it’s a part of the current itself: slow, steady, unbothered by your presence. its shell gleams in shades of moss and bronze, and its flippers move with the kind of effortless grace that makes you forget how rare a moment this truly is.

you freeze. both of you do.

neither of you dares to speak as you watch the majestic creature. even with your snorkels off, it feels wrong to make a sound– to shatter the stillness, to break whatever spell this gentle giant swimming through the reef has cast on two people who swear they can’t stand each other. so you both just… float. breathing. watching the turtle in shock.

you glance at hyunjin.

he’s not looking at you, but the awe is clear in his face: completely unguarded, his expression softer than you think you’ve ever seen it. like he forgot to be cocky for a second. like he’s just a person, quieted by something beautiful.

you’re struck by the odd realization that he hasn’t made a joke. not one. and even stranger?

you don’t want him to– not right now.

the turtle swims on. slow and steady, disappearing into the deeper blue. you both linger there for a beat, like maybe staying still will stretch the moment a little longer.

then hyunjin exhales, a soft breath through his parted lips. “…that was insane,” he says finally, voice low like the moment was sacred.

you nod, the saltwater tugging your hair against your cheek.

“yeah,” you murmur. “it was.”

the reef fades behind you as you both kick slowly back toward the boat, still quiet, still processing.

when you reach the ladder, hyunjin climbs up first, water cascading down his back in glinting rivulets. you follow a beat later, pulling yourself up onto the deck with shaky arms and an unsteady breath. wendy offers you a towel at the same time as felix hands you a drink.

and just like that, the spell is broken.

music thumps again from the speaker– something upbeat and stupidly catchy. jihyo’s on her third rum punch and leading a tiktok dance in the center of the deck, dragging yeji and jimin into her orbit with chaotic glee. minji’s laughing so hard she’s doubled over in a lounge chair, sunscreen-streaked and radiant, capturing videos on her phone of the madness.

hyunjae cheers when yunho cannonballs off the side of the boat.

sana shoves a pair of sunglasses onto your face. “you’re glowing,” she teases, poking your cheek. “snorkeling high or something else?”

you snort and take a long sip of your drink, letting the alcohol burn away whatever fragile softness is still lodged in your chest.

hyunjin’s off to the side now, shirt clinging damply to his frame, arms braced on the rail as he stares back toward the reef.

but when you catch his eye, he just lifts his drink in salute. grins mischievously like nothing’s changed; and maybe it hasn’t.

but your heart still stutters a little as you raise your cup to him from across the deck, the unspoken moment already buried under music, sweat, salt, and sun.

–

whatever strange truce passed between you on the boat is long gone once dinner time rolls around.

hyunjin pounds on the bathroom door. “y/n, i swear to god, you’re gonna make us late!” he groans impatiently, loud and theatrical. you roll your eyes in the mirror, still perfecting a curl with your hair iron. 

“give me five more seconds, idiot, i’m almost done,” you complain through the door.

you hear him huff, but he says nothing further as you turn off your curling rod, satisfied with how your hair looks. you’d be the first to admit that you took longer than normal– but it’s wedding party picture night, and you want to look your best.

you straighten out your strappy satin dress and give your lipstick one more swipe before opening the door to the suite.

hyunjin exhales like he’s been punched in the gut.

he buffers visibly– he can’t ignore how perfectly your hair falls around your shoulders in soft ringlets. can’t argue his way out of seeing how that dress hugs every dip and curve of you just right.

you pause in the doorway, suddenly aware of just how still he’s gone. he blinks once. twice. like he hasn’t quite computed the sight of you yet, not used to seeing you in anything formal.

“what?” you frown, smoothing your hands down your sides self-consciously. “do i have something on me?”

“no,” he says too fast, voice a little hoarse. then he clears his throat and recovers, pivoting hard into sarcasm. “just shocked you can clean up so well without a gun to your head.”

you shake your head and move past him, grabbing your tiny clutch off the end table.

he lingers by the door, but his eyes keep flicking sideways– toward you, toward your legs, back up to your face. like he knows he’s losing the battle to not react, and it’s pissing him off more than anything you could say or do.

“you ready?” you ask, arching a brow.

“yeah,” he mutters, glancing away. “i just hope the photographer brought wide-angle lenses to capture that ego.”

you bump your shoulder into his as you pass, forcing yourself to ignore the fact that he smells like citrus and smoke and something more expensive than anyone should wear to a beach wedding.

“let’s go, casanova. minji will kill us if we’re late.”

he follows, still too quiet. still maybe thinking about that dress.

and you?

you’re trying not to think about the way he looked at you just now—like maybe, for one breathless second, he saw you as more than someone to argue with.

–

the sky is melting into an idyllic sunset when you and hyunjin meet up with the others.

streaks of gold, tangerine, and lavender stretch across the horizon like they’ve been painted just for this — minji’s photographer coos every five seconds about the lighting, the ambience, the romance of it all. and it’s kind of hard to disagree.

you shift in your sandals, adjusting the hem of your dress as you stand in line with the rest of the bridal party on the shore. the air smells like salt and sunscreen, soft waves lapping just a few feet away from where the photographer has all of you posed in varying degrees of “gorgeous but casual.”

minji and minho are in the center of it all: kissing on cue, spinning in circles, making heart hands like seasoned influencers. jihyo and felix are hyping them from the sidelines. the rest of you are gradually being pulled in for pair photos.

and when your name is called, you already know who’s stepping up beside you.

“time to sparkle, sunshine,” hyunjin says as he saunters over, looking unfairly good in breezy slacks and a white button-up with half the buttons undone. his hair’s still slightly damp from the afternoon in the water, and he’s smirking like he’s about to push every one of your buttons.

you sigh. “fantastic. this day just keeps on getting better.”

the photographer gestures you both into place. “alright, hyunjin, you’re gonna wrap one arm around her waist,” she instructs, and you fight a look of horror as he complies. “perfect! now y/n, i want you to rest a hand on his chest, just lightly, okay?”

you do as she says reluctantly. you try not to memorize how right his arm feels around you; how much you secretly enjoy being in his space right now. because even though he’s a man and you’re a woman, it doesn’t make him any less infuriating.

“just stand a little closer– yes, that’s it! okay, now laugh like you just heard the funniest thing ever… and, go!”

you both blink. you stutter, “like what?”

“like you’re in love,” she chirps casually, already lifting the camera.

you scoff under your breath. “mm, i think i’ll take a hard pass on that one.”

but hyunjin leans in a little, murmuring low so only you can hear, “don’t worry. thinking about killing me should do the trick.”

despite yourself, your lips twitch.

and that’s all it takes.

he raises a brow like he’s daring you to not find him funny, and before you can help it, a sharp little laugh escapes you– quickly turning into real, shoulder-shaking giggles. hyunjin isn’t immune, either: he’s chuckling softly, leaning into your space like he can’t help himself. like he wants to drink your smile in up close.

click.

the shutter goes off. then again. and again. and the two of you laugh ridiculously through it all.

“beautiful! that’s it! stay right there– great chemistry, so rare these days!” the photographer swoons behind the lens as she clicks away.

you’re still laughing. it’s breathy, flustered, real; and it makes your chest ache with how much it feels like a breath of fresh air to laugh with someone you swear up and down that you hate.

you glance at hyunjin, hand still on his chest. he’s watching you with something unreadable behind his lashes as the laughter dies down.

the moment lingers for a while, long enough to notice how warm the air is. how your shoulders are brushing. how you haven’t blinked in several seconds. the camera keeps clicking.

then he speaks.

“you okay, or did that laugh kill off your last brain cell?”

you shove him with your shoulder– too hard, too quick. “shut up.” you say like it means something.

he huffs a laugh. “aw, don’t get all misty on me now. c’mon, was it the lighting? the romance in the air? the magnetic pull of my undeniable charm?”

“yeah,” you deadpan through a smile. “i think i threw up a little in my mouth.”

“bet you’re gonna frame that photo, though.” he teases right back, aware of the shutter still going off like a ticking bomb.

you wrinkle your nose. “only if i need a reminder of what poor life choices look like.”

he sucks in a breath like you’ve wounded him. “jeez, so brutal. just for that, i’m picking our next pose.”

you narrow your eyes, saying lowly, “if it involves a piggyback ride, i’m pushing you into the ocean.”

“what if it involves you gazing longingly into my eyes?” he asks with mock sincerity. his hands tighten just barely around your waist.

you shake your head. “then i’m pushing myself into the ocean.”

he grins, softer now; still teasing, but with an edge of something else. something careful. “see? i knew you couldn’t resist me.”

you roll your eyes, trying not to smile any wider. trying not to let the moment feel like anything more than a fluke.

“you’re insufferable,” you mutter.

“and yet,” he says, tucking his hands into his pockets as the photographer waves for the end of your session, “you’re still standing next to me.”

you don’t have a comeback for that.

so you walk away instead. just a few steps. just enough to steady your breath.

just enough to pretend that laugh didn’t mean anything at all.

–

the bubble breaks when you get back into the room and come face to face with that sorry excuse of a bed.

“motherfucker,” you groan dramatically, dropping your shoes to the floor. “this stupid mattress again. i swear to god it looks lumpier than it was yesterday.”

“it’s not that bad,” hyunjin says behind you, kicking off his own shoes and shutting the door with a soft click. “you just like to complain.”

“it’s basically a medieval torture device. i think one of the springs tried to stab me last night.” you mutter, grabbing your pajamas out of a drawer and padding over to the bathroom to change.

he smirks, already unbuttoning his shirt as you leave the room. “maybe it was just reacting to your personality.”

you flip him off without looking. “ha ha.”

“i’m just saying,” his voice follows you into the bathroom, where you didn’t bother closing the door all the way, “maybe the bed’s not the problem.”

“maybe you’re the problem.” you call out as you tug the laces of your dress and let it pool to the floor. you step out of it and tug on an oversize shirt, the material falling to hit just below your thighs.

his voice floats towards the bathroom again. “or maybe you’re secretly a picky princess and need a hundred mattresses and a single pea to sleep.”

you scowl at your reflection in the mirror while you wipe off your makeup. “not my fault they wheeled in the worst bed in the whole resort. i’m going to wake up crooked. it’s going to ruin my spine. i’m definitely suing."

you hear him scoff. “who, the bed?”

“the hotel. the mattress company. fate.”

you think you catch a faint chuckle before you turn on the sink and splash water on your face. “god, you’re dramatic.”

you finally finish getting ready for bed and grab your dress from where you stepped out of it. when you emerge from the bathroom, hyunjin’s already changed: loose sweats, a plain white tee, v-neck dipping dangerously low. you gulp without realizing.

he’s staring intently at your legs, which you didn’t realize until this very moment were as bare as they are; you awkwardly tug the shirt down further, as if that’ll help anything. you’re considering slipping on some shorts when he breaks his gaze, acting like he was never looking in the first place.

he folds back the cover of the bed and watches as you stare at it like it’s going to jump out and scald you.

he laughs at your obvious hesitation with a frustratingly calm expression. like he knows you’re spiraling and is enjoying the hell out of it.

“just get in the damn bed,” he says, exasperated. “i’m not a vampire. i don’t bite.”

you pause. just a second too long.

his voice wasn’t teasing, not fully. it came out easy, automatic; like it meant nothing.

you clear your throat, letting your eyes dart to the sad roller bed in the corner. your back aches in protest at the sight of it– decision made. “yeah, well, i guess sleeping with you is the lesser evil tonight. just keep your fangs to yourself, you overgrown bat.”

he huffs a laugh and lifts the covers, sliding into one side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you follow reluctantly, muttering under your breath as you lie stiffly on the other half, making sure that not even one toe brushes his leg.

the room is dim now. it’s just the low flicker of the bedside lamp, the droning hum of the AC. 

and the warmth of another body, way too close for comfort. or maybe just close enough.

“you’re all up in my business,” you complain halfheartedly, just for the sake of having something to say.

“you’re welcome to sleep on the floor.” comes his quick reply.

you snort. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

the room feels smaller now, the silence settling comfortably between you. hyunjin’s steady breath hums in the quiet, the only sound besides the faint whir of the air conditioner.

you shift just enough to glance over at him. “try not to snore,” you mutter, voice heavy with tiredness but laced with mock warning.

he opens one eye, glaring. 

then he says quietly, “you know, it’s kind of impressive how you manage to keep that sharp tongue going even when you’re half asleep.”

you let out a tired laugh. “i have to protect myself from people like you. someone’s gotta be the responsible one.”

“responsible?” he scoffs. “you? last i checked, you’re the one who stole a bottle from the pool bar and smuggled it up to the room.”

“details, details.” you grin into the dark. “all part of my plan to make you regret this whole trip.”

“good luck with that,” he says, voice softening. 

you don’t say anything else; you can feel sleep beckoning, calling to you with a crooked finger.

you snuggle further into your pillow and let it take you.

“night, hyun.” you whisper, not staying awake long enough to hear if he says anything back.

—

you wake up warm.

that’s the first thing you notice. not the lazy ocean breeze whispering through the cracked balcony door, not the gulls calling out across the water, not even the way the morning sun pours over the sheets in soft, golden lines.

no– the first thing you register is the heat. the weight.

it’s everywhere: behind you, along your legs, curled into the curve of your spine. someone’s arm is slung heavy around your waist, breath slow and even against the back of your neck, and you can feel the steady thud of a heartbeat pressed between your shoulder blades.

you sigh and lean into it without really thinking.

your brain’s not up and running yet. that part of you that panics, that flails, that insists on boundaries and battle lines drawn in the sand? yeah, that part’s still asleep. 

all you know is that being held feels nice. someone’s holding you like they meant to. like they didn’t let go all night. and god, it’s been so long since you’ve been cradled into a warm body like this.

a thumb brushes against your hip as the presence behind you shifts. not groping, just… there. resting. anchored. long legs are tangled with yours under the sheet, one of them draped over your calf like it belongs there; warmth radiates into every part of you, closeness clouding your senses like a blanket.

one hand is wrapped around you, splayed over your stomach through the shirt, as your legs tangle further.

you let your eyes drift shut again. just for a second.

and then—

your brain catches up.

you go deadly still when the leg hooked over yours shifts again.

you know that leg. you’ve fought with that leg. you’ve tripped over that leg. you’ve insulted that leg, in public, on more than one occasion.

hwang hyunjin.

he’s wrapped around you like a koala, and in your sleep-induced state, you actually let him. you snuggled in– like a total traitor. like someone who doesn’t know better.

you jolt forward, only to immediately get yanked back by the arm still locked like a vice around your middle.

“mm— hey,” hyunjin mutters behind you, voice thick in your ear and low with sleep. a shock goes through your system at the hushed, intimate quality of it. “what’re you– hey, stop moving—”

you twist around, equal parts furious and flustered, and that’s when you realize: his face is right there.

his cheek is pressed into the pillow, hair a total mess, lips parted in half-awake surprise. bleary eyes blink open slowly as you squirm, and for a second, just one single moment, he looks almost… innocent.

then he processes your expression.

his eyes flick to yours. his brows lift. and with the most unbearable mask of calm you’ve ever seen, he says, voice still rough and raspy, “well good morning to you too, sweetheart.”

you jump away like you’ve been electrocuted.

he lets go at the same time as you when you wrench yourself backward, and the result is chaos: sheets flying, limbs untangling, your knee nearly catching him in the ribs as you both try to scramble away from each other at once.

you slam into the headboard. he flops sideways, one leg still hooked in the blanket like it’s trying to hold him hostage.

“were you—did you just—were we cuddling?” you splutter, wide-eyed and chest heaving as you stand at the side of the bed. you know the answer, but you hate it just the same. you want it to not be true.

he blinks at you, slow and amused. “you tell me.”

“i don’t cuddle! i’m not a—i don’t just—i’m not a cuddler!” you’re in full damage control mode now, trying to save face and failing miserably as you blush beet-red.

“could’ve fooled me,” he says, stretching luxuriously like he didn’t just wake up wrapped around his sworn nemesis. “you were tucked in real snug. made this soft little humming noise, too.”

your whole body goes rigid. you deny it vehemently, “i did not.”

“you did,” he says, rubbing his jaw like he’s reminiscing. “sort of this dreamy little sigh, right before you shoved your ass into my lap—”

“oh my god, shut up!” you cry, seconds from shoving your fingers into your ears just so you won’t hear any more of what you supposedly did last night.

“hey, no complaints here. i was asleep and defenseless.” he shrugs casually. you stare at him with an incredulous look.

“you were spooning me.”

“sure,” he concedes, the words almost a silky purr, “but only because you presented me with the opportunity. hard to say no when i’m asleep.”

you let out a strangled, wordless sound and hurl the nearest pillow at his chest.

he catches it without breaking eye contact. of-fucking-course he does.

“you’re disgusting.”

“mm,” he says, grinning now. “whatever helps you sleep at night. other than me, of course.”

you grab a second pillow, but he ducks before you even throw it, laughing smugly.

––

the pavilion is already buzzing when you and hyunjin step out of the elevator, dressed to impress with nonchalant smiles loaded.

sunlight spills in through the slatted roof of the breezy atrium, dappling over every linen-covered table and floral centerpiece. someone’s set out pitchers of fruit water and a tray of pastries nobody touches just yet, and mingled laughter carries over the open air as your friend group slowly assembles.

it’s the third day of the bridal party’s vacation, but it’s arrival day for the rest of the wedding guests. rose tones and pearls litter the decor, staying in-theme for the wedding itself; you try not to slip into planning mode and instead attempt to just observe, approaching the atrium in step with hyunjin.

you spot yunho first: fresh-pressed and suspiciously perky, waving one-handed while trying to balance three iced coffees in the other. yeji’s at the far end of the space deep in conversation with a couple of new arrivals. the other groomsmen trickle in behind her, suit jackets slung over their arms, already regretting wearing them in the first place in this heat.

“oh, look who finally made it,” someone calls when you round the corner.

it’s minho. of course it’s minho.

you brace yourself as the groom saunters up with a grin that spells trouble.

“roomies,” he says, too loud. “sleep well?”

hyunjin doesn’t flinch; doesn’t even blink. you’d almost applaud him for it if you weren’t so busy doing the same.

“like a rock,” he says smoothly, grabbing a cup of the fruit-infused water and sipping like it isn’t just a blatant cover. “best sleep i’ve gotten in weeks.”

“must be the company,” minho hums, gaze darting between you like he’s trying to crack a code.

jimin sidles up into the conversation, inserting himself flawlessly the way he always does. “so,” he drawls, “we placing bets yet? how long till you two break and start making out behind the bar?”

“bite me,” you snap.

“mm, no thanks,” jimin says. “seems like hyunjin’s already got dibs.”

you go unnaturally still as minho cracks up silently.

hyunjin’s jaw ticks– just once. then: “careful, jimin,” he says, smile as sharp as cut glass, “you sound jealous.”

jimin just snorts. yeji returns with two guests in tow, the first off of the early flight full of attendees, and she immediately starts ushering everyone into greeting formation. chairs scrape, drinks are shuffled, chaos swells again. 

but for a moment, just one, too-brief second, you and hyunjin lock eyes.

something flickers there. shared. fragile. promising danger.

and then it’s gone.

“come on,” you mutter, grabbing a name tag and jotting down maid of honor next to your name. “time to go smile at people for five straight hours.”

“can’t wait,” hyunjin says behind you. “hope there’s a photographer. we look good when we’re lying.”

you chuckle a little. “can’t deny that one.”

the breeze shifts, heavy with salt and sunscreen, and you’re already sweating under your name tag when minji appears, dressed in all white with her bride sash back on, grinning with all her teeth.

“you and hyunjin—stand together,” she says, eyes scanning the atrium as more guests start trickling in through the wide resort doors. “you look… approachable.”

you blink. “approachable?”

“yeah,” she says, already ushering you two closer together with one hand while she adjusts the seating chart with the other. “like, friendly but not annoying. photogenic but not intimidating. just— just stand there. smile. and don’t bite anyone.”

you shoot hyunjin a side-eye as you fall into place next to him. “don’t bite anyone,” you echo under your breath. “what kind of advice is that?”

he shrugs. “honestly? probably directed at you.”

you elbow him in the ribs; just lightly. a warning shot. he doesn’t even flinch.

the first wave of guests arrives in a glittering blur of linen suits and sensible heels, pouring into the open air pavilion like a well-mannered stampede. you fall into a strained but smooth rhythm next to hyunjin, offering practiced smiles, polite hugs, and the occasional shared eye-roll when someone recounts a too-long anecdote or forgets your names mid-sentence.

and then:

“oh! you must be the couple minji mentioned!” a woman you presume to be the bride’s aunt gasps, her bracelets jangling as she grabs your hand warmly. “aren’t you two just adorable!”

your eyes go impossibly wide at the word couple. you open your mouth to correct her– she must be talking about hyunjae and sana– but then…

his arm.

you feel it long before you see it: warm, solid, curling low around your waist like it was meant to pull you in all along. the motion isn't rushed, not dramatic– he’s just suddenly there, sliding you into place at his side with the confidence of a man who knows you’re too stunned to stop him.

it’s the first time he’s touched you like this. like you’re something he wants to hold.

your breath hitches.

“that’s us,” hyunjin says easily, his voice that maddening mix of velvet and smirk. “she keeps me around for my sparkling personality.”

his smile is pure performance: too bright. too charming. it should scream fake. but the hold he has around your waist doesn’t. his fingers press lightly at your side, grounding and unmistakably real. like they’re testing something– testing you, seeing how far you’ll let him go.

you don’t look at him.

you can’t look at him.

you roll your eyes instead, reaching for your usual defense against his antics: a jab that screams dry, unbothered, in control. 

“yeah, and he keeps me around to humble him.”

the aunt laughs brightly, completely unaware that you’re currently locked in a full-body crisis at the oh-so-wrong rightness you feel with that strong arm anchoring you next to him.

hyunjin chuckles along, but his hand doesn’t move. not yet. it stays– just firm enough to remind you he’s there, just soft enough to leave you guessing if he really meant to pull you in at all.

you manage a smile for the aunt. something practiced, polite and acceptable. but your insides feel like someone just dropped a hammer in your chest. 

the woman smiles broadly, delighted. “you’re a riot. you two are so in sync.”

you blink. “um…”

“seriously,” she says, fumbling in her purse. “hang on, i’ve got to get a picture for the wedding slideshow! oh, just stand still– yes, like that– maybe a little closer…”

you don’t have time to protest before hyunjin is leaning fully into what was left of your bubble, hand tightening just slightly on your waist while the other drops into his pocket. he angles his shoulders in towards you and tugs you just an inch closer. you think you temporarily lose all circulation to your brain at the proximity.

“say cheese, sweetheart,” he murmurs, low in your ear. his warm breath skims your temple.

your smile is a little too wide when the photo is snapped; your pulse is a little too fast. you’re barely holding yourself together, barely holding back from whirling around and asking him what the hell he’s doing– but to ask him that, you’d first have to address why the hell you’re letting him do it.

“lovely,” the woman coos over the photo, “what a perfect pair. so nice to meet you both!”

she bustles off, presumably to show minji the picture that will now haunt your nightmares.

you step out of hyunjin’s hold with exaggerated slowness, brushing invisible lint off your shirt just to do something with your hands.

“you’re enjoying this,” you mutter.

“not enjoying,” he says, mock-wounded. “i’m enduring. for the good of the slideshow, of course.”

you lean into sarcasm out of habit, leveling him with an unimpressed look. “if that photo ends up in a frame somewhere, i’m holding you personally responsible.”

he grins like an alley cat. “you say that like you wouldn’t love a reminder.”

you sigh heavily and glance away, scanning the next round of guests making their way down the path. “you’re the worst.” but the bite won’t work it’s way into your voice; because you’re almost, almost starting to doubt if he really is still the worst.

and then– just when the moment should end, when the energy should break– he says it, soft and deliberate:

“maybe they’re not wrong.”

you freeze.

because he’s not smiling when he says it. not really. there’s no sarcasm in it, no irony, not even a whisper of condescension.

just a few words, caught between you like a secret. or maybe like a challenge; you don’t know what to say. you can’t say anything at all.

you glance at him with questions in your gaze that you don’t dare speak out loud.

he’s still wearing that infuriating, too-smug smile, but his eyes—god, his eyes— they’re darker now. a little unreadable. a lot too knowing.

you open your mouth; nothing comes out.

“next guest is here,” he says casually, nodding toward the entryway and effectively slicing through whatever you thought might’ve been passing between you two.

you turn before you’re ready, jumping back into your routine of forced smiles and too-firm handshakes and shaky fingers making name tag adjustments.

a new couple approaches, visibly older, dressed like they’re headed to brunch with the queen. they smile warmly, offering greetings and compliments– and just when they’re about to step away, the woman pauses.

“you two really are lovely,” she says. “you have that… glow.”

your smile falls half a millimeter. your words are stuck in your throat, and you scramble for something to say.

hyunjin answers for you. “we try,” he says easily. “she does most of the glowing, though. i’m just here to watch her shine.”

you turn your head slowly. what the fuck?

no, really– what the actual fuck?

the couple just chuckles and wanders off, none the wiser. hyunjin still isn’t fully out of your personal space.

“glowing?” you hiss under your breath, seconds from combusting into a living flame of confusion and half-assed insults.

“it’s the sunscreen,” he whispers back like a secret. “spf 50. i’m protecting your radiance.”

you stifle a disbelieving laugh and elbow him again, just a little harder. he takes it in stride, gaze flicking down your frame for a beat too long before snapping back up to your eyes with barely-concealed mirth glinting in them.

“you’re enjoying this way too much,” you accuse– even as you’re shocked at how much you’re enjoying it, too.

he leans in slightly, voice dropping. “i already told you. i endure things. admirably.”

your pulse trips over itself. you try not to let it show.

another guest approaches; you smile and nod. you small-talk your way through it, but the entire time you feel the magnetic pull of hyunjin at your side. you’re obscenely aware of his every shift, every soft exhale, every delighted laugh like he’s content to be right here with you. and his hand keeps brushing your lower back.

the light pressure of his palm, just above your waist. the touch could be written off as gentle, guiding; no big deal. just helping you shift so the next group can pass through.

except it is a big deal– because it lingers.

half a second too long. maybe more.

you feel the weight of it, the press, the warmth. you feel him.

you glance at him sideways, trying to catch something– an expression, a hint, something that’ll tell you what’s happening to your vow of eternal hatred– but hyunjin’s face is unreadable, boasting that same breezy mask he always wears when he’s gotten away with something.

and you? you don’t even know what you’re trying to prove anymore. that it’s all fake? that this is just banter? that you’re not affected?

that he is?

you don’t know what game he’s playing. 

and you definitely don’t know why you feel like you just switched sides.

—

the rehearsal dinner had been a blur of drunk aunts and uncles, bottomless mimosas, cousin chaos, and the kind of fake-dating innuendo sparring match that left your teeth hurting. 

hyunjin had leaned in so close so many times that fault lines started splintering; he had sipped his drink like it was a goddamn milkshake every time he teased you about sharing a room. and then, just when you thought you had your blush under control, he’d smiled.

not his usual smug grin, or self-satisfied smirk– no, this was that soft, real smile. the one that meant trouble. the rare one that meant he was paying attention. too much of it.

and you have no idea where that leaves you now.

you kick off your shoes the second the door shuts behind you, making a beeline for the bathroom to shower first.

he doesn’t pound on the door or whine that you’re taking too long this time; instead, you get the hot water all to yourself, letting the stress of the day melt away until it leaves behind a less tense, half-buzzed version of you.

he showers and changes next, giving you ample time to fish around for the secret bottle of wine you smuggled in from the pool yesterday.

you’re still tucking your legs beneath you on the bed under your oversized sleep shirt when you hear him scoff behind you.

“you didn’t,” hyunjin says, voice scandalized in that theatrical, fake-offended way that only makes him sound more pleased.

you turn your head to look at him. he’s standing by the little table, still shirtless, still smug, blinking down at the wine bottle in your hand like it’s a crown jewel.

you act like you’re not blatantly staring at the stray droplets of water rolling down that perfectly sculpted chest. you’re not staring at his abs, not in the slightest. and you’re definitely not rubbing your thighs together at the sight.

“what?” you blink innocently. “hydration’s important.”

he gives you the laziest eye roll. “you smuggled it from the pool bar.”

“and you,” you shoot back, “swan-dived off a lounge chair into the deep end on the first day here and got us all a warning from hotel staff. but please, do tell me about the importance of rules.”

he snorts. “i tripped.”

you lift the wine bottle and wag it at him. “and i tripped into this. oops.”

there’s a beat of tipsy eye contact, the kind where your mouths both twitch like you’re not quite ready to laugh, and then he pads across the room barefoot and drops onto the bed beside you, stealing the bottle like it’s owed.

“you’re a menace,” he says, taking a sip straight from the bottle.

“you’re welcome,” you mutter back, trying and failing miserably to not think about how his mouth is exactly over the spot your lips touched mere seconds ago.

the wine is rosé– barely cold anymore, but still fizzy enough to tickle your throat when you take it back and sip some more. you watch him out of the corner of your eye; he’s as smug as ever, but he’s more relaxed than you think you’ve ever seen him.

and he’s got a telling smile on the face you usually can’t stand– a smile that spells alcohol-infused trouble.

