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dreamersworldduh · 4 months ago

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HIS AWAKENING — PART 4

MY HEART BELONGS TO YOU

• NATE JACOBS x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Though Nate has finally admitted his feelings for Y/N, expressing them is an entirely different battle. Used to guarding his emotions behind arrogance and control, he struggles with the vulnerability that comes with actually showing Y/N how much he cares. Every touch, every lingering glance, every unspoken word feels like unfamiliar territory—territory he's not sure how to navigate.

Y/N, ever perceptive, notices the hesitation. While he appreciates Nate's confession, he refuses to settle for half-measures. He wants something real, not just words spoken in the heat of the moment. And if Nate truly wants him, he needs to prove it—not just with declarations, but with actions.

Now, caught between his pride and his undeniable need for Y/N, Nate faces his biggest challenge yet: learning how to love without fear.

WARNING! FLUFF. Swearing.

WORDS! 13.3k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! firstly, THANK YOU all for the birthday wishes. Truly grateful for all of you! Here we are with Part 4 of Nate's journey. We have one more part we get to the finale! Sorry for my absence! Enjoy your reading!

PREVIOUS PART! — TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT

The days following Y/N's confession stretched endlessly, each hour dragging with an unbearable weight. He had thought, foolishly, that he could just push forward, slip back into the routine of his life as if nothing had changed—wake up, go to class, train until his body begged for mercy, collapse into bed, and repeat. He told himself that if he just stayed busy enough, he could pretend that he hadn't exposed his heart to someone who clearly didn't know what to do with it.

But denial only worked for so long.

Because no matter how much he tried to force his world back into its familiar rhythm, Nate was everywhere.

It wasn't just that they still shared a dorm, still moved around the same space like nothing had happened. It was the air between them—thick, charged, filled with unsaid words and stolen glances that only made everything worse. It was the way Nate looked at him, like he wanted to reach out, to say something, but always stopped himself before he could. Like he was stuck in some internal battle that Y/N was no longer willing to be a part of.

So, Y/N made the decision for both of them.

He ignored him. Completely.

No more playful teasing, no more flirtatious banter, no more searching for Nate's eyes across the room when he thought no one was looking. He shut it all down.

Silence. Cold. Absolute.

Each morning, Y/N made sure to be up and out of the dorm before Nate even stirred, slipping into his day without a single word. In class, he positioned himself as far away as possible, resisting the pull of Nate's gaze when he felt it burning into the back of his head. And during practice, he threw himself into training with an almost reckless determination—running until his lungs felt like they might burst, pushing his body to its limits, chasing exhaustion so he wouldn't have the energy to think about anything else.

But none of it worked.

Because no matter how much space he tried to put between them, no matter how much he acted like he didn't care, there was still that persistent, gnawing ache deep in his chest. A hollow reminder of everything he had wanted—of everything he was never going to get.

So, he found another way to distract himself.

Aaron.

At first, it was just a convenient escape—someone to occupy his mind, to fill the quiet Nate had left behind. But then, as days passed and their time together stretched longer, Y/N realized something surprising.

He actually liked Aaron.

Aaron was easy in a way that Nate had never been. There were no games, no mixed signals, no uncertainty. Aaron was confident, sure of himself, and most importantly, sure of what he wanted. And Y/N found that refreshing.

They started spending more time together—grabbing coffee between classes, studying in the library late at night, hanging out on the field when Aaron had a break from football. And with each passing moment, Y/N tried, with everything he had, to convince himself that this wasn't just about forgetting Nate.

Because what was the alternative?

Sit around, waiting for Nate to figure himself out? To decide if Y/N was worth the risk?

No.

He wasn't waiting anymore.

And if Nate had a problem with that?

Well, that was his issue to deal with.

Whereas Nate was sulking.

And he fucking hated it.

The days following Y/N's confession were some of the most frustrating, disorienting, and downright miserable days he had ever experienced. Everything felt off. His routine, his focus, his ability to just exist without feeling like something vital had been ripped away from him.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He wasn't supposed to care this much.

He wasn't supposed to feel this empty without Y/N's constant teasing, the sharp-witted remarks that always managed to get under his skin in the best way. He wasn't supposed to crave the late-night conversations, the unspoken tension, the way Y/N could challenge him without fear, without hesitation.

But now?

Now Y/N wouldn't even look at him.

And it was driving Nate fucking insane.

It started the morning after the confession.

He had woken up expecting some level of awkwardness, maybe even an argument—that was how things always went between them. Push and pull, a constant battle of words and wills. That was their dynamic. Their game. He had figured that Y/N would at least acknowledge him, even if it was just to be pissed at him.

But instead?

Y/N acted like Nate didn't even exist.

No sarcasm, no insults, no lingering stares. Nothing.

He had gotten up, dressed, and left the dorm without a single word, without sparing Nate a glance. And Nate had just laid there, jaw clenched, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended him.

That silence carried into class.

The moment Y/N walked in, Nate spotted him—he always did, like his eyes were trained to find him in any room. But today, his usual seat remained empty. And instead of taking his place beside Nate, Y/N walked straight to the other side of the room, settling into a chair as far away as humanly possible.

Nate felt his fists curl against the desk.

He hadn't expected forgiveness. He wasn't that stupid. But this? This complete and utter dismissal?

This was worse.

And what made it unbearable—what made it fucking infuriating—was that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he told himself to just let it go, to move on—

He couldn't stop thinking about him.

Y/N was in his head. Constantly.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw him. The way he had looked at him in the shower, face open, raw, unguarded. His voice still echoed in Nate's skull, still made his chest tighten with something unrecognizable, something terrifying.

"Just be honest with me."

And Nate hadn't been able to do it.

He hadn't been able to say the one thing he knew was true. Hadn't been able to force the words past the tightness in his throat, the fear clawing at his ribs, squeezing until he couldn't fucking breathe.

And now?

Now he was paying for it.

And to make matters worse—because of course, it could always get worse—Y/N wasn't just ignoring him.

He was spending all his damn time with Aaron.

It was everywhere. The two of them walking to class, sitting together at lunch, standing too close near the track after practice. Laughing. Talking. Y/N looking relaxed in a way he never did around Nate, his body language easy, open—

And it made Nate's blood fucking boil.

Because that was supposed to be him.

That had been his spot.

And the worst part? The part that made him want to punch something, to wreck anything in his path just to stop the ache in his chest?

Y/N had given him every chance.

Every chance to claim that space, to be the person Y/N leaned on, laughed with, trusted.

And he had thrown it away.

The realization hit him like a sledgehammer, knocking the breath from his lungs.

He had never felt this way before. Ever.

Not about anyone.

And that scared the shit out of him.

Because for the first time in his life—

Nate Jacobs was afraid of losing something.

No.

He was afraid of losing someone.

Of losing Y/N.

And if he didn't do something about it soon—

He might lose him forever.

The soft hum of the diner blended with the faint clatter of dishes and the low murmur of conversation from the kitchen. The overhead lights cast a warm, golden glow, reflecting off the scuffed linoleum floors and the well-worn leather booths. Outside, the neon sign blinked in a slow, rhythmic pulse against the dark glass of the window, its light flickering across the nearly empty space.

Y/N sat alone in his usual booth near the window, absently scrolling through his phone, the words of a fanfic filling his screen. It was a mindless distraction, something to keep his thoughts occupied while he waited. His fingers idly tapped against the tabletop, the distant sound of a jukebox playing an old song making the late-night quiet feel even more still.

Aaron was supposed to be here soon.

It was just a casual hangout—no pressure, no complications. Just an easy night with someone who didn't make his head feel like a battlefield. Someone who actually knew what he wanted, who wasn't tangled up in some unspoken, frustrating mess of emotions. Y/N had been looking forward to it—eager, even, for something simple.

Then—

The seat across from him shifted.

The faint creak of the booth, the sound of someone settling into the worn cushion.

Y/N barely glanced up, assuming it was Aaron. "Took you long enough," he muttered, still reading. "I was about to—"

Then he paused.

Something was off.

The air around him felt different—thicker, heavier. Not the easy, laid-back presence Aaron carried, but something charged. Something that made his stomach tighten before he even looked up.

Slowly, Y/N's fingers stilled against his phone screen. His eyes flicked up—

And his breath caught in his throat.

It wasn't Aaron.

It was Nate.

And he didn't look like himself.

There was no smirk, no cocky tilt of his head, no smugness in his posture like he had shown up just to piss Y/N off. There was no challenge in his eyes, no teasing glint that meant he was gearing up for an argument.

Instead—

He looked different.

His broad shoulders were tense, his hands clasped together on the table like he needed to physically ground himself. The sleeves of his hoodie were slightly damp, the collar darkened where water had soaked into the fabric. His hair was still wet, like he had stepped out of the shower and come straight here without even thinking.

But what threw Y/N off the most wasn't any of that.

It was the look in Nate's eyes.

It wasn't the usual guarded confidence, wasn't the amusement he carried when he pushed Y/N just to get a reaction.

It was raw. Unsteady.

Vulnerable.

And Y/N had never seen Nate Jacobs look vulnerable before.

For a moment, he forgot how to speak.

The words were stuck somewhere in his throat, tangled up with the sudden realization that whatever this was—it wasn't normal. It wasn't their usual back-and-forth, wasn't some impulsive decision Nate had made to get under his skin.

This was different.

"...What are you doing here?" Y/N finally asked, his voice quieter than he intended.

Nate exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing against each other before he forced himself to meet Y/N's gaze again.

"I needed to talk to you."

His voice was low, serious. Like he'd spent a long time thinking about this. Like he had played this moment over and over in his head before finally deciding to go through with it.

And that—

That made something twist in Y/N's stomach.

Because this wasn't just Nate showing up to bother him.

This was something else entirely.

The second those words left Nate's mouth—I needed to talk to you—something inside him snapped taut, his defenses locking into place like a shield slamming down.

Because no.

Because he had already done this.

He had already laid it all out, cracked himself open, spilled every messy, aching piece of his heart at Nate's feet. He had given him the chance to be honest, had waited for him to say something, anything—and all he had gotten in return was silence.

So no.

He wasn't doing this.

Shaking his head, he shifted in his seat, fingers tightening around his phone, making it very clear that whatever Nate had to say?

He didn't want to hear it.

"No," he muttered, eyes flicking back to his screen. "Nope. Not doing this."

Nate's brows furrowed slightly. "Y/N—"

"No." Y/N cut him off, sharper this time. Firmer. "I said everything I needed to say, Nate. Weeks ago. And you—" He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head as something bitter curled in his chest. "You couldn't say anything back. You wouldn't."

Nate opened his mouth, but Y/N wasn't finished.

"I'm not doing this with you," he continued, his voice sharp but tired, like he had spent every ounce of his strength trying to move on, only for Nate to show up and pull him right back in. "You don't get to show up now—now that I'm trying to let this go. You don't get to sit here and act like you suddenly want to talk when

you had every fucking chance before."

His pulse pounded in his ears, his chest tight with the weight of emotions he had tried so hard to bury.

He needed to leave.

He shifted in his seat, pushing his phone into his pocket, already preparing to stand, to walk away before this conversation could go anywhere.

But then—

"I'm in love with you."

The words hit like a sledgehammer to his chest.

The air around them seemed to shift, the world tilting dangerously off balance as Y/N froze, his breath catching in his throat.

Slowly—hesitantly—he looked up.

And what he saw terrified him.

Because Nate wasn't smirking.

He wasn't playing a game, wasn't throwing out words like weapons, wasn't trying to manipulate him or push him into another fight just to get a reaction.

No—

He meant it.

His hands were clenched together on the table, his shoulders rigid, his jaw tight like it had taken every ounce of strength he had to force those words out.

Like he was afraid Y/N wouldn't believe him.

Like he was afraid Y/N would leave anyway.

The diner suddenly felt too quiet.

Too small.

Too fucking real.

Y/N swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the edge of the table as he tried—desperately—to process what had just happened.

Because Nate Jacobs—the Nate Jacobs, the same guy who refused to admit his feelings, the same guy who had let him walk away—

Had just told Y/N he was in love with him.

And for the first time in his life—

Y/N had no idea what to say.

The words sat between them, thick and unshakable, suffocating in their weight.

"I'm in love with you."

Y/N could feel them pressing against his chest, making it harder to breathe, harder to think, harder to do anything other than stare at the boy sitting across from him, the boy who had spent weeks—months—years acting like feelings were something he could outrun.

But now?

Now Nate Jacobs had finally stopped running.

And he looked like he didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified about it.

His hands were still clasped together, fingers digging into his own skin like he was holding himself back from reaching across the table. His broad shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were the most unguarded Y/N had ever seen them. They weren't filled with their usual sharpness, their usual challenge, their usual dare you to look at me like I don't fucking own you.

No—

This was something else.

Something real.

Y/N swallowed hard, his grip tightening around the edge of the table, trying to steady himself, trying to process what the fuck was happening.

Because this—this—wasn't the Nate he knew.

This wasn't the cocky bastard who played mind games just to get a reaction, who pushed and pulled until Y/N felt like he was going insane.

This wasn't the Nate who had stood there in silence weeks ago, unwilling—too afraid—to give him an answer when Y/N had practically laid his heart out, raw and bleeding, at his feet.

This was someone else entirely.

And before Y/N could say a word—

Nate kept going.

"I don't want to play games anymore," he said, his voice low, steady, firm in a way that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine. "I don't want to fuck this up any more than I already have."

Y/N's breath hitched, his chest tightening.

Because that—that—was new.

Nate Jacobs didn't admit when he was wrong. Nate Jacobs didn't do this.

But now?

Now he was looking at Y/N like he was afraid he was already too late.

"I want to date you," Nate said, leaning forward just slightly, his fingers flexing against each other like he was holding himself back. "For real. No bullshit, no pride, no pretending like I don't care—because I do."

Y/N opened his mouth, but Nate didn't let him speak.

"Do you have any idea what you've done to me?" Nate asked, voice quiet but intense, like every word had been clawing at his throat for weeks, months, maybe years. "You—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You fucking challenge me. Every day. In every way. And I hate how much I—"

He stopped himself, jaw clenching before forcing himself to continue.

"I hate how much I love it."

Y/N's stomach flipped.

"I spent years thinking I had myself figured out," Nate admitted, voice rough, like he was choking on every syllable but forcing himself to say it anyway. "Thinking I knew what I wanted, what I was supposed to be. But then you—" His gaze locked onto Y/N's, burning. "You fucking ruined me."

Y/N's pulse pounded in his ears.

Because fuck.

Nate meant it.

"I tried to ignore it," Nate continued, his voice quieter now, more uncertain—which was terrifying, because Nate Jacobs was never uncertain. "I tried to pretend it was just sex, just some stupid thing between us that would go away." He let out a breathless, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "But it didn't go away."

Y/N sat there, frozen.

Completely, utterly frozen.

Because how the fuck was he supposed to respond to this?

To Nate Jacobs—Nate fucking Jacobs—sitting across from him in the middle of a shitty diner, pouring his goddamn soul out like his entire world would collapse if Y/N walked away.

To Nate admitting—out loud—that he wanted him.

That he needed him.

That he loved him.

Nate exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, his leg bouncing under the table like he was barely holding himself together.

"I don't know how to do this," he admitted, voice softer now, hesitant in a way that made Y/N's chest ache. "I don't know how to be good at this. But I do know that I want you. And if you—"

He swallowed, forcing himself to meet Y/N's eyes.

"If you still want me after everything I've done," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "then I swear to God—I will figure it out."

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Y/N was speechless.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn't have a quick comeback, didn't have some sarcastic quip locked and loaded, ready to deflect.

Because this—this—wasn't something he could just brush off.

This was Nate Jacobs, sitting across from him, stripped of every layer of arrogance, of every mind game, of every carefully crafted wall he had spent years building.

This was raw. Unguarded. Real.

And it terrified Y/N.

Because he could hear it.

The sincerity in Nate's voice, the way each word felt like it had been torn from his chest, the way he meant it.

But that didn't mean Y/N could just forget everything else.

It didn't erase the weeks of silence. It didn't change the fact that Nate had spent so much time running from this, from him. That he had ignored him when Y/N had laid everything bare, left him sitting in the wreckage of his own emotions, feeling like a fucking idiot for ever believing he had been something more than just an experiment.

So Y/N took a slow, steady breath, forcing himself to think.

To really think.

Because if he was going to answer this—if he was going to open that door again—then he needed to be sure.

He needed to know that Nate wasn't just saying what he thought Y/N wanted to hear.

That he wasn't going to fuck this up again.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Y/N let out a slow breath and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he met Nate's eyes.

"You say you want this," Y/N started, his voice measured, careful, but firm. "You say you want me, that you love me, that you want to figure this out—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "But Nate, I can't do this if you're just going to say one thing and then do a whole other."

Something flickered in Nate's eyes—something pained—but he didn't look away.

"I've been down this road before," Y/N continued, his fingers tightening against the worn surface of the table. "I've seen people say all the right things, make all the right promises, and then when it actually matters, when it's time to prove it—" He let out a breathless, bitter chuckle. "They don't."

Nate swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. "Y/N—"

"No," Y/N cut him off, shaking his head. His voice wasn't sharp, wasn't angry—it was tired. Heavy with the weight of everything he had been carrying. "I need you to understand something."

Nate froze.

Y/N's voice was quiet now, but every word felt like a final, decisive blow.

"I don't do half-assed relationships. I don't do uncertainty. And I sure as hell don't do games."

Nate's hands curled slightly into fists on the table, his body tense like he was holding himself together with sheer willpower.

Y/N exhaled slowly, looking down for a brief second before meeting his eyes again.

"I need to know that if I say yes..." His voice softened, but the weight behind it was undeniable. "You're all in. That you're not just saying this because you're scared of losing me, or because you don't like seeing me with someone else." His gaze sharpened. "That you're saying this because you mean it."

Nate stared at him, his breathing slightly uneven, his entire posture stiff—like he wanted to reach out, wanted to do something, but was forcing himself to stay still.

Y/N let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "Because if I say yes, and you fuck this up again?"

His eyes were piercing now, unwavering.

"Then you lose me for good."

The words were a warning, a final line drawn in the sand.

And now?

Now it was up to Nate to decide whether he was really ready to cross it.

The chime of the diner door rang out, splitting through the thick, suffocating silence like a blade.

Y/N barely had a second to process it before a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Y/N?"

His stomach dropped.

Slowly—almost cautiously—he turned his head toward the entrance.

And there, standing just inside the doorway, was Aaron.

His brow furrowed, his stance casual but calculated, the kind of stillness that came from someone trying to assess a situation before reacting. His expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes—his eyes—flickered with something sharp. Something uncertain.

Something that said he noticed.

Aaron's gaze moved between them, between him and Nate, taking in the scene—the quiet tension, the words still hovering in the air, the way neither of them had moved since the second he had walked in.

The way Nate Jacobs, of all people, wasn't wearing his usual smirk.

No—Nate was watching.

Watching him.

Watching the way Y/N was about to handle this moment.

And suddenly, the weight of it all pressed against Y/N's chest like a vice.

Aaron let out a small, confused chuckle, stepping forward hesitantly. "Uh... did I... miss something?"

Shit.

Y/N's mind snapped into focus, instincts kicking in.

This could get bad. Quickly.

Aaron wasn't dumb. He was far too perceptive for his own good sometimes, and if Y/N hesitated—if he let any part of the last five minutes show—Aaron would know.

And the last thing Y/N wanted was to deal with that right now.

So, he did what he had to do.

He played it off.

Casual. Easy. No tension. No history.

Like it was nothing.

"Nah, nothing major," Y/N said smoothly, forcing a small, dismissive smile as he leaned back against the booth. His body language relaxed, controlled. "Nate just happened to be here, that's all." He waved a hand lazily, brushing it off like it wasn't even worth a second thought. "I was just killing time while I waited for you."

Aaron raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between them once more.

And then—

Nate still didn't say a word.

Which was odd.

Because if this were any other time, Nate would've jumped at the chance to be an asshole about this. He would've leaned back, thrown out some smug remark just to get under Y/N's skin, maybe made some insinuation that would get Aaron just suspicious enough to make Y/N squirm.

But he wasn't smirking.

He wasn't gloating.

He wasn't even looking at Aaron.

He was looking at Y/N.

Watching him.

Watching the way he was handling this.

Watching the way he had immediately downplayed their conversation, brushed it under the rug like it hadn't just changed everything.

And that did something to Y/N's stomach that he did not want to unpack right now.

So he forced himself to focus, to keep his expression smooth as he turned back to Aaron with an easy shrug. "You hungry?" he asked, smoothly shifting the conversation. "'Cause I could definitely go for some fries right now."

Aaron hesitated for a fraction of a second—just long enough to make Y/N's pulse spike—before he nodded, though there was still a slight edge to his voice.

"Yeah," he said, his tone lined with something unreadable. "Yeah, let's eat."

And then he slid into the booth beside Y/N.

And just like that, the shift in energy was palpable.

Aaron's presence was solid, grounding, something real in a way that felt jarring after the raw, exposed moment Y/N had just been caught in.

And Y/N—desperate for something to cling to—picked up the menu, pretending like nothing was wrong.

Like everything was fine.

But as he stared blankly at the laminated pages in front of him, words blurring together, he could still feel it.

That weight.

That presence.

That gaze.

Because Nate was still watching him.

Still waiting.

And suddenly—

The food in front of him didn't seem so appealing anymore.

The late-night air was crisp, cool against Y/N's skin as he stepped out of the diner, Aaron right beside him. The neon sign above them flickered weakly, casting red and blue streaks onto the cracked pavement, painting their silhouettes in a haze of color. The hum of a distant streetlight, the faint rustle of wind through the empty parking lot—it all should have felt peaceful.

But the tension in the air was anything but peaceful.

The entire dinner had been awkward as hell.

Not because of Aaron.

Aaron had carried the conversation with ease, filling the silence with lighthearted stories, effortless jokes, and the kind of natural charm that should have made Y/N feel at ease.

But Nate.

Nate had lingered.

Not just physically—sitting in that damn booth, barely saying a word, his presence a heavy, unshakable force—but in every way that mattered.

He hadn't spoken much.

Hadn't thrown out a single sarcastic remark, hadn't smirked, hadn't done any of the things he usually did to get under Y/N's skin.

Instead—

He had watched.

Watched the way Y/N smiled at Aaron.

Watched the way Y/N forced himself to act normal, even though he could feel Nate's gaze on him the entire time.

Watched like he was memorizing him.

Like he was still reeling from the words he had spoken earlier in the night.

Like he was still trying to figure out what the hell came next.

And now, standing outside, the three of them lingering under the dim glow of the flickering sign, Y/N knew exactly what was coming next.

Aaron turned to him, shoving his hands into his pockets, his smile easy, natural—like he hadn't noticed the storm brewing around them. "So... I'll see you tomorrow?"

Y/N hesitated.

Shit.

Not because he didn't want to see Aaron tomorrow. Not because this wasn't exactly what he had wanted—something simple, something easy, something without the constant games.

But because Nate was still there.

Standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, shoulders tense, gaze heavy.

Watching.

Waiting.

Y/N felt it.

Felt the weight of everything between them pressing down on his chest.

Felt the weight of Nate's confession still lingering between them, unspoken but undeniable.

And for the first time since this entire mess started—

He didn't know what to do.

Because if he kissed Aaron right now—right here, in front of Nate—

He knew exactly what it would mean.

It would be a door slamming shut. A blade, sharp and final, slicing through whatever had been building between him and Nate for weeks.

And despite everything—despite the frustration, the constant back and forth, the way Nate had made him feel like an idiot—

He wasn't sure he was ready for that.

Aaron shifted slightly beside him, waiting.

Expecting.

Y/N panicked.

"I, uh..." He let out a small, forced chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've got, um, morning practice tomorrow, so..." He trailed off, shrugging, keeping his tone casual, light.

Aaron blinked.

Just for a second.

It was subtle, the way his expression barely shifted—but Y/N knew him.

And Aaron knew him too.

He knew that wasn't a real excuse.

Y/N always had morning practice. It had never stopped him before.

But Aaron—because he was Aaron—didn't push.

Didn't call him out.

Instead, he just nodded, offering a softer smile. "No worries," he said easily. "I'll see you later, then."

Y/N exhaled, nodding back. "Yeah. Sounds good."

Aaron gave him one last look before stepping away, offering a polite nod in Nate's direction—

And Nate still hadn't moved.

Still hadn't said a word.

And then Aaron was gone, disappearing into the night, the sound of his car door shutting echoing through the quiet street.

Just like that—

It was just the two of them.

Y/N stood there, his eyes on the ground, his breath slow, steady—

Too aware of the fact that Nate was still watching him.

And suddenly, everything felt heavier.

Because he had lied just to avoid kissing Aaron in front of Nate.

Because he had hesitated.

Because despite everything—despite wanting something simple, something normal—

There was still a part of him that couldn't let go of Nate Jacobs.

The walk back to the dorm was suffocatingly quiet.

Not the kind of silence that wrapped around them like a blanket, warm and safe. No—this was the heavy, leaden kind, thick as fog and crackling with an unspoken weight. It pressed against Y/N's ribs, curled in his throat, stretched between him and Nate like a wire pulled too tight, waiting to snap.

The night air was cool, but not enough to chase away the lingering heat of everything that had happened. Y/N's pulse still hadn't settled, his mind replaying the scene at the diner in jagged, messy fragments—the confession, the way Aaron had leaned in, the way he had hesitated. The way Nate had watched it all with an expression that had been unreadable at the time but now, in hindsight, felt like a warning.

Beside him, Nate walked with purpose, his steps falling in perfect rhythm with Y/N's, his shoulders drawn tight beneath his hoodie. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, but Y/N could tell—he was gripping his fists. Holding something in.

The silence between them was electric.

Y/N could feel it buzzing against his skin, the weight of unsaid words hanging between them like storm clouds ready to break.

And maybe a part of him wanted to let it stay that way.

Because if they spoke—if they addressed what had happened—there would be no undoing it. No stuffing it back into the box where it belonged.

And yet, just as they rounded the final corner toward their dorm, Nate's voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

"So..." The single word was drawn out, measured, but there was something sharp buried beneath it. "When are you gonna tell Aaron that you're with me?"

Y/N's feet stopped moving.

His stomach twisted, his breath hitching just slightly before he turned his head. He raised an eyebrow, forcing his voice to stay light despite the tension clawing its way up his spine. "Excuse me?"

Nate had stopped too. He stood there, his blue eyes locked onto Y/N's, unreadable, piercing. His jaw was set, his expression carefully controlled, but Y/N knew him too well to be fooled.

"You heard me," Nate said, his voice still even, but firm. "When are you gonna tell him?"

Y/N let out a small, incredulous scoff, crossing his arms over his chest. "And who exactly said that I'm with you?"

Something flickered across Nate's face—quick, sharp, something territorial. It was gone in an instant, but Y/N had seen it. Felt it.

"You are with me," Nate said simply, stepping forward just enough to close some of the space between them. His presence was solid, unwavering, and Y/N hated the way his pulse jumped in response. "You chose me."

Y/N arched a brow, lips curving slightly despite the tension coiling in his chest. "Oh? Is that what I did?"

Nate's jaw tightened, his hands still buried in his pockets. "You didn't kiss him."

Y/N exhaled, shaking his head. "That doesn't mean I—"

"Yes, it does," Nate interrupted, his voice quiet but sure. Unshakable. "You hesitated. You lied to get out of it. And don't even try to bullshit me, Y/N—I know you."

Y/N's breath caught.

Because damn it, Nate did know him.

Knew the way he thought, the way he moved, the way he avoided things that made him feel too much.

And worst of all?

He was right.

Y/N had hesitated.

Had lied.

Not because he didn't like Aaron. Not because he hadn't wanted to try something easy, something simple, something normal.

But because the thought of kissing someone else in front of Nate had made his chest ache in a way he wasn't ready to examine.

But still—

That didn't mean Nate got to just claim him.

Y/N lifted his chin slightly, crossing his arms tighter. "You don't get to make decisions for me, Nate."

Nate didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. "I'm not."

Y/N narrowed his eyes.

"I'm just telling you the truth," Nate continued, his voice lower now, calmer, but no less intense. "You're mine. And I don't give a fuck what Aaron thinks."

Y/N inhaled sharply.

Because it wasn't just the words.

It was the way Nate said them.

Like it wasn't up for debate. Like he had already decided, long before this moment, long before tonight. Like he refused to let Y/N slip away again.

Y/N inhaled slowly, forcing his expression to remain neutral even as Nate's words settled over him like a weight—heavy, suffocating, pressing against his ribs in a way that made it difficult to breathe.

Because—damn him—Nate knew exactly what he was doing.

Every syllable, every carefully measured pause, every unwavering note in his voice was deliberate. Possessive. Like he had already decided, like the matter had been settled before Y/N had even opened his mouth.

Like Y/N was already his.

And the worst part?

A small, traitorous part of him—one he absolutely did not have the time or patience to acknowledge right now—liked hearing it.

Liked the certainty in Nate's voice.

Liked knowing that, despite everything, despite the tension, despite the way they had both spent so long pretending, Nate wasn't pretending now.

But there was another part of him—one much louder, much prouder—that bristled at the very idea.

Because he wasn't some prize to be claimed.

He wasn't going to let Nate just stake his claim without actually proving that he had earned it.

So Y/N exhaled sharply, schooling his features into something firm, something steady, something that would make it very clear that he wasn't about to just roll over and accept this.

He lifted his chin, arms crossing tightly over his chest. His voice, when he finally spoke, was clipped, controlled, unwavering.

"Okay, first of all," he began, each word deliberate, "you don't just get to declare that we're together like you're calling dibs on the last piece of pizza."

A flicker of something—annoyance? Amusement?—flashed across Nate's face, his brown eyes narrowing slightly.

But Y/N didn't give him the chance to respond.

"And second," he continued, tone sharp, "if you really want to date me, you're gonna do it the right way."

That got a reaction.

Nate tilted his head slightly, studying him with that piercing gaze of his, the one that always made Y/N feel like he was being dissected, like Nate was peeling back his layers and looking for something hidden underneath.

"And what exactly does that mean?" Nate asked, his voice measured, unreadable.

Y/N let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

"It means," he said, stepping forward, closing the space between them, jabbing a finger into the solid plane of Nate's chest, "that you don't just get to call me yours without proving that you actually want to be with me."

Another step closer.

"That you're not just some territorial asshole who doesn't like the idea of me being with someone else."

Nate's lips parted slightly, like he was about to interject, but Y/N wasn't finished.

"You don't get to skip all the important shit," he pressed on, voice quieter now, but no less intense. "You don't get to say 'you're mine' like that magically fixes everything. Like it makes up for all the weeks you spent ignoring your feelings, like it makes up for the way you pushed me away, like it makes up for the fact that I had to be the one to put my feelings on the line first while you sat there acting like none of this meant anything."

Something flickered across Nate's expression.

A crack in the armor.

Guilt.

But Y/N didn't stop there.

"If you really want this—if you really want me—then you're gonna have to do better," Y/N said, voice softer now, but firm, unwavering. "Because I'm not interested in being someone's possession. I want a real relationship. A real boyfriend. Not someone who only wants me now because he couldn't handle seeing me with someone else."

The words hung between them, thick, unyielding.

For the first time since this conversation started, Nate actually looked like he was processing what Y/N was saying.

Like he wasn't just reacting—wasn't just letting instinct take over—but was actually listening.

Actually letting it sink in.

And Y/N just stood there, arms crossed, gaze steady—

Waiting.

Because this was the real test.

Not Nate saying he wanted him.

But Nate proving that he was ready for this.

That he was ready to do it right.

That night, Nate lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, the faint glow of his phone screen long since faded into darkness. The room was quiet, save for the steady hum of the air conditioner, but inside his head, there was nothing but noise.

Loud. Relentless. Unforgiving.