“you’re drunk,” you tell him with a laugh, even though you’re pretty sure you’re the one swaying a little where you sit on the bed.

“i’m charming,” he corrects, leaning back on one elbow. his hair is still damp from the world’s fastest shower, flopping a little over his forehead. his skin catches the bedside lamp’s glow, the sheen intoxicating. “tomorrow’s a big day. we’re celebrating.”

“it’s not our wedding,” you say around a laugh. “we’re just the side characters in the matching outfits.”

you sip again, trying to ignore the way his bare shoulder brushes yours when he shifts. he’s not even that close. it’s not a big deal.

except it is. because he lingers.

your fingers brush when you both reach for the bottle again and you jerk away too fast, too obvious. he notices; of course he does. his smile does the thing again: turns quieter, shifts to something less smug and more real, like he’s seeing you too clearly.

it jars you in a way you can’t name.

so you squash it.

“jesus,” you mutter, snatching the bottle like it personally betrayed you. “you’re a big fan of butting up into my business, huh?”

he snorts. “we’re literally sitting on a bed, y/n. there is no ‘your business’ anymore. it’s shared property.”

“this is my side of the bed,” you shoot back, jabbing a finger toward the edge of the mattress like a landlord enforcing a boundary.

“well, this is my emotional support wine,” he says, grabbing the bottle again and cradling it to his chest. “you can have visitation rights.”

you stare at him, unimpressed. “you’re annoying.”

he huffs. “you’re still leaning toward me.”

your spine stiffens. “i am not.”

he glances down.

your knee is, in fact, still angled toward his. your thigh brushes his when you shift, and you’re leaning slightly into his space. you scramble to fix it, flinging yourself dramatically to the other side of the bed like a comic book character.

“don’t flatter yourself,” you mumble with a traitorous flush rising across your face.

he raises his hands. “i didn’t say anything.”

“you were thinking it.” you jab back.

“you are a little snuggly after wine.”

you chuck a throw pillow at his head. he lets it bounce off, absolutely delighted.

“see?” he grins. “that’s your love language. violence.”

“yours is being a menace.” you scoff back.

he smiles around a sip. “mm, but charmingly so.”

the wine bottle’s nearly empty between you. the pillows are all messed up. the air is soft and humming, like someone turned the tension down to a low simmer but never took it off the stove.

“okay,” you say, stretching your arms overhead, “we’re gonna feel like death if we don’t stop now.”

“true,” hyunjin agrees, flopping back against the headboard like he’s been physically pushed. “maid of honor and best man can’t show up to the wedding hungover. i’m pretty sure it’s, like, bad for morale. and bad for photos. and very bad for the flower girl’s perception of adulthood.”

you point at him. “she already thinks we’re friendly, hyun. you ruined her.”

“she’ll thank me someday. you might, too.”

“mhm, whatever you say.” you giggle tipsily as he pries the bottle from your grasp and re-corks it, setting it aside. you sigh like it pained you to part with it before resigning, rolling over to your side of the bed under the covers.

he turns off the lamp, already flopping onto his side like he owns half the mattress.

you let the lull of the sea outside your window wrap around you like a second blanket, not jerking your leg back fast enough when it grazes hyunjin’s.

“night, idiot.” you mumble.

in the dark, you can’t see the grin that pulls at his lips.

“night, sweetheart.”

–

the morning sunlight comes in through the window soft, golden. it warms your thighs before you’re fully awake– your bare thighs, tangled with his.

you blink, confused by the heat pressed against your side. and chest. and leg and arm.

…oh.

oh.

you’re sprawled across hyunjin’s chest like he’s your own goddamn personal mattress. his arm is still curled protectively around you, hand resting low on your waist, fingers splayed skin-to-skin where your sleep shirt has ridden up in the night.

you forgot you weren’t wearing pants. but you’re remembering very vividly now.

his thumb shifts slightly, just enough to graze the edge of your hipbone, and your whole body tenses like someone pulled a tripwire in your veins.

he doesn’t move; doesn’t open his eyes. just breathes, slow and deep beneath you.

he’s still sound asleep. you should move. god, you should move. but instead—

you look at him. really look, the way you haven’t allowed yourself to before.

he’s so handsome it hurts, and you hate it. he looks peaceful and beautiful, the way hyunjin always is when he’s not running his mouth or giving you hell.

your waking thought is that he’s unfairly pretty like this. soft. golden in the light. a few strands of his hair have fallen into his eyes, and without thinking, your hand comes up, tentative, to brush them away.

you pause a few inches from his face. hover there, heart stuttering. maybe you shouldn’t give in. maybe it’ll be the touch that lights a fuse you’re not ready to burn yet. 

you let your hand hover a moment more before sighing, beginning to pull it back.

and then– he catches you.

literally. 

his long fingers close gently around your wrist, holding you mid-reach with ease. his eyes blink open, slow and half-lidded, already glittering with sleep-addled mischief. there’s a heat pooling in them that shocks your body like a live wire.

“aww,” he says, voice scratchy and scandalously low, “were you watching me sleep?”

you try to pull your hand back. he doesn’t let you.

“shut up,” you mutter, instantly flushing with heat rising to your cheeks.

his smile curves lazy. not his usual sharp smirk, though; this one’s quieter, looser at the edges, like he woke up already content.

“you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

your stomach flips. “i am not flustered.”

the lazy grin spreads. “y/n, you’re bright red.”

you stutter some more before something intelligent makes it out. “it’s the sun.”

he hums. his thumb strokes absent across the inside of your wrist. the contact is light, but your whole body feels it.

“mm.” his voice is still low, still lazy. “so the sun made you blush, made you stare, and made you reach for me?” his grin goes all teeth. “damn. i should thank the sun more often.”

you groan, trying again to tug your wrist away, but his grip stays firm and unyielding. and now he’s looking at you properly, fully awake, with those intoxicating morning eyes: soft and slow and maybe still a little drunk on sleep, but focused. too focused.

you can feel his palm where it’s still on your hip. his hand hasn't moved any further, not really. but he hasn't moved away either. and now you’re hyperaware of how much skin you’re showing, the way your sleep shirt has bunched up at your waist, how your thighs are tangled with his, how warm everything feels.

“you’re not helping,” you mutter, trying to shift away– but you only succeed in brushing your knee along the inside of his thigh and tangling your legs together further. his breath catches; just slightly. but you hear it.

“wasn’t trying to,” he says, voice rougher now. “you’re the one climbing into my bed shirtless.”

“pantsless,” you correct, before you can stop yourself from falling into his trap.

he tilts his head, smile turning into something dangerous. “you’re right. that is worse.”

you cover your face with your free hand. “we are never talking about this again.”

his hand on your wrist slips until your fingers brush, and suddenly you’re holding hands with hwang hyunjin like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“sure,” he says, voice dropping as he leans in, breath grazing your cheek. “we’ll just think about it, then.”

you whip your head to glare at him, but your noses almost bump and—

bad idea. bad, bad, stupidly bad idea.

because from this close, you can see every handsome detail of his face. you can count his lashes. you can see the way his smile flickers, just barely, like he knows how close he is to wrecking something; or wanting to wreck something.

his face is so close. you feel his warm breath ghosting over your lips; it would be so easy to lean in.

but you don’t want that… right?

right?

you swallow hard. “we should get up.”

his thumb brushes over your knuckles. “you first.” you try to push off his chest, but he tightens his grip around your waist. “unless you’d rather stay like this.”

you stare at him. he stares back, mouth twitching.

you smack his arm and finally roll away, untangling your legs and crawling toward the edge of the bed. behind you, he groans dramatically at the loss of contact.

you throw a pillow at his face.

he catches it, grinning like the devil.

“let’s get ready for the wedding of the century,” you say with a sigh.

you don’t know if your tone is laced with annoyance or longing– and you hate that you can’t distinguish between the two anymore.

-

𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓷𝓮 || 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓽𝔀𝓸 (coming soon)

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽: @skzfflovers @starlostjisung @mineyoonghi

comment to be tagged when the rest of the story drops!

[foolfortune]

[arolesbianism]

Was going to do some oni file digging but got too distracted playing the actual video game. Anyways look at her <3

[bluetimeombre]

۶ৎ Mess of a man.

| Joel didn’t know why he’d let his little brother convince him a night at the bar was what he needed. But he might need to listen to him more. Smut!

[this is pure FILTH. I don’t know what came over me, I need this out my system and I need Joel in mine STAT. If you’re a minor pls don’t interact, this is not a safe space.]

Warnings; language, drinking, age gap (Joel is in his late forties, reader is 21) masturbation reference, daddy, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, oral (both receiving), over stimulation, come eating?let me know if I’ve missed anything

"Still haven't gotten your dick wet, huh?" was Tommy's way of greeting his brother.

Joel grumbled something, propping his foot on the coffee table in front of him. "Get lost, Tommy."

He'd thought that with his daughter, Sarah, at summer camp he'd get six weeks of peace, get work done, maybe take his daughter somewhere nice when she got back. But he forgot he had a brother and he forgot how annoying he was.

Sure, six weeks without his kid was a perfect and maybe a once-in-a-lifetime to get his dick 'wet' as Tommy put it. But he'd been out the game for years, out of practise. He wouldn't know how or who to approach.

"C'mon, what kind of brother would I be if I let you mope around alone in the house," he said, whacking Joel on the shoulder.

"A good one." Joel took a swing of his beer, watching the sport without knowing what team was doing what.

Tommy turned off the tv and snatched away Joel's beer, getting him up from the sofa. "There's a bar I know where everyone looking to get fucked goes, c'mon."

Joel decided he didn't want to know how his brother knew this place but as Tommy was already grabbing his truck keys and heading out the door. He'd be damned if he let Tommy drive his truck.

Yeah... that was why he was going...

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The bar was already loud when he and Tommy got there and ordered their beers. Joel would have one, maybe another if he was here long enough but then he'd go home and... see to himself if he had to.

It would have been nice to have something for the evening. It had been a long time and his own fist wasn't enough. He had a pick if he needed, he guessed. He wasn't immune to all the single middle aged mom's around him that would talk to him on the school drop off, invite him to one of their garden parties. Even some with rings on their fingers always lingered too long when shaking his hand or asking for some 'construction' advice.

But none of them did anything for him.

Tommy patted his brother on the back as he winked at the lady behind the bar. "See anything you like, yet?"

They'd been there... what? Ten minutes.

Then yes, he saw something he liked and his jaw almost dropped.

Tommy spotted the way he stilled and followed his gaze. "Holy shit."

You were with three girls- your friends, Joel assumed- and a guy hanging onto you, an arm draped around your hips. You were nursing a drink, laughing with your friends, tongue darting out to the straw of your cocktail.

Joel was done. He knew it immediately.

You were only twenty-one, young and beautiful and worse, Sarah's baby-sitter. Sure, his daughter was fourteen but on the late nights he had to work he didn't like to leave her alone.

Enter you. Good grades, polite, always called him Mr Miller like it wasn't the hottest thing. You stayed every night Joel needed to work, you cooked for Sarah, even ensured there was left overs for Joel and Tommy sometimes.

You'd tidy when he never asked, you never drank the beers he left for you. You were perfect.

And Joel knew, the first day you'd baby-sat his daughter over a year ago he'd made a mistake. He knew it when he watched you walk down his porch, when he started offering you lifts home and wishing you'd accept, when he had a wet dream like a horny teenager and it was you under him.

This was some cruel joke.

As if you could hear his thoughts your eyes caught over the noise of the bar. There was shock registering first and then you were dismissing your group to walk over to the Millers.

Joel gulped when he spotted what you were wearing. A tight high collared shirt, your hair pinned and the shortest skirt with heels.

Like a present to be un-wrapped...

"If it isn't the Miller brothers," you grinned.

"Hey darlin'," Tommy greeted first, reaching up to give you a small hug.

Joel's jaw clenched as you hugged him back. But Tommy was respectful, hands staying high on your body. Better than Joel would do.

You pulled away and smiled at Joel. "Mr Miller."

He nodded, taking a swig of his beer as he watched your tongue dart out in search for the straw. Fuck.

Tommy held a hand on your back. "I gotta take a leak, keep him company would you."

Joel didn't know what kind of game his little brother was playing.

"Of course," you smiled, sliding into the seat Tommy had vacated. "Don't I strive to look after the Millers."

Tommy chuckled and winked at Joel as he disappeared into the crowd.

"Hi there," he drawled.

You smiled. Maybe it was the lighting, or the alcohol, but your eyes were darker than he'd ever noticed. "Hey. Didn't expect to see you here tonight."

"Sarah's at camp," he said. He was painfully aware you knew. You hadn't been around in two weeks because he'd had no reason to ask you. Well, no appropriate reason.

"She enjoying it?" you threw a leg over yours, grazing his leg as you did.

"Think so," he said, "what about you, huh? Enjoyin' your freedom?"

You chuckle. "You know I love working for you, Mr Miller."

"Joel," he corrected you. He took a swing of his beer, watching you watch him.

"Jo-el," you draw out his name.

Something in Joel stirred, his pants couldn't be growing tighter, right? Thank god for the dim lighting.

He cleared his throat. "So this is where the kids hang out these days, huh?"

"I dunno about kids?" you said, leaning your body over slightly. "Am I a kid?"

Joel let his eyes wander down. The expanse of your legs, the skirt riding up your thighs and the way your chest rose and fell with your breath. Then slowly, he trailed back up your body. "I guess not."

Of all those times he'd watched you from the porch, you'd always looked back at him at least once, maybe twice to give a little wave as he leaned on the door. Or when you'd started accepting his lifts home and would always linger in his seat when he turned the engine off, the two of you leaning over the console and chattering a bit longer. Or when it came to staying to watch a game with him when Sarah had gone to bed when he knew you hated sport.

Of all those times he'd never let his mind wander as much as it was not.

"Tommy dragged me out," said Joel, taking more of his beer.

"He dragged you?" you chuckled. "You didn't want to come?"

"I'm glad I did," he said.

You take a longer sip of your drink, nodding. "I'm glad you did too."

Joel watched you a second as you tilted your head, a small tilt to your head. "You wanna another drink?" he asked. He wasn't even sure how much you'd had already. Was all this new look and attitude the cocktails talking?

"I should be good," you muse.

Joel decided in that moment he'd either spend the rest of the night in your company, or go home alone. "Your friends not missing you?" he didn't even want to look back at your friends maybe waiting for you. Or that guy watching you.

You also didn't care to look back. "Let them."

Joel smirked as he brought his bottle to his lips. "Atta girl."

He heard your intake of breath and felt satisfied. Your leg kicked off your other one and had grazed his, going down and down and he was sure you weren't doing this on accident. Not anymore.

"You can't say things like that," you chuckle, shuffling in your seat.

God, your thighs were pressing together tightly. Such a pretty sight...

You leaned over in your seat. "Do you know how many women would kill to hear you say that to them?"

"Well, i'm saying it to you, ain't I?"

You look at him through your lashes and Joel's legs widen to accommodate for the rising need in his crotch. It was wrong. It was so wrong. It was crossing a line. "I think I'll take that drink, if you're still offering?"

Joel nods and waved someone over to get you the same. The two of you talked a little more as you waited, your drink sliding over moments later.

"It must get lonely," you said, fingers dancing around the condensation of the glass. "That house all alone."

It seemed both of you had forgot about Tommy at that point.

The game being played between the two of you suddenly seemed real to Joel. "You tryin' to get an invite over?"

"Maybe."

You didn't miss a beat.

Joel looked at you. People were piling into the bar, music was being played but all he could focus on was you.

Your hand darted out, your fingers grazing his knee.

He looked down at his knee, where you touched him. Could you make out the dent in his jeans. "You know, i'm old enough to be your father."

"So should I start calling you daddy?"

He chocked on his beer. He managed to finish it, smirking to himself. "You got a mouth on you."

"You started it looking at me like that."

Joel rested against the bar. "I'm your employer."

You shrug. "And i'm not at work."

Joel looked around the bar and found his brother making out with a woman at the furthest end. He was sorted. "Why do you hang out here, huh kid?" if what Tommy told him was true he wasn't sure he could handle the idea of you coming here, looking out for someone that wasn't him.

You shrug. "It's a good bar, good drinks, good company usually."

"Usually?" he teased, his hands on his thighs. "You know, Tommy told me some filthy things around this place."

You lick your lips, holding back amusement. "Really?" you stand to your feet, leaning on the bar closer to him. You slot perfectly between his thighs.

His hand danced close to your hip but didn't touch you. Not yet. "People come here for one thing."

"Enlighten me, Joel."

His name from your lips made his brain fuzzy, effecting him more than any beer. But he couldn't do it, god, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Of the counter. Of how good you'd look bent over the counter, tight skirt bunched up at your hips.

But the words failed with him.

It was like you could tell, like you knew every move of his and every twitch.

You take one more sip of your drink before sliding it over the counter.

Joel watched as you got to your feet and worry rose on him. Worry he'd lose all he wanted.

"I'm going around the back, i'm going to be there for two minutes before I call an uber to go home. See you."

You meant it to. He watched you walk off, only briefly waving to your friends as you wove in and out of the people.

You were giving him two minutes to fuck over his life.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You waited, and waited for what you thought was two minutes. Truth be told you didn’t have a watch and lingering around the back of the bar probably wasn’t the greatest idea.

You could tap your foot and wait, rethinking your words and actions and hope that every time the door swung open, it would be your boss.

Joel fucking Miller. What game were you playing? More to the point, what was he doing?

Looking at you like that, carelessly letting his eyes wander as he imagined everything he wanted to do to you? You weren’t immune to his looks, his touches that lasted too long and the way he always watched you walk up to your front door, the engine only roaring once you were safe inside.

But now it seemed- faced with the ultimatum of fucking you or leaving you as nothing but his daughter’s babysitter- he was choosing the latter.

You’d really thought your lonely nights with only toys and fingers for company may have been rectified.

As you push yourself off the wall you really thought-

A sudden strong and rough hand grabbed your wrist and turned you back until you were against the wall and until lips were on yours.

You knew the scent, knew the strength of the body as Joel Miller pressed himself against you, groaning and licking into your lips.

You hands are in his hair, tugging at the curls of black and grey as you let him feel all your body, his arms caging you in and hand dragging down and down and-

"That was three minutes, sweet girl," Joel’s beard scratched your neck as he dragged his lips over your pulse.

You hold back a moan. The music in the bar was loud and the only people coming this way were the ones looking for a quick piss. Still you wanted nobody to stop this. "Wanted to give you a chance."

He nodded into your neck, biting the skin and winning a gasp from you. Joel tilted his head back, searching your gaze that only saw him. "Tell me you want this."

You nod. "I want it."

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb dragging down your bottom lip. He watched, entranced. "You’d let me down anything, wouldn’t you?" He whispered, looking as if he wasn’t all there. That some part of his mind was already fucking you against the wall.

You lower your head until you can reach the pad of his thumb, kissing the tip. "I want it."

"Oh, fuck baby," he groaned, pushing the pad of his thumb further into your mouth. Promises of things to come. "You’re gonna kill me sweet girl."

Your hand ran down his stomach until it meant the tightness of his pants and running up and down until you could feel the press of his length in your palm.

Joel indulged for a minute. His thumb in the warmth of his mouth while your other hand rubbed him right. Then he snapped back into reality as the door banged on the wall.

Not there.

Against himself, he took his thumb from you and grabbed your wrist, alerting you.

"I need your word that if we do this, Sarah doesn’t find out," he said sternly.

You chuckled. "Well I’m hardly gonna tell her I screwed her dad, am I?"

"Hey," he held one finger in front of your face, defying your smirk. "Your word, little miss, or I can drop you off home and you can watch while I take care of the problem you created."

You gulped. Maybe for a moment you forgot it was Mr Miller you were affronted with. Quickly, you nodded your head.

"Good girl," he surged forward and sucked on the bottom of your lip, his hips digging into yours. He groaned as you ground on him, nails digging into his biceps. "Feel wha’ you do to me, huh? You know how many times I’ve had to fuck my own fist and think of you?"

You practically melt at his words, leaning back into the wall. "Joel… please."

"Please what? Huh?" he taunted, rutting his clothed hips into your own, biting down on his lip as you threw your head back, moaning at the sensation. "C'mon, tell me what you want. Be a good girl and say it."

"I want you to fuck me," you whispered.

Joel scoffed. He left his hips against yours. He tutted. "I'm an old man, darlin', you're gonna have to speak up."

"Fuck me!" you all but screamed, desperation turning you into a mess.

Joel grabbed your hand and started to drag you from the alleyway, searching around as if his daughter might pop up out of nowhere.

You couldn't care less, didn't think about the group of friends you were leaving, or the guy that wanted you. Your hand circled over Joel's stomached t shirt, nails scratching as you leant into his side, lips marking up his neck.

"Fuck, baby," Joel groaned as he searched in his pocket for his keys. You joined the search, your fingers searching all around the dent in his jeans. "Fucking desperate, aren't you, huh?"

"Can't wait, Joel," you whisper in his ear, lips brushing, shivers running down his spine as you squeezed his crotch. "Please baby."

Joel grunted. He was practically shaking with the need to fuck you, to feel you against him. To have his hands wander all over you and memorise the way you moaned under him. There was so much more he wanted. Wanted to have you scream, wanted your neck bruised with his love and his back to carry the scratches from you.

He just needed.

"Fuck," he couldn't believe he was being so reckless. Couldn't believe that with a kiss and a grope you had rendered him a horny teenager. "Get in the back, babygirl."

He held open the door and practically pushed you in, climbing over you.

You jumped into his lap as soon as the door slammed shut and Joel chucked his keys somewhere to the front. Your lips worked against his, claiming it as yours and invading an unknown territory. You moaned as his tongue ran against yours and sucked it into his own mouth.

His hands were warm and large as they gripped your ass harshly, a soft slap echoing around his truck.

"You gonna let me slide my fingers into your pussy, baby?" he asked against your lips.

You moaned.

"Hey!" he grabbed your chin, pulling you back to stare at him. Your lips were already red and swollen. "You gotta talk to me baby. You want my fingers? Say yes."

"Yes please," you say, catching your breath. Your chest felt heavy, your pussy throbbing. "Please, want your fingers."

Joel smirked, finger tips brushing under the band of your skirt. "So polite."

The space at the back of his truck was small and cramped but he'd be lying if he hadn't thought about this. Hadn't thought about you in the back of his truck, cock stuffed down your throat or his face buried in your thighs.

All those times he'd taken you back, it had never been as innocent as he would let on.

But having you in his lap, begging for it, practically drooling with just his words, he had a feeling you weren't as innocent as you'd always made out to be.

Joel let the elastic of your skirt slap into place, causing you to jolt into him. As you jolted, he used the leverage of your hips to pull your skirt up and feel under you. "Jesus baby- you're soaked."

His finger slid up the cloth of your panties, collecting the dampness and smearing it.

You gasp as he presses into your pussy, pushing the cloth into you. "Joel please, I asked so nice."

"You did, sweet girl, you did," he nodded, watching as your eyes squeezed shut. "Hey- eyes on me baby, right here." He gently slapped the under part of your chin to get you to look at him as he easily hooked your panties to the side and sunk a finger in.

You hum out a moan, head tilted back.

Joel found the crevice of your neck, dragging his beard against the soft skin and relishing in the red that bloomed. "You like it? You like my fingers inside your heat? God, you're so warm."

"Like it," you nod, eyes shutting again.

Joel groaned low in his throat as he grabbed your chin and forced your forehead against his. "You keep your eyes on me, you understand me. Or i'll drop you off home. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr Miller."

"Oh-" Joel sunk his ring finger in until he was knuckle deep. "You're so good for me."

You tighten around the feel of his fingers. He's barely curling them and already you're squirming at the sound of your own slick.

"Ride my fingers, babygirl, gowan' now."

Obediently you started to move, riding his hand. His rough palm moved with you. His mouth remained open in a small 'o' as you wither against him, moaning.

Joel couldn't help the filth that spilled from his mouth. But with every clench you gave around his fingers, you didn't seem to mind.

"So good for me... such a good girl,"

"Dirty too, riding me in the back of the truck you and Sarah ride in."

"Fuck, i've dreamt of this, you look so good with my fingers stuffed inside of you."

At his encouragement you grip his shoulders, moving faster until your skirt is ridging up your hips and the little wisps of your hair are sticking to your forehead from sweat.

His thumb pressed down on your puffy and begging clit.

"Shit- ah- fuck!"

Joel's hips involuntarily bucked up to yours. "You wanna cum, sweet girl?"

You bite down on your lip, nodding and looking at where his forearm- taunt and veiny- disappeared under you.

Joel rested his head next to yours, kissing the sweat at your neck. "Tough baby, you're so dirty. Dirty girls have to do a lot of waiting till they get their reward."

Slowly, he retracts his fingers.

"Look at all this mess," he tutted, looking at how his fingers glistened with your need. He pats your hips, "up."

You fall onto the seat next to him, legs spread and head resting back on the car door.

You watch as Joel lifts his hips, un-buckling his belt as he starts to pull off his boxers and jeans. Your foot danced over to his lap but he impatiently pushes it away.

"You want to cum, don't you?" he asked, sending you a dark look. His hand grabs your ankle as you nod and kisses the bare skin above your heel. "Then behave."

The hand that you had just been riding wrapped around his cock and brought it out.

Your mouth opened as you stared at the beauty of the thing. He was big, bigger than you'd seen and bigger than you'd dare dreamed. He shone with pre-cum and your arousal as he spread what was on his fingers. His hand worked himself up and down as he relaxed back in his seat.

He looked over at you. "Eyes up here, baby."

Your gaze flicked up to him. "So pretty, Joel."

He chuckled and tugged himself. "Always knew you'd like it. God, you've no idea the things i've dreamt."

"Tell me. Please."

Joel leaned his head back, moving up and down his length slowly as he re-called every filthy dream his mind conjured. "Your hands wrapping around me. Your mouth being so warm and wet as you fuckin' choke on it. God, bet your throat's not used to a man's cock, huh? Only used to boys, ain't that right?"

He opened his eyes, peeking at you.

You'd dared closer to him, leaning over. You nodded.

"Bet that kid in there was hoping you'd give him a chance," he went on, his other hand coming up and thumb and forefinger tugging at your chin. "He didn't stand a chance as soon as you saw me, did he?"

You shake your head, shuffling closer into his side.

He jerked your head toward him. "Answer me."

"Only want you, Joel," you tell him.

You lick your lips, eyes darting from him to his leaking cock. The tip was red, begging for attention. "Can I- Can I please?"

Joel stroked back your hair. "Go on then, baby. Have a play." He stretched his arms along the back of the truck and watched to see you move.

But Joel quickly realised you didn't come around to play.

You'd always seemed so innocent- so un-knowing- when you looked after Sarah, when you helped him clean down the kitchen, when he'd offer you lifts back or to stay over you'd always blush and lower your head.

You were lowering it now, throwing your hair back over your shoulder and holding the base of him.

First, you touch him with your lips lightly and he smiles, daring not to think this might be the only time he lets you touch him like this. Your lips are so pretty and pink, swollen and wet from kissing him as you drag them along the sides.

Then you pepper kisses along the skin and start moving your hand around the base.

"You really gonna tease me?"

"Wanna take my time," you mumble into his though, kissing the skin.

Next, your hand cups his balls that were heavy with need. He wasn't exaggerating, it had been years since his last good fuck and no amount of jerking himself off to the thought of you could satisfy him. As your fingers played with his balls, rolling them around and giving them warmth and attention they craved, you made out with the tip of his cock.

You collected his pre-cum with your lips and tongue while still fondling him.

He could feel his shirt stick to him, his chest rising and falling quicker. Shittin-fuck. How was he supposed to last if this was what you were giving him?

"Easy, baby, easy," he eased you, stroking back your hair.

He knew you heard cause you were smirking then opening your mouth and taking him deep, almost all the way in one.

Joel groaned and grabbed the door. "Shit-ah-"

He didn't care if he wasn't far from the bar. Didn't care if anyone tried to get a look in through the fogging up windows. He didn't care if Tommy came by and applauded him for getting his dick wet. All he cared for was the feel of your wet mouth all the way down him, spit drooling down his cock.

You were doing so well and he wanted you to know.

"You wanna take me deep, huh?" he grunted, clutching onto your hair and holding you down. You gagged around him. He chuckled. "I'm not even all the way in there. You got room for more?"

You dragged your mouth up, taking a deep breath and nodding. You wiped your mouth from the mess you made and went in again.

This time, you took him again and again, deeper, bobbing him in your throat until he was a grunting and groaning mess. His hips moved of their own accord, shoving himself in even when there was nowhere else to go.

But the sounds of gagging, of his balls slapping against his own thighs as he moved, of the moans coming out of you were enough to almost having him finishing in your mouth. Almost.

He wanted to, boy did he, but he wouldn't, not until your cunt had swallowed him.

Joel pulled you up, letting you release him with a pop. "Want to be inside, need to be inside."

The truck wasn't the best place but it was the only place he had for you. He wished he could give you a bed, give your hours to welcome him, but Joel needed like he'd never needed. He imagined this is what starvation was, having your treat dangled in front of you.

And you were moving with him, lying down on the back seats, legs accommodating him as he slid in between you.

Joel gently pulled down your panties and stuffed them in the back of his pocket. If he was gonna have to jerk himself off to thoughts of you again, having your soaked panties was the least he deserved.

He glanced down at your swollen pussy and salivated.

Your hand trailed down, circling your clit as you moaned at the time he was taking.

Joel grabbed your wrist, bringing it up to his mouth and nipped at the skin. "Only I get to touch, yeah, babygirl?"

"Yes," you answered, breathless.

Joel loomed over you, bringing the tip of his leaking cock to smear himself over your folds. "Tommy told me somethin' real interestin'. Ask me what?"

"I don't- I don't care about Tommy, right now," you grab his shoulders, trying to pull him forward.

"He tol' me-" Joel strained, his lips brushing yours. It wasn't just your torture he wad delivering. It was his own. "He said people go to that bar to get fucked. Is that why you were there?"

For a moment you seemed shocked to hear it. Then the palm of your hand held his cheek, running over the stubble.

"Worked, didn't it?" you teased.

Joel sunk into you with ease. "Yeah."

He hid his face in your neck as you arched your back into him. 'Take it, take it,' he spoke into your skin, tattooing the words there.

"Joel-" you gasped, holding onto his back. "Fuck!"

"You're ok, baby. You're ok, babygirl," his breath was short. He needed to feel you more, the half way in wasn't enough. "Fuck, you grip me so well."

You gasp, holding him in you. "Need-need more."

"I dunno baby, you think you got it?" he teased.

"Yes, yes."

"What have I said about speaking up?"

You groan, throwing your head back on the seat. "Fuck me, please Joel!"

With a grunt loud enough to be heard outside, Joel sunk further into you. 'Shit, yeah.... fuck,' spilled from his lips as he slowly took himself out of you before sinking in all the way again.

"You feel me?" asked Joel. He held himself up over you because he'd be damned if he wasn't gonna watch you fall apart on his dick.

"Feel it, feel you everywhere," you mumble.

You really did. You felt the soft seats of his truck, smelt him everywhere. The smell of old cologne, cigarettes (though you were sure he didn't smoke) and new wood. It wasn't just his cock sinking into you but his voice as he mumbled filthy things in your ear. His hand dragged down your face, gripping your neck. Not tight enough to cut airways but tight enough to make you squeeze him.

He stuttered, "sh-shit. If you do that again I won't last," he told you. "And I want you to come first."

"Then fuck me Joel," you said, looking up at him.

Joel looked down to where he disappeared into you. You were already rocking your hips into his, desperate for something- anything. His hand pushed back some of your hair as he stared at you with something more than need. Desire. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Wasn't it? Wasn't it everything you wanted since he first laid a hand on your shoulder and led you into his home, welcoming you to his life. "Yes."

His thumb dragged out your bottom lip before his lips were smashing onto yours, wet and sloppy as his thrusts increased.

He moved his hips in and out rapidly, giving you no more time to adjust. It wasn't long before he had to release your lips to breathe.

"Ah- shit!" you yelled.

"That's it baby, be as loud as you like. Let the whole fucking street know who's fucking you," he panted. His hands were at your neck, holding the both of you steady.

"Joel!"

"Shit! You feel so good!"

Joel tugged down your top, not in the mood to care if it rips. It's not like he was letting you back in that bar. He pulled out your tits and latched onto them like a child, nipping at the nipple.

Your hand winds itself in his hair, pulling at the roots and throwing your body into his. You could feel his cock stretch you, the pain mixing delightfully with the pleasure. With every thrust he tipped you closer and closer onto the ledge and as his warm, wet mouth sucked on your nipple, the other hand squeezing and playing with the other, you knew it would be the best orgasm of your life.

"I'm gonna, arg-"

Joel licked around your nipple. "Not yet."

"Joel!"

"Hold it!"

He pushed himself up, holding onto the back of the seats as he used the position to put a foot on the ground and fuck into you harder.

The windows were steamed, your bodies slick with sweat.

The truck was fucking shaking at how hard he was moving you.

You threw a hand out behind you to hold onto the door, bracing yourself as you rocked your body into his.

Joel threw his head back, his neck stretching you and tempting you. "Best fucking pussy out there. And I've been wasting you as a babysitter."

"Yours," you mumble. He hadn't even asked and you were giving him the promise.

His lips tilted into a lobsided smirk as he leaned closer to you. "You mine, huh? All mine? My girl, my pussy?"

"Yes," you nod.

For a minute you can only hear your breaths with the sound of his hips slapping into yours.

Joel's fingers dig into your thighs and bring your leg up to wrap around his waist. "Mine," he all but growled into your chest, nipping at the skin. "Show me. Show me you're mine. Cum."

He thrusted into you hard, his thumb holding your stomach down and playing with your clit until you were coming all over his cock. 'That's it baby... all over me.... there's a good girl.... keep coming,'

Joel fucked you throughout. He had his own finish to reach but watching you fall apart, your mouth open in a silent gasp as your fingers claw into his shoulders.

He cupped your chin, smiling down at you. "You gonna help an old man out?"

You were in no state to, coming down from your highest high.

Joel cupped your ass and lifted you from the seats that were slowly soaking in both of yours juices. "Ah-" he yelled out at the new angle he was reaching, his balls heavy hitting your pussy. "Yeah- there- just there baby."

"Joel!" you yell. "S'to much."

"No it's not," he shook his head. His eyes were screwed up as sweat rolled down his cheeks. "You can take it. You know you can."

Your pussy was throbbing, squeezing him so intensely you didn't know how he was still moving.

You bit down on your lip as you watched him concentrating hard. You test the waters, wrapping your legs around his waist until your entire lower body was in his weight.

"Fuck!" Joel's jaw clenched as he looked down at you, his fingertips digging into the skin of your soft thighs until he was sure bruises would be there for only him to see. "I'm gonna... shit- Where you want it?"

"Inside, please," you mewl.

Joel looked at you, danger in his eyes. "No, baby, we can't."

You nod and squeeze his hips. "I'm on the pill."

The words were heaven to his ears.

You squeeze around him and Joel yelled out, falling atop you as he spilled out inside of you.

"Take it! Take it! Fucking let me- let me in!" he yelled, hips stuttering as he fell into you. One of your legs remained around him but the other he let drop, holding it weakly.

You were sure you were still coming down from your high as his hips stuttered on yours. You could feel every drop of him smear on your pussy and leak out.

Then Joel's fingers danced around the space his cock was softening in you, pushing it all back in.

His brows rose as he looked down, a shaking laugh coming out. "I-"

You didn't want to hear the words that came after. The regret. The 'we shouldn't have' or 'think about Sarah'. You just wanted this moment of feeling held and cared for by Joel to last a little longer.

Your lips move against his slowly, tasting the salt of sweat from the both of you on there.

He didn't push you away, he just held his lips close to yours, in small and attentive brushes. "How do you feel?" he whispered, pulling back enough to look around your eyes.

"Good," you nod, "real fucking good."

Joel chuckled and looked down. Slowly, as not to hurt you, he pulled out.

You moaned at the sudden emptiness in you, lying there to catch your breath and so you didn't have to prepare for regret in his face.

But it seemed regret was the last thing on Joel's mind.

He had no idea what kind of animal was possessing him or just how far his need went. But when he fell back against the door, listening out to the low drum from the bar, he saw your swollen cunt. Red and white. Red from how hard he'd fucked you and white from the mixture of you and him.

Something growled inside of him- maybe it was him- but before either of you understood what was happening, Joel lunged back in and spread your thigs, diving in.

You lurched up onto your elbows, looking down at him. You could see the top of his hair, his eyes closed and you could feel his nose moving around you and nudging you. "Joel, what are you- holy-"

Joel hummed into your pussy. It was heaven on his tongue, dripping into him. So sweet and all you. He'd never felt closer to a person before. Never felt such a need. He was slobbering like a damn dog over your pussy.

"What the fuck have you done to me, huh," he'd pulled back only enough so you could understand his words.

Neither of you were sure if he was talking to you or what laid between your legs.

He opened up your pussy and went in, tongue fucking into you. He was caught between wanting to push his spill back into you and eating you out till you were dry.

"Joel!" you screamed, voice breaking. "You-you can't-"

"I fucking can," he snarled. His face was being pushed into your cunt as he shook it, smearing both of you all over him.

There was nothing you could say or do before your legs trembled and you came all over his beard and lips. You didn't know what to do, whether to push him off you or pull you closer.

Joel held your hips into his mouth and groaned as he took in everything you gave him.

Every flick of his tongue had you shaking. Every time he gripped your thighs you made a noise of pleasure.

Hours might have passed since he first discovered heaven between your thighs before he pulled himself out.

His face was wet with you. It was sinful and like nothing you could ever imagine. "Look at what you've fucking done to me."

You'd made an absolute mess.

[sooniebby]

The idea of a singer being a stalker instead of them being stalked is something that needs to explored more. Bonus, if the person being stalked isn’t particularly scared about it.

More specifically, the stalker being the reader. Bottom male reader.

A reader who’s always been watching his classmate since junior high school (middle school). The classmate wasn’t anyone special to others, average grades with average looks.

But you didn’t mind, him being average meant you didn’t have to fight for his attention. It was small things, just paying attention to his favorite foods and leaving them in his shoe locker.

Then slowly it blossomed. You made sure he got home safe. You found out what cram school he visited and made sure to leave snacks for him, can’t study on an empty stomach!

Increasingly, you noticed he began to get a bit paranoid, always looking behind himself. But he never made any effort to report you to the police or anything. Even when his friend suggested it at first, he practically shot it down fast.

However, after graduating to senior high school, you soon realized he wasn’t paranoid over you. He was getting bullied.

It didn’t take you long to handle it. Despite being a loner and a bit on the shorter side compared to the bully. There’s nothing a bully can do against castration. It’s quite easy to incapacitate someone who drinks a lot.

After, you expected him to act the same. And while he did—you noticed that he would look over at you in class. The first time it happened you practically had a panic attack and ran out of the classroom. He’s never looked at you at all despite the two of your being in the same class for four years straight.

You briefly wondered if he knew. Certainly acting like that would’ve confirmed his suspicions.

Luckily for you—he seemed to never look your way again. You’d know, you spend most of the day staring at him. When you finally graduated, you couldn’t be happy at all.

You’d failed to get into the university he applied to. Maybe you should’ve paid more attention to school. You were about to just come up with a back up plan when your sister said she wanted to go somewhere with you.

Just your luck, she tricked you in attending an audition at a music competition. You and her used to sing a lot as kids but you had stopped to focus on him. Of course, the devil was out to get you when you both managed to last until the final round.

Privacy wasn’t a thing for you after that. Your sister persuaded you to get signed at a company. Your parents as well since you technically had nothing else going for you—you did fail the exam for each college you tried at. (That was a lie, you had only applied to one)

Before you didn’t need to dress up to stalk him. You were pretty average as well—but now people recognized you. Especially because the company loved to advertise you as a “emo boy.” You took offense to that—just wearing black didn’t make you an emo.

But in any case, you had to start wearing clothes you wouldn’t be caught dead in. Watching him was harder this time… because he was surprising popular at his university. Everyone talked to him more often and invited him to hang out.

You didn’t understand, he didn’t change how he looked. In any case, you thought he was handsome first. You had dibs. It was getting increasingly difficult to just standby as men and women flirted with him.

Then your worst nightmare happened—he had a date. You stalked it, of course. Dressed in a bright pink shirt with white pants. Hair styled nicely compared to the mess you usually kept it. People really didn’t recognize you when you actually put effort into your looks.

You played with your knife as you watched them chat at the table across from you. The blade was too dull for your liking. Though you had only really used it to castrate that guy. And maybe… to scare off a few people in high school… but you’d never kill—seemed pointless.

As the date finally ended, you were pleased to see him turn down the girl’s offer to come to her place. You watched in satisfaction as she walked away dejectedly. She’s a pretty girl, she’ll find someone else.

You were too busy watching that you hadn’t even noticed someone behind you.

“I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Your body froze. You couldn’t move at all. A laugh left him as he tapped your shoulder.

“Are you going to run away again? I didn’t think you’d still stalk me after becoming a singer. You’re…”

You expected him to cuss you out but to your shock he said.

“Dedicated. Really dedicated. It’s cute.”

“A…what?” You whispered, slowly turning around to face him.

He was smiling at you. Smiling as if he was talking to a friend and not his stalker for over seven years. Was he insane?

Well you weren’t one to talk.

“Cute. I’m glad you didn’t run away this time. Here, gimme your LINE ID.” He said, pulling out his phone. You could only stare at him as he waved his phone. “C’mon, I’m speaking Japanese, yeah?”

“I… wait… are you—? Don’t you know I’ve been stalking you for almost eight years?”

“Mhm.”

“And that I almost followed you to your university? It wasn’t even a university I wanted to go, i don’t even know what I wanted, only if it had you.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you listening to me? I castrated a guy for you.”

“So that’s what you did… he wouldn’t tell me what happened at all,” he muttered, effectively ignoring everything else you did.

“….I followed you on a date, why aren’t you…” you couldn’t help yourself and grabbed his shirt, shaking him a bit. “This can’t be real. Why aren’t you scared?”

“You’re telling me things I already know.” He gazed down at you, his hand reached up and grasped the back of your head. “Why would I be scared if I liked it all?”

You blinked just as he kissed your cheek, a wide grin on his lips.

“You’ve watched me for this long,” he whispered, his hand slowly reaching down to grab your chin as he forced you to look up at him.

“But didn’t seem to notice that I was watching you too, (Name)-Chan.”

I’m bored so I made this longer than necessary. I always thought the idea of someone always having known they’re being stalked—making it easier for their stalker to learn stuff about them. That’s what he’s implying, btw. He didn’t stalk you, he just always noticed when you were watching him.

Reader isn’t a reliable narrator.

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @tehyunnie @iwishtobeacrow @chill-guy-but-cooler @star-3214 @remdayz @mello-life25 @kiiyoooo @ofclyde @cherry-blossoms-187 @smellwell @euthymiko @rhetorical-conscience @tomoeroi @love-kha1 @secretivemessenger @mooncarvers-world @bensontrechic @yuzuukix @anchoredphoenix @roi-henri-xxii @m00n-b4b3 @ning1e

[chowadoe]

sonadow fankid blast 💥 meet Breaker! his twin is up next 🕺

primarily takes after Sonic, taking over the day shift of watching Green Hills and the 'hero' mantle. beloved face. helps grandmas across the street. avid errand runner. has helpful big brother/camp counselor vibes!

🌖 At first I named him Breaker as a shorthand for 'daybreak' (his twin being named Dusk) and thought it was stupid (bc Sonic would name his kid something stupid) but the more i thought about it.. the more it worked.. windbreaker…. circuit breaker…a breaker being a heavy sea wave connecting to Sonic's fear of water..breaks/brakes… mm wordplay

very aloof! enjoys life. loves hiking. he loves anything with a good view. prefers to take it a day at a time, if given the choice. has a curiosity and interest in the powers and skills of others

he's incredibly strong w/ powers including electricity + Chaos Control/time-space manipulation (and still wearing limiters)

he is extremely tactical with when and how he uses Chaos Control. Breaker wouldn't use his Chaos Control on new opponents, choosing to rely on speed and fistpower. If he did, he'd make it seem that he was just extremely fast getting places, using the shadows of his opponent and surrounding environment to slip between places

ever since he was a little, Breaker’s always come out on top. he’s always looked up to heroes, naturally- after all both their fathers were. and he’s settled into the role quite nicely, one of Green Hills’ very own, and just as beloved. all the townsfolk know him, all the women fawn over him, a true bonafide role model. But even his twin brother Dusk wonders/isn't sure if thats really what he wants or if its simply a role he’s acclimated to.

Breaker has a bit of an iceberg to his character. Most people see the very top layer, what they see day-to-day of the young aloof Mobian heralded as "Sonic and Shadow's son". there's something else that goes on beneath..

his powers essentially distort him from living the same wavelength as others. Like that moment in Sonic Prime where Sonic is going so fast, time has essentially stopped for everyone else. Tapping into this power has led him to believe he is invincible in ways, but not entirely. he enjoys all the scuffs, he enjoys what life has to throw him, his friends, etc. It keeps him grounded. as a result, he has a curiosity when he finally gets to dance with danger one-on-one like the average Mobian. he appreciates any opportunity to throw himself into dangerous situations because he enjoys the thrill of possibly getting hurt, as the pain allows him to feel 'mortal'.

One of his core principals is that he doesn’t want people hurt. He wants people safe. But sometimes it's unsure if thats the case or if its because he wants other people out of his way so he can set the stage between just him and his opponent.. and thus, minimize the collateral damage/cleanup.

He is rather tactical outside of battle too and does especially well in social settings. he already has the chops for it, being charismatic from the getgo- but he knows how to set people/things/his environment up in ways that would allow him to get that final push for things to successfully go his way without anyone being aware he had pulled any strings at all. he is incredibly observant, and always picking up on the finer details. his penchant for people-watching both comes in clutch as a both hobby he truly enjoys in the present and something that could help him in future instances. the "kill two birds with one stone" type. maybe three, if the winds decide it that way.

Whether Breaker wants to admit it or not, he cares about his image. Although his swagger comes quite effortless, he cares how the townsfolk perceive him, not just for the sake of vanity or narcissism but because he understands that people need an idol- they need guidance. That's what his dad was, and that's what he's for. It's what the stars were here for-- people had to look up to somewhere (or someone) for answers. He understands that he is something like a guiding light, a north star- but if they choose to refuse him, it's no skin off his back bc that’s their choice. He doesn't interfere with the choices people decide to make for themselves.

Breaker is a weird paradox character. where he's direct and very upfront, he is also so incredibly indirect about stuff too. Bro's always contradicting himself which makes it very hard for anyone to really pinpoint just what he's thinking beyond what they might know from the "hero" image he shows off once they truly get to know him.

Being good is a choice for him. But it's a choice he doesn't think about and something he's trained himself to wholeheartedly believe is instinct, as he doesn't believe himself to be a bad guy (and he isn't!) But it's like making a lie real and true.

Breaker, like his brother, has his own brand of isolation. Because of his powers, he lives on a different wavelength to other people. Always looking things through a window. He can look close enough to pretend the glass isn't there, that he's with there with everyone else, but there still exists that separation. So he chases after whatever makes him feel 'alive' and in the moment with everyone else.

[delphi-shield]

— 「 BODYGUARD 」

lighter lorenz x reader — 2.2k summary: you're not his responsibility (not yet), but the guilt will eat him alive if he doesn't get your drunk ass home safely. content: lighter's pov, vomit, alcohol use, sappy lighter, jealous lighter beyonce's bodyguard is so him to me i can't do this anymore fellas

You call; he answers.

Some things in life are just that simple. Lighter tries to keep it that way for you.

You don’t normally call in the middle of the night, though. Lighter doesn’t mind – honest, he doesn’t. He had been tossing and turning since he laid down, passing the time by picking open old wounds, letting the regret sting the raw edges. It takes time to realize that the ringing isn’t in his ears, that he’s flat on his back in bed, not in the ring. He almost ignores the call, but when he rolls over and sees your name flickering back at him, he dives to pick up before the last ring.

You're silent on the other line, nothing but muffled talking and rustling against the microphone. All sorts of scenarios race through his head. You're stuck somewhere - trapped in a hollow, or cornered by a rival gang. His past has caught up to him, mired you in all this ick. His stomach turns.

Adrenaline works way better than caffeine and he’s known that for a while, but he wishes he wasn’t so familiar with the helplessness that grips him. Lighter sits up, swings his legs over the side of his bed, poised to run to you.

It’s nothing so serious. When you finally get your phone up to your face and greet him with a (too loud, too sloppy) ‘hey!’ it becomes painfully obvious. You're drunk. That's what all of this is about.

Lighter needles the details out of you bit by bit, trying to glean information from your ramblings. Stranded out in Badger Springs. You met some guy out there for a date, he went to the bathroom and didn’t come back. You don’t laugh when he offers to deck the guy, and he can’t tell if you’re really torn up about this or if you just didn’t hear him.

Lighter pinches the bridge of his nose. He exhales long and low, away from the mic. He shouldn't encourage this. Can't keep bailing you out every time you get yourself in a sticky situation. But the thought of you drunkenly stumbling around the Outer Ring, bumbling your way into real trouble, has him fumbling to get his arms through his jacket.

“Stay put. I’ll be right there.”

Badger Springs. Seriously? Why’d you have to go so far out? What was so wrong with getting a drink in Blazewood?

Irritation pricks at him, has his hands feeling staticky even when he grips the handlebars of his bike. You probably went out there so no one would interrupt your date. What, were you trying to hide it? Did the girls know about this? No. No way. You would have called one of them to pick you up if that were the case. Right? You weren’t trying to hide it from him, not specifically.

He has a long ride ahead to stew about it, to knot the meaning of your actions into ugly shapes and then smooth them out, only to twist it all up again another mile down the road. This wouldn’t have happened - he kicks the stand down on his bike - if he’d manned up, if he’d asked you to watch the movie he’d rented. (New release, independently produced, apparently based off some old civilization tapes that had only been spoken about in a scant few records - some horror flick called Seen that you had been raving about. Not his thing, but your eyes lit up when you spoke about it. He figured he could just watch you during the bloody parts.)

But he didn’t ask, and now he’s here, freezing his ass off in the middle of the night, parked outside this shithole bar, two towns over. The bar is a dump. Looks like your date couldn’t even take you anywhere nice. You’re off by yourself at the end of the bar, shoulders drawn in close, crowding over your drink. At least the regulars are leaving you alone. A quick look around tells him that there’s too many people in this place for it to be a quick fight, if it came down to that.

He strolls past tables and booths, lets his hand fall heavy on your shoulder. You jump, turning sluggishly to look up at him - eyes wide and red. C’mon - don’t tell him you’ve been crying over this prick. Your expression smooths the moment that you recognize him. 

“Lighter!” Your arms fling around his middle, squeeze him tightly.

The tide of adrenaline that he washed in on pulls back, drags his relief away. Anger shores up, quick and sudden. It soothes in another pulse of his heart; understanding. It's kind of flattering if he doesn't think about it too hard. You trusted him enough to come pick you up. Probably couldn't even think clearly - just knew you wanted to go home. Knew he would get you there, safe and sound. Not a bad prize for driving all the way out here; he tries to enshrine this moment in his memory. Later, trying to fall asleep in his room, he’ll feel like a sleaze for delighting in being your hero like this.

He pats the top of your head, takes advantage of the distraction to wave the bartender over, check if you’ve still got an open tab. He slips him a couple extra denny for the trouble, keeps you distracted and talking with carefully placed ‘oh, really?’s and ‘mhm’s.

"You're wasted, huh?"

“Not that bad.”

You sound confident. He steps back, lets you hop off the bar stool on your own. Lighter hooks a thumb in his pocket. He drums his fingers against his thighs, watching you sway back and forth in front of him. Your eyes are hazy and unfocused, looking in his general direction with a dopey grin on your face.

Pride feels better than anger. He latches onto that. You make it so easy to feel when you cling onto his arm, lean into him. He keeps you close, ignores the whispers he overhears about the Red Scarf. His step quickens. He’s not getting into any trouble, not when he’s here for you.

You struggle to keep up, all uncoordinated limbs, your head probably spinning. He helps you onto the back of his bike and passes you a helmet. He’d grabbed it on his way out - figured if you were as trashed as you sounded on the phone then it was better safe than sorry. He’s glad he did.

Somewhere along the ride home, you stopped babbling. He had felt your words pressed against his back more than he had heard them. He stops just before home to check on you. Can’t have you falling asleep. He doesn’t want to hear it about riding in with you all banged up on the back - he’d never let it down. He’d never let himself live it down, more accurately, but his bike starts back up before you hear that part.

Honestly, he’s almost positive you won’t remember much past when you first called him. That doesn’t stop him from treating you gently. He helps you off his bike, keeps your hand in his to guide you around stray milk crates and cacti that just seemed to leap into your path.

It’s just a little further. He’s almost got you back to your place when he hears it. That ominous groan. Your face pallid, cold sweat breaking out against your forehead.

“Gonna throw up?” He asks, big hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

You shake your head, the force of it knocking you off balance. You would have stumbled right into a cactus if he hadn’t hauled you into his side by the back of your shirt. (Like scruffing a kitten, he catches himself thinking. Cute.)

He tries to guide you to the closest trash can, but you can’t quite make it. Your legs are quaking, all the strength sapped from you while you expel that contents of your stomach into one of Old Demir’s flower pots. He gathers your hair back from your face gently, caging it all in one hand to rub your back with the other. Somewhere between gentle coos of ‘there you go’ and ‘let it all out’, he manages to make out your garbled apology. You thread it between heaves, between sobs, but he catches it all the same and shushes you for it.

“All better?” He asks when the dry heaving has stopped. You nod slowly. The tiniest whimper he’s ever heard drifts from your lips. He knows from experience that much more movement than that will hurt.

Lighter sighs. The scent of your perfume curdles with the stench of vomit. He arranges your hair back as best he can, trying to replicate the way you had done yourself up - all pretty for another man, he remembers. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, and he pulls the end of his scarf free.

“No, Lighter–”

Your hands are clumsy. He dodges your attempts to stop him easily. He clicks his tongue and swipes the vomit from your chin. “Don’t worry about it. This scarf has seen worse.”

It’s about time to get it cleaned, anyway. Add that to his growing list of chores.

You’re moving slower than before. He tucks you into his side to give you some more stability. When you pause at the steps to your place, he sweeps an arm under your knees, cradles you close to him. He had expected a protest, or an apology - something in line with the rest of your behavior this evening, but you curl closer to him. 

It’s a fumble to find your keys - shifting your weight from one arm to the other until he finally finds them in your back pocket. He knows your place well enough to dodge the shoes left in the entrance way, to step around the box that sticks out into the hallway from your bedroom. He settles you into your bed, rolls you onto your side - just to be safe.

Lighter keeps watch for a few moments, making sure you’re not going to roll onto your back, pressing the back of his hand against your sweat-chilled forehead. Once he’s certain the worst has passed, he leaves to fill a glass of water for you. Your eyes are half-open when he gets back. He draws up a chair, tries to figure out how to ask if you want his help changing into something more comfortable without sounding like a creep.

You rip that idea from his head when you blindside him with a question.

“D’you think it’s my fault?”

“Course not,” Lighter answers before he can even put together what you’re asking. “Everyone has too much fun sometimes. Don’t beat yourself up over it. You’re not even gonna remember this.”

“No, I mean…” You curl tightly around your pillow. He could have sworn he heard a hitch in your voice. His heart lurches. Christ, you can’t start crying now. He can’t take it. “Why would he just leave?”

Lighter has to remind himself not to pull a face. Not what you need right now. He’s already said too much. He’s just going to wind up upsetting you more. He wants to tell you that guy is a douchebag, that none of it had been your fault. The guy just wasn’t man enough to be upfront. That was all.

“I just don’t think I’m meant for this,” you whisper. His train of thought crashes abruptly. "Like– love, and stuff.”

“You’re so much fun to be in love with,” Lighter says, and if you were sober you would clock him for just how quickly he did so, “and someday, someone’s gonna see that.”

“How do you know?”

Because my heart feels like it’s buckled into a roller coaster and I can’t figure out if I’m having fun or if I’m scared shitless. Because I’ve got eyes. Because it’s you.

He can’t say any of that. Not now, while you’re shivering and small, a little bundle of raw nerves that he rescued from some dump. Christ, you really are a kitten right now. He chucks your chin with a knuckle, his smile twisting to something bittersweet.

“C’mon. You should know not to bet against me by now.”

For the first time since he got you through the door, you smile. Barely there and flimsy, but you’re only just clinging to consciousness. Your cheek presses back against your pillow, eyes slipping shut.

“Thanks, Lighter,” you murmur.

You’re out cold within the next minute.

Lighter lingers overlong. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be in your room while you’re passed out like this, but he can’t bring himself to rise. His shoulders hunch, expression dropping, stomach churning. Through your window, dawn is just beginning to break. The Outer Ring is bathed in a cool blue light, the horizon tinging purple at the edges.

You have a hell of a morning ahead of you. He runs a hand down his face and forces himself to stand, to get his day started properly. Another sleepless night. Maybe the next time he finds himself awake, staring at the ceiling and tormenting himself, he’ll call you first. Maybe he’ll do it before anyone else has a chance to.

Lighter locks your door on his way out and tucks the key under your mat. He should act. He should tell you.

He walks back to his place in silence, resisting the urge to grab his phone, to text you and say let me know if you need anything.

Maybe one day.