Normally, he would have done anything to drown it out.

Mindless scrolling until his vision blurred, blasting music until the bass shook his bones, a workout so brutal it left his muscles screaming louder than his thoughts. He had a whole arsenal of ways to ignore the things he didn't want to deal with.

But not tonight.

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, he let himself think.

And it was uncomfortable.

Because he wasn't filtering it. Wasn't justifying the way he had handled things, wasn't spinning half-truths in his head to make himself feel better, wasn't convincing himself that he didn't care. He wasn't running from the truth that had been there all along, staring him dead in the face.

Because Y/N had called him out.

Not with that familiar smirk, not with that teasing, infuriating glint in his eyes. No, this time had been different.

This time had been serious.

Final.

Y/N had drawn a line. A bold, unmistakable, immovable line. And he had dared Nate to step over it.

No more mixed signals. No more bullshit. No more hiding behind the excuses Nate had always been so damn good at making.

He had made it crystal clear—if Nate wanted him, really wanted him, then he had to prove it.

And that?

That wasn't something Nate took lightly.

Because if there was one thing he hated—more than losing, more than failure, more than the sick, hollow feeling of wanting something he couldn't have—it was being faced with his own shortcomings.

And tonight, as he lay there, his mind racing, he had no choice but to look them in the eye.

So he sifted through every mistake, every misstep, every wreckage of a relationship he had ever left in his wake.

Maddy.

Cassie.

Both of them had been collateral damage in his inability to handle emotions—collateral damage in the way he refused to let himself be vulnerable, the way he twisted love into something toxic just so he could control it.

With Maddy, it had been about power. About control. About making sure he was always one step ahead, always the one calling the shots in their endless cycle of push and pull. He had loved the intensity of it, the fire, the fight. But it had never been about them—not really. It had been about winning.

With Cassie, it had been about ego. About proving something to himself. About using her as an escape, a means to an end, rather than actually caring about her. He had made her feel wanted because he had needed to feel in control of something, anything, even as everything else around him spiraled. But deep down, he had known it wasn't real.

Because the truth was—he had never known how to love someone without twisting it into something else.

He had treated relationships like a game.

Like something to conquer.

But with Y/N?

It had never been like that.

It had never been about control. Never about strategy or winning.

Y/N challenged him. Pushed him. Refused to fall in line the way everyone else did. He saw through Nate's bullshit, called him on it, forced him to be better—or at least, forced him to try.

And now?

Now, Y/N was done waiting.

He had left the ball in Nate's court. Given him the choice—the chance—to prove that he was capable of something real.

Of being something real.

And for once?

Nate wanted to take it.

For once, he wanted to get this right.

No mind games. No power plays. No self-sabotage.

Just him and Y/N.

For real.

So as he turned onto his side, exhaling slowly, feeling the weight of the night settle deep in his chest, he made a decision.

This time—

He wasn't going to fuck it up.

So he started small.

Nate wasn't the kind of guy to make grand declarations, and Y/N wasn't the kind of person to fall for bullshit anyway. So instead of saying how he felt outright, he showed it. Piece by piece, little by little, until there was no mistaking what he wanted—who he wanted.

It started with walks.

Every day, without fail, Nate would find Y/N after practice, waiting outside the locker room or leaning against the fence near the field, like it was coincidence. Like he just happened to be there at the same time. Y/N had side-eyed him the first few times, suspicious, waiting for Nate to make some sarcastic remark or turn it into a joke.

But he never did.

He just walked.

Listened.

Let Y/N talk about whatever was on his mind—annoying professors, upcoming games, his favorite show—without interrupting or making it about himself. The more he did it, the more Y/N started to accept it, his posture relaxing, his voice losing that guarded edge.

Then came the lunches.

Nate would appear out of nowhere, sliding into the seat across from Y/N at the dining hall or nudging him toward a café off-campus, offering to pay but never making a big deal about it. Sometimes he'd bring Y/N's favorite order before he even had the chance to ask, setting it down in front of him with a casual, "Eat."

And Y/N did.

Because as much as he pretended not to notice, he saw the way Nate made sure he ate something after long practices, the way he waited just long enough to make sure Y/N finished before getting up himself.

But the flowers?

That was what really threw Y/N off.

It was after a particularly grueling practice, one of those days where exhaustion clung to his body like a second skin. He'd barely made it back to his dorm, ready to collapse, when he saw them.

A small bouquet. Simple. Fresh. Sitting neatly on his desk like it belonged there.

No note. No explanation.

Just flowers.

Y/N had turned slowly, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. "You serious?"

Nate was sprawled out on his bed, scrolling through his phone like he hadn't just upended Y/N's entire evening. He barely spared him a glance. "You said you like flowers."

Y/N frowned. "I said that once."

Nate shrugged, his lips twitching. "I remembered."

Y/N didn't say anything, but he also didn't throw them away. Instead, he picked them up, hesitating just long enough for Nate to notice before setting them on his nightstand.

That was enough.

But it didn't stop there.

It was the little things. The things Y/N would never outright ask for but always seemed to need.

Like Nate remembering his favorite snacks and tossing them at him without a word. Like stealing one of Y/N's hoodies and wearing it just to see how long it would take for him to notice. Like setting a water bottle beside him after practice, nudging it closer until Y/N rolled his eyes and took it.

They weren't big gestures.

They weren't flashy or loud.

But they mattered.

And the more Nate did them, the more Y/N started to believe it.

Started to trust it.

Started to trust him.

And that?

That made every second worth it.

Y/N wasn't the only one who noticed the shift in Nate's behavior.

It started small—so small that, at first, it was easy to brush off as coincidence. The way Nate always seemed to be there, hovering at the edges of his space, never overbearing but always present. The way he walked with him after class, after practice, after late-night study sessions at the library, like it was just something he did now. The way his gaze lingered a little longer, the way his expression softened in moments when he thought no one was looking.

But soon, other people started to take notice.

The first time someone pointed it out, it was Elliot, lounging beside Y/N on the dorm couch, idly scrolling through his phone before side-eyeing Nate, who was sitting across from them, arms crossed, pretending not to listen.

"So," Elliot had said, smirking as he nudged Y/N's knee with his foot. "When did you and Nate become a package deal?"

Y/N had scoffed, rolling his eyes, but before he could respond, Nate had shifted in his seat, fixing Elliot with a sharp look.

"Mind your business," he muttered, voice low, even.

Elliot had just laughed, shaking his head. "See? That. That right there." He gestured lazily at Nate. "You're all brooding and possessive now. It's kinda hot, honestly."

Nate had glared. Y/N had shoved Elliot's leg off the couch. But the comment lingered.

And Elliot wasn't the only one who noticed.

Kat had caught on, too. She had been the one to point out the way Nate's entire body language shifted whenever Y/N walked into the room.

"He does that thing," she had said one afternoon, perched on Y/N's bed as she scrolled through TikTok.

Y/N frowned, tilting his head. "What thing?"

Kat smirked, not looking up. "The boyfriend thing."

"The what?"

"You know." She gestured vaguely, as if that somehow explained everything. "The whole subconscious, territorial, always-aware-of-you thing. The way he adjusts his posture when you're around. The way he watches you when you talk, like he's actually listening instead of pretending to. The way he glares at any guy who so much as breathes in your direction."

Y/N had snorted, shaking his head. "Nate always glares at people."

"Yeah, but this is different." Kat finally looked up, arching a knowing brow. "This is soft glaring. Protective glaring. 'That's mine, don't touch' glaring."

Y/N had waved her off, muttering something about her reading too much into things, but deep down, he couldn't deny that maybe—maybe—she had a point.

Because the truth was?

It wasn't just other people noticing the change in Nate.

Y/N noticed it, too.

Not just in the way Nate showed up for him now, not just in the way he hovered a little closer, but in the things he didn't do.

He didn't push Y/N away anymore.

Didn't throw up walls the second things got too real.

Didn't treat him like some fleeting thing he could keep at arm's length.

Nate had become more affectionate, and it was impossible not to notice.

It wasn't just the small things. The kind of things that might have gone unnoticed if Y/N wasn't paying attention. The way Nate's touch lingered longer than it used to, the way his presence felt constant, like he was always there, always close.

At first, it had been subtle.

A hand on the small of Y/N's back when they navigated through crowded hallways. A knee brushing against his under the cafeteria table, staying there instead of moving away. The absentminded way Nate would hook a finger into one of the belt loops on Y/N's jeans when they stood around talking, like he needed the reassurance of that tiny point of contact.

But as the days passed, it became more obvious.

In the dorm, it was the casual intimacy of it all.

The way Nate would drape an arm over the back of the couch when they watched movies, fingers brushing against Y/N's shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way he pulled Y/N's hoodie sleeve over his knuckles absentmindedly, like he liked the feel of the fabric between his fingers.

The way he leaned in closer now, his head resting against Y/N's when they sat side by side, his body language open in a way it had never been before.

And when they were alone?

That's when it was the most noticeable.

Because Nate wasn't just affectionate—he was deliberate about it.

He would tug Y/N onto his bed with zero hesitation, lying back like he expected Y/N to stay there, to settle against him like it was second nature. And maybe it was becoming second nature, because Y/N never fought it. Never wanted to fight it.

Nate would run his fingers absentmindedly through Y/N's hair, tracing slow, lazy patterns against his skin, like he wasn't even thinking about it—like it had become instinct.

And in public?

That was where the biggest change had happened.

Because for all of Nate's history of keeping people at arm's length, of keeping his emotions bottled up where no one could see them—he didn't hide this.

Not anymore.

Not when he walked into class and automatically dropped into the seat next to Y/N, his body angled toward him like he wasn't even aware that he did it. Not when he reached out, tugging Y/N's hoodie string between his fingers, toying with it while they talked, his expression unreadable but his touch gentle.

Not when they were lounging around campus, stretched out in the grass or leaning against the walls outside the library, and Nate would let their arms press together, let his fingers brush against Y/N's hand like it wasn't something to be ashamed of.

He wasn't over-the-top about it.

He wasn't flashy.

But the change was there, undeniable, in the way he existed in Y/N's space now.

Like he belonged there.

Like he had no plans of leaving.

Y/N had to admit—he was actually enjoying this new version of Nate.

At first, he had been wary. Skeptical. Waiting for the inevitable shift, for the moment when Nate would revert back to his usual self—closed-off, distant, untouchable. He had expected this to be temporary, a fleeting effort, something Nate would try for a while before retreating into old habits.

But that moment never came.

The other shoe never dropped.

And that? That was almost more surprising than anything else.

Because Nate hadn't just changed in one way—he had changed in every way that mattered.

He was consistent now. Steady. Present.

And Y/N could feel it in the smallest things.

In the way Nate showed up, every time, without fail—waiting outside his dorm in the morning, his hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets, looking effortlessly cool but also just... there.

In the way he walked Y/N to class like it was second nature now, like it wasn't even something he had to think about. Like he wanted to do it.

In the way he paid attention—really paid attention—to everything Y/N said, even the little things that didn't seem important. Like when Y/N had mentioned offhandedly that he liked the caramel macchiato from the coffee shop near campus, and the next day, Nate had silently set one down in front of him without a word.

In the way he touched him now—not just in the privacy of their dorm, but everywhere.

A hand pressed against the small of his back when they were weaving through a crowded hallway. A knee brushing against his under the table, lingering. A finger looping around Y/N's belt loop, absently tugging.

It wasn't suffocating. It wasn't overbearing.

It was just Nate.

And for the first time, Y/N realized—this wasn't an act.

It wasn't some calculated move, wasn't some temporary performance meant to prove a point.

Nate was actually trying.

And not just for Y/N.

But for himself.

Because the old Nate—the version Y/N had spent months trying to crack open, the version who had kept his emotions locked away like they were a weakness—would have never done any of this.

He would have fought it. Would have pushed Y/N away the second things got too real.

But this version?

This version wanted to be here.

Wanted this.

And Y/N—fuck, Y/N had been waiting for that for so long.

And now that he had it?

He wasn't about to let it go.

The only real competition Nate had was Aaron.

And unlike the others—the people who had flirted with Y/N in passing, the ones Nate had silently glared at until they got the hint and backed off—Aaron wasn't just another guy.

Because Aaron had built something with Y/N.

Something real.

It wasn't just a couple of conversations or fleeting glances across a crowded room. It wasn't a half-hearted attempt to win Y/N over just to see if he could. No, Aaron had been there—talking to Y/N late at night, making him laugh, listening when he needed someone.

And that? That made him a problem.

Because Aaron wasn't going away.

And now, with Nate stepping in—claiming space that Aaron had thought belonged to him—it was starting to get to him.

At first, he had brushed it off.

Had told himself it wasn't serious, that Y/N and Nate were just hanging out, that whatever this thing between them was, it would fade as quickly as it had appeared.

But then he started seeing it.

Seeing the way Y/N leaned into Nate's space without hesitation. Seeing the way Nate touched him without thinking—small, natural gestures, fingertips brushing, shoulders knocking, a quiet kind of possessiveness that Aaron hated because it meant that Nate was comfortable in Y/N's orbit now.

And worse?

Y/N was letting him stay there.

It boiled over one afternoon when Aaron spotted them outside the library—Nate leaning casually against the brick wall, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching Y/N with a look that Aaron recognized too well.

Because it was a look that meant something.

Y/N was talking, hands gesturing as he spoke, but Aaron barely heard a word.

Because all he could see was the way Nate was looking at him.

And when Y/N laughed at something Nate said—an easy, unguarded laugh that made something sharp twist in Aaron's chest—he snapped.

He didn't wait. Didn't hesitate.

He crossed the courtyard in a few quick strides, his jaw tight, his pulse pounding, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he stopped right in front of Y/N.

"We need to talk," he said, voice low, steady, but heated.

Y/N blinked, surprised. "Aaron?"

Aaron ignored the way Nate subtly shifted beside him—didn't look at him, didn't acknowledge the silent tension radiating off him.

Because right now?

He didn't give a shit about Nate.

He needed answers.

And he needed them now.

Soon Aaron and Y/N found a quiet spot in the courtyard, away from the steady buzz of students passing through. The air was cool, the late afternoon sun filtering through the trees, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the pavement. Y/N settled onto the bench first, hands clasped loosely between his knees, exhaling slowly as he tried to gather his thoughts.

Aaron sat beside him, posture tense, his fingers tapping against his thigh in a steady, restless rhythm. He wasn't the type to sit still when something was bothering him, and right now? Something was definitely bothering him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Y/N could feel the weight of Aaron's stare, heavy with unspoken questions, with frustration, with something that almost felt like hope—hope that maybe there was still a chance for whatever they had built together.

And that? That made Y/N's chest ache.

Because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Aaron.

Aaron had been good to him. He had been patient, steady, present in a way that Y/N hadn't expected but had come to appreciate. He had made Y/N laugh, had been someone he could talk to when things got overwhelming, had made him feel wanted in a way that wasn't complicated or suffocating.

And if things were different—if Nate wasn't a factor—maybe this conversation would be going in a completely different direction.

But things weren't different.

And Y/N couldn't pretend they were.

So he took a slow breath, forcing himself to meet Aaron's gaze head-on.

"I don't want to drag this out," he started, voice quiet but firm. "I don't want to lead you on or give you some half-assed excuse, because you deserve more than that."

Aaron didn't say anything, but his jaw clenched slightly, like he was bracing himself.

Y/N hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. "I care about you. A lot. And I meant everything I said before—about enjoying being around you, about feeling comfortable with you. That was real for me."

Aaron's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes—something that made Y/N's stomach twist with guilt.

"But," Y/N continued, his throat tightening, "I think we both know that whatever this was... it wasn't everything it could've been."

Aaron's fingers curled into his palm, a quiet exhale slipping through his nose. "Because of him."

It wasn't a question.

Y/N swallowed hard, nodding. "Yeah."

Aaron let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back against the bench, his gaze shifting toward the sky. "You know, I knew it. I knew from the second I saw you with him that I didn't stand a fucking chance."

Y/N's chest tightened. "Aaron—"

"Don't," Aaron cut in, turning to face him again, his expression unreadable. "Just... tell me the truth. Is he really what you want?"

Y/N didn't hesitate.

"Yes."

And that? That was the most honest thing he had said all day.

Aaron stared at him for a long moment, his lips pressing into a thin line before he exhaled, nodding slowly, like he was trying to make peace with something he didn't want to accept.

"Okay," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "Okay."

Y/N shifted slightly, his voice softer now. "I didn't want to hurt you. I swear I didn't."

Aaron huffed out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, well. Too late for that."

The words stung, but Y/N didn't argue. Didn't try to make himself feel better by saying something meaningless like I never meant for this to happen or you'll find someone else.

Instead, he just sat there, letting the silence settle between them, waiting to see if there was anything left to say.

Eventually, Aaron let out a slow breath, shaking his head before offering Y/N a small, tired smirk. "For what it's worth, I hope he's worth it."

Y/N met his gaze, steady and certain.

"He is."

And for the first time, Y/N felt sure of that.

Though Aaron and Y/N had talked, though everything had been laid out in the open, the conversation didn't erase the frustration burning under Aaron's skin.

He was mad.

At Y/N, sure—but more than that, he was mad at Nate.

Because deep down, Aaron knew that if Nate hadn't inserted himself, if he hadn't stepped in the way he always did, things could've been different. Y/N might have been his. He might have had a real shot at something with him, something solid, something real.

But instead, Nate fucking Jacobs had taken that from him.

And Aaron wasn't the type to just let that shit slide.

So when he spotted Nate in the football gym later that evening—alone, wrapping his hands for what looked like a punching bag workout—something inside him snapped.

The gym was mostly empty, the scent of sweat and old gym equipment thick in the air. The overhead fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting a sterile glow over the weight racks and training stations. The sound of a distant treadmill droned in the background, but otherwise, it was quiet.

Aaron didn't hesitate.

He strode forward, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, his anger bubbling just beneath the surface, hot and ready to spill over.

Nate barely looked up as Aaron approached, his focus still on taping his wrists. "What?" he muttered, voice flat, uninterested.

Like he didn't already know.

Like he hadn't expected this.

Aaron clenched his fists, his jaw tight. "You really couldn't help yourself, huh?"

Nate finally glanced up, his blue eyes cold and unreadable. "The hell are you talking about?"

Aaron scoffed, shaking his head. "Don't play dumb. You know what I'm talking about."

Nate held his gaze, unfazed. "If this is about Y/N, then I don't know what to tell you."

Aaron took another step forward, his shoulders squared. "Then don't tell me. Just own up to it. You knew I had something with him, and you still couldn't keep your hands to yourself."

Nate exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "You had nothing with him."

That was it. That was the last straw.

Before Nate could react, Aaron shoved him—hard—both hands slamming against his chest, sending him stumbling back a step.

The air between them shifted, the tension snapping tight like a live wire.

Nate stilled, his expression darkening, his jaw ticking. Slowly, he straightened, rolling his shoulders back, his entire posture shifting into something dangerous.

"You wanna do this?" Nate asked, voice low, controlled—but there was heat behind it.

Aaron's breathing was heavy, his anger boiling over. "I should do this," he shot back. "Because you don't get to just take whatever the fuck you want, Nate. That's not how this works."

Nate tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering across his face for a brief second before disappearing just as quickly. "That's rich, coming from you."

Aaron didn't wait.

He swung first.

The punch connected with Nate's jaw, the impact sharp, reverberating up Aaron's arm.

Nate barely flinched.

Instead, he turned his head slightly, rolling his jaw, a slow smirk creeping onto his face—like he had been waiting for this.

Then, without a word, he swung back.

The force of Nate's punch sent Aaron stumbling, his shoulder colliding with the weight rack, dumbbells rattling from the impact.

And then, just like that, it was a full-blown fight.

Fists flying. Bodies colliding. Grunts and curses filling the empty gym as they threw punch after punch, adrenaline drowning out everything else.

Neither of them cared who landed the harder hit.

Because this wasn't about winning.

This was about something else entirely—something primal, something angry, something that had been simmering for too long.

And neither of them was willing to back down first.

Y/N was stretched across his bed, scrolling through his phone, when the door to their dorm creaked open. It was late, the air outside crisp with the first hints of evening chill, but Y/N barely looked up—until he heard the faint click of the door shutting and the unmistakable sound of heavy, uneven footsteps.

Something felt off.

His gaze flicked upward, and the moment he saw Nate, his stomach dropped.

Nate stood in the doorway, his broad frame tense, his breathing slightly heavier than usual. The dim dorm lighting cast shadows over his face, but it didn't hide the damage—his bottom lip was split, a thin trickle of blood still clinging to the corner of his mouth. His cheekbone was darkening with a fresh bruise, the kind that would only get worse by morning. His knuckles were raw, the skin torn, like he had been swinging just as much as he had been hit.

Y/N's phone slipped from his fingers, landing on the comforter with a dull thud as he shot to his feet.

"What the fuck, Nate?" His voice came out sharp, alarmed, but Nate just exhaled through his nose, shaking his head like it wasn't a big deal.

"I'm fine," he muttered, voice low and tired as he kicked the door shut behind him.

"Fine?" Y/N let out a disbelieving scoff, already closing the space between them. "You look like you got your ass handed to you."

Nate huffed out something that might've been a laugh if he weren't too damn exhausted for it. "I got a few hits in."

Y/N ignored that, his irritation climbing. He reached up, fingertips brushing along the bruised side of Nate's face before he could think twice about it. Nate flinched—not from the pain, but from the unexpected touch—and Y/N felt his body stiffen.

His lips parted, words sitting heavy on his tongue, but then his eyes caught the raw scrapes on Nate's knuckles.

His stomach tightened.

"Who did this?" Y/N demanded, stepping back just enough to get a better look at him.

Nate hesitated.

And in that hesitation, Y/N knew.

He let out a slow, steady breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Aaron." It wasn't even a question.

Nate didn't confirm it, but he didn't deny it either.

Y/N groaned, shaking his head. "Jesus, Nate. You seriously got into a fight with Aaron?"

"He threw the first punch," Nate muttered, flexing his fingers, as if testing whether his knuckles were stiffening.

Y/N crossed his arms. "And you just had to throw one back?"

Nate finally met his gaze, something dark flickering in his tired blue eyes. "I'm not gonna let him talk shit and do nothing about it."

Y/N took a breath, steadying himself. "You know this doesn't fix anything, right?"

Nate didn't respond. Didn't need to.

Y/N sighed, rubbing at his temples before grabbing Nate's wrist and tugging him toward the bed. "Sit."

For a second, it looked like Nate was going to argue, but one sharp look from Y/N shut that down real quick. With a low grunt, he finally gave in, dropping onto the mattress.

Y/N turned toward his desk, rummaging through the drawer until he pulled out the small, half-used first-aid kit. He grabbed a clean washcloth, dampened it in the sink, and then moved back to where Nate sat, dropping down into a kneeling position in front of him.

The tension in the room was thick, but Y/N focused on the task at hand.

He started with Nate's lip, carefully dabbing away the dried blood, his touch firm but careful. Nate stayed still, his sharp eyes watching him closely, unblinking, unreadable.

"This is stupid," Y/N muttered, voice quiet as he worked.

Nate huffed out a quiet laugh. "Yeah, well."

Y/N ignored him, reaching for an antiseptic wipe. "This is gonna sting."

Nate smirked slightly. "Not my first time."

Y/N rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He pressed the wipe against Nate's lip, watching as his jaw tensed briefly before relaxing again.

And then—

It happened.

Nate's hands moved without thinking.

His fingers skimmed Y/N's sides before settling around his waist, firm and familiar, like it was instinct, like it was normal.

Like he had done it a thousand times before.

And the truth was—he had.

Y/N barely reacted.

Didn't flinch, didn't pull away. He just let him.

Because as much as things had changed between them, this hadn't.

The quiet, familiar weight of Nate's hands on his waist, the slow, absentminded way his thumbs brushed against the fabric of Y/N's hoodie, the easy closeness of it all—it had always been them.

Even after weeks of distance, of unspoken words, of tension so thick it could be cut with a knife—this? This felt the same.

Y/N swallowed, his focus flickering for just a second before he forced himself to keep working. He dabbed at Nate's cheek, ignoring the warmth curling low in his stomach at the feeling of Nate's grip tightening slightly.

His voice was quieter when he spoke. "You didn't have to fight him."

Nate's thumbs pressed just slightly against his waist, grounding.

"Yeah," he murmured, voice low, steady. "I did."

Y/N pulled back slightly, searching Nate's face for something—an explanation, a reason, anything. "Why?"

Nate was quiet for a beat, his sharp blue eyes scanning Y/N's face, like he was considering how much he wanted to say.

Then, finally—

"Because he doesn't get to talk about you like that," Nate muttered, his tone low but steady.

Y/N blinked. "Like what?"

Nate's jaw tightened, his fingers flexing slightly against Y/N's waist before he let out a slow exhale. "Like you were his," he said simply. "Like he lost something. Like you were some prize that he had a right to be pissed about."

Y/N stared at him.

Because, fuck.

That's what this was about?

Aaron's words?

Nate rolled his shoulders slightly, wincing at the stiffness. "He was running his mouth, acting like I stole you from him, like you belonged to him." His eyes darkened slightly, his fingers curling tighter into Y/N's hoodie. "And maybe I shouldn't have let it get to me, but I did. Because he doesn't get to talk about you like that. Like he ever had a chance."

Y/N swallowed, something thick sitting in his throat.

Because it wasn't just anger in Nate's voice. It was possession. It was certainty.

And it wasn't just about the fight.

It was about them.

Nate took a slow breath, his grip firm against Y/N's waist. "I meant what I said before," he murmured, voice quieter now but no less intense.

Y/N furrowed his brows. "What?"

Nate held his gaze, unwavering. "That I love you."

Y/N's breath hitched slightly, his chest tightening.

Because Nate said it so easily. Like it wasn't something he had spent months denying, like it wasn't something that should terrify him, like it wasn't something that could break him if he let it.

And Y/N—fuck, Y/N didn't know what to do with that.

Nate must have noticed his hesitation, because his grip softened just slightly, but his voice stayed sure.

"I know you think it's too soon," Nate said, "but I don't." He exhaled slowly, his gaze flickering over Y/N's face, like he was memorizing every expression, every reaction. "I don't care how long it's been. I know what I feel. And I know that I'm done pretending I don't."

Y/N opened his mouth, but Nate kept going, his fingers tightening again.

"I'm gonna prove it," he promised. "Every day. Every chance I get. I'm not gonna give you a single reason to doubt me, to doubt this." His voice softened just slightly, but there was still steel beneath it. "I know I fucked up before. I know I wasted time trying to push this away. But I won't do that again."

Y/N's throat felt dry, his pulse hammering against his ribs. "Nate..."

Nate shook his head. "I want you. And not just in the easy way, not just when it's convenient, not just when it's something I can control." His fingers slid along Y/N's waist, a slow, steady movement. "I want you for real."

Y/N inhaled sharply, his heart lurching in his chest.

Because Nate wasn't bullshitting.

This wasn't just some possessive instinct, wasn't just about beating out Aaron, wasn't about winning.

This was real.

And Nate meant it.

Y/N swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're really not gonna let this go, are you?"

Nate smirked slightly, his grip firm, grounding. "No," he said simply. "I'm not."

Y/N inhaled slowly, grounding himself, and then—before he could second-guess it, before he could let doubt creep in—he leaned in and kissed him. It wasn't rushed, wasn't desperate, but sure. Deliberate. A slow press of lips, firm and real, like a decision being made in real-time. And Nate—fuck, Nate melted into it, his fingers flexing slightly against Y/N's waist before pulling him closer, like he needed the reassurance that this was actually happening.

When Y/N finally pulled back, his lips hovered just above Nate's, his breath mingling with his, his hands still resting lightly on Nate's jaw. A smirk curled at the corner of his mouth as he met Nate's gaze, something teasing in his expression, but something serious behind it. "So... does this mean you're my boyfriend now?"

Nate let out a breathless huff, his lips twitching like he wanted to smirk but was too busy memorizing the feel of Y/N against him. "I better be."

Y/N grinned, brushing his nose against Nate's in a way that was both playful and intimate. "Good. Because I really think we should work on that whole 'I love you' thing." His voice was teasing, but there was weight behind it—acknowledgment of Nate's confession, of the fact that Y/N hadn't said it back yet. Not because he didn't feel it, but because it was something he wanted to mean when he finally did.

Nate swallowed hard, nodding slightly. "Yeah. We should."

Y/N pulled back slightly, his fingers still gripping Nate's hoodie as he arched a brow. "But first..." He gave Nate a pointed look. "If you ever think about skipping straight to sex again before you take me on a proper first date, I will personally make your life hell."

Nate smirked at that, leaning in just enough that their lips nearly touched again. "Oh yeah? Define proper."

Y/N rolled his eyes, swatting Nate's chest before stepping back toward the table, eyeing the food. "Dinner, movie, something cute. I don't know, surprise me."

Nate watched him for a moment before shaking his head with a smirk. "You're such a pain in the ass."

Y/N grinned, reaching for a plate. "Yeah, but I'm your pain in the ass now."

Nate exhaled through his nose, something soft flashing in his expression. "Yeah," he murmured. "You are."

And somehow, that simple statement made Y/N's stomach flip harder than the I love you ever could.

#x male reader #gay #nate jacobs x male reader #nate jacobs #jacob elordi x male reader #jacob elordi #euphoria

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banquetwriter · 7 months ago

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Viktor x Reader with some kissing head cannons? Wanted to request something but wasn’t sure what haha 😁

AN: i’m happy to oblige !! hope i meet expectations <33

viktor hasn’t had a whole lot of dating experience in his life, to him of course this is rather embarrassing and something he doesn’t not flaunt around

you of course could care less, he doesn’t judge you for your past dating history now does he? so that fateful night when both of you have made the lab a drinking area he finally has the courage to kiss you

and yeah it’s a bit sloppy, and it’s clear he maybe hasn’t done this a lot but there is this underlying need in his kiss. the way his hand reaches out for you desperately.

reality strikes the poor boy realizing he JUST KISSED YOU. AHHHH!! he immediately retracts his face and his hand trying to see what your reaction is and since your so down bad for this man your just 🖤^🖤

he is insecure and probably over thinks the fuck out of this ordeal, so he stands up grabbing his crutch and accepting you did not want this. “i am so sorry… this was unprofessional-“ he says looking to see the several empty bottles of booze between you two.

god how could be so stupid? and ofc you shut this idea down like that. “viktor your drunk- i don’t want you falling getting home please just let me help you-“ and he sorta drunkenly breaks down.

since that moment the two of you share something super special, as far as kisses however he gets more confident.

he isn’t big on pda i don’t think so in public it’s just the sneaky cheek or forehead kiss. alone however he gets more confidence to kiss you.

his slender fingers wrapping around your throat or making there way to your hair. his mouth consuming yours. he just devours you.

viktor’s disability can sometimes pose a challenge when it comes to being intimate, you never let him feel bad for it ofc but he is limited in what he can do to you.

kisses is not one of those things. he absolutely peppers your face and body in them. he uses them to completely break down your resolve. teasing you until endlessly.

his kisses can be deep and romantic or sloppy and needy- he is only a man after all. he can communicate just with a kiss. leaning up from his work station as you visit to bring him dinner, it says he is grateful and he is sorry for being with you.

when he makes a break through in his hextech research and he pulls you in wrapping you up with a big ol’ smooch on the lips.

this is not as cohesive as i wanted it to be but trust me this man is whipped for you and kissing is something he can do with no injury of himself so trust he will be doing it

#viktor x y/n #viktor arcane x reader #viktor x you #viktor lol #viktor league of legends #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #viktor machine herald #viktor headcannons

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meadowfics · 2 months ago

Text

relationship headcannons

thangyu x f!reader

what a polyamorous relationship with thanos and namgyu would be like

warnings: minors do not interact!! no smut but there are mentions of drug use and mentions of alcohol abuse. honestly, some of this is unhealthy.