[erwinsvow]

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 — 𝐚.𝐜.

summary: when andrew opens the backseat of the car, you're looking up at him with wet eyes and tied hands, silent and compliant just like he knew you would be. and even though this definitely isn't one of his best ideas, staring down at you, he thinks it's definitely not his worst either.

word count: 19k

tags: kidnapping! probably out of character for pope but i tried. heavy stockholm syndrome, being eaten out in the forest after being chased through said forest. mentions of masturbation and pope watches (1) one time, cameras/monitoring without consent, daydreams of thigh riding because duh, mating press/breeding/creampie, things from the show that didn't make sense aren't included. yippee! :)

note: shea 'sweden' erwinsvow strikes again.

andrew thinks that their plan had been incredibly solid.

they were supposed to be in and out—deran in a nice suit, disguised as a potential parent looking for a good school for his kids. if anyone asked, he had two of them, four and six, and his partner was home with them since their youngest was sick right now, otherwise he would have brought the whole family. 

he distracted the people outside with questions while andrew and the others were supposed to make quick work of the principal’s office. at first when the job was pitched, it sounded stupid. why would the principal of some fancy private school have money stored away in his office from their stupid fundraisers and open-house? but a little deep diving had revealed that the principal was skimming from the top, and the leftover money and anything else they could use as leverage against him was probably in that office somewhere. if there was a safe, they might take the whole thing with them.

and that led to another can of worms—how do they get out with the safe? getting in was the easy part. deran and baz and andrew dressed in nice clothes blending in, craig pretending to be a caterer with the event, j waiting in a construction truck down the road. but getting out, let alone with a safe, would be difficult. they had to look at blueprints, smuggled from the town hall through a contact they didn’t even want to use. 

andrew didn’t know what to think of the whole thing. it felt like too much work for an undetermined reward, though the others didn’t seem to agree with him. they kept saying it would be worth it and outnumbered, feeling as though despite what he said they wouldn’t agree with him, he complied. 

the blueprints revealed an out through an adjacent room—they didn’t know who was occupying until they went in to canvas after hours, pretending to check the smoke detectors. andrew stood in front of the closed door, staring at a cute, childish sign printed in loopy writing: school nurse. 

but there was a window large enough for any safe they encountered and just a wall of plaster separating the two. they wouldn’t even need any heavy machinery to get through the walls and out the window to the car. the open house was scheduled for a saturday, meaning the school nurse, who ever it was, wouldn’t be there. 

so all in all, a solid plan from what information they had gathered. saturday morning, andrew put on a long-sleeved button up shirt and an uncomfortable tie and walked into the school.

(playing pretend was more fun than he would like to admit. a stranger came up to him and asked him how old his daughters were and he actually laughed. “how do you know i have daughters?” he had asked, and the stranger had looked at him, laughing in reply. “you look the type,” and then andrew had to tear his mind away from the thought for the next hour, trying to forget the momentary joy the sentence had brought him. he looked the type. and then he said he had twin daughters, about to start first grade, and the lie felt sweet on his tongue.)

it’s always the jobs where everything’s going according to plan. those are the ones where something always ends up going wrong because it’s when you least expect it. that’s what had led to his arrest—and he was extra mindful now, trying in his head to think of all the ways this could go wrong.

they had made it inside the school. snuck into the nurse’s office—a cutely decorated place with lollipops and crackers in big jars and fun colors strewn throughout. the desk is against the wall they’re carving up and there’s cute decorations on it. a vase with fresh flowers. a mug with cartoon characters on it. there’s a huge poster in the shape of a tooth and then bright letters above it spelling out lost tooth club. there’s dozens of names written on and under the poster, a basket of toys and stickers. 

baz is about to start swinging right in the middle of another bulletin board, prettily decorated with hours of work. the letters had been cut by hand, little paper flowers glued together individually. it said spread kindness, not germs in large yellow letters. 

“d-don’t ruin the poster. go next to it.” he doesn’t know why he said it. they were already robbing a school, it’s not like the punishment would be worse because he left a poster untouched. but it felt wrong to demolish the nurse’s office and destroy her hard work. 

they get a hole big enough in the wall, even find the safe and get it out into the nurse’s office to the open window. everything according to plan. everything going as best as it could.

and then the door swings open and you walk in.

you take two, maybe three steps before stopping in your tracks and staring at the scene in front of you with wide, unblinking eyes.  

“oh. oh, i-” they’re not wearing ski masks this time, not worried about it since there wasn’t any cameras in the two offices. and now you’ve seen their faces.

“grab her, pope!” he hears from baz, and without thinking twice about it, he does. a huge hand goes over your mouth, silencing you, and the other around your two wrists. it’s easy to subdue you, and you thrash up against him but it’s over quickly.

andrew keeps them pinned down while baz runs over with rope for your hands and then he’s taking you outside through the window, to the truck, and despite how badly he feels about it, he holds you tight and tells you not to scream. while they load up the safe and hop into the truck he keeps his hand still tight across your mouth. your eyes are filled with fear, huge and watery and your body trembles like a shaking, frightened animal.

andrew leans in, unsure of why he’s even doing it, and whispers as quiet as he can without the others hearing you. 

“i promise i won’t hurt you.” 

a drive later, they pull up to the house, though they really should have taken you somewhere else. as carefully as they can without prying eyes from the neighbors, he carries you out and they put you in andrew’s bedroom, and then they lock the door from the outside.

+

you come to a little bit later, unsure of when you had passed out. the entire thing feels like a bad dream—a nightmare after watching one of your shows too late before bed, but when you blink open your eyes and stare around the room, you realize this not a nightmare. 

this is so much worse.

your wrists are bound to the bedframe with thick rope, made of fibers that dig into your skin and leave it raw and scorched underneath. you stop fighting against it to preserve your strength and stare around the room. 

plain painted walls and a navy blue comforter under your body. you’re in the room of one of these men who took you—you can tell that much, despite how barren the room is. 

you’d think it was a guest room if you didn’t know any better. but there’s folded laundry at the foot of the bed and a half-open closet where you can see button up shirts hanging neatly. there’s nothing else to identify where you even are, though you’re sure it can’t be too far from the school.

you don’t know what to do now. for all your smarts and the crazy shows you love so much and using logic to help you through other situations, you have no idea what to do right now. there’s no way to escape the rope and no way to figure out where you are. 

fuck. no one at school even knew you were there, or someone might have noticed you were missing. but it’s an open house for the next school year and the last day of classes was the previous week. you’re out for the summer, meaning no one there would notice your absence.

you didn’t know many of the teachers at the school. the secretaries you passed on the way to your little nurse’s office every day were polite, but not much more than that. the principal only ever came to speak to you if he needed to speak with the student you were with. 

and your friends, well—

you don’t think many of them would notice if you went missing. fuck. you should have never cancelled plans so many times. you should have put in more effort to going to mixers and staying in touch when school ended and done all the things that normal people do because now—

you hear people talking from outside, sounding a little far away but still clear, like they’re raising their voices, and the ones inside your head die down immediately.

if you shut your eyes to try and pay attention to it, you can make sense of the conversation taking place, though your head is pounding and it’s hard to focus.

“she didn’t see anything,” you hear a man argue, and then he’s interrupted by second person.

“she saw our faces, man. that’s risking too much-”

“we need to take care of this,” a woman says, and then there’s a pause.

and outside, with his mind still on the promise he made you, andrew stares at smurf, as she finishes her sentence.

“you need to take care of this, andrew.” 

it was a screwed up job to begin with. they should have never done it—no matter the fact that there’s almost twice what their jobs normally make sitting in the safe next to them right now. that money is about to become blood money. and as always, andrew has to do the dirty work.

“i didn’t even want to do this job. and you’re-you’re going to make me fix this-”

“andrew,” smurf says, and it feels final with the tone she uses. the tone of, of course you’re going to fix this. as if the burden doesn’t weigh on his shoulders with every step he takes. doesn’t plague his mind within every single thought. like these responsibilities that he has to handle and take care of aren’t the very reason he can’t sleep at night. 

deran and craig looked checked out—staring at him like they don’t already know the answer. baz look at him expectantly and it’s so easy for him to do so. he gets to go home each night to a wife that loves him and a daughter that adores him and gets to put his head against his pillow and hold his wife with unmarred, clean hands because andrew will take care of it. 

he looks up at smurf and he knows what will happen if he resists. if he says no to this, she might do something to you herself, and your blood will still he on his hands.

“okay." andrew says, and that’s that. 

“alright. wait until it’s darker outside-”

“i know what to do.”

and inside the bedroom, dread creeps in slowly into your body until it consumes you entirely. you process the words—that andrew, whoever he is, whichever one he is, will take of it. take care of you. 

you almost want to laugh with how incredibly unreal this is. getting kidnapped is the craziest thing that’s ever happened to you in your short life and now it’s going to be the reason that you die. 

dead, just like that, over a robbery at a goddamn private school. dead, waiting for the executioner to come get you from his bedroom while they talk about your life over their table like it’s nothing but lunch-time conversation. 

you thought adrenaline was supposed to make you near superhuman, make you do something, figure out how to get out of here and run for your life. nothing’s coming to mind just yet, though, as you stay frozen on the bed and wait to hear if the people who took you say anything else.

the door opens suddenly and you flinch—you hadn’t heard any footsteps and he caught you by surprise.

this must be andrew, which means he’s the same one who covered your mouth and took you to begin with. he opens the door and stares at you, keeping eye contact as he shuts the door behind him and comes in closer. you should stare back, try to convince him (and yourself) that you’re not afraid of him, but you’re not that girl. 

you look away the second he takes a step closer to the bed. andrew doesn’t stop, coming in closer until he’s sitting at the edge. you scramble to sit up, bringing your knees in closer to your chest, trying to make yourself smaller and get away from him all at once. it’s a hot day and you’re in a thin dress that comes down to right above your knees—and the fabric slides up as you scramble.

you were supposed to go pack up whatever you needed from your office and then stop to get a coffee from your favorite shop near the school and read the book that’s currently sitting on your desk at work—if it was still there. you don’t know what they did to the room after andrew took you to the truck.

your day was supposed to be for you, for once. an iced drink and the romance-comedy you read in your free time between little kids who didn’t feel good and lunch at a local place to celebrate another school year coming to an end. 

and now you’re about to walk to your death, refusing to make eye contact with the man who’s going to be killing you.

as morbid as the thought is, you wonder how he’ll do it. he said he wouldn’t hurt you but the decision sounded pretty final out there, at least it did to you. something painless, hopefully? 

you’ve watched enough shows to know all the ways but your mind runs empty. you finally move your gaze back to andrew in the corner of the bed, sitting and staring at you. you can see his shoulders rise with every deep breath, can hear the sharp exhale from his nose after each one. you want to say something. you think you should plead for your life.

but the way andrew’s looking at you, you almost believe what he said to you in the truck. i promise i won’t hurt you. 

how could he have promised you such a thing?

when he finally speaks up, it begins to make sense, you think. that, or you’re not nearly as smart as you thought you were.

“i have to take you away from here.” 

“i-i heard you. outside. you promised-”

“i’m not going to hurt you. just-just, when i take you out there, pretend to be scared.”

“what?”

“p-pretend to be scared. hit me and-and fight. i’m gonna tape your mouth.”

“what? no-”

“just listen to me,” he says, and it comes out differently from the other words he’s said to you. it’s final and stern, and the way his hazel eyes stare into yours, you really believe him, as incredulous as the thought is. “i’ll get you out of here. just listen to me. i’m not killing you. i’m not killing anyone.” 

his sentences sound as though he’s trying to convince himself, rather than you, and you have to physically shove the thought aside before you burst into tears from how scared you are. but andrew, for everything you can tell, is being honest with you.

you’re halfway decent, you’d like to think, at telling when people are lying. students come into your nurse’s office every single day trying to lie to you, trying to avoid a certain peer or a certain class or assignment, filling your ears with lies about aching stomachs and pounding heads.

you’ve got your own ways of telling truths from lies, and andrew, with his never-ending eye contact and firm words, is telling the truth.

at least you hope he is.

“o-okay. okay, i will.”

you do try your best to put on the show—pounding on andrew’s back, crying out against the duct tape he puts over your mouth—and have to remind yourself it’s not really a performance. you’re just as terrified as you were an hour ago but something inside you twists and turns at andrew’s sincere-sounding words. you don’t look at any of the others there, don’t try to meet their eyes because they might see that you’re not really as scared as you should be.

he puts you in the bed of the truck under a black cover, and you stare up at him with real fear. even if you weren’t claustrophobic, the enclosed area induced anxiety in you from the moment you figured out what he was doing. you think this might be it—your only chance to make a run for it, if you could wrangle out of andrew’s incredibly strong grip, if you could keep your balance with your tied ankles. 

and then he looks down at you and shakes his head slightly, so slightly that the movement is almost undetectable. there’s eyes on him—of this you’re sure—and he still tries to remind you that he won’t hurt you when he feels your body tense up under his hands.

you kick your feet without much energy behind it and let andrew push you into the bed of the truck. he gets in and starts driving, and then a few minutes later, he pulls over.

you blink up at him stupidly when he helps you out, thinking that he’s letting you go just a few miles from his home. you try to speak but there’s still duct tape over your mouth. andrew gives you his hand to help you sit up and then opens the backseat door of his truck for you, helps you inside, and then keeps driving.

and against every greater instinct you have or have been taught, you sit in the back quietly and let him drive you wherever he’s taking you, stupidly assuming it’s to safety. 

you hope he’s taking you to safety. 

no, you think—still a little stupidly—you know he’s taking you to safety.

+

andrew drives you for what feels like forever. wherever he’s taken you, it’s far from the house you were at and far from the school, meaning it is also far from your tiny apartment. you watch the sunset from the back seat and wonder who, if anyone, would even notice you’re missing this early. 

your rent and bills are on auto-pay. the sweet, older lady who lives alone next to you forgets her own name sometimes. and staring at the back of andrew’s head—dark brown curls that glow auburn when the golden sun hits them—you realize there’s really no way out of this.

through, it is.

it’s dark when the car finally slows down on an empty dirt road. you don’t recognize any of the scenery, but andrew drives through the terrain like he’s well acquainted with it, avoiding bumps and ditches easily. when he stops the car, you sit up a little straighter in the back.

you should be thankful he didn’t keep you in the bed of the truck the entire time, thankful that he let you realize you’re about two hours from home. thankful that he hasn’t hurt you yet, just like he had promised.

your wrists and ankles ache. every muscle in your body is screaming at you from the adrenaline rush that did absolutely nothing to help you get out of this situation. and though a smarter girl might try to knock andrew out and run through the woods until you found someone to help you, you’re beginning to realize you’re not nearly as smart as you think you are. 

everything in you is telling you to trust him and listen to his instructions and make him keep his promise by not giving him any reasons to hurt you. 

he turns the car off, takes a deep breath, and then opens his door to get out. then he opens your door and stares down at you.

this is just like a scene from one of your crime shows. you can’t believe that’s the thought in your head right now, but it’s the only thing coming to mind. the specifics of the show merge into all the others, but you remember something about making eye contact and trying to humanize yourself so the kidnapper remembers you’re a person and not just an object.

so you need to look into his eyes. and you think that’s easy enough, that you can do it and that he’ll realize how obscenely wrong this entire situation is and let you go home tonight.

you flick your eyes up to meet his. you knew he was already staring at you but it’s somehow so much worse than you could have imagined. he’s not just looking, his eyes are boring into your soul. he doesn’t look away or blink, just keeps his gaze focused while staying completely silent. you’ve never been good at eye contact or being particularly demanding or combative, but you think this is an emergency and surely, you can manage for now.

you last all of two seconds before looking away. 

you focus on the ropes on your wrist and how irritated the skin underneath looks and you let andrew figure out whatever it is he needs to figure out in silence, save for your breaths.

“c’mon,” he says after some time. “inside. come on.”

he gives you his hands to help you up—you guess at the very least, at least he’s chivalrous—and then he holds you by the rope to guide you. he’s not even pulling very hard on it but the force is enough to make sure you don’t go running and screaming in the opposite direction. 

you realize you should have tried to take in the exterior of the cabin as soon as you walk inside, something else that your shows should have taught you, but you’re too busy being pulled around by andrew like a ragdoll. he brings you inside and then flips light switches.

the place is, for a kidnapper’s secondary location, quite nice. it looks like it was decorated a few decades ago—entire place shrouded in gingham and floral prints with vintage looking light fixtures and bookshelves with dust bunnies. you can’t imagine he picked these things out himself, especially not when you remember how bare-bones his bedroom was.

this place is much nicer. homey and dusty and quiet, you conclude after looking around. andrew doesn’t tell you to sit so much as he puts you down in a love seat and leaves you there, tied and taped up, waiting for him to come back. he walks into another room, which you can only assume is the kitchen, and then comes back.

“oh. i-i’m sorry,” he says and your eyes shoot up to him, unsure of why he’s apologizing. he gets closer and lifts his hand and you flinch, before his fingers go to the duct tape covering your mouth. you wince while he pulls it off, slowly and then faster, like he’s trying to get it over with faster, and you can’t help the tears that well up and slip down while he does it. you thought in vain that it might feel like a bandaid. it didn’t.

andrew apologizes again and you try to tell him it’s fine, but it doesn’t come out. your mouth is dry and you realize you haven’t had any water since you got taken at the school, so it comes out in a choked fragment of a sentence. 

you finally find the courage to look up at him with wet, blinking eyes.

“can i have water?” it comes out as a whisper, and andrew doesn’t say anything, just rushes back to the kitchen and comes back out with a half-filled glass. he almost hands it to you before realizing your hands are still tied and then he brings it to your mouth, tilting the glass so you can drink it. he doesn’t do it too quickly, making sure you don’t choke on it, but a droplet still runs down the side of your mouth. when he takes the cup away you stare up at him.

he almost lifts his hand to wipe away the water. his fingers twitch over the empty glass.

“how long do i have to stay here?” 

andrew pauses like he’s thinking about the answer. the truth, of course, is that he doesn’t know how long you have to stay. the answer to your question is that you’ll stay as long as he wants. 

“i don’t know. as long as it takes.”

“as long as what takes?”

“the bedroom is over here. come on.” 

+

andrew, for all you have learned about him, remains very chivalrous. it’s been two days, and you keep track with a piece of scrap paper in the room he keeps you in. he brought you in here and kept you tied up while he made sure all the windows in the house couldn’t be opened anymore and did something to the door too, you’re sure, though you didn’t actually get to see it.

he probably didn’t have to go through all that trouble. you conclude after forty-eight hours that you have terrible survival skills and are closer to being a perfect victim, a thought that makes your stomach turn. but you are, really. you haven’t once tried to fight him, save for the time he told you to, and the thought of escaping is a miniscule idea buried in the very back of your head. 

you eat what he makes—though you are getting very tired of dry sandwiches and sugary cereal—and drink the water he gives you. 

you think he’s testing you. and you have never, ever been one to fail a test. you comply with his instructions even when it’s incredibly embarrassing, like when he asks you how he should respond when you get texts and calls to your cell-phone. with your face burning you tell him there’s probably not going to be any of those to worry about, and he stares at you while you evade his eye contact. 

(if you had just looked, you would have recognized the way he’s staring at you. it’s different than the others. like he’s just unlocked a new piece of you with this information. it’s good that you didn’t, though. it makes him want to keep you all the more.)

andrew hasn’t been obvious enough with his absence that the others have noticed—yet. he needs to go back to oceanside and stay there, and this two hour drive he’s been doing for days isn’t exactly helping him. the first night he’d driven back at three in the morning, after you’d fallen asleep and he’d made sure everything was locked until he came back in the morning, and he’d had to deal with smurf, awake and waiting for him, waiting for the proof that he had taken care of it. taken care of you. 

the day after, baz stops him when he’s on his way out, to come back to see you, to tell him about a new plan he had for a job.

he realizes that the closer they get to a new job, the less he’d be able to come to the cabin. it seems there’s only one obvious solution—letting you leave the bedroom you’ve been confined to when he’s not there with you. so far he’d let you into the living room while he’s there, and the two of you sit in silence. (that silence is better than any conversation he’s had with his family in the last month, but you don’t need to know that.)

and the only way to make sure you’re alright in the cabin when he’s not there is to physically watch you and be sure of it, which means the real solution to andrew’s problem is cameras.

he installs them while you’re asleep. it’s only been a few days and you don’t make much noise as it is but when he hears the soft snoring, he knows you’re out. one in the living room and another in the kitchen, and a final one outside the cabin. the man at the store had explained it had motion sensors and would alert his phone if animals or people were outside. at the time, it seemed like a perfectly good idea. 

the man at the store had said something else too, something about how this is the best safety system and it’s what he uses at home to keep his family safe and he would recommend it for andrew’s wife and kids too. and maybe the assumption that he was doing all of this for your protection got to his head a little too quickly.

he’s been down that road before, but he still installs them all the same.

he lets you out of the room and tells you he’ll be back in a few days and that there’s food in the fridge and you can move around the house if you’d like. you look at him like you’re surprised, with less fear than he anticipated, and nod. and then you tell him quietly, so quiet he can barely hear it—thank you. 

(you wait for a reaction, but you don’t get one. he takes another heavy breath and then leaves, closing the door behind him and then locking it how he always does, leaving you alone again. and somehow, it feels so much worse to be alone.)

andrew drives for a few minutes before he gives into the urge of checking the camera’s footage. he sees you padding carefully through the living room, stopping at the bookshelf and reading all the titles. 

he checks it again throughout the day, even though he really shouldn’t. he runs the risk of someone seeing it over his shoulder and you have become something he really, really doesn’t want to share with his brothers. 

he doesn’t know how to do this. it’s not like he’s ever kidnapped someone before. he didn’t have any time to think it through, to make a plan, to gather supplies. he’s here in oceanside—maybe he should stop by your apartment. he has your phone and your purse and that should be enough to determine your address, and he can figure out how to get inside. maybe he should bring you some of your belongings, so you don’t feel as…

andrew doesn’t know what word he can use there. he doesn’t know what you’re feeling. frightened, he supposes. maybe it won’t make you feel as frightened if you had some of your things with you. he could bring you puzzles and books and the types of things that girls need with them—little bottles of expensive products and sweet smelling perfumes and whatever else you’d like. if it would make you more comfortable, he’d bring it.

fuck. and clothes—he needs to bring you clothes. you’ve been wearing the same dress the entire time and he hasn’t brought you anything to change into. if he goes to your home, he can bring some of your clothes.

(every time he’s come to the cabin so far, every time he’s opened the door, he waits in the foyer. he hears your footsteps padding up to the bedroom door, sees your shadow underneath it, like you’re making sure you didn’t imagine the noise. and when he goes over and unlocks it, you’re waiting for him in your sundress on the bed and the thought makes him so distracted he has to pull himself away from it. he has to close the door shut in his mind because if he doesn’t, he’s going to get so hard he can’t think anymore. and suddenly his mind fills in the blanks and he decides if he goes to your closet, he’ll only bring you dresses back.)

when andrew checks the video feed again, he’s noticed that you showered. he can tell from your wet hair, and for the first time, you’re not in the dress you were wearing when he took you. you’re in a plain shirt, one that’s too big on you. cotton and black.

one of his shirts. it’s from the dresser in the bedroom, he knows, since it’s only a one-bedroom home. the room he’s been keeping you in was supposed to be his room, and the drawers are filled with the clothes he’d brought there.

you’re wearing his clothes. and suddenly the thought of going to your apartment goes to hell. he’ll keep you in his clothes for as long as he can, until you say something or ask for something. (he knows you won’t. he’s figuring he knows an awful lot about you in a handful of days. that can’t be a coincidence, can it?)

and then craig says something about how he’s never seen andrew on his phone this much and you got some porn on there or something? and he shoves the device into his pocket and tries to remove you from his thoughts.

tries and fails, that is.

andrew gets a stinging scrape on his upper arm trying to get out of the job. he wasn’t actively thinking about you but he knows somehow he was distracted because of you, because he couldn’t put you out of his mind for thirty seconds longer, wondering if you were still awake on the couch or back in the bedroom and if you’d eaten and if you were maybe, just maybe, waiting up for him. 

he ignores the others telling him that he needs to get his arm fixed and he suffers through another hour at smurf’s, eating dessert that tastes like nothing, and then he gets in his truck and pulls out his phone.

and you’ve fallen asleep on the couch. he sighs, part relief mixed with something else. his arm seems to hurt less, he thinks. and then andrew drives two hours to go back home to you.

+

you wake up when the door opens. first your eyes flutter open, and then you turn your head to make sure it’s andrew—though the chance of it being someone else are nonexistent. then another thought, for a split second, racing through your body and mind like a strike of lightning.

you hope it’s never anyone but andrew opening that door.

you’re distracted from the thought when andrew groans, and you hear a pitter patter noise that sounds suspiciously like rain—but it’s not raining. when you lift yourself up in the dark, andrew’s leaning against the doorframe, raising his other hand to turn the switch on, and when the bulb flickers and light fills the cabin, you see it. blood, lots of it.

your instinct is to get on your feet right away, to usher andrew to the couch where you had fallen asleep and help him take his shirt off so you can see the wound clearly. 

you don’t panic, something you’ve gotten good at in your field. panicking makes the little kids even more frightened, so you’ve mastered the art of staying calm while assessing the situation. quick movements—your feet bring you to the bathroom for clean towels and hot water like you’ve lived here forever. 

you wash the wound carefully, pleased that it’s only skin-deep and that the bleeding should stop with some prolonged pressure. you sigh a breath of relief, holding the towel to his arm tightly, and then you realize you and andrew haven’t spoken a word this entire time.

you have to say something. you’re supposed to keep the patient distracted, get their mind off of their injury so they don’t subconsciously make it worse. you’ve always been good with your students, rambling about a new movie or what flavor lollipop they’ll pick on their way out and anything else that comes to mind.

but staring at andrew, realizing that you’ve forced yourself not to panic but feeling the dread still seep in, you realize you have nothing to say. you’re so thankful his wound isn’t too bad and logically, you compute, while his hazel eyes stare at you and you stare at his arm (a huge, thick bicep with veins that pulse under your touch), that it must be because if something happened to him, no one would ever find you. 

that has to be it. there’s no other reason why you should feel like this—and you can’t even describe what this is, you just know that it’s there, a pale glowing ball of thank god he’s okay hovering in the pit of your stomach, making you almost nauseous with how relieved you are. no other reason. 

you pull away the towel and the bleeding has stopped. you sigh again, reaching for another towel to wipe the wound clean and turning to meet andrew’s eyes, which are already on you, to ask him if he has a first aid kit. but he speaks first.

“thank you.” two words, said quietly, staring into the depths of your soul and not blinking once. you want to say something to make him smile but you don’t know how to do that. (yet.) 

“of-of course. first aid kit? i need a bandage. to wrap your arm.” 

“it’s under the sink. i can get it.”

“no, no,” you insist, letting go of andrew’s arm. your hand still feels warm where you were gripping him and his blood is all over your fingers. you dart off in the right direction and come back with the box, opening it up and seeing what you can use. 

you wrap it around his arm carefully, apologizing when you press against him in a way that makes him wince.

“you should buy some more bandages like this. the waterproof kind. when you can. and i-i can change the dressing for you,” you ramble, unsure of how to make andrew feel better, if you can at all. he might be more upset that you’re still talking and not shutting up, and still—

he brings his other hand around and clasps it around your wrist. he’s holding on tightly but it doesn’t hurt. that’s not his intention right now. you looked into his eyes when you felt his touch but that was a mistake. blinking quickly, you try to move your gaze anywhere but the man in front of you.

“can you look at me?” you can’t help it, it’s like your body has this urge to just listen to him, to comply, to try and please him with your deference. as painful as it is, you stare into his hazel eyes for what seems like ages. they’re mostly green but the brown is so much more apparent from this close to him. the realization is so stunning you almost feel like you’ve been zapped with an electric current—andrew has beautiful eyes. “thank you.” 

“oh. i-” you pause yourself before you say something that doesn’t make any sense. “of course. y-you saved my life. it’s the least i can do.”

and that realization is equally disorienting, like a bomb has been dropped between you two. he might have taken you and brought you here and kept you locked up but he did save you. from almost certain death.

andrew doesn’t say anything, even if he’s thinking something. he stares and when you try to look away again, he lets go of the hand on your wrist and brings it to the side of your face instead. he tilts your head towards him until you’ve locked eyes again. 

you think your heart is going to fall out of your chest with how fast it’s beating.

“stop looking away.” his words come out quietly.

andrew is so close to you, that almost by nature of instinct, your eyes flutter shut. you don’t know what exactly you’re expecting, and something inside of your brain screams at you, reminding you how incredibly stupid you’re being.

but then andrew brings you closer to him with his hand warm on your cheek and your lips brush his for a second, maybe two, and they’re soft just like you imagined, and then—

you two jump apart as his phone goes off. you don’t know how far back you jerked, but andrew lets go of your face immediately. he stands up to answer it, reminds you to be quiet by putting a finger in front of his lips.

"what is it, baz?"

you tiptoe back to the room and close the door as quietly as you can. and then you bury your head into the pillow.

stupid. stupid. stupid. kissing—or almost kissing, or whatever the hell that was—your captor. you seriously cannot descend into a further level of stupidity. as if your life was some badly written mafia romance, the kind you should be overindulging in right now instead of being locked up in a cabin with a complete stranger and then trying to kiss said stranger.