you wake up each morning sandwiched between thanos, who’s sprawled out with painted nails resting on your hip, and namgyu, whose silky black hair tickles your shoulder as he sleeps.

thanos will sometimes writes raps about your trio, often performing them at club pentagon while you and namgyu casually watch from the VIP section.

nobody knows about the trio.

well, except for the three of you, semi and gyeong-su.

unfortunately even with the untraditional poly relationship, namgyu’s a bit misogynistic about you staying, “In a woman’s place,” whenever arguments arise.

you shut him down always with a sharp quip, and he begrudgingly respects your fire.

you mediate their clashes.

thanos’s carefree vibe often grates on namgyu’s need for control, but you smooth things over with a movie night or a shared blunt.

thanos paints your nails to match his, a ritual where you gossip about club drama while namgyu rolls his eyes but secretly loves the color on you.

namgyu insists on cooking, since he hates the meals you and thanos make.

however, you and thanos sneak into the kitchen to “taste-test” and you end up distracting namgyu with kisses.

you share a massive bed, but namgyu hogs the blankets, so you and thanos team up to steal them back, giggling like kids.

thanos’s fresh purple hair dye, after he re-dyes it, sometimes stains the pillows, and you tease him endlessly while namgyu grumbles about the mess but bought the dye anyway.

you’re the trio’s emotional anchor, knowing when thanos needs space to write or when namgyu’s stress from the club needs a long, quiet hug.

namgyu promotes special nights at club pentagon for the three of you, reserving a private booth where you dance together, his hands on your waist, thanos hyping the crowd.

thanos’s impulsive energy leads to late-night adventures.

for example are 3 a.m. taco runs.

namgyu complains but joins, secretly loving the nightlife.

always, you and thanos gang up to prank namgyu, like hiding his promoter badge, but namgyu gets revenge each time by doing things that slowly piss you and thanos off.

namgyu’s misogyny flares up in small ways.

for example when he expects you to be the one who only cleans everything, even if he or thanos made the mess.

you and thanos stage a “strike,” leaving dishes piled up until he apologizes.

thanos writes you love notes in his lyric book, which you find tucked under your pillow, while namgyu’s affection shows in quieter ways, like fixing your favorite jacket.

you navigate jealousy carefully.

namgyu gets possessive when thanos hogs your attention, so you make time for one-on-one dates to keep things balanced.

the three of you have a group chat filled with memes, thanos’s random rap snippets, and namgyu’s dry complaints about work, but it’s your safe space.

you decorate the apartment together, blending thanos’s vibrant art, namgyu’s sleek minimalist taste, and your mid-century cozy touches like fairy lights.

you and namgyu's long hair gets everywhere, and thanos jokes about making a wig from it.

namgyu and you love brushing each other's hair whenever the other is stressed.

thanos’s fans at the club sometimes flirt with you, and namgyu gets protective, but you handle it with a laugh, knowing you’re theirs.

you dream up a future together.

thanos wants a studio, namgyu eyes a bigger club, and you just want a bigger bed for your chaotic, loving trio.

you and thanos convince namgyu for matching tattoos, tiny symbols of your bond.

yours on your wrist, thanos’s on his ankle, namgyu’s on his shoulder.

namgyu’s late nights at the club mean you and thanos sometimes have quiet evenings, binge-watching reality TV while painting each other’s nails.

namgyu’s meticulous about the apartment’s budget, but you and thanos sneak in colorful decor or snacks, grinning when he sighs but lets it slide.

you host game nights, where thanos’s competitive streak shines, namgyu tries to bend the rules, and you win by distracting them with flirty banter.

thanos’s chaotic energy inspires you to try bold makeup looks, and namgyu, despite his grumbling, compliments you when you catch him staring.

you and namgyu have deep talks on the balcony, his guard down as he admits his insecurities, while thanos joins later, lightening the mood with a dumb joke.

you balance their egos.

thanos’s flair for attention and namgyu’s quiet pride by reminding them you’re a team, sealed with all group hugs that feels like home.

namgyu’s drug problem surfaces when club stress peaks, and you find him sneaking pills.

you and thanos stage a gentle intervention, sitting him down with tea and no judgment.

thanos got clean wayyy before namgyu was able to.

you notice namgyu’s hands shake when he’s trying to stay clean, so you hold them during movie nights, while thanos distracts him with ridiculous commentary.

thanos uses his rap gigs to fund namgyu’s therapy, slipping cash into his wallet without a word, and you both celebrate namgyu’s small sobriety milestones with homemade cake.

when you reach for alcohol during tough days, namgyu, despite his own struggle, swaps your glass for juice, saying he needs you clear-headed to keep him in check.

thanos keeps the apartment stocked with mocktails, turning your stress-drinking habit into a game of who can make the fanciest non-alcoholic drink, complete with goofy garnishes.

you and namgyu attend support group meetings together, your hand in his as he shares, while thanos waits outside with boba, ready to crack a joke when you’re done.

namgyu’s relapses hit hard, but you and thanos never leave his side, sleeping on the couch with him between you, promising you’ll face it as a trio.

you replace your old bar cart with a tea station, and namgyu starts brewing herbal blends.

when life gets heavy, you three pile into bed with no substances needed.

the only thing is tangled limbs, thanos’s bad rap lines, and namgyu’s soft humming, grounding you all in love.

masterlist

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spikedfearn · 9 months ago

Text

You Keep on Sayin’ You in Love Tho, So Tell Me, Are You Really Down? (Yeah)

One-shot

bjorn x fem!reader

summary: you and Bjorn shotgun during your ascent in the hauler—and then some.

a/n: 📣 100 follower special 📣 I've been wanting to write a shotgunning fic since I first saw bjorn smoke that spliff in one toke, it was ridiculously hot and I just had to be totally normal about it in the theater. this is a reimagining of the escape from jackson's star so the character dialogue/actions will not be movie accurate. title from the song "self-care" by mac miller.

warnings: established relationship, recreational drug use, shotgunning, PDA, making out, dry humping, oral (receiving) possessive behavior, you're that couple

wc: 3.1k

The low rumble of the metal grate beneath your feet as the Corbelan ascends leaves you feeling momentarily weightless, like you're floating before gravity pulls you down, feeling heavier than usual.

You’re strapped in, anchored by a sturdy crossed seatbelt that comes down over your shoulders and buckles in next to the opposite hip, white knuckling the lip of the seat on either side of your thighs, eyes closed tight as you hold your breath.

It feels surreal, your heart thumping hard against your rib cage, knowing you all just pulled off the biggest heist in Jackson Star’s history, stealing highly-regulated equipment to leave behind a shitty life of indentured servitude.

It's something you've all discussed at length for months, Tyler being the one to initially suggest the idea while you were all drinking late one night, mapping out an escape route in yours and Bjorn's shared trailer, sitting on his lap with his legs spread wide, arms loosely circled around your waist.

Still—you can't believe it actually worked, breaking into the hauler and getting it up off the ground without any hiccups, half expecting sirens to soon blare throughout the endlessly dark sky or for the engine to stall, it just feels easy. Too easy.

You feel Bjorn’s hand on your leg then, taking notice of your growing anxiety, always able to pick up on any shifts in your mood, no matter how subtle, not when it comes to you.

Running his thumb along the inseam of your dark-washed jeans, he squeezes your thigh afterwards out of reassurance. It helps, even if only just a little, your palm finding its way into his, weaving your fingers together between you, a fair bit calmer now that you're holding your boyfriend's hand, roughed up and calloused from mining.

He's always been able to read you, ever since you were little, knowing exactly what you needed when you needed it, sometimes even before you did, causing your progressively growing affection for him to flourish into something else entirely, something beautiful, until you were crushing hard and just couldn't bury it anymore, no matter how hard you tried.

Luckily the feeling was mutual because after your drunk little confession, the only two still awake and drinking, sitting in the cramped living room of his trailer away from where the others were passed out, you hooked up on his futon, sweating out years of romantic and sexual tension that had built and built and built between you until it finally came to a head.

Everyone was happy for you both as soon as they woke the next morning to you wearing Bjorn's loose tee from the night before and a pair of clean boxers, arms linked and swinging down between your bodies, going shy when Navarro sighed, “fuck—finally,” and Tyler coming up to squeeze Bjorn’s shoulders from behind, telling him, “see? Told ya’ she wuz’ just as inta ya,’ mate.”

That was three years ago and you've been dating ever since, completely mad for each other as Bjorn liked to put it, which you think sums it up quite nicely.

You complimented one another, able to make up for whatever deficiency the other was lacking in. You were the only one that could truly calm him, talk him down from the proverbial edge when his anger started to boil over in response to whatever bullshit life threw at him. Reminding him that you were in this together for the long haul, which always did the trick, watching the way he'd soften in your hold and silently nod, looking just as vulnerable on the outside as he felt on the inside.

And he was the only one that could truly get you to relax when you were stressed out, like a hydraulic press trying to crush you under the weight of your own problems. Reminding you not be so serious all the time, to enjoy the little things, like right at that moment, when he'd be spooning you in bed at the end of every night, drawing miscellaneous patterns over your midriff with one hand while he combs his fingers on the other through your hair, still damp with sweat after a passionate round or two.

It wasn't perfect but it was yours, and that was enough for both of you.

The hauler Navarro’s piloting hits a rough patch of turbulence as it cuts up through the polluted cloud cover, Bjorn withdrawing his hand from yours to unbuckle himself and stand, unsteady on his feet, forcing him to hold onto one of the steel bars to ground himself there.

He plucks a rolled up joint from the front pocket of his dark gray drop shoulder hoodie and lights it with one of his shitty zippo's, the confined oxygen combined with the freighter's acceleration causing the flame to shoot up high and wide, nearly singeing his eyebrows off. The others laugh at his accidental little joint trick, including you, watching him proudly nod his head around at everyone when he manages to keep all his hair.

It smokes fast, faster than he was expecting, his eyes rounding in surprise as the paper burns all the way down to the roach in just seconds, cheeks swollen with a sudden mouthful of smoke, thin milky tendrils slipping past the seam of his lips.

Then Bjorn leans down and cradles your face between his hands before capturing your lips with his without hesitation, not that you mind, permission never requested and approval never needed anytime it comes to kissing between you two, parting your mouth when he parts his, letting him exhale smoke into it.

It inflates your lungs almost instantly, like two blistering hot air balloons butting up against your ribcage, getting you super stoned off the rip. You feel the muscles in your body relax all at once, tangling your fingers in his hair to pull him in impossibly closer, working your tongue into his mouth.

There’s just something about shotgunning with Bjorn that gets you so worked up every time you partake in it, maybe it’s the intimacy of it, so close you can see Bjorn’s pupils dilate from the drugs and the desire, but you always find it ridiculously sexy whenever he does it.

You hear the quiet click of your seatbelt as Bjorn unbuckles it for you, pulling it up and off you before tugging on your wrist to get you to stand with him, pulling you into him, one arm circling your upper back to spread his fingers over your shoulder blades while the other grabs a handful of your ass, not once breaking the kiss.

It’s hot and heavy from the outset, it always is with Bjorn, likes to skip the teasing and jump head first into the deep end with you in tow. The slick sound of your tongues meeting is mostly drowned out by the pulsing engine and Navarro announcing the position of the gearshift when she changes direction, everyone pointedly ignoring the free show you’re giving them, already used to it by now, Bjorn never one to shy away from PDA.

However unlike him it took you awhile to warm up to it, always going a little pink-cheeked and embarrassed whenever he'd lick into your mouth or pinch your ass in front of everyone, but you learned to like it, love it even, looking forward to it every time he does it, which is all the time.

He places one knee between your legs and grinds his hard on up against your thigh, a low buzz humming between your ears like static from a television, swallowing the noises the other is making, grinding back against his thigh, your underwear getting increasingly wet as a result.

The friction between you is delicious—downright addicting, whining every time the denim of his jeans roughly catches your clit, dry humping his thigh that much harder, feeling pleasure quickly mounting inside of you, spurring on the frenetic roll of your hips. God does Bjorn know how to get you going, until you're needy and pliant and begging for him to fuck you.

“Such a naughty little minx ya’ are,” Bjorn exhales into your ear, a breathy groan that has you shuddering in his hold, “gonna make ya' come all over ma’ face while I go down on ya,’ would ya’ like tha’ princess? Me splittin’ ya’ wide open with jus’ ma’ tongue?”

Before you have a chance to respond, the others collectively groan in disgust, Tyler cutting in to voice everyone else's thoughts, “christ, can ya' take this somewhere else? Cousins really shouldn't hafta’ hear their cousins say shit like tha’ yanno!”

Bjorn smirks, lazily rolling his head in the direction of his cousin, running his tongue flat over the curve of his top teeth, “awe, jealous you ain't gettin' any action cuz?”

Tyler glares, no actual malice in his eyes, always willing to put up with Bjorn's ridiculous antics even when he clearly doesn't want to, “no, not at all, I jus’ feel like I need a shower now s’all. Ma’ brain hates ma’ ears fo’ even havin’ ta’ hear tha.’”

“Yeah, a cold one amirite?” Bjorn cracks as he walks away, leading you with his arm around your shoulders down the Corbelan’s corridor towards the back where the bunks are, tucked into his side while he playfully squeezes your bicep. He leans in close to nip at your throat just above the worn scoop neck collar, prone to leave marks, both of you liking the visual reminder that you belong to him.

There are two bunk rooms, the one Kay is lying in to help combat some of her morning sickness during takeoff, and the room adjacent to it, the empty one, is the one Bjorn pulls you into, crowding you up against the ladder as soon as you're through the open doorway, feeling metal rungs bite into your back through the loose fitting t-shirt you're wearing—Bjorn's shirt.

“Less get these rags off ya’ sweetheart, wanna taste tha’ pretty pussy of urs before we get inta’ space,” he rasps, grabbing the hem of the ratty fabric to pull it up and off your head, his hand easily finding the clasp on your bra to unhook it.

He licks his thumb and index finger to gently roll your nipple between them, eliciting a moan, high and needy in pitch, your head falling back against the platform the uppermost mattress is sitting on with a quiet ‘thunk’ because of it.

Bjorn chuckles watching your reaction, an arrogant smile on his face, always so smug with how quickly he's able to get you falling apart, always so receptive in his hands, more than familiar with every sensitive spot and erogenous zone located on your body, replacing his fingers with the wet suction of his mouth.

He doesn't take his time like he normally does, loves toying with your chest until they're red and raw and littered with purpling hickeys of various sizes until you're a whimpering, quivering puddle beneath him but tonight he's on a mission, having thought it out long before he filled you in back in the cockpit.

“I'd love ta’ suckle on ‘em titties a little longa’ but I got a betta' way ta’ use ma’ mouth, don'tcha agree princess?” He whispers, warm breath ghosting over your face, tickling your heated skin, causing the hairs there to stand at attention.

“Mmmmm,” you hum, short on breath, whining in response to him pinching the side of your heaving tit, knowing what he wants before he even voices it.

“Words babe, use ‘em,” he orders, circling his thumbs counterclockwise over your hard nipples like the joysticks on the console he plays when he's not playing with you. Your back arches into his heated touch, moaning, “I—yes. Please Bjorn—baby, want you to eat me out, want you to split me wide open with your tongue and come on your face like you promised you would. Please.”

“Well, since ya’ asked so nicely,” he grins, satisfied with your answer, getting you to lie down on the bottom bunk sideways so your legs are dangling off the edge of the thin bed.

It's a tight fit, definitely not big enough for him to crawl in after and fuck you in, regardless of the position you'd attempt to do it, but that's not his endgame right now anyway so it doesn't really matter to either of at you the moment. You'll figure that out later, when you're officially on course for the nine year journey to Yvaga III. The others are all gonna fucking hate you both by the end of it.

Kneeling on the ground between your legs he grips either knee and spreads them wide open, instructing you to lift your hips a little so he can shed your jeans, leaving you in nothing but your damp cotton panties.