(do not, you’re forced to remind yourself over and over again, do not think about his green eyes and his soft lips and the way he held your face tenderly. do not. do not.) 

a little while later, you hear andrew’s voice quiet down and his footsteps come to your door. he stands outside and your heart picks up wondering if he’ll knock or come back in to finish what he started, but it settles into a dull thudding rhythm again once he walks away. then the unmistakable sound of the front door, his truck starting, and tires on the dirt road that leads to this place.

you don’t know why you let your expectations get carried away for a moment there. andrew’s not going to give you some grand, dramatic kiss or knock and give you a romantic speech from the other side of the door. that’s not him, you know that much at least. the crime television series are merging with the romantic books in your head and creating a perfect storm to cloud your senses. 

maybe it’s a good thing. maybe it’s a coping mechanism, or something. you’ll figure it out in therapy if andrew ever lets you go.

you open the door and go back to where you were sleeping on the couch. it’s comfortable, and it’d be perfect to curl up and watch a movie in, if there was a television around. you miss your laptop and post-work routine a little bit more than you have the entire time so far.

you want to get back under the blanket but you still feel flushed from the kiss, if you could even call it that. the almost, maybe-it-happened kiss. you lay on top of the blanket and stare at the ceiling and feel your heartbeat in your ears.

fuck. you really shouldn’t. but resisting it—especially when your eyes shut and you recall how andrew’s skin felt against yours, how it felt to be so close to him that you could see all his freckles, how he looked at you and made you look at him—takes every ounce of strength in your body. 

and you’re really, really not that strong. 

you lift up the shirt you’ve been wearing today, the one that’s undoubtedly his from the familiar detergent and the size of it, and your fingers find their familiar pattern themselves.

you trace little circles on your clit and keep your eyes closed tightly, like opening it and seeing what the hell you’re doing might chase away the orgasm that’s getting closer and closer. instead there’s other images—andrew’s arm tensing under your touch. the veins that go all the way down to his forearm. other places he might have veins like that. 

then it’s something else—the fact that he almost kissed you. what it could have led to, what it means for you. the fact that he wants you, that maybe he’s wanted you all along. that maybe that’s why he took you.

your orgasm hits you like a brick at that very thought. you ride yourself through it like you’ve always done, covering your mouth even though you don’t have neighbors here, sweaty and out of breath and satisfied but not entirely. like you know what it could have been like, that there’s someone who could have made it better in ways that you can’t even piece together right now.

you groan into the cushion, loudly, frustrated with yourself. it’s one thing to develop a lite version of stockholm syndrome but it’s another entirely to finish to the thought of the man. especially when you can’t remember the last time you had a feeling like this towards anyone. 

it’s just so stupid. you can’t get over it. you’re so stupid. the feeling of clarity washes over you but you still don’t completely understand it. you don’t know what it is about him. maybe you just want to be wanted—that has to be it. how else can you justify what you just did to the thought of your kidnapper? 

you lay back on the cushion and curl up under the blanket and with that thought haunting you, you fall asleep. 

and half-way to oceanside, andrew watches the feed for the living room and clenches his fist around the steering wheel. 

+

andrew comes back the next day, and you two don’t talk about anything, just like usual. you’re making yourself lunch when he opens the door and you look his way briefly, before heading back to make him a plate too. you try to justify it internally—he made you meals not so long ago. granted, you were tied up with rope at the time, but still, he could have let you starve and he didn’t.

it turns into a little habit. you’ve never particularly loved cooking but one of the dusty bookshelves in the house had a cookbook that you’ve been stealing recipes from. it’s just something to keep you a little busy and if you’re going to improve any of your skills, it might as well be this one.

it’ll still be useful to you when you leave. if you get to leave.

you’re not entirely sure but you think andrew likes having you there as a personal cook. he washes the dishes and cleans the kitchen without complaint, and he forces you out of there, not letting you help. it’s sweet, you think, watching him from the living room with whatever book you’re reading now. 

there’s other things too—he’s brought you books. you’re not sure from where, but you read them all the same, laughing internally when you think about if it’d be impolite to ask him for a dvd player or something.

you change the dressing on his wound each day, and it’s healing well so far. it’s been maybe four or five days since he got hurt—since you almost, maybe kissed him and then definitely, certainly orgasmed on his couch—and you feel…confused, for lack of a better word. 

you feel like you’re in a routine like how a couple who’s getting used to living with each other is—first tip toeing around, and then gaining comfort and ease, until finally, it feels normal.

this can’t be right—how routine it feels to make andrew lunch, even when you’re not sure if he’ll be back in time. to flip through a cookbook wondering what recipe he might like. to smile at him when he brings you another book since he somehow knows you’ve gone through most of the shelf already.

the days melt into each other—but you had expected that. you think asking andrew about an update in the whole letting you go free thing might upset him, and you still really, really want to avoid that.

so you remain confused and turbulent and fighting an internal dilemma between two sides of you. one that just wants to give in and stop thinking so hard about this and the other that thinks you should be scared for your life and stop pretending that this is anything besides what it really is—stockholm syndrome changing your brain chemistry and making you think that you’re going to be just fine.

while the two sides are duking it out, you and andrew continue the routine—or maybe it’s a charade, one side argues—like usual. you think it’s been two weeks of being cooped up in this house when he brings you a magazine.

“can you circle what you need?” 

you look up at him. he’s sort of trained you into the eye contact thing, and though you can’t withstand much of his intense staring, you’ve gotten marginally better at it. (you’re sure he’ll like that, that it must please him that you don’t always look away. and then you remind yourself where you are and your head begins to hurt.)

“yes. sure. thank you,” you say, opening up the catalog. there’s a section for clothes and another for beauty and skincare, and as stupid as it is, you still circle some of the makeup you like. and some of the stuff that you always deemed too expensive to buy, because if andrew’s paying, you might as well get to try it out. you justify it all—doing such elaborate mental gymnastics that you think you’d medal gold at this point. 

but that’s what you have to do, right? you ponder the thought as you hand andrew back the circled pages, with him telling you he’ll get the stuff as soon as he can. that new clothes and skincare might make you, at the very least, feel like a person. help you not lose all of your identity as you merge into this persona for andrew—personal chef and nurse and someone he almost, maybe kisses. 

and there’s other things too. when you wake up, he’s always hovering somewhere near you, as though he’d been watching you sleep. you guess there’s nothing inherently wrong with that—it sort of makes butterflies flutter around your stomach, since the idea that he likes to pass time by looking at you is very overwhelming—but you keep reminding yourself to stay rational. 

it’s hard to ground yourself but you need to keep it up—even though more often than not, thoughts of andrew, even when he’s not there with you, plague you, like you’re some teenager with a crush. 

it’s because you know, know deep down in your bones that some part of andrew likes some part of you. that you do, indeed, have a soft spot for your kidnapper, built from making lunches and conversations without words. that you ignore your instincts so much you’re not sure you can even call it an instinct anymore, because your newfound impulses just want to do whatever you can to please andrew, even when he doesn’t express it through words, just through eye contacts and barely there touches. 

the realization makes you want to throw up. there’s not enough justification in the world for this, it doesn’t matter if he said he wouldn’t hurt you or he makes sure you’re safe here.

it’s been more than two weeks now. he could have let you go. but then again, he could have done a lot of things.

you’re finishing making lunch when you notice it—that the door seems slightly ajar, like he’d forgotten one of the locks or something. maybe he had on the second trip out to get the groceries for you so you could start cooking. he used to make sure you were in the bedroom, locked inside, when he opened and closed the door. but he hadn’t done that in a few days.

because he trusted that you wouldn’t run. 

if the door is open, you could try to get outside while andrew is washing the dishes and cleaning up after the two of you eat. but it’s probably not—he’s much more careful than that.

but still, sitting at the tiny round dining table across from him, you can barely eat a few bites, heart racing at the idea. it’s stupid—the idea of running away. where would you even go? you don’t know the terrain, don't know where you are. you don’t even wear shoes in the house, prancing around barefoot in one of the new dresses andrew brought for you like some sort of twisted housewife.

once it got dark, you’d be in real trouble, with whatever wildlife is out here and how far away the main road is, if there was even other cars on it to begin with. you can’t remember much from the drive over here and you curse to yourself.

“something wrong?” andrew asks, and you blink at him dumbly.

“no, nothing. i-i-” quick. think of something. before he gets worried. “i just didn’t like this recipe as much as i thought i would. not my best work.” 

you try to laugh it off, even though your words sound stupid. andrew stares at you until your smiles melts away and you take a tiny bite.

“it tastes good to me,” he says, and you feel your heart fall. your idea seems further and further away.

like always, andrew takes the dishes to the kitchen and when you hear the sink turn on, you leave your spot on the table and go to the living room. but instead of taking a seat on the creaky couch and opening your book, you tiptoe to the door. 

your heart is beating so fast you can hear it in your ears, trembling hand reaching for the doorknob. 

and for the first time, it twists and gives way to the door opening. 

you are stupid, you conclude, for thinking about running away from this, from him. but you can’t get over the circumstances that led you here—his crazy family, the fact that he was partaking in a robbery of your goddamn school, that he had no issues with taking you to begin with. 

and despite the part of you that thinks you could really, really get used to this—or the harrowing reality of the fact that you already have—you step outside and start running.

but andrew has become somewhat of a bloodhound when it comes to you. he waits for the telltale signs that he always hears when he’s the kitchen—the groan of the sofa cushions as you sit down and get comfortable, the rustle of your book opening, the flap of the blanket as you spread it over your legs.

he knows because he’s always greeted with that same sight every time he comes out into the living room, one he’s become well acquainted with and has been the source of a rare piece of happiness for the last several days.

it takes him a few minutes to realize he didn’t hear it. another few to wonder if you went to the bedroom—but he didn’t hear any doors open or close. and it takes him about thirty seconds to realize his mistake with leaving the door unlocked because he was worried about the groceries in the back—specifically a pint of melted ice cream he brought here for you.

the dish clatters into the sink and he races out to the living room. andrew’s never been a religious man but he prays then, quietly to himself, just for a split second. hoping that you’re just curled up on the couch quietly, that when he turns the corner, you’ll still be there.

his heart skips a beat when he realizes that you’re not. then he walks through the open door with an understanding that he won’t stop running until he finds you.

+

hindsight really is twenty-twenty. 

you ran for maybe ten or fifteen minutes before realizing that this was a huge mistake—one that you can’t just repair with an apology and a sincere smile. just a while ago this felt like your only chance to get freedom and get as much distance between you and the kidnapper you’re half in love with—another realization that strikes you like something akin to a knife in the stomach. 

you keep running, bare feet getting achy already from the cold, hard dirt and rocks. you wonder if andrew’s noticed yet or if he’s still standing in the kitchen. he’s going to be so disappointed. and all this time, you’ve been trying so hard to avoid that very thing. all your effort was for nothing—it’s not like he’ll forgive you for this. 

you’ve gotten so far that you don’t recognize anything, and with your muscles burning, you slow down. you can’t stop for long—you don’t know where the nearest road is, and it might be an hour of running before you get there. 

you try to catch your breath and get back up to keep going, when a thought crosses your mind.

what are you really scared of? because it can’t be staying with andrew—he’s done nothing but take care of you. it can’t be that he’ll hurt you, because he’s already had the chance to do so a thousand times and he’s never once taken it.

if anything, he’s protecting you from the rest of his family. putting himself on the line by hiding you instead of just doing the easy thing and killing you, dumping your body somewhere where no one will ever find it and letting the school report you missing in three months when you don’t show up for the first day of class.

you think you know what you’re scared of right now—being stuck in these woods when it’s dark out, alone and trapped, with the possibility that if you run too far, andrew might not be able to find you. 

if he even tried to find you. he might not care now that you broke his trust by running away. he might let you stay stuck out here until the forces of nature get to you, if you’ve gone too far. 

you collapse down against a tree, that thought making your knees weak as you fully process it. and then you wait.

and a few minutes later, you hear the stomps—even they sound angry—getting closer and closer, and you look up to find andrew, like always, staring at you. he looks flushed and though his expression hardly ever changes around you, remaining consistently unphased, you can tell he’s upset with you. 

you two have never needed many words to communicate.

“i’m sorry,” you say quietly, before he can say anything, if he even will. 

you’re not sure it goes from here—you’d thought about the other side of your original plan, running to the nearest road and flagging someone down and whatever else you thought adrenaline would allow you to do. you think your subconscious was trying to protect you from thinking about andrew being angry at you and dragging you back to the cabin by your hair.

weakly, you think it’s what you deserve for running away in the first place.

and andrew wonders why you stopped running, his mind running in circles around the fact that you had your perfect chance to escape and you took it, and you still stopped. you don’t look too hurt—though there’s scratches on your bare feet and ankles from the branches and twigs. you hadn’t even thought to put your shoes on. that’s how badly you wanted to get away from him.

and can he really blame you? he couldn’t have expected you to willingly stay just because you’re gentle when you clean his wound and you two share meals like husband and wife. it’s a fantasy concocted from being in the cabin with you for too long—and he firmly reminds himself of that right now, staring down at you. 

but the way you look at him, watery eyes and an expression like you don’t even understand your own actions, makes resisting the fantasy so hard. he thinks it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done.

he crouches down to be at eye-level with you, your back still perched against the trunk of the tree. you draw your knees in towards your chest and he watches as the fabric of your dress moves with the motion, revealing more bare skin to him.

“why-why’d you do that?”

“i’m sorry, andrew-”

“i haven’t hurt you. i kept my promise.”

“i know, i-i-”

“you’ve been good so far.”

“i’m sorry,” you say again, and with that one, fat tears drip down your cheeks. you are sorry—if only you had a way to convince him of it. or to go back in time and not do any of this, if only to save you both the pain of this conversation.

“why? i want an answer.” firm and final and said in a tone that you had never heard from andrew so far. 

“i…i guess i needed to know if you’d come after me or not.” it comes out as a shuddery breath of words. it’s only partially the truth—but it’s the most you can confess to right now. 

maybe some part of you knew it would happen like this. the truth is that you’re scared of how andrew might feel about you and you’re even more scared of what you feel towards him. 

“of course i would,” he says and you shut your eyes, taking a shaky breath. you feel andrew’s hands on your knees, warm and tense and his grip tight like you might scamper off again. “i would-" he cuts himself off before he can finish the sentence. do anything for you. i would do anything for you.

“d-don’t say that-”

“why not?”

when you open your eyes, andrew’s already looking at you, with an intensity you’ve seen one other night—the time you helped him when he was hurt, the night of the kiss. you don’t have an answer for him.

“can i prove it to you?” andrew’s words make a shiver run through your body. you stare at him, finally not looking away for once, wondering how different things will be after this. 

you think you’re fine with it. and then you feel andrew guiding you—instructing you to lay your body down flat in the grass. his hands are like ropes holding you in place, exactly as he wants you—and when he spreads your legs wide and lowers his head between your thighs, your own head hits the soil with a thud. 

your eyes shut with anticipation, though andrew doesn’t move for what feels like ages. like he’s observing and taking it all in—which is somehow even more shameful. how wet you are from a few words and touches, how ready you are for him. but he’s going to show you and you think all you should do—all you can do, with how dizzy you feel from it—is lay back and take what he gives you.

his words run through your head like a loop—you’ve been good so far. and thinking about those words, when andrew presses the flat of his tongue against your leaking cunt, all the way up to your throbbing clit, you let out a moan closer to a scream, and you can, since no one can hear you for miles around.

he seems incredibly encouraged by that—speeding up his pace, lapping up everything you give him. 

you don’t know when your fingers got wrapped up in andrew’s hair, but they do, and you pull hard when he slips one finger, then two inside of you. you feel it—the knot tensing in your stomach, feeling andrew’s thick fingers spread you open, feeling his tongue against your pussy and lavishing attention on your clit.

you can’t believe you thought your stupid fingers would compare to the real thing—you were wrong, again. nothing you could have thought of could compare to andrew’s hot mouth on you, his huge hand holding you down while the other thrusts fingers in and out of you.

and it’s this realization that tips you over the edge—that even when you tried to run away from this, you’re still back in andrew’s arms, like a star that can’t escape its orbit. 

you finish in andrew’s tight grip, your entire body spasming and shaking as it courses through you—hot and wet and sending lava through your arteries and veins. andrew doesn’t stop until your body is limp and you have to try and push yourself away from him—using what little energy you have left in an unsuccessful attempt to do so.

and then he pulls the skirt of your dress down, picks you up in his arms, and carries you back to the cabin. you feel wetness—your wetness—on his fingers where he holds you and how warm his chest is against your cheek, and you fall asleep somewhere on the walk back. 

when you wake up, you’re in the familiar bed, tucked under the covers. andrew is asleep next to you on top of the sheets.

+

two days later, andrew has to leave for a job. it almost hurts more now that you’ve gotten to experience a slightly different side of things. you think you’ve gotten used to waking up beside him and going to sleep next to him.

but on the other hand, him leaving does have its perks. he hasn’t touched you like that since you were in the woods with him, and as much as you love playing house with andrew, you’re so pent up that you think you could touch yourself all day and it still wouldn’t get rid of it. the burning, sticky ache inside you that wants andrew all the time—that wants him to pin you down and do whatever he’s been harboring thoughts about this whole time. 

memories of his single hand being enough to hold down your entire thrashing body in the woods is enough to make all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. so you make yourself cum until you can’t anymore (that’s your limit—you don’t think andrew would have a limit for you, though, and you’re sure you’ll find out soon enough) and carry on your little routine and wait for him to come back home to you.

it feels like a certain weight has been lifted from your shoulders, you think, with how easy everything feels now. like you don’t have to fight a battle in your head over every encounter, like you don’t have to justify every emotion. you’re here, and you have andrew, and you’re going to appreciate what you and him have because you know it’s something special.

maybe it’s a little delusional, too, but you’ve been here almost three weeks without seeing another person and you’ve been tepidly awaiting some sort of punishment for running away and it hasn’t come yet. every time you think you know what andrew is going to do, you find yourself completely mistaken.

andrew does come home—and times like this, you really wish you had some way to communicate with him. a satellite phone or a carrier pigeon or something to tell him you’ve gotten your period and there’s nothing in this house that you can substitute like you’ve done with all your other needs. 

he has the usual groceries and a box of brownie mix for dessert because ice cream doesn’t last the drive back here. and then he hands you another bag that you accept with a quizzical look on your face, since normally you two put everything away together. 

and inside is a box of pads and a box of tampons. you look straight up at him and blink.

“how did you know?” 

“know what?”

“that i got my period. you weren’t even here-”

“it’ll be a month soon and you haven’t said anything yet. i just assumed.”

“you assumed?”

“i have a-i had a sister. i know things.”

“oh.” the realization that andrew is a complete stranger startles you for a moment, like it hasn’t in a while. you felt like you knew so much about him from your interactions that you forgot the two of you haven’t ever really talked about his life or your life or anything beyond the four walls of this cabin. “i’m sorry.”

and a little bit later, while you mix the brownie batter and add butter, not oil and milk, not water, you ask andrew questions about his sister and listen as he answers quietly. the way he looks at you after a certain question makes you think no one's ever taken the time to ask him these things before, and that makes your heart hurt in a way you can't really understand.

and then you sit beside him on the couch and read your book aloud while he listens, and you think maybe you don't need to understand everything.

+

andrew thinks you’re getting antsy when you have to be at the cabin alone without him. he wasn’t completely sure, but you’ve started asking when he’s leaving and when he’ll be back almost every time. he thinks maybe he’s just not to used to someone asking, or rather someone wanting him to stay, but now you do, and he doesn’t have a real answer for you.

that’s because the answer is dependent on his brothers and smurf and it changes daily based on if he can avoid their suspicion and the glances they exchange with each other when he says he’ll be busy again. and unsure of how much longer he can keep it up, worried that anything he does might reveal your existence to them, he needs to stay away from you for longer chunks of time, as hard as that thought is for him to swallow.

he doesn’t want to. maybe he never has, now that he has something to come home to, something waiting for him half-asleep on the couch and leaving plates of dinner in the oven and something that takes him by the hand and brings him to the bedroom to sleep next to each other.

the solution comes to him when lena is telling him about a girl at school who got a kitten for her birthday, and if he’d help her convince baz to let her get one too. 

he doesn’t know how to explain that baz is never going to agree to that, when he goes to the shelter, he thinks that if he ever gets to introduce you to lena, she can play with the one he’s about to get you. 

the worker at the shelter shows him the kittens, playful and hyperactive and running around in their pen. the woman there starts explaining what each of the little kittens are like, identifying them by their collars, but he doesn’t hear half of it. 

there’s a little orange one that’s quiet, tucked away and not as energetic as the others. he thinks that’d be perfect for you—to have a calm kitten dozing off in your lap while you read or follow you around the kitchen. and when he picks it up, it barely takes up the size of his hand. yes, he thinks, this is exactly what you need. 

the worker has him fill out papers and tells him the different things he needs to buy—though he knows some of it already—and asks him if the little kitten is for him. 

“no. no she's for my girl-my girlfriend.” she harps on about how sweet that is and that he’s being a great boyfriend, and andrew swallows uncomfortably.

it didn’t feel like a lie.

when he comes home that day, he finds you, like always, waiting for him. he thinks stupidly that he should have gotten a basket or a ribbon or something, to make the kitten feel more like a gift for you, but it slipped his mind while he was trying to fight off intrusive thoughts about your reaction. 

and it’s everything he thought it would be. 

as soon as you hear the quiet mewing, you stand up, the blanket that always covers your legs falling to the ground.

you rush over to him, your body pressed close against him and fingers brushing as you pet the nape of the kitten’s neck. 

“oh my god. oh my god-” he’s never heard you sound so excited—and your tone is nearly intoxicating for him. he wonders what else he can do to get you to stay this happy forever.

“she's for you.”

“oh my god. andrew. she's so cute. hi,” you coo at her in a voice that only gets more excited when he helps the kitten into your arms. and then you beam your bright smile up at andrew and he momentarily gets all the wind knocked from his lungs. “what should we name her?” 

we. like this cat is both of yours—yours and his. it’s the things like that—the ways you subconsciously reveal that you think of him as yours, that everything you two is together. that this kitten is for the both of you. and andrew thinks if this is how you’d react to everything, there’s nothing he could ever deny you. 

he watches you play with the kitten for a while before he has to leave—not entirely sure how to break it to you that he’ll be gone for longer than usual this time. maybe you’ll stay so occupied you won’t notice it. you use one of the toys he brought, a little rod with a toy fish on a string, and drag it across the floor while the kitten chases it. and then you accumulate enough cuteness aggression that you bring her in for a hug and laugh while she curls up against you.

(and andrew, who thinks he’s never had a thought like this before, wonders briefly what you’d look like with a baby in your arms.)

you’re sad when he says that he has to leave but at the very least, he knows you’ll be occupied. he thinks he did the right thing, and then he knows he did the right thing, when you scoop up the kitten and bring her to the door to say goodbye to andrew with you. then you turn your head to give andrew a kiss on his cheek and thank him again and he drives to oceanside wondering why he didn’t think of this sooner.

you wrangle the kitten for the better part of two days before andrew comes back. 

he’d told you it would take longer but every passing minute that he’s not home with you or driving towards you makes him antsy. makes his skin hum and vibrate with anticipation of when he can leave. by now, the others must have noticed that something’s going on, though if they have, no one says anything. he doesn’t know if it’s from a lack of concern or out of fear for his answer, but either way, he’s glad they haven’t. 

they don’t need to know about you. that’s why all of this has felt so perfect to andrew so far—because his family isn’t around to taint it and ruin it. to scare you off or hurt you and all the other things that would happen if they realized you were still alive.

and though you and him don’t talk about much, there’s an understanding between the two of you, one that’s only been strengthened since the day when you had run away and stopped so he could find you. that maybe, as twisted as all of this was, it was meant to happen. that you two were meant to find each other. 

it’s a heavy thought for the drive back to the cabin. it weighs over him like a storm cloud—the battle of trying to recognize if he’d done the right thing by bringing you here or not. maybe he should have let you go the day after smurf and his brothers had stopped bringing you up, once they thought you were dealt with.

but when he opens the door to the cabin, you’re curled up with the cat, asleep on the couch just like he had envisioned. what’s more is the overwhelming notion of the fact that you had fallen asleep there waiting for him, like you always do. 

you feel you’ve almost been trained to wake up to the sound of the door closing. when you open your eyes, still heavy with sleep, andrew’s perched on the couch next to you, petting the kitten lying to you.

“i didn’t mean to wake you up,” he says quietly. you sigh, a surprisingly sweet noise that comes to him like a melody. 

“that’s okay,” you sit up, yawning and stretching. “i don’t want to sleep if you’re here.”

and he doesn’t know what to do when you say things like that—because really, what is he supposed to say? your words have an almost otherworldly effect on him when he processes what they mean.

that you want to wake up when he comes back home. that you don’t want to miss a moment of time with him. that you want him there with you.

the last one hits him the hardest.

andrew stares in silence while you stretch your arms and then bring the kitten back into your hands, cuddling against her and nuzzling your face against hers. the kitten had looked comically small in his palm but perfectly at home in yours. 

“did you pick a name?”

“maybe. i wasn’t sure what you’d like,” you say, meeting his eyes for longer than you usually do—something you’ve been working on. the two of you stay like that for a while, glancing between yourselves and the kitten mewling and traipsing around the space between you and andrew.

“you should pick. she’s for you.” you smile at andrew when he says that, and for some reason, all of this just feels so much more domestic than it ever has before. his hand turns into a fist at his side because it is overwhelming—incredibly so. he wants to lay down next to you and watch you play with the kitten and tell him every thought in your head and fall asleep to the sound of you talking.

but he can’t do any of that, and he can’t tell you, either. so he attempts a small smile back at you and you tell him you think you like the name wren. 

“it was in one of the books,” you say, though you’re lying through your teeth. 

“wren?”

“what? what’s wrong with it?” “n-nothing. i just thought… i don’t know. it’s not really a cat name, is it?”

“what? you want me to call her mrs. whiskers?” 

he laughs when you say that, and so you laugh too. surprisingly calm, and the rest of the world forgotten for a few minutes. andrew doesn’t understand such a human name for the kitten, but it’s yours. he think he’d let you do whatever you want if you keep laughing and smiling with him.

you get up to make lunch, and andrew and wren both follow you into the kitchen, and the hours of the day pass by quickly when andrew’s there with you. since you learned about his sister, you like to ask him questions, and though he was hesitant at first—you’re not entirely sure why—he’s begun asking you questions too, about when you’d become a school nurse and if you liked it and the book you’re reading this week. 

andrew avoids personal questions. the fear of reminding you of the life you left behind, or snapping you back to the reality of how you’re stuck here with him frightens him too much to ask. but you ask him questions—lots of them, all about his life and his family and how long they’ve been doing these jobs. 

you get sad, he can tell since you’re bad at hiding your emotion and they paint over your face immediately, when he tells you about how long he’s been doing this. about stolen gas station wallets and the people smurf always had over and how every day was about him trying to protect his siblings. 

you get sad even to the point of tears, something he can’t understand. you don’t know him enough to cry over him, do you? or is this just what you’re like—crying over your kidnapper’s childhood stories, curling up next to andrew on the couch with the kitten between you two, holding his hand and pleading with him to stay the night. 

is this what you’re like? or is this what he’s made you into?

you fall asleep somewhere between the answer to another question you’ve asked him and the cat’s soft snores next to you. it’s easier once you’re asleep—to gaze over you and not have to hold back the smile that takes over him. you’re so trusting it almost frustrates him. 

he picks you up gently, carrying you back to the bedroom. the cat wakes up from the movement and meows at him, but all she does is follow andrew as he carries you and jump onto the bed when he sets you down. while unfolding the blanket to cover you, a piece of paper falls out and lands on the ground near his feet.

you and wren are both sound asleep now. he should go back to the living room—sleep there or leave, but the idea of you waking up alone makes him feel miserable inside. or rather, another day of waking up without you. 

he opens the paper—there’s names written in pen all over. at the top is andrew in your pretty handwriting, with different letters crossed out. and then underneath are all different names using the same couple of letters. 

warden 

wander 

dawn with a maybe??? 

rand

red

then raw, crossed out several times and a big no written next to it. and then finally, wren, circled and with several exclamations following it.

oh. so that’s why you named the kitten wren. he stares at you asleep next to her, having brought an arm across her, even in your sleep, like you were trying to keep her close to you. 

oh. 

wren—using the letters of his name. emotions surge through andrew like they haven’t in a long time. the sad, pathetic yearning turning into something he doesn’t think he’s felt before—the urge to make you happy because you make him so happy, without even trying to. 

and though he knows he should get in the car and drive back to oceanside before anyone can bother asking where he is, the urge to stay with you is stronger than the rational logic of leaving. so, he gets into bed next to you and wren. 

andrew doesn’t sleep much, though it’s hard to fight sleep when he can hear your gentle breathing. and it’s really, really hard to fight sleep when your arm makes its way across his chest, the warmth burning through his shirt.

he does fall asleep—maybe the best he’s slept in years. and when he wakes up to the sunlight, you’re curled up against his side, the cat somewhere at your feet, holding onto him like you’re worried he’ll leave. 

thoughts plague him about how you don’t even know if he’s really there, that sometimes he leaves when you’re asleep and you wake up alone more often than you wake up to him. you’ve been knocked out since last night, at least he thinks, because if you had gotten up he would have noticed.

but andrew watches you hold onto his arm, your face smushed against his chest as you take sleepy breaths and snore softly, legs tangled together, and he has to think it’s happening for a reason.

groggily, he wonders if you’ve been sent just to test his willpower. memories flood him quickly—when you had touched yourself after he kissed you, what he’d done to you out in the woods after he’d caught you (or rather, caught up to you—because you had stopped. you had waited for him.) 

he thinks he just ignores his morning wood on most days but it’s especially hard when your soft skin is pressed against him and he can see miles of it exposed since you kicked away the covers. the little noises you make as you get comfortable and stay nestled against him don’t help either—and just when he questions what exactly you might be dreaming about, his phone goes off.

fuck. stupid fucking phone—he needs to make it not so loud or destroy the thing entirely. he reaches over to the night stand to grab it but the damage is already done, your eyes jump open from the terrible alarm and you take about half a second to realize how close you are to andrew. you meet his eyes and then he answers his phone and you unpeel yourself from his side, if a bit begrudgingly. 

andrew stares at you while you stare at wren, hoping she stays quiet so the person on the other line can’t hear her. you take heavy breaths and andrew notices that you look flushed and warm, and you keep moving around, changing your position as if you can’t get comfortable. squirming, even.

which leads him back to his original question—what the hell were you dreaming about? he gets lost in the possible answers and makes baz repeat himself three times before he answers. in an attempt to get him to hang up, andrew agrees with whatever he says and you sit patiently, taking wren into your arms so she doesn’t make any noises for attention. she still mews quietly a few times and you pick her up, taking her into the living room as carefully as you can

“is that a cat? where are you?” baz asks on the other line and andrew hangs up without saying goodbye.

he walks into the living room and you stand up once you see him, leaving wren on the couch.