You watch as he licks over his lips, slow and deliberate, like he’s eying his favorite meal, a new wave of wetness gushing out of you, reflexively trying to close your legs so you don't soak through the mattress but Bjorn's hands stop you from doing so.

“Don't get all shy on me now princess,” Bjorn smirks, thumbs brushing over the crease of your pelvis, flirting along the edge of your underwear, “s'not like I haven't seen it all before or nothing.”

Then he’s closing the distance, taking a big whiff between your thighs, the rapid flutter of his lashes and the growl that rumbles through his chest inciting a needy whine out of you, “always smells so fuckin’ good, so wet ‘n ready fo’ me like tha’ naughty little slut ya’ are. Gonna fuckin’ devour ya.’”

He blows cool air over your warm, wet core, causing you to shiver, trying to grind down on his face, his hands on your hips stopping you, punctuating the air between you, “patience sweetheart, we’ll get there, probably don't’ have much time left ‘nyway.”

Bjorn finally, finally rips your underwear down and off, throwing the bend of your knees over his shoulders before burying his face in between your thighs, licking between your dripping folds from the base of your throbbing core up to your clit, tongue circling around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Oh fuck, Bjorn,” you whimper, electricity circulating through you like your veins are made of live wires, feeling high off the weed and arousal and adrenaline as your boyfriend eats you out, ankles locking behind the scruff of his neck to keep him there.

“Thas’ right baby, say ma’ name, is tha’ only one ur eva’ gonna moan cuz this pussy belongs ta’ me n’ me only,” he growls, giving your thigh a possessive little squeeze as he spells the letters of his name out on your clit to really drive the point home.

And the thing is—Bjorn's absolutely right, his name is the only one you're ever gonna moan, the only one you ever want to, because Bjorn doesn't just own what's between your legs he owns what's inside your chest too.

It’s the crude way Bjorn spits on your entrance that has you closing your legs around his head, moaning his name like a prayer, like you aren’t already wet enough, distantly aware it's just another way for him to stake his claim over you.

He probes the tip of his tongue against your opening, throbbing in anticipation, clamping down on the warm wet muscle as soon as he wiggles it inside, first an inch, then two, groaning as the taste spreads over his tongue.

It always drives you absolutely crazy how vocal Bjorn is when he's going down on you, like he's getting off on it more than you are, the noises he's making causing tremors of pleasure to undulate through you, blindly fucking back onto his tongue as a result.

He increases his persistence, steadily fucking his tongue in and out of you, one of the arms he has loosely circled around your thighs letting go to rub circles into your clit instead, applying just the right amount of pace and pressure to have you trembling in his grasp.

You continue to roll your hips down, growing frenetic with your rapidly approaching climax, cervical muscles contracting like wires being wound up tight, clenching around your boyfriend’s thick tongue while you grind up into his thumb, wet from his spit and your fluids.

Moans are freely spilling out of you know, oscillating between breathy little whimpers and needy whines of Bjorn’s name and phrases like, “baby—fuck,” and, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” orgasming just as the quiet boom of the Corbelan breaks through the surface tension of the exosphere and enters orbit, sunlight pouring through the window of the hauler and bathing you both.

Bjorn’s face is wet with your release, licking up your thighs and between your folds to clean you up, licking you into hypersensitivity, pulling your hips away when it starts to hurt. He kisses down your leg, gentle as he helps swing your legs in so you’re lying on the mattress correctly, crawling in to join you.

While it might not be big enough for you to fuck in its just right for cuddling, his arm going around your waist to reel you in close, groaning when you lean your head back against his shoulder to lick some of your juices off of him. He’s still fully clothed, hips pressed up to your naked ass, tracing over the dice tattoo on the back of his hand.

“Want me to return the favor?” You ask, fucked out and spent in his arms, feeling your eyelids grow heavy with sleep. Still, you’d power through the exhaustion if he wanted you to, just for him.

“No need princess,” Bjorn smiles, soft and affectionate, kissing behind your ear, “already gone limp. Gonna hafta’ change my boxers when I got tha’ energy. Tha’ pretty little sounds ya’ make really gets me goin.’”

You feel heat pool low in your core at the idea of Bjorn getting off on just your moans alone, meeting his eyes over your shoulder, dazzling in the sun. He kisses you then, full of love and passion, cradling your jaw to keep it turned towards him, thumb sweeping across your cheekbone, from the bridge of your nose back to your ear.

“Jus’ as breathtaking in tha’ light princess,” he whispers, eyes roving over your face, the same look he always gives you when he’s being incredibly sweet, like he’s been staring at the sun long before he saw the real thing.

A warmth spreads through you because of it, warmer than anything else in the universe, even the sun.

#this got really mushy at the end lol #bjorn alien romulus x reader #bjorn alien romulus #alien romulus #bjorn alien romulus fic #bjorn x reader #spike fearn

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hoe4sports · 11 months ago

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How this ends

Alexia Putellas x reader

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A note from the author: This is an older draft that i have yet to share. The song is inspired by Lewis Capaldi’s «How this ends». I see every comment you write and I see every repost with a note added to it. I’m forever grateful for the love you give my writing. Thank you so so much. I’m endlessly grateful.

Warnings: angst.

Summary: Alexia decides that after 13 years, she’s done.

Alexia knew it was all for the best. A part of her wishes that she had never met you, that she has never let herself fall in love with you, that she never allowed herself to feel all those wonderful feelings you brought into her life. It was a selfish decision, and Alexia knew that. But in her mind, the only solution was calling it off.

She could see you slowly slipping away from her grip. Like you were slowly fading from a painting that she had once painted. Like someone was erasing you from the story she was writing. A part of her wishes that you had never gotten to this point. And she hates that you understand and that you still love her. She wanted you to hate her. To tell her that she was the most awful person in the world. To tell her that she didn’t deserve anything good to happen to her. Instead, you accepted her decision with grace. You slowly packed your bags over the next few weeks, bringing more and more stuff over to your friend, Frido’s house. With each item that disappeared, it felt like a piece of you slipped away.

Alexia was also somewhat embarrassed. Her sister, Alba, had convinced her that you were using her for her money. That you wanted her to quit football. That you eventually were planning to run away from her with her money and her house. She didn’t know how she had allowed herself to believe her sister. But, they had been best friends growing up. She trusted her. She trusted her judgment of you. But she forgot to consider that the pair of you had spent years together. You had gotten together when you were 13. Now, 13 years later. It had all come to an end.

You left out a quiet sight as you walked around in the cold, empty apartment. You traced your fingers along the beautiful carvings on the walls feeling that familiar gloss finish you had agreed upon years prior. The feeling is seeing this home turn into just an apartment was haunting. It hurt in a way that only could be described as crushing. Your footsteps led you around the apartment to the door of what once was your shared walk in closet. You reached for the door and opened it. It was half empty. More than half empty actually, if you were to take the things you had purchased, then Alexia would be left with basically nothing to her name except a few boxers, some socks and a set of sweats. Your gaze shifted to your side of the closet. The memory of standing there for hours trying to pick the perfect outfit for Alexia’s social events was woken back to life. It made you smile sadly. God, you thought to yourself, you loved getting ready for her. The chandelier was hanging in the middle of the room, and you offered it a gaze while your hand rested on the light switch. The chandelier sparkled in reflection of the light, reminding you of why you had purchased it. Speaking of the chandelier, it was also something that you had purchased for your own money. You sighted as you turned off the lights and closed the door shut.

You passed your guest room on your way to the bedroom. It made you smile. The memories of a drunken Mapi that had lost her keys and Ingrid’s keys while going out for a drink. She had camped in your guest room, unannounced. Ingrid had been so confused when she called Alexia to ask if she had seen Mapi. You smiled as you took a last gaze over the room. Seeing all the things you had purchased alone because Alexia didn’t have the time to go shopping. She’d told you that you could take her credit card, and you did. But she didn’t know that you never used it.

You continued to the main bedroom. To your bedroom. Where you had spent hours listening to Alexia’s dreams and hopes. Where you had watches dumb arguments unfold over stress and pressure from work. It was strange, how her dreams had changed over the decade. From wishing to play for a living to dreaming of the ballon d’or. It was always strange, how none of her dreams were about the pair of you. It was always her dreams, her wishes and her hopes. It wasn’t always like that. Once, she was your Alexia. That would bring home flowers. That would dream about weddings, kids and growing old together. Football took that part of her away, and maybe you could’ve been more consistent. Asked more. Understood more. Waited more. Then maybe Alexia could’ve still been your Alexia. Your eyes closed in hopes of stopping the burning feeling you felt in you eyes. It didn’t help, really. You flipped the lights off and shut the door.

Then you moved on to the next room.There was the bathroom. You favourite room. The place that had seen all the things that you didn’t tell people about, not even Alexia or Frido. The place where you cried, laughed, screamed, had occasional sex and spent most of your sick days. Where you had found yourself sat after the losses of all your pregnancies. This room was your sanctuary. It was where you could allow yourself to feel whatever you needed to feel. Where you’d allow the tears to quietly hit the drain while you felt neglected and abandoned. But, yet, you stayed. You stayed, again and again and again. Hoping that your girlfriend would return to her normal self. To get her fame out of her ass. But the turning point you had been hoping and praying for, never came. You looked over at the vanity. Just Alexia’s toothbrush left. No toothpaste. She never bought her own. She never really bought anything for the apartment because she didn’t have the time. You spent hours decorating, shopping, furnishing and trying to bring some life into the empty shell Alexia once had purchased. The floor behind you made a squeak, and you knew Alexia were behind you. You caught your breath, turned off the lights and closed the door.

Your feet then walked towards the living room. The core of the apartment. It had some of the most gorgeous views that you had ever encountered. Anything from gloomy stunning sunrises to slow beautiful sunsets. You were particularly pleased with the look of the room. It was warm and welcoming, but also bright and modern. The white walls matched the white soft couch. You sat down in the couch and let your fingertips run across it. It still made you feel cozy. Like you wanted to wake up from this nightmare and wrap yourself up in a warm blanket. This dumb couch that you had paid a ridiculous amount of money for. Where you and Frido had found yourself at the most ungodly hour gossiping about the players and the people at your job. The spot where you and Alexia once had spent hours giggling, watching sad movies, doing face masks and watching games of football. The thought of your lighthearted memories made during your earlier days brought a well wanted smile to your face.

Your eyes caught the door of the balcony. You loved that balcony endlessly. Your hand searched for the handle as you opened up the door taking in the fresh Barcelonian air. The views from the balcony was undoubtedly the most stunning views of Barcelona. You could see the beach, hear the waves and smell the salty air. The combination of sensations was enough to make anyone want to buy the place. You remembered when you and Alexia had the time to sit outside. Drinking glasses of Wine in the off season, eating watermelon that you had picked up at the local market after games. The mix of your favourite fruit and your favourite person brought tears to your eyes. Things were different now. So different that you couldn’t even have imagined in your wildest dreams that you would’ve been here. Everything was complicated. Painful. You shut the door to the balcony and locked it for the last time.

Your last stop was the kitchen. The intention of stopping by it hadn’t been on your mind, but you passed it as you were heading towards the entrance. You remember all the nights you spent making pasta with Alexia wrapped around your waist. Her standing behind you, embracing you pretending that she wanted to learn when all she really wanted was to be close to you. To hold you tight. All the morning coffees you had shared, Alexia always insisted on drinking her coffee pitch black while you preferred to ice yours. You’d try different types of syrups and flavors to perfect your coffee. Down the lane, she was convinced that maybe iced coffee wasn’t too bad. But only when the coffee was made by you. Your gaze shifted to the countertops. The spot where you would make sure always had Alexia’s favourite red apples. Only the crispy kind though. Before you moved, you closed your eyes. You didn’t understand why your efforts were never enough. Why your patience was never enough for Alexia. You accepted anything she threw at you. Cancelled dates, missed anniversaries and forgotten birthdays. Always understanding that work was her focus. That football was her number one. Yet, you loved her. You still do. But you are so confused. And so hurt.

It was stange and painful. But you couldn’t stay there anymore. It was not right, and it was not how you wanted things to be like at this point in your life. Things had changed so fast. Faster than anyone could’ve expected. Some changes for the good, and some for the worse. You held a tight grip on my phone as you stood there with my eyes closed not wanting to leave the comfort of what once had been your home. The thought of someone’s living eventually moving in with Alexia, having new memories and living in all the furniture that you once had purchased pained you. A sob escaped your lips while tears were silently rolling down your cheeks. Alexia stood next to the entrance staring at the ground.

“Well” you said letting out a laugh. “I guess this is it”

Alexia looked at you with sorrow in her eyes, not saying anything. It felt like room was on fire. Like everything was shutting down. Like the world was brutally coming to an ends

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t be enough for you, Alexia. I really tried to be what you needed for 10 years. I’m sorry I couldn’t be that. Maybe in the next lifetime? “

She didn’t say a word. Just looked at you with an empty look in her eyes.

You walked towards the door. And put your hand on the handle before turning to Alexia. Your hand reached for your pocket. It was the promise ring she gave you at 20. When she promised that you would get engaged one day. You held the ring tight in your hand looking down at your hand. Then you looked at Alexia who just stood there. You took a deep breath before you kissed her cheek and opened her hand. You placed the ring in her hand before looking at her with a sad grin. Her eyes looked at the ring before her gaze turned towards you. She looked like someone had stolen her puppy.

“Que? Why are you giving me your ring?”

“It’s not mine to wear anymore, Ale”

“Ai, no! I gave it to you, si?”

“Yes?”

“Vale, that means it’s yours”

You looked at her with a sad look in your eyes before giving her a sad smile and shaking your head.

“Goodbye, Alexia”

Then you turned your back and walked away. The few items you had left in the apartment, had now been placed in a reusable ikea bag that you borrowed from Frido. You couldn’t help but let a few tears fall to the ground as you walked away. Every cell in your body wanted you to turn around. To run back into Alexia’s arms. To beg her to take you back. It took all the strength in your body to walk down to the spot where Frido was gonna pick you up. If you had turned around, you wouldn’t have been able to leave. The only reason you were able to keep walking was because you loved Alexia more than yourself. If she was happy and she got whatever she needed, then you were gonna be okay. Eventually, at least.

*Alexia pov*

A few days after you left for good, she came home from another horrible day at work. She locked the door and spirited to your her bedroom. She laid down on your side of the bed in complete darkness. Her face was staring into the pitch black ceiling. A lump formed in her throat and the tears were pressing on her eyelids. She hadn’t eaten much since you broke up. She hadn’t even slept much. Her workouts had been shitty. And she didn’t know how to function. She thought that she had gotten too attached. That you controlled her life to much. She had been so sure that what Alba said was true that she forgot to think for herself.

However, as she was laying down in complete darkness on your side of the bed. She realised her terrible mistake. Her eyes widened as soon as she realised. She had let other people’s thoughts become her own. She remembered all the times you had missed things for her. All the times she was a shitty girlfriend. She made you miss your nieces first birthday , your parents 30th wedding anniversary and the funeral of your grandmother. What had she sacrificed? What had she given to make the relationship work? She bought the apartment. But you bought the furniture. You made the house a home. You had wanted kids and marriage , and she wanted that too. But then there was football. And you said you’d wait, and alexia had promised you that she would make it happen. You had given everything you wanted away while Alexia got it all. No compromises, just you always accepting all the shit she threw at you.

She didn’t know where it all went wrong. By now, her tears were streaming down her face. Her hands clutching your pillow like it was the last source of water left at this planet. Her lungs desperately breathing in your scent, terrified to forget what you smelled liked One day she was being scolded by her mami for not purposing to you. The next day, Alba insisted that you were using her. But you made her life easier, better, enjoyable. You showered her with the purest kind of love that she didn’t even deserve. Alexia felt confused. Embarrassed. Scared. Angry. You were always so good to here even though she was a horrible girlfriend. She had let the love of her live walk out of the doors, forever. She had made the biggest mistake of her life. She couldn’t accept that this is how it ends. She needed to fix this.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #alexia putellas x reader #alexia x reader #alexia putellas #barca femini x reader #barcelona x reader #barcelona women #barca femeni

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xeeljii · 11 months ago

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DOGTOOTH

She could ride my face, I don't want nothin' in return Except for some her time and all her love, that's my concern

WARNING! Explicit RPF!