“i’m so sorry. i didn’t think she’d-” “that’s okay. i-i have to go.” 

you sigh and your shoulders drop, your hopeful expression changing into one of disappointment before his very eyes. maybe he’s never hated anything as much as how you’re looking at him right now.

“already?” the words make andrew’s knees feel weak.

“i don’t have a choice. i…” he trails off, wondering how to finish the sentence, how to articulate the thought.

how to sum up the fact that he would stay here, with you, all day if he could. that watching you cook and curl up in the sun and play with the kitten that you refer to as ours is enough to sustain him for the rest of his life. that whenever the day comes that you get to leave this place, he will never forget about you—not your sweet smile or your sincere expressions or how earnestly you look at him when you don’t want him to go. 

but he doesn’t know how to tell you any of that. 

“i’m sorry,” he finishes quietly. and like always, you smile at him.

“it’s okay. we’ll just miss you.” you turn to look at wren and then look back, and somehow, though you must think this every single time, andrew’s stare feels different than usual.

like there’s so much swimming around in his mind that he’s not telling you. he doesn’t say it back, that he’ll miss you both too. instead he walks up closer to you, and you hold in a breath, unsure of what’s coming, before he leans in and gives you a kiss on the forehead. you feel every muscle in your body relax when his lips press to your skin, eyes fluttering shut.

he murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like be good, and then you nod in response quickly.

and then he’s gone again. 

you crawl back into bed, the motivation to make breakfast or do much of anything long gone.

not to mention that one of his stupid brothers—you know their names but you didn’t know which one had called, though it was probably baz since he always interrupted everything—had woken you up from the best dream you’d had since you’d been stuck here. your thighs feel sticky and your entire body squirms with the realization that if you had stayed dreaming any longer, you probably would have started rubbing yourself against andrew in your sleep.

and as embarrassing as that thought it is, it’s equally intoxicating to wonder what he would have done about it.

in the dream you had been riding his thigh—your own thighs splayed out wide against him, and in the dream andrew had been watching you, like he always does. except this time you know it was different, like you could see the lust behind the hazel, like he was using all of his self control to not do more. 

would the real andrew do the same? after so many close calls and whatever the hell that was in the woods and the two of you being so close together in the same bed yet so incredibly far? you don’t know the answer, though you think you’re about ready to find out. 

it’s not very fair—he kisses your head like he’s your husband or something, and then leaves you pent up and yearning for more like he’s nothing but your captor. he hasn’t even touched you in a way that could be deemed as inappropriate since the woods and you’re left to believe that maybe he just doesn’t want to cross that line.

you don’t know andrew’s rules when it comes to you, though it seems like he’ll break them if he’s pushed to it.

that’s what you’re thinking when you fold a pillow—the one andrew slept on—in half and mount it as if it could possibly compare to your dream and what andrew’s thigh or arm might feel like in reality. but you still try, lifting up your (his) shirt and letting your hips move against the cold pillow, grabbing your tits and teasing your nipples, wondering if this is what andrew would do. you think he would get sick of the teasing and finally bend you over, but then you think he wouldn’t do that until you’ve finished already. he’s too generous for that.

and though the thought of andrew and his generosity with you, in bed, one day, is enough to normally tip you over the edge, something inside of you just won’t let you finish. you hump the pillow for what seems like ages, but you don’t get any closer to finishing.

maybe it’s just because your body knows what it feels like when andrew’s the one making you cum, and it won’t settle for your pathetic excuse of an orgasm anymore.

so with burning, aching thighs and an entirely unsatisfied feeling in your chest, you collapse against the bed and sigh. when you look over on andrew’s side of the bed, you just get a sense of longing that fills your entire body.

wren cries out and you see her sitting in the doorway, eyes focused on you, her own way of asking for your attention.

“okay, okay, i’m coming,” you say, before getting up. you walk over and pick her up and she doesn’t stop staring or blink once. “just like your dad, huh?”

+

on the drive back to you on the following day, andrew thinks long and hard about what baz said to him.

it started as an innocent conversation—baz brought up the cat again, saying how lena’s been asking for one and he wants to make sure andrew’s not gonna surprise her with it. with a blank stare, andrew told him that he must be imagining things because he wasn’t near a cat.

then the conversation had shifted—about his absences and how he’s been gone all the time and no one’s seen him at smurf’s or his place or anywhere else. 

baz’s words linger in his head on the drive. where’ve you been going, man? is this about that girl? we’re sorry you had to take care of it but we didn’t have any options, pope. is that what this is about? 

it’s as if it’s impossible for them to understand that everything in his life is about you now—centered around you. he finally made a decision for himself, for once, not just blindly following along with whatever smurf wanted. 

it’s so easy for the rest of them to think that whatever’s wrong with him is about you—when they don’t even know you. not like he does—not in the way that andrew’s gotten to know you over the last weeks. 

your gentleness, even to your kidnapper. your sweet smiles that keep him going through each day. how memories of his hours with you stay in his head for long after he drives away from the cabin. 

that for the time he stays there with you, there’s nothing wrong with him, there’s nothing to fix, nothing broken that you haven’t already seen. he’s just andrew to you—nothing more. you say his name without burdens or expectations. you want him to stay longer. you run away and then sit down and wait for him to find you. he gives you a cat as a goddamn distraction and you name the thing after him and dote on it.

but for everything you do for him, and the way you make him feel, he can’t keep you here. maybe he knew all along this was a temporary thing, that it was just to hide you away until his family well and truly believed that you were dealt with and taken care of. that you were never meant to stay with him, to be his. the idea now seems ridiculous—a sweet girl like you, so compliant even when he’s been holding you hostage.

but even you had to give into your instinct, the one that told you to flee when you saw the open door. how can he blame you? that should have been your natural reaction from the first hour you’ve been in the cabin. 

briefly, he thinks he can’t blame you for any of it. the fault is all his—and he’ll start rectifying it now. if baz was wondering about his absences and if it has anything to do with you, then smurf must be too. before long, all of them would be. and then it wouldn’t take long to figure out he’s kept you hidden this whole time, and then they’ll really hurt you, and he can’t have that.

he pulls onto the dirt road that leads to the cabin and drives down it slowly, like he knows whatever you two had has to come to an end today. 

andrew rests his head against the steering wheel, hand a little shaky.

it’s for you, he reminds himself. he can do it because it’s for you, for your safety, for your life. there’s no future for you cooped up here all alone while he abandons you every other day. just a deplorable fantasy from a man who has always been alone about to be alone again. 

you’ll be happier once you’ve left this place—he’ll take you to your apartment and give you cash so you can leave and start over wherever you’d like. that’s the plan right now—get you home to get your belongings, and figure out what you’ll tell your job and how to get you as far away from oceanside as he can. 

it means in a few hours, he’ll be telling you goodbye for the last time.

he opens the door, and like always, you’re waiting for him. wren follows you around as you make your way to the door to greet him, beaming up at him like you have been. you linger as though you want to do something else—maybe you want to kiss him, or pull him into a hug, but you don’t. 

you stare up at him while he stares at you, until you finally speak up.

“well, i made lunch. let me go get it ready for you,” but when you turn, he grabs onto your arm. you spin back to face him again with a confused expression. “andrew?”

“i-i have to get you out of here.”

“andrew?” you question again, voice a little shaky. “what do you mean?”

“my family. they’re…noticing. i’m gone all the time and no one-no one’s reported you missing. i need to get you out of town. maybe another state.”

“andrew-”

“i’ll drive you back to your apartment. you-you can take whatever you need from there. and here too, uh, wren’s stuff,” he looks around, trying to see what else you had even brought here. and then he realizes it was never the things, it was you, that always made this place feel like home. your presence and the blanket that told him you were reading on the couch and the pulled curtains and the smell of something you baked in the air. “i can get you new papers, if you want. you can go wherever. i can figure out how to get you there, but-”

“you’re not coming with me, are you?” the way you say it, the expression on your face, it’s enough to make whatever resolve is still standing in him crumble.

“i can’t. it-it’s for your own safety. you have to get away from here. if i stay you’ll just get hurt-”

“that’s not true,” you plead, realizing sadly that this is the most you and andrew have spoken to each other about something that didn't start as a question. your conversations have never needed so many words. “you kept me safe all this time-”

“i can’t, anymore. if they find out that you’re here-”

“they won’t,” you say, getting closer and bringing your hands to his chest, pressing them flat against him like you have to remind yourself he’s still there. you keep looking at him, not breaking the eye contact like you always do, though it feels like andrew’s gaze is burning holes through you. 

“they will. they always do. they’ll hurt you.”

“no, andrew, please-”

“we need to go. we have to get the things you need and leave-” andrew tries to move away from your grip, but you follow him, hands on his shoulders, standing in front of him again to block him from doing anything else. “i-i don’t understand. why? why don’t you want to leave? this isn’t a life. i-i’m keeping you from your life.”

“you’re not keeping me from anything. i-i like being here with you-”

“no, no, you don’t. that’s not right. i-i should have never brought you here.”

“you saved my life, andrew,” you say softly, blinking up at him with teary eyes. you hadn’t realized when you’d started crying.

“i’m gonna get you killed if i-”

without thinking anymore about it, realizing that andrew might very well be as serious as you’ve ever seen him, you lean in to bring your lips to his. you kiss andrew with all the emotions floating around your brain—hurt and fear and want and need all merging into one. 

your arms wrap around his neck and you hold him in the kiss as best as you can, feeling his grip tighten around your waist as you two don’t let go of each other. andrew kisses you with a fury, like he’s just realizing what’s been waiting for him all this time. 

your back ends up pushed against a wall gently—and even then, andrew keeps his hands on your waist and uses them as a barrier against the surface so you don’t get hurt. 

with swollen, aching lips and weak knees and feeling his tongue prod into your mouth, you think you’d be stupid to ever walk away from this. 

when you pull away to breathe, andrew’s mouth goes to your neck, littering kisses up the column until he gets to your jawline. you finish your sentence in a broken daze, the thought half forgotten already-

“you would never let me get hurt,” you whisper, taking his face into your hands and forcing the two of you to stare at each other. he takes it in—your wet eyelashes and puffy lips and how you look with desire spelled all across your face—because of him.

you lean in for another kiss, only pulling away to keep telling him everything he’s done for you. you feel it against your thigh—his hardness pressing into you, proof that he wants you, the proof you’ve been wanting all along.

(though, you think stupidly, dazed by andrew’s hot touch and how tightly he holds you, going against everything he’s been telling you since he came back home to you—a home that you are not, in any way, ready to give up or hand back without at least something of a fight—you can figure out how to convince him.)

and then andrew moans against your lips and you forget everything you’ve been thinking. you pull at his shirt, wanting it off, eager and with every limb shaking from anticipation. you’ve wanted this for so long you can’t even remember to remind yourself it’s andrew—the man who took you and brought you here, offering to set you free, and you’re trying to convince him not to, like a puppy who doesn’t want to go back to the shelter.

because isn’t that what all of this is, in the end? you can try to fight it as much as you want, but until you met andrew, until you became something that belonged to him, someone that he gets to come home to every day and someone that asks you questions and listens to the answers and does things for no other reason than he thought it would make you happy, what really were you?

you were alone, and you didn’t have anybody. and now you have andrew, and you think it’s worth fighting for.

you’d been joking to yourself about stockholm syndrome lite, but you’re pretty convinced you’ve got the deluxe version now. though when andrew picks you up, your legs wrapping around his automatically, feeling his hardness press against your wet, clothed cunt, it’s easy to forget about everything else.

andrew brings you into the bedroom and lays you down. you stare at him while you take heavy breaths and try to not pass out from sheer excitement that the thing you’ve been fantasizing about is finally happening. it seems silly, but you want to remember this forever. andrew pulls his shirt off, hovering over you, and you take a hand and press it against his bare skin, traveling up his chest and to his arms and then his forearms. 

your fingertips dig in before running over the veins you’re seeing the full length of for the first time, and above you, andrew closes his eyes and shudders at your touch.

you bookmark it for later—that he enjoys the feeling of his veins being traced, and focus instead on andrew, meeting his eyes again.

he stares at you differently this time—hungry, like all the words you’ve been saying are enough to convince him, finally, that this is a good idea. that this is right. 

you’re half a housewife already, anyways. this is the least you deserve, though you stay quiet, letting andrew decide what he wants to do to you. 

he leans in for another kiss, sweet and gentle, and your body melts into the bed. his hands roam your body, sliding the fabric of your dress up until he can pull it off of you. you lift your arms and head so he can do it easily—not even remotely concerned that you’re naked in front of him now. your hands go to his belt, but he puts his own over yours, taking over. he undoes his belt and pulls it out of the loops, while you stare at him from your position, chewing on your lip and seeing how andrew’s eyes focus on your heaving chest.

and then, unsure if you have even a moment’s more of patience in you, you pull andrew into another kiss and wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist to keep him there.

“inside, please, andrew, inside,” you whine like a demanding, spoiled child, though you haven’t asked andrew for anything all this time. you think he just brings it out in you. 

he murmurs something against your neck while he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses there, something like be patient. 

when you feel his fingers brush over your bare, leaking cunt, your entire body tenses up before melting back into the bed. one rough finger rubs against your clit and you seize up, squealing because you haven’t felt his hands on you in what feels like forever. he continues the motion, rubbing circles while you feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, and then just when you’ve lost all sense of what words mean, he pushes a huge finger inside of you. 

“andrew, yes, yes, yes,” you moan, realizing just like in the woods, that you don’t have to be quiet here. you cry out his name when he pushes another one in, plunging the pair in and out of you.

“have to get you ready,” he says, focused like he’s on a mission, not getting strayed by your incessant begging to just put it inside already. he scissors his fingers and keeps rubbing your clit with his thumb and it feels so good that you almost don’t want to give in—you want to stay like this forever, as long as he’ll let you. 

that it feels so good, fulfilling every fantasy you’ve had about him—that he’s a giver and he’s generous and he wouldn’t dream about cumming until you have first. that’s just your andrew, you guess.

when he leans in close to your ear and whispers it to you—can you be good for me? can you cum for me?—that’s when your orgasm hits you without any control behind it. you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted—the white-hot feeling washing over you from head to toe, your cunt squeezing around his fingers. you’re so wet that you must have left a puddle on the sheets, entire body spasming and shaking until andrew slows down his motions. 

he pulls out his fingers and your eyes flutter shut, entire body exhausted—and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. when you blink them open, feeling andrew’s weight on top of you, you catch the ending glimpses of it—him licking your juices from his fingers, enjoying it. like he’s missed the taste of you.

your eyes flutter shut again quickly. 

you pant out words that don’t really make sense—just a request, in as few words as you can manage. inside. andrew. please. 

and he’s nothing if not generous to you. he always listens. you hear andrew’s deep breaths as he positions himself on top of you, taking your legs onto his shoulder as if it’s nothing for him to fold you however he wants. the thought makes you more and more lightheaded.

you bring your hands to his arms to hold on, feeling them pulse under your touch. you think it’ll be impossible to keep you away from him, now that you’re getting a taste of everything you’ve been dreaming about. momentarily, as you feel andrew’s thick head line up with your wet entrance, you think that you’ll never let him leave you. that you don't want him to leave, ever. and if this is how you have to convince him to stay, you’ll do so happily.

and then andrew runs his tip over your cunt, bumping it against your clit and making your body spasm while he collects your wetness, and you forget what you were thinking again. 

he’s so big—every part of him is big, so you should have seen it coming, but it still takes you by surprise. the sheer thickness prodding against your hole makes you dig your fingers into his arm, thinking later that you’ll have to apologize for the marks you’re leaving on him. 

andrew uses one hand to guide himself inside, and leans in to kiss you while he does so. and when he pushes inside, sheathing himself fully, resting there while he lets you adjust, you cry out against his lips.

“i know. i know,” he breathes against your mouth, pulling out slightly and making you squeal again. “just relax. you’re-you’re taking it.”

you think it’s meant to reassure you, to remind you that you’re doing good, but it comes out in the form of a groan, like andrew’s realizing just how tight and pent up you really are. he tells you the words like there’s no choice in the matter—that you’re taking all of him whether you can handle it or not.

the thought is enough to make your head thud against the pillow and your eyes roll all the way back. 

“please, andrew,” you whine, leaning in for another kiss. “please-”

not entirely sure what you’re begging for, he complies, like always. he pulls out slowly, and then slams back inside of you, almost as if he can’t control himself.

and really, he can’t. he’s cum to you so many times, spilled over his hand in the truck and in the shower, imagining this very moment. he’ll be surprised if he lasts any longer, the urge to fill you up getting stronger and stronger with each passing minute. 

he keeps going—picking up a brutal pace that brings you further and further away from being level-headed with each thrust. 

you blink open your wet eyes, unsure of when you’d closed them or when you’d started crying, staring at your ankles in the air before focusing on andrew. he’s always been handsome but seeing him like this—flushed and sweaty, curls damp against his forehead, his expression twisted up in pleasure—and the realization that for once, you’re making him feel good is almost enough to tip you over the edge.

you want to look into his eyes, almost laughing internally at how much you’ve changed from not even being able to hold eye contact for more than a few seconds to asking for it while you’re stuffed full of him, but he’s looking somewhere else. 

his eyes are locked on your cunt—where the two of you meet and where you’re swallowing him inside like you were made for him.

maybe, andrew thinks in a lust-blown haze, maybe you were. 

he keeps battering inside of you, hitting a spot somewhere deep inside that you’re not entirely sure had existed. the second orgasm washes over you and leaves you completely feeble—muscles screaming at you as the lightning courses through every nerve. your cunt squeezes and tightens around him, and he groans with pleasure, a noise you want to hold onto forever.

but andrew keeps you in place, even when your eyes shut again. maybe you had passed out, though the thought isn’t exactly surprising. when you open your eyes again, andrew is still going, each grunt getting louder and louder. your fluttering cunt pushes him closer to the edge, and you lock your legs around him. 

when andrew looks at you, you meet his eyes.

“please, andrew, i want it inside,” you plead, and he knows he’s fucked—that he’s never been able to say no to you and he can’t start now. 

inside, it is. the thoughts plague him as his hips stutter—that this could very well be the moment he’s getting you pregnant. the fact that you’re begging for it, and that there’s no knowing how long you’ve wanted this.have you imagined it too? wanting andrew so badly—wanting a family with him, a life with him? half a housewife, half a captive. you’re so much more now, though, something he can’t put words to. 

his. all he needs to know is that you’re his. 

“please,” you cry again, leaning up for a kiss. andrew presses his lips against yours while the pace slows down and his moans get louder. “keep me forever, andrew.”

it’s all he can take—burying his head into your neck while he groans against your skin, giving you every ounce he has. the warmth of his cum fills you up until you can feel it leaking onto the sheets, making a mess of your thighs when andrew finally pulls out. 

he lays next to you, catching his breath and hoping you can catch yours too. 

the reality of everything—his family back home and if they figure out that you’re still alive and what’ll happen if they find out he lied rushes through him, though he wishes he could fight it off to enjoy this for a moment longer.

you’re warm and flushed against him, bringing your head to his chest and leaning there. you two stay silent, though it’s not unusual. 

outside of the doors of this cabin, the real world, with questions that he doesn’t have answers to, awaits. but inside is his own personal paradise, complete with you—fucked out and sleepy and with nothing to worry about if he can help it. you’ve been right all along—he’s kept you safe so far, and there’s nothing and no one that can stop him from taking care of you and protecting you. how a husband protects his wife, he thinks.

“andrew?” you ask quietly, throat sore and entire body exhausted. he looks at you, pressing another kiss to your forehead. 

“yes?”

“does this mean you’ll keep me?”

♡ thanks for reading!

[katsukilvr]

postwar relationship with katsuki ༄ angst, slight gore, fluff, fluff + smut headcanons at the end

you guys had a somewhat nice relationship before the war.

he had gone up against you multiple times in battle, most times he won against you except for once or twice, but he began to begrudgingly respect you. his ego was still high of course, he thought he was better than everyone, but if anyone had a chance to take him down, it would be you. he matched your strength and you matched his. he started letting you say a simple hi, a nod in return was all you got, but still, it was improvement.

soon, he had let you in. he let you talk to him, ramble to him as you guys walked to class. he started letting you train with him, workout with him. he pushed you to your absolute limits, he’d wake you up at 6am to go on a run before class together. he told you and himself that it was just because he was teaching you to be responsible and disciplined but in reality, he was catching feelings for you, and wanting to be around you subconsciously.

right before the war, you guys had a fight. it was a silly one, over something small. you weren’t even together at this point but it stung for him. real badly, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk to you, to apologize to you and admit he was wrong. his pride was too strong, his ego too high, and at the same time it wounded you too, and with so many villain attacks and the war coming up, you wanted to talk to your best friend, but you couldn’t, because you wanted this to be a lesson for bakugo. that if he wanted to stay friends with you, he’d have to be the one to speak up this time. you were tired of chasing because every time you two would bicker or fight, he’d distance himself, and never apologize, it was always you.

time skip to the day of the war. you were nervous as hell. so was everyone, i mean your very lives were on the line but you know everyone was willing to die for the citizens of japan, nay, the world. fighting shigaraki was as close to hell as you could get, you’ve heard stories of the guy, and you knew he was powerful but seeing him in person was astonishing. you were fighting with your fellow classmates and teachers, seeing bakugo take a pretty big hit by shigaraki.

you wanted to rush to his side. to aid him, to hold him, but you saw him get up on his own. he looked weaker, very weak, but determined. you went back to your task, trying to uphold the barrier between shigaraki and the real world.

that’s when you saw it. you saw shigaraki charging towards bakugo and your body moved on its own. you ran and jumped in front of shigaraki’s attack on bakugo, feeling a sharp pain before everything faded to black.

the next thing you know, you were fading in and out of consciousness on the battle ground, your eyes blinking open, feeling yourself in someone’s arms. you heard sobbing, looking up at bakugo and managing to squeak out his name.

his eyes widened down at you as he heard what was barely a noise come from you. “y/n?!” he sobbed out, holding you close and carrying you away, getting you somewhere as safe as possible. your arm had been cut off from the attack, and it landed somewhere far. he quickly ripped off part of his suit, wrapping it around your arm to still the bleeding, still sobbing. “god. i thought you were fucking dead, y/n. don’t fucking scare me like that again.” he said, pushing away hair from your face, “i couldn’t live without you in my life, y/n. we’re talking as soon as we get the fuck out of here.” she grumbled, cupping your face. “stay here. don’t try anything stupid.” he said before kissing you, holding you close, feeling your warmth, your soft lips, just in case he would never get the chance to again, knowing he’d regret it if he never did.

blink.

you were suddenly staring at a hospital ceiling. it was cold, hearing the hum of the air conditioning as you felt pain and exhaustion sneak into your body.

you groaned, sitting up, looking around the room before your eyes landed on katsuki, in a similar hospital bed, with similar injuries to you. your heart ached to see his head and body bandaged up like that.

“stop staring, weirdo.” he grumbled, his eyes flickering open. part of him, no all of him was incredibly relieved you woke up.

“i’m not.” you muttered out, looking away.

a beat of silence.

“are you okay?” you asked, looking at his bandages again.

“yeah. my arms all fucked up, but i’ll be fine.” he murmured, meeting your eyes before sitting up. you got to fully see his arm. it did look rough.

you didn’t know what to say. you wanted to know what happened, it seems obvious to you that you guys won the war, but you needed confirmation. you also had no clue what happened when you passed out, all you could remember was.. his lips on yours.

you gulped, not knowing how to bring it up, but eventually you cleared your throat and broke the silence. “hey—“ was all you got out before nurses came in to the room, happy to see the both of you awake as they checked your vitals. soon, people from your families came in and out and the day passed you both by, you never got a chance to say anything.

before you knew it, that familiar ache in your bones snuck in again, feeling exhaustion lull you over, but you couldn’t sleep and neither could him. you felt like if you went to bed, you’d never wake up again, and it sounded like bakugo felt the same. you kept hearing him toss and turn.

you both sighed and stared at the ceiling before you decided to break the silence. you needed to get the question that was on the tip of your tongue out.

“why did you kiss me?”

you were met with silence. this time he couldn’t distance himself. he couldn’t run away. he couldn’t escape what was inevitable.

“because if i died without feeling your lips on mine, it’d be the biggest regret of my life.” he responded after a couple long moments.

now you were the one to respond with silence. a thousand question ran through your mind, but one stood out the most.

“do you like me?”

“..” you heard rustling on his part. he was getting up.

“katsuki, you can’t get up, the doctors—they said your not fit to walk around.. i..” you muttered, wondering why he was coming up to your bed. he beckoned you to sit in front of him so you swung your legs over the side of the bed, looking up at him.

“maybe this’ll answer your question, idiot.” he grumbled, moving your hair away from your face and leaning in, giving you enough time and space for you to pull away if you wanted to, but you didn’t, so he took it as a yes and closed the distance between the two of you.

this kiss was different than the one he gave you during the war. it was slow and reassuring. he kissed you like he had all the time in the world, and this time, he did.

his hand slotted into your hair, cupping the back of your head as you both deepened the kiss, your hands moving up his chest and onto his shoulders, and when you needed air the most, you both pulled away, looking into each others eyes. he chuckled before going in again, kissing you deeper this time, holding onto you like this was the last time he was every gonna hold you. he started to climb onto your bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he laid you down, panting, throwing a blanket over the two of you.

you didn’t do anything other than kiss and after, he just held you, playing with your hair, and taking in your presence.

and in that moment, you both realized how well you guys had it before, being able to not worry about anything other than exams and licenses. you were both grateful to have each other at this time, and he was never gonna take you for granted again.

HEADCANONS

postwar!katsuki lets you listen to his heart anytime you want, it helps you cope after learning his heart stopped while fighting shigaraki.

postwar!katsuki has physical therapy and hates every second of it. says he’s all right and that he feels just fine but makes you massage his arm every night to soothe the pain.

postwar!katsuki was always with you during any doctors appointments regarding your arm, and was there for your entire surgery and when you woke up.

postwar!katsuki and you moved in with each other as soon as possible, it helped both of you feel safe, even if you were moving pretty fast, relationship wise.

postwar!katsuki who never takes you for granted and always treats you every special day (valentines, anniversaries, birthdays, etc.) with a ton of gifts and affection because almost dying put his life into perspective and he never wanted to half ass anything again.

postwar!katsuki who proposed to you almost 2 years after getting together with you, wanting to take it slow so you’d be ready, but truth be told, he was ready to marry you since that night in the hospital bed.

NSFW HEADCANONS

postwar!katsuki wasn’t as strong as he was right after the war. you both put off sex because of your injuries, but that didn’t stop him from eating you out like his life depended on it. all the work it took was holding your thighs open and his mouth, and he had no problem doing that.

postwar!katsuki went insane when you sucked him off for the first time. you had offered after his first week back to work after the war, you saw that he was stressed and exhausted so you offered to help him relax. he swore he saw stars when you had your mouth on him and he knew he had to repay the favor.

postwar!katsuki after a shit ton of physical therapy, could move around frequently and rigorously without his muscles aching and exhaustion taking over his body. you know as soon as he got the update from the doctor, that night he made sure you took the next day off. he worshipped your body that night, kissing all over it, leaving no place untouched. when he finally got inside you and felt your walls clenching around him, he never wanted to leave, groaning and whispering in your ear as he fucked you like he wanted to do for so long but couldn’t.

[livelovelizz]

you make you so easy

dick grayson x reader / fluff

“Stop following me.”

“Oh, did you want me to walk beside you? Hold your hand?”

You abruptly stop walking and shoot a glare up into the shadows of the nearby alley. You currently can’t see him, but you know he’s in there somewhere.

“I am trying to go home. After a long day,” you reply, “Alone.”

Nightwing melts out of the shadows, lips in a pout. “Come on, babe,” he whines, “I said sorry!”

You just shake your head and continue walking. “Stop following me, Nightwing. I wonder what the media would think, a vigilante stalking an innocent civilian and not leaving them alone?”

Some clicking and a whoosh of the air lets you  know he’s on the chase again. Gotham has never been a particularly safe place to walk alone after dark, even after the Bats rose to the occasion. The goons and villains made it hard, for sure, but the crumbling infrastructure of the city was just the icing on the cake. Buses and the train don’t run late, leaving a long walk in uncomfortable shoes after being stood up on a date.

“The media,” comes the reply, voice dripping with pride, “would simply see one of their beloved vigilantes doing their job! Nothing wrong with that.”

God, you hate he isn’t even out of breath keeping up with you. Not like you’re walking that fast, but still. You hope he trips.

“Maybe if the media knew what a dick you are, one that stands up their partner on a date they’ve been planning for months, specifically to not be interrupted!” You snap, unable to keep the simmering anger down. Fuck, if you weren’t angry about it, you’d cry. Inhaling slowly, you curl your hands into fists with determination to not make a scene. You stomp on.

It’s silent for a moment. For two. You would have thought he left if you didn’t know any better.

When Nightwing speaks, his voice is heavy. “Look, I know. I was looking forward to tonight too, but—”

You shake your head. When you breathe out, all the fight you had left. “I get it. I do. I just— let me be upset about it. Okay?”

You don’t get a reply or hear anything, but you know he’s still keeping pace. It’s nothing he can refute anyways. The both of you kept this day clear for months. It’s not often your dates can be more than a relaxed one at home, or spur of the moment. Not that you didn’t love those kinds of dates, of course you did, but it’s nice to dress up and show up for each other. You continue on your path on the crumbling side walk, only thinking about how nice it’ll be to be out of these shoes and in comfortable pajamas, maybe drink a glass of wine or two while ignoring your idiot of a partner.

As you pass through a darker portion of the street, a figure flips down in front of you. You stop abruptly lest you crash into them, but it doesn’t matter when you trip on a stray pebble and tumble right into waiting arms.

The arms curl around you tighter, rather than letting go.

“I’m sorry,” Dick murmurs into your ear. “I’m really sorry. I told them not to call me in but, fuck…”

You stand still as he digs his face into neck. A small crackle distracts you, talking too muffled for you to make anything out, though you know what this means. A hefty sigh runs through your body and you lean your head onto Dick’s shoulder briefly before prying him off.

“Duty calls,” you say softly, staring into lifeless white lenses. You look over him. He’s tense, body standing firmly on his feet in a way you know means he’s going to be stubborn. Suddenly, he clenches his jaw and looks away from you, yet he still doesn’t leave.

Lifting a hand, you softly trace his jaw up to his mask. With a small smile, you whisper “Go.”

“I’ll be as home as soon as I can,” Dick kisses the palm of your hand, and then like a tornado, flips away in a flurry off to whatever disaster is wrecking Gotham this time. You shake your head softly and start moving again.

Before you know it, you’re in bed, eyes blinking blearily as you turn on your phone. 4:43. Why’re you—?

“Did I wake you?”

Hands crawl over your waist, gently tugging you back into a chest. You can barely register the kisses on your neck before turning around to face Dick to croak out “D’ya j’s git h’me?”

You aren’t even sure your eyes are open, but you can still see Dick Grayson through the low lighting. Even while exhausted, he radiates light. He stares at you, hand brushing hair out of your eyes. “Go back to bed.”

“Hm.” is all you can manage before darkness takes over you.

The next time you wake up, a dim light shines through the blinds and you feel significantly more awake. You yawn and stretch out your body. Sitting up, something catches the edge of your eye. You look over and jump. Leaning against the doorway with coffee in hand, stands Dick Grayson. Oversized shirt, sweatpants, barefoot with eyes still half-closed, he looks beautiful.

You narrow your eyes and look to his side of the bed. Empty. You look over at the doorway. Dick. Bed. Doorway. No Dick. Dick. “You,” croaking, you point to the figure, “Who are you and what did you do with my boyfriend?”

Dick only raises and eyebrow and walks over, hand brushing messy hair of of your eyes. “Am I not allowed to get up early?”

You shake your head. “Absolutely not. You’re supposed to still be in bed until noon,”

“Well,” he smiles before pushing a thumb on your forehead, tilting your head backwards. You straighten up and give him a look. “Get up. We have somewhere to be,”

Standing up, you reach your hands above your head and stretch. “Is it important?”

You wander to the bathroom, flipping the lights on and yawning. Dick drifts over and watches you brush your teeth from the doorway as he takes another sip. “Super important. I have a full day of making up to do with my very angry partner.”

The statement makes a wave of butterflies go through you. Washing your mouth out, you look at his reflection in the mirror. “Are you being serious?”

Dick’s reflection nods. “Very serious,” he replies, bright grin overtaking his features, “Funded by Bruce, too. As an apology.”

Now that statement makes you smile. You quickly turn around, affection bubbling within you and threatening to spill over. Stepping towards Dick, you gently push the coffee out of the way and capture his lips in a long kiss. Just as it starts to get serious– invoking a different kind of butterflies– you pull away.

Dick stares at you with a dazed expression.  “I’ll be quick,” you promise.

“I mean,” he mumbles, leaning towards you presumably to finish what you started, “We don’t have to leave right away… We could take a minute—”

A peck cuts him off. Dick immediately tries to deepen the kiss, but you just pull away and push him out of the doorway so you can close the bathroom door.

“Save that for later, Grayson,” you smirk. Just before the door shuts, you lift on eyebrow. “By the time I’m out of this bathroom, you better be ready to go. I’m not wasting a single minute today.”

The door clicks shut. You hear him chuckle and call out an affirmation. Turning back to the mirror so you can finish your morning routine, you look at yourself. Bright eyes, blushed cheeks, wide grin. You weren’t lying to him, you weren’t going to waste a single minute today. That included after you get home from your outing together. Dick definitely needed a punishment after yesterday, and you intend to make him learn his lesson all night long.

Well. You better get ready.

fin.

[moonstruckme]

hii!! i love ur blog lol. i saw ur requests were open and i thought maybe id send one in! no pressure at all to do it, thank you for writing what you write (it’s really comforting!) i was wondering if you could do poly!marauders with a reader who is overworking herself for exams/college stuff and is hiding from her boyfriends because she knows they’ll be stern with her and make her take a break? so she tries to evade them but they foil her evil little plan lol. maybe like dom!remus… i’m obsessed w him.. just an idea!!!! have an amazing day 🩷

Thanks for requesting, hope you have an amazing day too!

cw: d/s dynamics to be found if you want them to be, mostly they're just bossy

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 814 words

There are nice voices seeping into your consciousness. Soft, comforting. You snuggle into the gentleness of their familiar hum. 

Something moves from underneath your face. You start to open your eyes, slow and reluctant, and when the something is gone your face lands in a warm palm. It feels safe, easy enough to settle into, but as you’re about to let yourself slip away again it strokes its thumb over your cheek. 

“Angel.” James’ voice sounds almost like he’s trying not to laugh. He thumbs your cheek again. “Angel, hey.” A pause. “She doesn’t seem to want to wake up.” 

“She’s awake,” Sirius says. You feel his hand sweep across your shoulder blades. “Come on, sweetness. This is no place to spend the night.” 

You make a disgruntled, whiny sound you’d never allow in full consciousness. Your eyes peel open. 

“There she is.” Sirius rubs your back encouragingly.

You blink blearily in the sickening fluorescent light of the library. James is squatting at face-level in front of you, his expression somewhere between fond and pitying, while Remus stands behind him with your backpack over his shoulder. You can see Sirius peering down at you in your periphery, his hand still moving over your back as though to keep you from falling back asleep. 

There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. It must be late. 

“Oh, no,” you groan, forcing yourself up. Your neck and back crackle as you straighten, making James cringe. 

“I agree,” Sirius says smoothly. “I too would be devastated if I traded a warm and cozy bed with my loving boyfriends for a hard, cold desk. But don’t be embarrassed, there’s still time to make things right.” 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to rub wakefulness into them. “I…where’s my laptop?” 

“I have it,” says Remus. 

“I need it.” 

“You’ll get it back tomorrow.” 

A slow, heavy anxiety laces your bloodstream. “But I have to finish…” 

“Dove.” Remus’ voice is stern, though not unkind. “You have to sleep first. At home.”

You blink, your brain still lagging. “But…” 

“Sweetheart, c’mere.” James takes your face in his hand, angling you towards him. He brushes his thumb over the corners of your eyes, then smiles at you. “There. Sorry, you had crusties. Ready to go?” 

“I…” 

“Let’s go, babe.” Sirius winds an arm around your waist, hauling you up with him. “It’s definitely bedtime.” 

James chuckles. “Seems like it. Poor love.” 

“What about my stuff?” 

“I’ve got it,” Remus reminds you. He frowns. “When was the last time you slept?” 

You think back. “Last night.” Was it really only last night? It feels eons ago. 

“But for how long?” 

“Uh…” you wince. “I dunno, a couple hours.” 

James makes a low pitying sound, and Remus’ frown worsens. On some level, you know you’d known they would react like this. Probably, you’d even known they were right. It was why you’d been spending as little time at home as possible, catching twenty-minute power naps in library chairs and avoiding your boyfriends. 

“Sweetheart,” Remus sounds tired himself, and guilt sprouts behind your ribcage, “you can’t run yourself ragged like this. It’s not sustainable. It’s not going to help with your schoolwork, and it’s awful for you besides. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

You heave a sigh. “I guess I just like living on the edge,” you grumble sardonically. 

Sirius huffs a laugh. He slots a piece of hair behind your ear. “Hey, recklessness is my thing,” he says, kissing your temple. “You need to get your own thing.” 

“Sorry.” 

“You need to take better care of yourself,” Remus chides. “You’ve tried your way, and it’s clearly not working. Right?” 

You’re silent. Then Sirius pinches your side, and you squeak, “Right.” 

“That’s right.” Remus’ tone warms some with amusement. “So we’re going to go home, and you’re going to sleep at least eight hours. Then, after you eat and drink something, you can have your laptop back. Okay?” 

“Okay.” You want to be more reluctant, but the allure of your boyfriends’ evil scheme is too tempting to resist. You don’t have the energy to fight them on it. “Thanks for coming to get me.” 

Remus holds the door open for you all to exit the library. As you pass, he cups your cheek with a small smile. “You’re welcome, love.” 

“And maybe during this next round of studying, you could take a break from time to time,” James suggests lightly. “I haven’t had a proper cuddle in days.” 

“Oi!” Sirius’ chin nearly smacks the side of your head as he whips around to see James. “What would you call what we did this afternoon?” 

“Not a proper cuddle. Your elbow has probably left a permanent indent in my stomach.” 

“There are people who would pay for a souvenir like that, Jamie.”

[starmaidengarden]

@meime13 request: hello, it's me again for the third time. Well, if u don't mind ofc, could i send another request? U don't have to do it if u don't want to Anw, can I twst cast headcanons and maybe a small scenraio if u can (except Lilia, Rook, Sebek and Jack, but if it's too much, just the the overblotters), with s/o who's disassociating, like, maybe she's in crowd, like in class or cafetería, and slowly starts to feel overwhelmed by the crowd and feels like her head is foggy and unable to focus, and finds every noise annoying and on the verge of tears cuz she wanna get out of the place rn and starts to put her hands on her ears to block the noise Tbh I thought this is an interesting idea, but if u found it uncomfortable to write, u can just ignore it. Have a nice day/night

—overblot gang : x gn!reader. no cw/tw. established relationship. dividers: uzmacchiato

Riddle Rosehearts༉⋆｡˚

At first, he might not understand what’s going on, but the second he sees your hands over your ears and the distress in your eyes. He might panic slightly at first, not used to emotional situations he can't control, but he’ll adapt fast for your sake.

He would go into "prefect mode," calmly taking charge and removing them from the situation.

During lunch, you can feel the noise crescendo around you; overwhelmed, you instinctively cover your ears, your gaze distant and body tense. Riddle, seated nearby, immediately notices your distress. His plate is pushed aside with urgency, and he rises with quiet authority. "Come with me," he says, his tone both firm and soothing. Without waiting for you to respond, he gently wraps his fingers around your wrist, leading you away from the cacophony of the cafeteria. Once outside, the fresh air greets you like a gentle embrace. He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Breathe with me. You’re safe now,” he instructs softly, guiding you through deep breaths.

Leona Kingscholar༉⋆｡˚

Leona is surprisingly perceptive when it comes to body language; he knows when someone is uncomfortable even if they’re silent.

He doesn’t waste time — if he sees you’re on the verge of breaking down, he’s pulling you out.

Acts like it’s not a big deal to reduce your anxiety, but he’s very defensive underneath.

The lecture hall is too loud. Too many voices. Your fingers press into your temples as your head droops, desperate for an escape. Leona, who has been sitting two rows back, is attuned to your discomfort. He kicks back his chair and strides toward you, his presence commanding yet understated. “This ain’t worth your time. Let’s ditch,” he says with a low, reassuring drawl. Without waiting for a response, he slings an arm over your shoulders, guiding you away into the restorative stillness beneath a tree’s shade. “You good? Just breathe,” he reassures you, providing a safe haven from the chaos.

Azul Ashengrotto༉⋆｡˚

Azul knows the feeling of being overwhelmed — his anxiety often takes the same form.

He’d be internally panicking seeing you like that, but tries to put on a calm front.

He’ll focus on giving you control— asking permission before touching, and quietly offering options.

He spots you in the busy cafeteria, your hands clamped over your ears, eyes glossy. His heart drops. He quickly approaches, dropping to his knees to come to your level. “Hey, love. It’s okay; you’re okay. May I hold your hand?” he asks gently, his voice warm and steady. When you manage a slight nod, he takes your hand delicately, whispering, “Let’s get out of here, yes?” He guides you away to the quiet sanctuary of the VIP lounge in Mostro Lounge, where he sets you down with a comforting drink and maintains a close but respectful distance to let you feel at ease without feeling pressured.

Jamil Viper༉⋆｡˚

Jamil has had to keep his own emotions suppressed for so long, he instantly recognizes when someone else is mentally shutting down.

His response is calm. No dramatics. Just focused on getting you somewhere safe and silent. He’d clear a room if he had to.

The crowd around the lunch table is too much. You find it hard to breathe; your eyes are starting to water, and it's hard to see. Jamil, noticing you flinching at the sounds of laughter around you, rises calmly from where he is seated. He approaches you without hesitation, saying in a steady tone, “Come with me.” He leads you down an empty hallway, confidently clearing the path if necessary. Once there, he removes his blazer and drapes it over your shoulders. “Sit. You’re safe here. No noise. Just focus on my voice,” he instructs, ensuring you feel shielded from the world outside.

Vil Schoenheit༉⋆｡˚

He’s not fazed by breakdowns — he sees emotions as natural and knows how to manage them gracefully.

He’d sweep you away with elegance, turning heads as he leads you to a quieter space.

You press your palms to your ears, the lunchroom chaos becoming unbearable. Vil catches your gaze across the wild room, and without a second thought, he rises with an elegant confidence. “Make way,” he said, his voice effortlessly parting the crowd. He guides you into an empty practice room, closes the door softly behind you. “Darling, listen to me. Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. I’m right here. Just look at me,” he facilitates your calming process, anchoring your focus on him.

Idia Shroud༉⋆｡˚

Idia understands overstimulation intimately. He’s probably the most naturally empathetic of the group in this case.

His first instinct is to cover you up — hoodie, noise-canceling headphones, a game — anything to block the world out. He’s awkward, but his comfort is genuine.

You’re frozen at your seat, hands over your ears, the noise pressing in. Idia, hiding behind his tablet, noticed and slowly walked over. “U-uh, hey. Do you wanna get out of here? I know a place… super quiet, low light, no people, promise.” Idia leads you down the narrow, winding hallways of the building, his footsteps hushing against the cool concrete floor. Leading you down to his dorm. “You don’t have to talk. breath.”

Malleus Draconia༉⋆｡˚

Malleus is incredibly attuned to you, though he may not always understand why you feel a certain way. Malleus may not understand human overstimulation at first, but he immediately reacts to your distress.

He doesn’t brush it off. Even the slightest twitch of discomfort on your face makes him concerned.

He gets very still, very quiet, and his presence becomes a calm anchor. He might even magically muffle the environment temporarily.

The dining hall’s chaos is too much. Your eyes shut tight, fingers on your temples. In an instant, Malleus appears beside you, his presence commanding yet gentle. He places a soothing hand on your back; with a flick of his wrist, the noise enveloping you disappears. You blink in confusion; he has cast a protective ward to muffle the sounds. “Child of man,” he says, his voice a serene whisper, “Let us leave. It's too loud today.” He leads you away to a quiet garden, where only the soft rustle of the wind can be heard. “Better?” he inquires softly, his concern evident in his expressive eyes.

[gyuwoncheol]

Sir, Please.

Pair: Wonwoo x f.reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut. 18+ only (MDNI).

Summary: Wonwoo doesn’t mind keeping you at the edge if it means watching you fall apart.

Warnings: Dom!Wonwoo, Sir! kink, edging, cockwarming, unprotected sex (stay safe, children), squirting, clitoral stimulation, lots of making out, creampie, pussy slapping (like once), overstimulation, dacryphilia, breast play, wrist pinning, dirty talk, use of pet names (Sir, good girl, darling, love, baby, sweetie), glorious aftercare (Wonu is the best), fluff. Please let me know if i missed something. Not proofread, might come back to fix up errors.

WC: 3k

Author’s note: First smut piece for Wonwoo my love. This was only supposed to be post-sex cuddles fluff but thought it was the right time to finally write smut for my favorite boy. As is the plot of this piece, good things come to those who wait 😏 Enjoy!

Tagging fellow Wonu lovers @multi-kpop-fanfics @playmetheclassics for the chaos.

“What’re you doing?” Your boyfriend quizzed, your bare body still on top of his, a cheek resting against his bare chest.

“Doodling,” you mumbled casually as your finger continued to draw lazy patterns on his side.

“Darling, it tickles.”

“I don’t see you flinching.”

“You’re on top of me. If I flinch, you might fall.” He stated matter-of-factly.

You craned your neck to look up at him, flashing a wide grin momentarily, “then suffer.”

You shook along with Wonwoo as he laughed at your reply, a strong arm secured tightly around your torso, while his free hand cradled the back of your head.

A large smile was permanently etched on Wonwoo’s face as you both laid in comfortable silence. When he had collapsed onto you just minutes ago after reaching his climax, he had asked so nicely if he could stay inside a little longer and who were you to complain? You’ve craved for this kind of intimacy with him for awhile now after being both so busy with work.

“You’re lucky i love you,” Wonwoo declared as he kissed the top of your head.

You hummed in response, trailing your fingers again on his side, nails lightly scratching on his skin, “did you just write ‘i love you too’ on my ribs?” He laughs, and you nod an affirmative.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and snuggling more into your boyfriend’s chest. Now would be a good time for time to stand still. The setting sun casted warm hues of light inside your bedroom and while the airconditioning was cold, Wonwoo was radiating just the right amount of heat to keep you from shivering.

“I’ve missed you,” you blurted out.

“I know, sweetheart. I’ve missed you too. I’ve missed this,” another kiss was placed on top of your head, “i’m sorry i’ve been so busy.”

“I’m sorry too,” you sighed, resting your chin on his pecs to face him. “I wish i had more time to visit you in practice, or even just see you for lunch.”

“That’s okay, darling. We’re both just in our busy season. It will be over soon, yeah?” This time, Wonwoo’s palm was rubbing circular motions on the small of your back. “I was thinking we should go on a vacation when this all boils over.”

Your eyes grew wide, excited at your boyfriend’s suggestion, “really?”

“Yeah, maybe the countryside? Or out of the country? Where do you want?”

A blush crept up your cheeks at Wonwoo’s gesture of letting you choose, but honestly, you could’ve just stayed at your home and it would be okay. The last time you had a vacation, he made you choose the place too but this time, you didn’t really have a shortlist of destinations. You craned your neck to kiss his lips shortly, “surprise me?” You smiled shyly, “maybe somewhere peaceful and with fresh air? Anywhere as long as it’s with you is all I want, darling.”

“Okay, i’ll plan it out.” He confirmed before rolling you both over so his body hovered above yours

“Where are you going?” You pouted when he made a move to slip out of you.

“I need to clean you up, sweetie.”

You hooked a leg around his waist in retaliation, not at all ready to feel empty just yet. You attempted the most doe eyes you could muster, looking up at your boyfriend through your lashes and clenching your pussy as you did so, “Don’t you wanna fuck me one more time?”

Wonwoo scoffed at your question, the corner of his lips pulling into a devious smile at your sweet tone, “can’t get enough, darling?” His voice was lower by a few octaves, enough to send a shiver through your spine and a gush of wetness in your cunt.

“N-no, sir.”

Wonwoo smirked at the nickname before doing an experimental thrust. When your eyes rolled to the back of your head, he simply chuckled before dragging his cock out slowly and then swiftly burying himself to the hilt, rendering you even more speechless than you were. He could feel the rhythmic spasming of your walls, causing him to grow harder and harder.

You cupped his face to bring it closer to yours, kissing him and sucking at his lower lip. Wonwoo smiles in the kiss, amused at your neediness especially when he feels you lift your hips and roll them on his.

“Eager are we?”

“Wonuuu,” you whined pathetically, clawing at his back.

“Wonu?” he questioned with a glare, pinning you to the mattress agressively, “that’s not what you called me minutes ago, darlin’”

“Well, I don’t know where he went. Maybe if you give me what I want then I’ll start calling you it again,” you smirked, dragging your nails a little more harshly on his skin making him hiss.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, only to dive into your right breast and suck harshly at the bud, eliciting a loud moan from you. He snakes his hand in between you both, thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in circles, immediately feeling you clench around his dick again.He mutters something about you being responsive but it flies over your head as he picks up his pace. The slide is much easier given your mixed cum and your new arousal so it takes him record time to hit your sweet spot. Every ridge and vein on his cock drags against your walls in a way that’s more delicious than awhile ago.

“S-sir, pl-pleaasee,” you shake, the pit of your stomach tightening as you arch your back.

“Does my darling want to cum?” The nickname sounds sickly sweet as it rolls off his tongue and it only helps you get closer to the edge.

You nod your head repetitively, chants of ‘yes’s’ and ‘oh’s’ spilling from your lips, but then Wonwoo withdraws his hand from your sensitive bud and stills inside of you, a vice grip around your body as he licks the shell of your ear, “you don’t get to cum until I say so.” The words were loud, clear and firm, in a tone you knew all too well.

“But Won—“ you cry out loud, tears forming in your eyes as you feel your climax painfully float away.

“Nuh uh,” two harsh thrusts are delivered straight to your gspot as your boyfriend hooks one of your legs on his shoulder, “Call me wrong again and I will not let you cum at all.”

“Fuuuuck,” you mewl from the way his cock rams into you with the new angle, following it up with whines at the thought of getting no release, “S-sorry, sir! ‘M sorry!”

“There it is. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Wonwoo mocks, “now be my good girl and hold it out for me, yeah?”

You’re a incoherent mess as you try to obey him, but it isn’t so easy when his large cock is abusing your sore, sloppy cunt. Words of filth pair each one of his powerful thrusts.

“My dirty little whore”

“So fuckin’ needy for my cock.”

“Can’t get enough of this pussy.”

“Your pussy is mine.”

“All made for me.”

You were letting out moans of pleasure as Wonwoo pounded into you mercilessly, the knot in your stomach making itself felt again.

“Fu– ah! Fuck, s-sir! Please!” You asked, but it only fell on deaf ears. Both your wrists were tightly pinned with just one of your boyfriend’s large hand above your head and his blown out pupils were looking right at you.

“Make me cum, make me cum, make me cum, please!!!” you begged shamelessly, voice shaking and legs closing in as you teetered on the edge of your orgasm.

“Not. Yet.” Wonwoo withdrew fully from your hole and you shrieked at the loss, your hips lifting to chase after his dick only to have it slammed down by his free hand.

“Sir!!!” You scowled, eyebrows scrunching and eyes wide, anger and pain washing away yet another failed orgasm.

A proud, lopsided smirk appeared on your boyfriend’s face. He licked his bottom lip, enjoying the torture he beset on you despite his painfully hard cock.

“What?”

It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking, you knew that much.

“Nothing,” you cowered and blinked back your tears, erasing the anger in your face much to your dismay.

“Good girl.”

You swallowed thickly, squirming once more when Wonwoo tapped his heavy length on your pussy, coating himself with your slippery wetness— not that he needed any more of it— before purposely slapping your swollen clit with his angry red tip. The stimulation from that alone already had your toes curling and it took every fibre of your being to not just unravel right there.

You should’ve known calling him ‘sir’ would lead to this, but behind the tearful denials, you knew immense pleasure awaits.

“Siirrr, p-please! I n-need it.”

“Shhh. Patience, darling. We’ve got lots of time.” The demonic chuckle Wonwoo let out had you whimpering pitifully, your hands fighting to break free from his hold.

It seemed your boyfriend was hell bent on prolonging your agony when he simply continues to endlessly tap his shaft on your clit as he pumps himself.

Wonwoo was not usually loud in bed, save for his occasional grunts and broken groans when he falls into bliss. However, he’s decided now would be the perfect time to make matters all the more worse for you. He was being loud about it all, no holds barred. The squelching noises of his dick against your wet lips is now easily drowned out by the guttural moans Wonwoo has let slip past his mouth. You thought his dirty talk is music? Well, this was a symphony.

You had thought you wouldn’t get close this time around since he wasn’t inside you but the relentless knocks on your clit and the obnoxiously loud moans of your boyfriend have proved you wrong. Your hands balled into fists and you squeezed your eyes shut, mentally fighting off the ball of pleasure in your lower abdomen.

“Look at you, fighting so hard,” Wonwoo snickers, pressing down the tip of his cock to your clit in slow circular motions, “show me how good you are yeah?”

“Yes yes yes! ‘M good! Your good girl, promise!” You were so far gone, pliant to each one of your boyfriend’s requests.

“So wet, you’re soiling the bed,” he points out the obvious, “what a fuckin’ mess.” Wonwoo saw another shiver run through you, indicating you were seconds away from release. So for the third time that day, he denies you of the very thing you crave for, letting go of your wrists and then landing a sharp smack to your pussy before completely backing away to watch you spasm and curl up into a ball of needy tears and pathetic whines.

Your head was spinning and your senses were more than heightened. The slippery feeling of your arousal between your thighs were making it harder for you to squeeze them shut and stay still. Wonwoo simply loomed over you, giving you enough time to stabilize your breathing and let your failed orgasm ebb away. He knew that if he’d put so much just as one finger on your skin, you’d cum right away. Contrary to his actions, he wanted you to cum, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see you cry for it first.

“S-sirr,” you sobbed.

A gentle touch carefully landed on your calf and when you didn’t flinch away, Wonwoo let out a sigh of relief, “Yes, baby?”

“Please,” your voice barely above a whisper, “n-need you…”

Whatever other words you had planned were swallowed by Wonwoo in a searing kiss. It was sloppy and messy, his skillful tongue darting to yours, teeth biting at your lips. You both moaned in unison when he impaled you on his cock once more.

“So big,” you groaned, initially amused at the delicious stretch until you realised, he’s had to hold off his own orgasm too.

Wonwoo gives it his all, jackhammering into you like it would be the last time. The sound of moans and skin slapping skin reverberate around the room. And then, there it is again, a coil so tight on your stomach, you fear you’re going delirious to the point of no return.

“Wo— Sir!” You quickly correct yourself, losing the least bit of dignity you had, tears drenching your cheeks, “i’m b-begging, p-please…”

The gentle kiss on your nose set a stark contrast from how his cock abused your sopping cunt, but relief finally took over you at the words whispered in your ear, “so good for me. Let go, baby. I got you.”

A strangled cry ripped out of your throat, your orgasm gloriously hitting you like a tidal wave. Wonwoo continued to talk you through it while holding down your convulsing body and slamming his hips into you, the sight of your pussy creaming his cock eventually producing broken moans from him.

“B-babe, too– ah! Too m-much!” More tears fell on your face as Wonwoo did deep snaps, his pelvic bone grinding on your clit.

“C’mon baby, m’ close. S-so close!”

Incomprehensible noises tumbled out of you when your boyfriend buried himself deep, pushing onto your sweetest spot and stilling there. Between his guttural groans, the perfect ‘O’ shape of his mouth and the thick loads of hot white cum that flooded your velvety walls, another coil snapped within you, a new round of arousal seeping out of your spent hole, except this time, much wetter and hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“Fuuuck, darling,” Wonwoo trembled as the last of his nectar oozed out, “did I just make you squirt?”

“Fuck off,” you scowled, wishing you had more energy to wipe the smug look plastered on your boyfriend’s face.

“So I did?” Wonwoo pursed his lips and scrunched his nose, a look you very much love but absolutely hate right now.

You let your bottom lip jut out in a pout, your brows drawing to the center of your face, “how could I not when you edged me like that!”