EDIT! Pt.2 here, but can also be read as stand alone.

Summary: Basically Dogtooth by Tyler the Creator. It is my belief Joost is a munch and I am so sad more people don’t write about it so I was forced to intervene.

Word count: 5.2k

CW: 18+, f! reader, no body descriptions, established relationship, alcohol consumption, cursing, ???, English is not my first language and only proof read by me.

It was a game really, from the moment you get out of the shower wet feet smacking lightly against the floor of your shared flat, you can feel his gaze trained on you. You of course, well acquainted with this test of wills decide to ignore it and walk straight towards the dresser, the towel wrapped around your torso barely covering below your ass and you make a show of stepping on your tip toes to reach for something at the top, more to give him a show than anything else, you are rewarded as you hear a delighted exhale behind you. You and Joost had already gotten used to the push and pull thrill to see who would crack first, who would end up a desperate whimpering mess, begging for it by the end of the night, it was all part of the foreplay. You smile to yourself as you continue getting ready, behind you he sits on the bed watching like a big cat ready to pounce at any second, doing nothing to hide his staring as he plays absentmindedly with his phone changing songs as your personal DJ.

The night outside is warm, barely starting, you really have all the time in the world to get ready and he is not one to rush you. Truth be told he enjoys the ritual of seeing you apply on your make up and try on different outfits until you are satisfied, he finds it endlessly amusing to just stare at you to a point you could call it an obsession. Today your choice is a shiny top and a short skirt, obscenely short perhaps, but just what you like and he is grateful for every inch of skin his eyes can trace on you. As you drop the towel to get dressed you give him a good eyeful of the delicate curves of your body, you can feel the tension in the room rise instantly and playfully wonder if you will even make it outside today. You have been together long enough to were seeing each other naked is common occurrence but it never gets less exhilarating, he has an honest and open face, when you catch his gaze in the mirror you are met with his dilated pupils and his full attention on you like it is natural it makes heat rise to your cheeks and you avert his eyes trying to compose yourself. You walk up to him nonchalant and wordlessly he understands you, pulls the zipper of your skirt up.

“Thanks” you say in a whisper he doesn’t answer but instead pulls your hand towards him delicately and kisses right on the pulse of your wrist, then looks up at you smiling.

“Ready?”

Tonight you had been invited to a club opening, private area reserved, a few friends invited and free booze, just for your presence, well Joost’s really, but you enjoyed every bit of it as if it was yours. He made sure you knew that, what was his his was yours. He didn’t say it as much but he liked taking care of you in every way he could. Though he didn’t really need to explain himself, his absences hurt you deeply and you missed him in ways that felt too vulnerable to express fully, you felt like a kid waiting with your face pressed against the window just for him to come back to you every time, it never got easier but he made sure to make it up to you when he got back. When he was by your side he pampered you almost to a point of asphyxiation but your thrived on it glowing more beautiful under very one of his attentions, a side of him only you knew, it gave you a strange high to have him like that only for you, only ever you.

As you make your way to the club your mind can’t help but wonder off to the first time he took you back to his place, after a night of meeting at a different club where he truly didn't wanna be at he quickly became enchanted by your presence, your easy laughs and entrancing conversations. He didn’t have any bad intentions or any intentions at all really, drunk on the beauty of your face, on the softness of your voice, the smell of your perfume, he had only wanted to drag the night on as much as you would allow him. He had just wanted to have you to himself for a little bit, wondering if you would disappear like an illusion in the morning. Yet you had bloomed more stunning in the middle of his living room as he kept trying to steal laughs from you, absolutely enamored with the sound of your laughter. You had kissed him first, you deny it to this day and say you don’t remember since you were drunk but he knows it and you know it too. Deep in the night as you sat on his lap, on his bed, chests pressed together and hearts beating wildly nothing but heavy air between both of you he gently spoke against your lips words that at the time made you incredibly irritated but now you look back on fondly “I won’t fuck you when you are drunk.” Fuck! What a man! Even painfully hard under you as he was, it made you laugh in disbelief throwing your head back holding onto his shoulders as you felt him kiss sweetly against the expanses of your neck. Such reservations are long gone from your relationship but still you remember how sweet he had made you feel. He had let you hump him to your climax, so well behaved under you, let you use him as you pleased, a moaning mess on top of him, anyone else really would have taken advantage but not him, never him, not to you. It gave you a rush like no other to have a man like that under your thumb, knowing he could but he wouldn’t, already too sweet for you. “You are so strange” You had said between giggles as he laid you to rest on his bed, he just smiled and kissed your forehead. That should have given you a clue to his nature.

You giggle to yourself and he looks down on you amused.

“What?” He asks pulling you closer as you walk through the door, the noise of the music already filling you with energy.

“Nothing” you reply smiling up at him and pulling him closer into a quick kiss.

The club is filled with people, he commands attention when he walks in even if he doesn’t want to, it is the nature of the job he would say, but with you by his side he feels more at ease. The music is good, probably not entirely Joost’s taste but it is yours, so he doesn’t complain at all. You quickly make your way up to the private section and share greetings with everybody already there. You know his friends now, like to think they are yours too and they have always welcomed you so warmly. They never miss a chance tell you how happy you make Joost, you hope it is true. Soon both of you get lost on conversation and jokes with everyone around. He lets you do your thing, just happy to see you enjoy yourself, dancing wildly and downing on sweet liquor like it is water, without a care in the world you look the most beautiful but he honestly has no eyes for anyone else. He likes this more than anything, just seeing you happy it could give him the energy for 100 tours for 1000 performances if he only remembers your smiling face then it is all worth it, if you are at the end of the line then anything is worth it. He drinks as much as you but you are not nearly as good as he is at holding your liquor. He notices your half lidded eyes and unfocused pupils and starts feeding you water.

“Joost~” you want to complain in a sing song tone but he just kisses your hairline and pulls you closer.

“Just slow down, liefde” Taking care of you comes so easy so naturally, he doesn’t even make an effort it is just in his blood it seems.

You continue to dance against him and he moves behind you happy to have you in his arms inhaling your soft scent. He is already 10 steps ahead thinking about when he would get to take you home, to have you on his bed, to undress you and… any more imagining would be troublesome so he just downs his drink and keeps dancing to your rhythm.

The hours pass by quickly when you have fun you feel the boom of the bass deep in your body, the music guides you and you follow shamelessly grinding your ass against Joost’s crotch, his big hands holding tight at your hips letting you move as you please but keeping you close to his chest like his life depends on it. You can feel his warm breath on your neck, deep and slow, he seems so calm, if only you could see inside his brain the thoughts of you already glowing on his unmade bed, bouncing on his lap, his mouth on your heat, your image all over his brain. The warmth of his body is comforting against your back, like this it feels like you are only one person, even in the sea of people with the music loud it is just the two of you in this world. You crane your neck to the side to catch a glimpse of him, he looks beautiful, hair slightly tussled sweaty against his forehead, his face impossibly handsome illuminated by the sparse light, he catches your eye and a smile blooms from his lips all the way to his eyes, you feel your chest constrict he is all yours it feels too much and not nearly enough at all.

“Joost” the single word escapes your lips breathy and worked up already, his eyes darken, he knows you too well, you can feel his heart instantly start to race on the back of your ribcage, yours joins too, a beautiful chaotic symphony.

“Wanna go home?” You can only weakly nod as he takes your hand and pulls you towards the back door, barely bothering to say goodbye to everyone else.

As you wait for the car outside he keeps you tucked under his arm, without needing words he knows you are cold. The clothes look gorgeous on you as always but not good for this time of the night, however that is what he is here for. He caresses your arms up and down to warm you up, the car pulls up and he lets you in, closes the door behind then climbs inside from the other side. The drive is painfully slow, you want him now, you just need him on you, to feel the weight of his body, the rhythm of his thrusts, to breath on his air, nothing but him. You are drunk on Joost, you reach over and place a hand on his thigh feeling the muscle beneath it, desperate for some contact you try to move higher but he stops you gentle hand on yours, he looks at you and smiles pleased.

“Be patient” He chastises without bite, as if he is any better, as if he hasn’t been painfully hard since you started dancing on him, as if the way your mouth turns into a pout doesn’t excite him to a scary degree.

He is deeply obsessed with you and never bothers pretending he isn't, not even from the moment you met. Joost thinks you have to know even if he doesn't say it, his eyes constantly glued on you, his hands finding you in the middle of the night to pull you closer, always attached at the hip when you are at home, he can’t help it and it is not like he wants to either. He thinks back on all the nights he has had and you have had him and he can go eternally like this and live a happy man, just you and nothing else. It is perhaps an unhealthy thought, not entirely rational but with your body pressed so close to him it is hard to really think clearly or at all. His hand caresses at the small of your back soothing circles that just do more to get you worked up, you push closer to him, tits pressed against his chest, still so stubborn to keep playing the game but he doesn’t feel like letting you win tonight. He pulls you closer easily with a single hand your legs almost straddling his lap, he caresses your face with his tattooed hand and pushes the hair from your beautiful face before going to whisper in your ear.

“Be good, I’ll give you everything you want” He says and you almost purr at him, the alcohol you kept downing through the night working its magic, your competitive spirit all but melts away as you nod, lip bitten red between your teeth. You don’t know it yet but he won this time, already, actually ever since you left home earlier, all part of his calculated plan.

As the ride comes to a halt he jumps out the door, thanks the driver and pulls you to your wobbly feet, you feel like floating almost, on his arms impossibly light, and delicate like he can break you but he won’t. You want to get up to your place as fast as possible, yet he seems set on riling you up, he keeps stringing you along, getting you more and more impatient, you try to race the stairs as he keeps pulling you by the hips and pressing kisses to your mouth all the way up, making the process slower than it ever has to be. When you finally reach the door you desperately go for his pockets looking for the key, he doesn't help you and just looks delighted as you try to navigate the lock in your inebriated state.

When you finally get him inside you try to pull him to the bedroom ready ride him like it is the last time you will have him under you but he surprises you again when he pushes you gently against the entrance door. You whine into his mouth impatient as ever, but in ways it is his own fault since he has always been the one to spoil you rotten. You are so desperate for his touch, so intoxicated on your lust you let him roam his hands over your body, barely able to kiss back. He traces the curves he knows so well by heart, the delicious arch of your back into your ass kneading at the fat there that all but melts under his greedy fingers, pulling you closer to his hips, you can feel him hard against your thigh, his fingertips softly lingering under the hem of your skirt, deliciously close to your core, then he pulls his hands up your sides grabbing at your hips as he parts your legs softly with his foot, making room for himself. Instantly you are pushing your core against his thigh, he smiles an almost predatory glint on his eyes that you could have noticed had you not been so desperate to get off on his clothed leg, worse than a dog you think, almost embarrassed but the you right now couldn’t care about such things.

His strong but gentle grip on your hips guides you to apply more pressure, his mouth keeps you occupied drowning any protest you might have about taking it to the bedroom. You are too drunk on him to question anything and just let him suck on your tongue and kiss your lips sore as he pleases, you wonder if he can feel how wet you are, the thong you are wearing barely doing you any favors. The rough texture of his jeans against the tender skin of your cunt is too much you can almost cum at the sensation alone. He lets you grind yourself into a frenzy on his thigh fondly remembering that first night he had you on his bed. He feels your stuttering hips, he has you where he wants you, so he stops.

He grabs your wrists and pushes them against the wall right above your head, you look up at him through glossy eyes, bewildered, almost enraged that he has the nerve to stop. He pulls away his thigh leaving your heat, cold biting at the wet skin between your legs, hanging by a thread almost at your peak but denying you.

“What…” you trail off as he pecks your lips and smiles sweetly at you, you jostle in his grip a little but easily give up against his strength. He is never forceful, never meaning to intimidate or hurt you but you could see he had a plan, now that you had already walked right into the wolf’s mouth no point in struggling.

He kisses along your jaw and slowly starts working on your neck feeling the wild rhythm of your pulse under his lips, you moan and your hips buck upwards trying to find anything to grind on. It is now or never he thinks dramatically. “Baby…” he groans against the sensitive skin under your ear, you whimper in acknowledgment, the only way you can communicate in your current state.

“Baby, I want you to ride my face”. He says as he kisses sloppily along your collarbones, at your sternum then licks a line up your neck. You are breathless, you feel like you died, your brain struggling to process his words, working hard to make sense of what he is asking.

“Yes baby?” He sounds almost pleading you look at him now, eyes wide open, a deer caught in the headlights. His request feel so unexpected and at the same time not at all, he had asked before and in truth he had been wanting you like that completely wild on his mouth since he had first seen you, but you felt reservation somehow, shy even after all the filth you had done with him, to him and had let him do to you, somehow this one got you. Not that you didn’t want it but you felt somehow selfish. He was already so good, so sweet and gentle, pampering you all the time, he just wanted to give and give and you felt bad taking so much it felt like something only for your sake and it somehow gave you a pause. He never wants to push you but now, so lost in pleasure, he just has to ask again, fight for his side.

“Joost… you…” You can barely form a sentence, he truly kisses you stupid not a single coherent thought in that pretty little head of yours.

“I really need you to ride my face princess, please” His big blue eyes beaming back at you, pleading. It is really impossible for you to say no to him on every day life and even harder now.

“O-okay, yeah, whatever you want” He is back on you in a second, your brain is completely fried there are no real thoughts, it is just his smell , his taste, the weight of his hands on your body, the warmth of his skin the softness of his lips, you have never wanted anyone this bad.

He grabs your hand and guides you to the bedroom makes quick work of his clothes only staying on his black boxers with his name, you used to tease him for it now it feels so deeply him it just feels endearing. Then he goes for your clothes, you have been together so long it seems he knows better than you how to undress you, deft hands so unlike his clumsy nature. You stand in the middle of the room on slightly wobbly feet as he kneels pulling your underwear down with uncharacteristic delicacy considering his earlier pleads, you wanna laugh at him, how whipped he is, how badly he wants you, how his biggest fantasy is your pleasure but you can’t, everything feels so real, so serious you can barely stand on your own two feet. As if reading your mind he grabs hold of your thighs to help you balance yourself, still on his knees in front of you he looks up kisses reverently at the skin of your thigh kneading his hands upwards. He is so tall even on his knees his face only a few inches from your heat, you feel his breath to your core, it ignites you, you feel yourself dripping and he hasn’t even started.

“Ready princess?” You nod not trusting your mouth that feels too heavy for words, he nods back and kisses sweetly at the heat between your legs before standing up to his full height again.

Towering over you but never feeling intimidating, however the hunger in his eyes makes you shiver in anticipation, a look you have never seen from him, not like this. He grabs hold of your hands and leads you to the bed pulling you down with him. You stumble without any grace on his embrace, tangled limbs and little giggles escape both of you before he moves upwards in the bed resting his head against the pillows. He looks divine, the light of the moon making him even more handsome it makes your chest hurt.

You are straddling your legs right at his chest, his hands in the back of your thighs pulling you closer to where he wants you, he needs you. “Come here schatje” you look at him but there is still a knot in your stomach, still shy, still scared of being selfish, but he wants you so badly he needs you so much, it feels unfair to deny him, to deny yourself the sweet pleasure of his warm tongue that you are so familiar with. You move upwards slowly on weak knees taking a last look at his face his hands on your ass now kneading softly.

“Relax, I won’t bite, promise” You snort releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding.

“Yes I would hope so, you know better than that” He kisses the tender skin at the inside of your knee.

“I’m a well trained dog” He makes a show of winking at you, you erupt in laughter it calms your nerves instantly.

“What… what do you want me to… what should I do?” You ask not knowing where to put your hands.

“Use me to get off” He can feel the hesitation on your entire body all muscles tense like expecting the fall. He helps you and lifts his head up closer to your core, licks his lips in anticipation, you can feel his breath against your dripping heat, he can smell your scent addicting in a way he knows you would find mortifying if he ever told you, so he keeps it to himself.