“You’re cute,” was his only response, very slowly slipping his softening cock out of you. Your sweet boyfriend peppered kisses all over your face, replacing your frown with a smile. “Did I make you feel good, darling?” He asked genuinely, not wanting to ever subject you to something which you didn’t enjoy doing.

You gave him a shy nod, pulling him closer by his neck to close the gap between your mouths and share a loving kiss, much like how it was way earlier. It didn’t take long for you to part, your lungs still recharging to full capacity after having all the air knocked out of you.

Wonwoo gave you more time to recover, resting his head on the crook of your neck to leave soft kisses on your skin, especially on the blooming bruises he left in his wake.

“Darling, you can’t sleep yet,” he shook you gently when he noticed your prolonged stillness.

A small whine escaped your lips, “but Woo… i’m tired.”

“I know, i know,” he hushed softly, “but we need to get you cleaned up and also, change the sheets. I’ll make it quick.”

You had no time nor energy to protest. You were simply being carried bridal style into the bathroom, your boyfriend making sure you peed before he went on to wash up yours and his sweaty body with warm water. He was so so tender with his touch, especially in all parts between your legs. He’d keep an observant eye to every reaction your face made, careful not to cause any pain.

“Can… can you be mine?” you squeaked, and Wonwoo giggled at the drunken look of love on your face. Every time you think nothing can top sex with your boyfriend in your own little list of World’s Most Wonderful Things, you’re reminded that aftercare by him exists.

“Darling, i’m already yours,” Wonwoo chuckles.

You noded with a grin, brain really starting to drift off into slumber, “I like that.”

He fixes his glasses by the bridge of his nose after giving you a once-over, now dressed in cotton panties and one of his large navy blue shirts which hung mid-thigh on you.

Wonwoo lifts you up to sit on the bathroom counter before cupping your cheeks to meet your eyes, “baby, can you sit here and wait for me for about 10 to 15 minutes, please? I need to change our sheets.”

He had expected you to whine and retaliate, knowing you were always extra clingy after sex, but you simply nodded and smiled. You think you felt his lips on your forehead but you aren’t too sure.

The moment Wonwoo slips out of the bathroom, you’re fighting not to fall asleep, but 15 minutes is long, and maybe you can just lean your head a bit on the cold marble tile—

“Let’s get you to bed, love,” the tall man chuckles as he lifts you in his arms. You swore it hadn’t been fifteen minutes, not even ten! But then he walks past your bed and out of your shared bedroom. The light of the hallway enough to stir your brain awake.

“Where are we going?” You ask, nuzzling your face on the crook of his neck as he cradles you into another room.

Wonwoo laughs at your question, “We have to take the guest bedroom for the night, darling. You’ve soaked through our mattress.”

[bunny-jpeg]

retired!price never thought that he'd ever become father. it honestly was only a passing glance throughout most of his life. like if he saw a kid at the grocery store or a colleague had a child. but, that all changed when you met him. there was something about you that got him going. he thought he had too much respect for women, but he felt almost chauvinistic towards you. you were younger, smaller, frailer. you should be at home cooking him dinner and putting the kids to bed instead of working the dreadful customer service job you were at. wouldn't life be better?

think about it, it's okay love. price would take care of everything. anything his angel needed, she got. that included a pretty ring and a round middle full of price brats. when price left where you work with purchases in hand, there was more than one occasion where he'd go back to his car and pleasure himself in the driver's seat. his car parked in the furthest part of the parking lot. alone with his thoughts of you. one baby on your hip and the other in your womb, price coming home to the scent of a warm-cooked meals. nights spent battering your poor soft, spongy womb, keeping it nice and full. you'd be in such contrast with your gruff husband. he stood so much taller than you, he could bruise you with ease. but he only wanted to love you, to feel you take him every night. to see you raise his children. he aiming for a minimum of three, close together in age. he was already looking at places that would be perfect. away from the hustle and bustle of london and somewhere quiet, where his wife would live a comfortable life. in his mind he always thought you were a virgin, pure for him to take apart and make to his liking. you'd be the perfect mrs. price, a phrase that went through his head as he came all over his hand. pearly cum even stained his blue jeans.

doesn't the life that price laid out for you feel perfect? a loving husband, kids, a big piece of land. you weren't going anywhere with this job, wouldn't it be more fulfilling to be married to price? he was retired and would raise your children alongside you. you'd be perfect for him. he wished that you'd see what he saw. something nicer for such a lovely woman.

it took a lot of courage for him to ask you out. it was the first time he felt nervous in a while. you simply giggled, a voice delicate like glass, you broke his head, "oh, sorry sir. i already have a boyfriend!" price just smiled and nodded, he wasn't going to cause a scene. he took his purchases and wished you a great day. but it was hard to pull the man that price was prior to retirement. the man needed a mission like a bloodhound needed prey.

oh, you had a boyfriend. what was his name? where did he live? what did he do for work? when price got his answers he didn't think your boyfriend was good enough. you needed a man, not a little boy who still used his old university i.d. to get discounts. he wasn't going to provide for you. he was weak. so why don't you take out your phone and text him goodbye because price always joked to his former team that he could fit a body in the trunk of his car. while he'd laugh it off, that and the neatly winded rope tucked in the corner were there for a reason.

please, his angel. come with him, he'll always keep you safe.

xoxo, bunny

[undercoveravenger]

Sleep Like the Dead

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Male!Reader

Requested: No

Summary: Everyone on the team thinks Ghost is the worst person to share a bed with. You don’t mind and Ghost finally gets a decent night’s sleep.

-----

No one ever wants to share a bed with Ghost on a mission. It happens every time, at every safe house, so he’s not surprised when Gaz and Soap call dibs on sharing one of the two double beds. They’re both pretty calm sleepers and won’t disturb each other’s rest so it makes sense for them to pair off. Price posts up in the battered recliner mumbling something about being “too old to share.” And that leaves Ghost with you, the 141’s newest addition. You haven’t been on the team long enough to know to find other sleeping arrangements.

You trail him easily into the other bedroom and strip down to your boxers, climbing under the covers without complaint at being stuck with him. He slowly settles beside you, just as tense as he’d been out on the field - adrenaline not quite fizzled out yet. You don’t seem to mind, eyes closing and breathing slowing basically as soon as your head hits the pillow and just like that Ghost is alone with his thoughts.

Despite himself, his mind echoes with the sound of Soap whinging about bruises he’d gotten from Ghost’s less-than-gentle “readjusting” and Gaz’s complaints of his snoring - “What, you running a chainsaw in there, Lieutenant?” “There a thunderstorm in your room last night, Ghost?” There’s a reason Price would rather go for a kip in some ratty old armchair than sleep anywhere near Ghost, even if he never voices why. He knows he’s not an ideal bed partner and he hates it. Hates that he’s exposing you to it - you, who’s never looked at him like he’s weird for keeping his mask on and who’s never seemed to be afraid of him, even the first time you’d met him. You, who’s seen some of the brutal things he’s had to do out on the field and never once judged him for it, who’s done plenty of nightmarish things yourself.

But this is the first negative trait he’s willingly exposed you to and he doesn’t want to see you try to duck him as a bedmate the same way the rest of the team does, especially when he’s starting to suspect that he feels more than camaraderie for you.

You move then, rolling onto your side and hooking an arm round his middle to tug him back against your chest. Ghost’s frozen against you, muscles tight and breath shallow, even as your heart beats steady and slow against his back. He settles slowly, breath evening out to match yours. He’s not used to being… cuddled, let alone being the little spoon, but it’s sort of nice to be held. Like you’ve got his back, even unconsciously. 

He shifts slightly, nudging himself back into your arms further and brings one hand up to curl around yours, settling your joined hands against his chest above his heart. 

Simon’s eyes slip closed somewhere between one breath and the next and he sinks into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in years.

-----

Everyone’s looking at him strangely when they all gather in the morning to prepare for evac and he’s not sure why. He can only take so long of Price’s concerned stare and Soap and Gaz whispering around furtive glances before he snaps.

“What,” he says, and that seems to be all the permission Soap needs to sidle closer, studying him intently. “Got somethin’ to say?” Ghost challenges, arms crossing over his chest. “Say it.”

Soap hesitates only a moment before he says anything, fingers tapping rapidly against his thigh like he’s nervous. “Did you, ah, did you sleep last night, LT? Like, at all?”

Ghost blinks. Blinks again. It’s not the weirdest question Soap’s ever asked him, not by a longshot, but it feels strangely pointed and he’s not sure why. “Slept fine. Why?”

Gaz cocks his head, dark eyes puzzled as they dart between Ghost and the door to the bedroom that he’d shared with you. “Did he?”

Ghost is saved from answering by you making your way out into the living room with the rest of them, go bag already packed and ready. You’re shifting your weight up onto the balls of your feet like you’re ready to take in a run, like you’re itching to move. Your eyes are bright, not a hint of sleeplessness to be seen about you.

“Maybe they tuckered each other out?” Soap suggests, eyebrows waggling suggestively as he looks between you and Ghost. “Surprised they were able to keep that quiet-”

“Shut it,” Ghost growls, trying to keep the teasing from letting you on to the feelings he’s finally admitted to himself. “We both slept fine. What’s all the fuss about?”

Price claps a hand over Soap’s mouth before he can make another raunchy comment, interjecting himself to help move the conversation along. “Just glad to hear that you were finally able to get a good night’s sleep, Ghost. Seemed to us you hadn’t slept well the last few ops.” His eyes slip to you and back quickly, lingering just enough that he knows that Price knows. “Seems whatever change you’ve made to your nightly routine might be a good one to keep up. Maybe try to make it a regular thing?”

Ghost wants to argue. To protest that sleeping in your arms wouldn’t have changed anything for him, especially not enough for his team to notice, but he knows Price is right. Knows that it’s having you with him that’s finally allowed him to rest. That you make him feel safe, as crazy as he feels admitting it. He’s not ready to really do anything about whatever it means quite yet, but he knows that he’ll be seeking you out to share a bed again on the next op. And maybe, if that goes well, inviting you back to his flat in Manchester while the team’s on leave to see if the effect you have on him goes both ways.

[rainrot4me]

Let Me Hear You

Summary: Walking the same path every day while listening to music is your routine. Humming along, Masky makes it his routine to follow you. Until you wander somewhere you shouldn’t…

Characters: Masky x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Stalking, non-con, vaginal fingering, vaginal, Masky's nasty, struggling, you don't give consent/Masky just takes what he wants, choking

Words: 4.2k

You walked this path every day. 

After every shift of work, every weekend, rain or shine you would slip your shoes on and take that dirt path through the woods. The path used to be an old horse trail used by the previous owners of the land, the dirt dry and matted down for miles. The forest surrounding the path was dense, sunlight rarely slipping through the leaves overhead and giving the lush area a nice, shaded feel. The area was thriving, nature untouched besides your constant walks, but you never dared press off the path out of fear of getting lost. Although the dirt made a giant winding loop back to your home, what lay in the middle made you too nervous to find out. 

You could usually complete your walk in under two hours, making your way back to the treeline connected to your backyard and safely back into your house. It was routine, so of course, when you got home from work well past nine PM, you slipped out of your uniform and into athletic clothes and a hoodie. Sliding your screen door open, you flicked your flashlight on, the moon hiding behind dense clouds and offering little light. But this was your comfort, if you didn’t have anything else, at least you would have these two hours to debrief and get at least some exercise in. Despite the cool summer air, you pressed through your ward and to the well-worn path you knew, disappearing into the trees.

What you didn’t know, or rather, what Masky didn’t want you to know, was that this path was also his daily routine. Not for walking, persay, but more for observation. His routine was to hang at the edge of that treeline whenever he wasn’t busy, waiting for your car to sling into your driveway and for you to come strolling out that screen door. You were oblivious to his presence, sauntering on that path as he quietly shifted behind the trees to watch you unwind the further you walked. In a way, it was his way of unwinding, giving himself something to focus on besides the constant pounding in his head. 

Now, he hadn’t sought you out through choice. It was a sort of coincidence that he began to watch you. 

Before you lived in that house, the previous owners were old, rarely trailing past the range of farmland and into the trees. So it made it simple. That widespread land in the center of the round path was a popular spot for the various members of Slender’s band of misfits to visit, hauling whatever recent kill they had made and burying them randomly, difficult to find. Seeing as it was land connected to the house, cops couldn’t just stroll through without some type of warrant, so it made it all the easier just to dump the bodies there and forget about them.

Until you moved in, curious little mind pulling you to the trees and investigating the trail. Masky was there that day, burying some boy, or what was left of him, just out of sight. He didn’t even realize you were there until your foot crunched on a branch, sending him grabbing for his pistol and aiming it through branches straight to your head. You had no clue, headphones lodged in your ears and playing some old songs, leaving you completely vulnerable. Masky was going to shoot, irritation guiding his movements at the thought of being seen. Until you started humming, tune familiar to some Fleetwood Mac song that stirred in the man’s brain, tugging at some long-forgotten memories that he knew were Tim’s. But instead of becoming angry, it was like his body was relaxing, gun slipping back into his jacket pocket and eyes trained sternly on you as you continued walking. 

It was laughable how unaware you were, even still as Masky followed that familiar path, watching you the same way he always had. He chalked it up to being a precautionary measure, watching to make sure you didn’t move further off the path than he wanted you to. But in reality, in the depths of his mind that he wouldn’t tell anyone, he just wanted to hear your voice. 

So, nudging your wired headphones into your ears, you shoved your phone into your pocket, shining your flashlight on the ground below as you walked. You kept the volume low, still able to hear your feet crunch on the weeds as you hummed lowly, swaying the light back and forth. Masky was to your right, hidden in the shadows of the branches as he walked in time with you, straining his ears to relish in your sweet voice. It was his guilty pleasure, getting to hear new and old songs that otherwise he wouldn’t. He recognized it as Name by Goo Goo Dolls, an older song he occasionally heard in bars and stores he passed. Tim was already stirring, pressing against the edges of his consciousness and skewing his thoughts, making the man reach for his cigarettes, popping one into his mouth and flicking the lighter. Masky had to put distance between you two now, wary of the smell of smoke alerting you, giving himself about fifteen yards of space but still keeping time with you.

You slipped your hair behind your ear, hands shoved into your hoodie pockets as you walked. The air was rather cool for a summer night, the clouds overhead making you wonder if there would be a storm tonight. Slipping your phone from your pocket, you flipped to a weather app, scrolling through and surprised by the pop-up showers happening within the hour. You'd have to speed up if you wanted to return home without getting soaked. 

So, shoving your phone back into your pocket, you held your flashlight tight, putting a little pep in your step. Masky was caught off guard, pushing his cigarette box back into his jacket and matching your pace, confused as to why you were hurrying now. He sucked the smoke into his lungs, the pounding in his head sizzling out. You had stopped humming, which irritated him, but he followed in the hopes that you would start again.

Minutes had passed and you recognized the path to be at about the halfway mark. You had an hour left, but the heavy clouds in the sky were already pushing down, thunder rumbling somewhere in the distance. Shit. You wouldn’t make it back in time. Stopping, you had to think, to weigh your options of running the rest of the way or cutting through. You had never been off the path, the entire unknown distance in between making you uneasy. But what could be in there that wasn’t just more trees? This land had been lived on and used, so you had nothing to be afraid of except the possibility of running into a deer. Taking a breath, you held your flashlight up, stepping off the dirt path and into the thick brush of the woods between. 

Masky immediately tensed, heart thumping as he saw you turn off the path and past the trees in the direction of your house. You were gonna cut through. The man had realized your hurry, the rolling storm clouds above telling him it wouldn’t be long until you were both soaked. But he never expected you to take a shortcut, pressing into the dark shadows of the trees and unfamiliar territory. This was bad. It wouldn’t be if he knew you would just pass through, mosy on to your home and out of the rain, but Masky knew better. You see, using that plot of land as a screwed-up burial plot was way too easy and convenient, and it led some creeps to become lazy. Toby was the worst, leaving chopped-up pieces of arms and torsos scattered against the earth, letting nature and curious animals take care of the rest. But that method left evidence, bones and rotted flesh scattered everywhere and easily noticeable. You would see them and become scared, calling the stupid cops and busting them all. He had to deter you. 

Hiking your legs over tall bushes and weeds, you push deeper in, trying your best to keep straight and search for your porch light. The wind was already blowing, leaves upturned and shaking against the breeze. Keeping your eyes trained on the ground, you began to hum again, Leave Out All the Rest by Linkin Park thumping in your eyes, keeping you distracted against the pants you were heaving. Your leisure walk had turned rough, getting more exercise in than you intended. Meanwhile, Masky was gritting his teeth, shoving through the trees as he pressed in front of you, wracking his brain for some way to throw you back onto the path. You were quick, Masky having to work to stay ahead of you and make sure you didn’t run into anything unsightly. 

Your humming was throwing him off, cigarette pressed tight between his lips as he tried to focus more on you instead of your pretty voice. The pre-storm breeze was picking up now, tall grass whipping against his legs and tangling themselves around his boots. Looking forward, he could see fresh dirt dug out into a pit, one of Toby’s lazy mishaps again. Masky didn’t have a choice, he’d have to confront you if he was gonna get you out of here. Swearing, he crossed your path, yards in front of you and shoved off his mask.

You smelled the smoke before you saw him, his lit cigarette wafting in your direction as the breeze blew. You looked up, flashlight shining ahead and barely catching the man mixed in with all the trees. Heart dropping, you stopped, music still pumping in your ears as you stared at the man across from you. In all of your time here, you had never seen a person in these woods. Especially during the night right before a storm. This was bad. Your breath was shaky, catching up from your quick movements but not getting a chance to settle as you began to panic. You didn’t have a weapon, you never needed one, that was a sore mistake now. The man didn’t move, just standing and watching, his build taller and larger than yours, able to easily overpower you. 

Moving slowly, you plucked the headphones from your ears, taking a step back as you shook. “Uhm… Hello..?” You called, voice shaky as the breeze whipped your hair in your face. The man had his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, puffing his cigarette in the breeze and making your nose furl, the scent sour. “Pretty late, huh?” His voice was rough, low and scratchy as he talked, plucking the cigarette from his mouth. You stepped back, nerves begging you to run but deciding it would probably be worse if you did. “Hah, uh, yeah. Just out for a- uhm, a walk. Cutting through so I don’t get rained on…” You laughed awkwardly, fidgeting the flashlight between your hands as you continued to step back slowly, trying not to draw his attention.

“Well, you outta be careful. Buncha fox traps out here. Could take your foot clean off.” He called, taking a step towards you and making your stomach turn, palms beginning to sweat. He flicked the cigarette between his fingers, ashes falling before he put it back in his mouth, puffing smoke. You glanced around the ground, feet suddenly nervous as you shuffled under yourself, hugging yourself tight. “O- Oh really? Didn’t know about that… uh, I’ll be careful. Just gotta make it home before it rains.” You went to turn, pushing for another path away from this strange dude. You noticed he didn’t have any form of light, standing in the darkness as he began to step towards you, panic surging. Stumbling back, you gripped your flashlight, willing yourself to hit him if it came down to it.

But instead, the man stopped in front of you, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it, glancing at you. “Trust me. It’d be better if you just take the path. I can walk with you, make sure you don’t get rained on too bad.” He was pushing, pressing beside you and guiding you back towards the path, not giving you any choice but to follow beside him as he pressed his hand on your back. The rain had already begun to sprinkle through the leaves, cool mist running across the ground as you held your flashlight close, wary of the man as you walked next to him.

Finally seeing the dirt path again, his hand pushed you to follow it again, the familiar crunch of weeds comforting you against the panic you felt internally. The man’s hand never left your back, keeping you next to him as he walked quickly, moreso forcing you to go this way than advising you. You wanted to run, to throw the flashlight at him and get home but he was stern, the brunt look on his face stunning you. So you just kept walking.

Masky had no clue what he was doing. He only meant to scare you, push you in the opposite direction and disappear again. But when you didn’t run, just kept watching, he had no choice but to speak up. He opted to take the mask off, giving you good reason to leave but not scaring you so much you wouldn’t come back. He still wanted you to feel comfortable here, just not off that path. Obviously, that didn’t work. If your survival instincts wouldn’t help you, he would. 

Minutes passed in tense silence, flecks of water sprinkling onto your face and wetting your hair. His hand still pressed, your shoulders tense as you flicked nervously between the path and his face, the unwavering look making you uneasy. “So, uhm. Why’re you out here?” You shook out, filling the cold air as you felt his fingers tense, eyeing you slightly. He was quiet for a second, almost like he was contemplating. “Cleanin' up. Got some hunting equipment back there. Had to get it stable before the storm.” He looked away, continuing on.

Settling in, you let him guide you, figuring that if he tried anything, you would be close enough to neighbors to scream. If he was going to do anything, he would have done it where no one could hear. Either way, you knew after tonight you wouldn’t be walking back in these woods without a knife. The rain was coming down harder now, thick droplets landing on your cheeks and blurring your vision. Your hair was soaked, clothes sticking to your body as you walked, and chills running over you. “Almost there.” The man grunted, tugging at his jacket and pulling it closer to his chest, raindrops running down his face. Nodding, you hummed, slicking your hair back off of your face.

This walk was weird without music, and your routine became skewed. So you decided to hum, picking up where you left off of the Linkin Park song and hitting the notes softly. The man’s hand instantly tensed, fingers curling into your hoodie and catching you off guard, stunting your voice. “Sorry.” You mumbled, sniffling as your nose became stuffy against the cold. He huffed, flattening his hand out again. “It’s fine. Keep singing.” He huffed, gripping the back of your hoodie. Uncomfortable, you began to hum again, pressing the notes quietly as you walked. The man held your top tight, taking deep breaths as he listened to you, teeth gritted. 

Internally, Masky was fighting himself, using all of his willpower not to drag you back to your house and force better noises out. Maybe it was his deprivation, the loneliness from all this time, but he couldn’t stand how nice you sounded next to him. It was always from a distance, but right now, pressed by his side, it was like you were beckoning him. Like some fucked up siren. He huffed a breath, begging himself just to keep walking, just get you home. But as you hit a high note, throat straining against the sound, Masky's breath hitched, fist gripping onto your back. 

You paused, humming stiffled in your throat as you looked at him, feet planting beside his as you stopped. “Are you… alright?” You asked nervously, gripping his jacket sleeve and gazing into his stern face, eyes dark as they looked back at you. “[Y/N]...” 

“How do you…” You gasped, pulling back against his fist wrapped against the back of your hoodie. “You’re a real tease, you know that?” The man huffed, gripping your shoulders and shoving you backwards against a nearby tree, shoulder blades shoving into the bark as rain pelted down your cheeks. You shook your head, panic rising in your chest as you pushed back against his arms, his fingers gripping your shoulders tightly. “I don’t… What?” You huffed, tears pricking in your eyes as he grits his teeth, eyes roaming your body under him quickly.

“Of course you don’t. Coming out here every day just to tease. Practically begging me.” The man spat, pressing a knee between your legs and shoving your hips down, forcing a whine out of your throat. You had no clue what was happening, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket as your hips forcefully ground down against his jeans. “Please… I don’t know what you want. If it’s money-” The man gripped your throat, pressing whines and gasps past your lips and holding you flush against the large tree behind you. “Can’t you see? I don’t want your fucking money, hun.” He grunted, pressing his body close and shoving his clothed bulge against your hip, gripping your hips tightly. 

You were still clueless, adrenaline pumping and kicking your brain into survival mode, too busy wondering if you would survive to realize the man’s intentions. Grunting, he gripped your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “Listen to me very closely, [Y/N].” He spat, grinding his bulge against your hip, moving your hips along with his against his knee, making your eyes shoot down, cheeks growing hot. “I just wanna hear that voice. You can’t imagine how many days I listened to you humming and wanted to turn them into moans. You’re just so… addicting.” 

You couldn’t comprehend what you were hearing, your mind too muddled with the feeling of your clothed cunt throbbing against the man’s leg, his hands rough against your hips. “I don’t understand…” You grunted, pushing back against his shoulders as he leaned in, pressing his lips close to your ears.

“I need to fuck you, hun.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss against your ear as you gasped, flinching against him. Shoving a hand up your shirt, he pushed the cloth up, rubbing his rain-soaked hands against your warm skin. You didn’t know what to think, didn’t even know what to do. This guy overpowered you by a long shot, but as he pressed his hand into your shorts, you couldn’t hold back the whine that sounded. 

“Yeah, yeah, noises just like that, hun.” He smiled, pushing your shorts down to your thighs and groaning at the sight of your panties. Your clothes were soaked now, pressing uncomfortably against your skin as he pressed a finger against your clothed cunt, pushing his thumb between your folds and onto your clit. You gasped, gripping his arm tight as he watched, your eyes trained on his face and hand as they moved. “I don’t-”

“Just don’t hold back that voice, mkay? Let me hear you…” He sighed, shoving your panties down before you could stop him, rubbing his thick fingers between your folds. Slick collected against the digits, your body betraying your racing mind as you decided to give up, fighting obviously useless. 

Masky was electric, fingers moving faster than his mind could cooperate as he pressed against your clit, causing your body to stutter under him. Even if you didn’t know him, he knew you, and he knew that this was what you needed. Rain ran down his face, he rubbed his fingers against your cunt, pressing in and stretching. You couldn’t handle it, mind racing as he slowly fucked you open, body unsure of what it was even supposed to be doing. He shoved deeper, curling up into you until you were moaning out, fingers digging in. You gripped and held his forearm, too sensitive to take it as you spasm against his fingers, words getting caught in your throat. Masky relished in the way you gasped every time his palm hit your clit, fingers pumping up until you were gushing against him, arousal building. With every unforgiving pump of his fingers, you were losing your restraint, mind muddled under his grunts and thick fingers. 

“Can barely hold back, yeah? Go ahead, be as loud as you need to.” You were biting your lip, eyes screwed shut as you fought off your orgasm, refusing to give in to this eager man. Until he leaned in, licking against your neck and pressing his wet hair against your cheek. You shuddered, losing your resolve until you were clenching around his fingers, his palm shoved against your clit and rubbing your orgasm out, chuckling as you cried out, your resistance completely gone. 

He didn’t give you a moment, shoving your panties down to your knees and leaning up, unzipping his jeans. Stuttering, you whined, watching as his length sprung free and pressed against your abdomen. “What are you…” You gasped, vision blurry and goosebumps running against the throbbing still in your cunt. “I already told you, hun.” He hissed, pumping his cock with his wet hand before he was pulling your hips close, feet still planted but knees buckled. He pushed his cock down, pressing the tip against your lips, pushing forward until your lips were wrapping around him, clit spasming. You whined, the man angling your hips until your entrance pressed against the tip, your hands gripping his shoulders tight as he pulled you to him, pressing inside.

You gasped, his thick cock stretching you until you were gritting your teeth, his head nudging against your soft walls. “Don’t hold back, now…” He gasped, chuckling as he began to grind your hips down onto his length, your folds pressed against him with every deep thrust. You couldn’t handle it, stomach tightening with every tug and pushing gasps through your lips. No matter how badly you tried to keep quiet, you just couldn’t, the sensitivity dragging noises from you. He was ecstatic, every moan matching yours as he thrust faster, nails digging into your hips. He stared you in the eyes, dark gaze staring through you as you stared back, jaw hanging open. 

As if by instinct, fingers pressed into your mouth, shoving down into your throat until you were gagging, throat constricting around the digits. He was moaning, your lips wrapped tightly around his fingers as you sucked, your head becoming light due to the lack of oxygen. He would pull back slightly, giving you a moment before shoving his fingers back in, spit building against your lips. You couldn’t handle it, couldn’t comprehend anything but the intense pleasure of his thrusts, fingers muddling your mind. 

Before you knew it, you were clenching around his cock, clit straining against the pressure until you were crying out, choking on his fingers pressed knuckle-deep into your throat. “Fuck, hun…” He groaned, bottoming out against you and gripping your hips tight, relishing in the way your throat squeezed in time with your cunt. You were whining and grunting against him, eyes rolling back until you were coughing, cunt throbbing as spit ran down your chin.

Ripping his fingers from your mouth quickly, he slid your cunt off of his cock, throbbing hard as he fisted himself quickly, pressing the head against your abdomen. You gasped, heaving for breath as you watched, eyes heavy and face soaked with rain. He came against your skin, seed shooting against your stomach as he was rubbing the tip against you, cursing as he stared into your eyes. It was all too much, knees buckling against him as he gripped your waist tight, shoving your hoodie down and pulling your shorts up, your wetness soaking into the fabric. Your eyes lulled closed as he threw you over his shoulder, legs gripped tight as he began to walk through the trees, abandoning the path completely. But you were too delusional to think, mind too frayed to fight against him.

-

When you woke, you were in your bed, clothes still damp and hair still tangled. Cursing, you sat up, cunt sore as thunder roared outside, the hint of sunrise peeking against the trees. You tried to wrack your brain, tried to comprehend what had happened. But when you moved, feeling the crusted semen against your stomach, you decided a shower was the better option.

You still walked that path, just more cautiously now, carrying a knife in your hoodie every time. Cautious, you always made sure to stick to the path, unsure if the ‘fox traps’ existed or not, but not wanting to tempt it. 

You still had your headphones lodged in your ears, keeping the volume at a good level as you walked, making sure to hum just a little louder. Occasionally, catching a whiff of smoke.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