He licks a long strip up your pussy, still holding your legs in place by the sides of his head like you will run away, he pulls an easy moan out of you, already knows your body so well, he licks insistently against your clit, feels you relax put more of your delicious weight on him. With the reward of his efforts he gets encouraged wrapping his lips around your hard bud suckling softly, he hears you mewl on top of him already turning to putty under his attention. He pulls away as little as possible just to spur you on, he can still feel your reservations.

“Get out of your head, I won’t break”. His voice is commanding but still gentle you want give him everything he wants, do everything he says.

You nod and try moving against his face slowly, gently as much as you can even when you start feeling yourself losing your mind. You look below wanting to make sure he is okay and then you see it, his eyes closed and eyebrows knit, the face of pleasure you know so well. He is getting off on this as much as you are, you test your theory as you push yourself closer to him and he moans back deliciously against your folds feeling the reverberation from his groans against your core emboldens you. He uses his strong grip on your ass and hips to start moving you back and forth against his face, the pretty tip of his nose catching on your clit making you mewl in pleasure until you get used to it, now without any shame left you start grinding yourself back and forth on his tongue as it goes deep into your cunt the wetness so addicting he keeps licking like he wants to stay between your legs forever and maybe he wants exactly that. Too soon you feel waves of pleasure building.

“Joost” you are chanting his name over and over without a care in the world who hears, your throat will be sore tomorrow. Your hands find your perked nipples adding to the stimulation and pull slightly like he would, his own hands occupied helping you move to reach your orgasm. “Ah fuck” you whimper again you can almost feel him smile against your cunt, he can die right now right here between your legs happily, a life well lived and all that. He keeps moving your hips greedily as if he was chasing his own orgasm perhaps you are so connected your pleasure is his pleasure and truly in this position with the heat and wetness connecting you, you don’t know where you end and he begins.

“I’m close” your hands reach to the locks of his beautiful golden hair between your legs.

“Come baby, come on my face” he barely manages to mumble against you core.

With those words he pushes you over the edge, you lose yourself to pleasure just as he wanted, you ride his face vigorously forgetting he has to breath and at that moment he forgets it too, only preoccupied with making your orgasm last as long as possible, insatiably licking at your clit. Your grip on his locks keeps him in place as your finish all over his face he feels your pussy clench around nothing once again pushing his tongue deep into you not wanting this moment to end while your clit grinds heavily against his nose. You are screaming at the top of your lungs your orgasm making your thighs shake but his strong arms keep you in place. He keeps sucking on your clit possessively even when you try to pull away, he is doing this for his own pleasure at this point, you let him and hold onto the bed frame as a lifeline, when he has collected every drop of your release he licks another long stripe up your pussy more soothing than anything making your shiver in delight. Finally satisfied he pulls away slightly to catch his breath, peppering kisses on the inside of your thighs, hands still holding onto you. His face is so red, he is so pretty like this he looks fucked out, so blissful like he was on the receiving end. His face is wet and shinny a mixture of your arousal and his spit you look down and stay there locked eyes, you wanna remember this forever.

“I love you so much” He says beaming up at you, you could almost feel guilty if he didn’t look so damn proud of himself, the same face he has on after a good show.

“I love you too.” You start trying to move but your legs are jelly and you hold back onto the bed frame. “Fuck, that was too good” You laugh looking at him, he laughs heartily always happy to get his ego stroked.

“Let me” He maneuvers you easily and flips you over, now you are resting on the pillows as he cuddles to your side rubbing against your neck, leaving small bites and kisses, he is so wet and sticky it could be gross, it should be gross, only if it wasn't the hottest thing that has ever happened to you.

You turn to kiss him lock his lips with yours, taste yourself on his tongue, he deepens the kiss, the dog, that is exactly what he wanted, you smile against his lips. He leaves you breathless kissed stupid again, you feel him jostle a little and see him throw his boxers somewhere on the floor, then he pulls you closer to his chest. You feel his heart beat under your ear, you are so tired, you feel boneless could fall asleep any second heavy lidded eyes and yet you still want him, you always do.

“Do you wanna-” he stops you, kissing at the top of your head.

“No need” He pulls the comforter over both of you.

You look up at him, eyebrow crooked and he just has an easy smile on his lips as he reaches for the nightstand drawer where he keeps some cigarettes exactly for times like this. He looks down at you as he lights the one between his lips, you look at him amazed, you can't belive it, he came, he came because of you, completely untouched, fully at your mercy. A shot of adrenaline makes you raise from his chest hold yourself on your elbows to look at him properly, trying to come up with something to say opening and closing your mouth not quite processing what just happened. Unable to come up with anything coherent enough you give up and just come closer to him once again pulling the cigarette off his lip and letting him blow his smoke into your mouth, you take it, like everything he gives you. You kiss him again, hungry, possessive and proud, like you could bite him raw and it still wouldn’t be enough. You realize something Joost has know for a while now, you can never be close enough it is terrifying and horribly exciting at the same time. He pulls your face closer deepens the kiss tangles his fingers in your hair and then rests his forehead against yours, just breathing you in. You are in an indescribable ecstasy all you can do is throw your head back and laugh, he follows as he smokes, laughs with you then chases your lips, kisses your smile.

“You taste really fucking good.” He says against your hair as he pulls you back to his chest still chuckling, sleep starts dragging you soon enough as he finishes his cigarette.

Obsession as a description for what he feels for you might be coming short these day, maybe devotion could be closer…

��── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

MASTERLIST *ੈ✩‧₊˚ AN: It is my first time posting anything like this again sorry for any mistakes idk what im doing I just really needed to get this out of my system <3

#joost klein smut #joost klein x reader #joost x reader #joost x you #joost #joost smut #joost fanfic #joost klein fanfiction #joost klein

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amoristt · 5 months ago

Text

closer

「 ✦ thanos / reader / nam-gyu ✦ 」 tags: smut MDNI // afab! reader, DP, mild drxg use, like super mild, no plot lol, light coercion but reader is into it

a/n: when is it my turn im barkingggg i want them so bad theyre gonna have to burn me off w a lighter the way im biting word count: 9.5

・❥・Never in your life had you felt so grateful for something as simple as lukewarm water. Fuck, any water at all that wasn’t ice cold felt like a luxury- your palms collecting the clear liquid before tossing it up to your face. The splashes only offer so much, it’s awkward to bend over the sink to wash yourself, but it’s better than nothing given there don’t seem to be any readily available showers.

Paper towels make shitty loofahs. The hand soap isn’t exactly your favorite fragrance ever. Your tracksuit and t-shirt are slung over a stalls door, and you’re craning your entire spine forward just to wash your upper half. The last game had been so strenuous- you were sure you absolutely reeked.

Man, you miss your shower. If you make it home, you’re going to spend most of the rest of your life under as hot of water as you could get, you think. The ultimate pick-me-up.

Speaking of pick-me-up’s, you wonder if Thanos's would be a kind enough soul to let you bum off some more of this muscle relaxants. You had no idea what the things were, but holy shit, did it knock you off your ass the last time. It was like being made entirely of lead. Every time you shifted positions, you fell into an even comfier spot, the thin mattresses offered to you suddenly about as comfortable as a kings.

You could use some good sleep right about now. Sore, exhausted, and more high-strung than you cared to admit. Thanos and Nam-gyu were always entertaining enough to take some of the edge off. Even when your lives were on the line, they made it hard to take anything too serious at all at all. Or maybe that was the drugs- either way, you were appreciative of their company. Who better to hang around with than friends, right? Long before the games, before you all became a trio of sorts, you’d met them both a handful of times, only when your friend groups would clash because a few people knew a few people who knew a few people.

Thanos was always the center of attention, but he was never outright unkind to you. Notably, he was always particularly focused on you when you were in a giggly mood. You would laugh at all his jokes, even the shitty ones, with a drink in hand. He ate it up- worked overtime to keep you around- you made him feel like he was the funniest man alive.

Nam-gyu worked at the club you both frequented at and he came to be as equally as interested in your friend. He hung around your table, they chatted endlessly on about some online currency thing most times, and you’d zone out all too easily. Other times, your favorite times, Nam-gyu would sneak you all into a private lounge and share some of his spoils he’d come across. They took drugs like water, you always chose the bottle, instead.

Friday’s would blur into sunday evenings before you could even really get a grapple on what was going on. You’d wake up in hotel rooms with them both strewn about, sleeping in all sorts of positions. It was fun. It was really fun, in a wreckless, manic type of way. You never understood why they kept you around, but you didn’t question it, either. Why question when you could just enjoy. Why question when you could just enjoy?

When you’d found them among the crowd on day one, it was like the planets had realigned. Actually, you hadn’t even been the first to notice. You just heard your name shouted over the crowd and suddenly someone was slamming into you hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. A blur of purple hair and green tracksuits.

You aren’t sure you’d have made it as far as you had if not for your buddies. You try not to think about it too much- you’d hate to ruin your own vibe as lives come to end all around you. It was the first time you’d ever taken something from Thanos- a muscle relaxant that really took the anxieties away.

Dipping your head into the sink and rinsing your face once more, you don’t bother looking up when you hear the door push open and then click shut. You’re too focused on how the water is warm enough, and you don’t stink to the high heavens any longer.

A man’s voice cuts through the silence, echoes off the tile walls.

“Woah.”

You rip your head from the sink so fast it almost nails the faucet on your way up, alarm flashing through you, arms coming to cover your chest only clad in your bra. When you manage to process the not only one, but two men standing before you, you feel anger bubbling in your chest.

Low and behold, speak of the devils.

“What the fuck!” You hiss, tightening your arms around your chest.

Thanos’s hands are tucked into his pockets casually, and he looks around the bathroom with his brows raised, like he wasn’t sure what to expect out of the women's bathroom. Nam-gyu tails him but passes by after offering you a snarky grin. In your relief that you knew the two souls invading your space, you almost forgot the fact that you were naked from the waist up.

“You seriously scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry,” Thanos hummed, putting his hands up to his chest mockingly. He moves like he’s light on air, but his eyes never leave you.

You turn on your heel and grab your shirt from its spot over the stall door, throwing it on quickly. In the mirror, you don’t miss the way Thanos’s eyes drink you in, but you do miss the way Nam-gyu is almost seeming to scout the girls room, checking under the doors and pushing stalls open.

“What are you guys doing in here? Aren’t you worried about getting in trouble.”

Thanos scoffs. “Trouble. It was crazy boring out there.”

Nam-gyu sighs dramatically, snaking up beside the taller male. “And you’ve been in here forever. We thought maybe something happened to our buddy.”

You actually laugh at that. He’s said that before- and this isn’t the first time your friends have barged into the women's bathroom in search of you. Usually at clubs, they’d be pushed and shoved out by other women, but right now there’s no one to chastise them for being irritants.

“My heroes. I’m definitely doing fine. Buuut…” You trail off in a hum, eyeing your purple haired friend. He raises a brow again. “You got more of what you had me take? Not the crazy shit, obviously, whatever the white one was from the other night.”

“Why? You stressed?” He rocks back and forth on his heels, shoving his hands into his pockets. You can’t help but stare at him, incredulous.

“Yeah, I’m stressed. All this game shit is starting to get under my skin.”

“Yo, you’re not voting no are you?” Gam-gyu is already touching you. So clingy, all the time, thin fingers petting and pressing on your shoulders any chance he could get. At any point it seemed like he was tugging on you from somewhere.

“No, I’m just saying I could use some relief.”

He slips behind you, hands on your shoulders. Your friends are trading looks that you can’t quite place, this unspoken vibe that you’re clearly not tuned into. Something thicker settles between all three of you, as does your confusion. They were up to something- you knew it. You knew them like the back of your hand.

Thanos is jostling the necklace around to sort through all the colors. Eventually he settles on one and he hands it over. The entire time he’s searching for it, Nam-gyu is still standing along your back, the heat of him palpable. Consistent. He’s always exuded heat like a furnace.

Thanos pulls his necklace from his shirt and pops the cross shaped case open. Plucking out a small white pill, he eyes it before flashing it in your vision. You brighten up at the sight, but he’s quick to take a step back when you reach out.

“What is it?”

“Hm… I’m just thinking. You know, I give you a couple of these, but what do I get in return?”

That stops you, your eyes narrowing just enough to notice, subtle suspicion settling over your features.

“Uh… What do you want, I guess…?”

Thanos eyes glance around the room as he thinks, before they settle on you. They’re different. A bit darker, a flame of mischievousness to those irises. Not a look you’ve never seen before, but certainly not a look you expected to be directed at you of all people.

“How about… a kiss.”

There you go, laughing again. Now that was certainly a first. When you have your little giggle and straighten back up, you see that Thanos doesn’t find his request even slightly as funny as you do. He’s staring at you with his expression of expectancy, so much so that it makes you raise a brow.

“For real?”

He jingles his necklace, the pills rattling around audibly. There’s no way he’s serious. But he looks serious. He was a flirt to his very core, you knew that a fact to be true, but ever since you’d left the ‘cutie in his friend group’ category and slipped into the boundaries of being his genuine friend, he hadn’t made any advances.

Maybe this was some sort of test, because he’s still not budging. If he is serious, well… You can’t exactly say you’d mind a little peck. He was handsome- they both were. With cool, untouchable attitudes to match. Fun, fun, fun, and the rare times they had to look out for you, they were as reliable as concrete.

If you hadn’t developed such a bond with them- not quite something like siblings, but not of lesser importance either, you’d have been all over the idea. Now you have to put thought into it, tread more carefully than you’d like.

You decide, though, fuck it. If he’s to be the fisher, then suppose you’ll be the fish that bites.

“Sure. Why not.”

They both trade looks again. Quick, only in a flash, but you catch it. Nam-gyu’s thumbs rub circles into your skin through the thin fabric of your t-shirt and for some reason it makes your breath catch in your chest. There’s a strange energy about them. Something charged, determined. Every move is calculated with some end goal in their minds.

“Here.”

A strange pang of disappointment rings through you, though, when Thanos plants the little pill in your palm- you had kinda hoped he’d kiss you, after all. But oh well. You knew he was just clowning around- he always was. You always had turned his meaningless flirts down, maybe he was trying to see what you’d do in the name of drugs, or something like that. You feel prickly heat on your cheeks- embarrassment.

You wish you had turned him down now, too, kind of feeling like an idiot.

The pill is just as bitter on your tongue now as it had been the first time, a grimace playing over your lips as the texture bursts into a gritty chalk-like powder dancing over your tastebuds. You had about five minutes before it’d start kicking in.

“Jesus, that taste is so fucking na-”

You’re cut off by Thanos pressing his lips firmly against your own. It’s sudden, it’s intrusive. His hand is firmly cupping your jaw and the other is resting on the pulse of your neck. It pushes you back against Nam-gyu roughly, and his hands come to grasp at your forearms from behind you, continuing to rub circles into your skin. Your own hands come up instinctively, planting on Thanos’s shoulders.

There’s heat flooding your cheeks, heat flooding down to your chest and out to your ears. Worsened, a flame so fiery hot it scorches, when Thanos tilts his head to deepen the kiss even further, his hands keeping you flush against him. Nam-gyu’s sliding his hands from your arms down to the curve of your waist, feeling the shape of you through your t-shirt. You shiver, electricity rippling up and down your spine in body shivering shudders.

When Thanos splits from you, your mind reeling, there’s fingers replacing his grip on your jaw almost immediately, making you face over your shoulder. Another set of lips overtake yours, tongue lapping into your parted lips, pushy and demanding. Thanos’s kiss wasn't especially apprehensive, but it wasn’t like this. Nam-gyu kisses you like he owns you, fervent and sloppy and noisy.

There’s a string of spit bridging you when he pulls away, watches you gape at him, breathless and flushed. You’re stammering, unsure of what to say next.

“What- what the fuck-”

“You are so beautiful.” Thanos interrupts again you by running a hand through your hair, nails gently scratching along your scalp. It’s not the first time he’s ever said it, but there’s something different now. Passionate. Like he really means it this time, and not some off-handed flirt that was easy to swat away.

You’re blushing a raging red, your heart pounding in your chest- you don’t know what to do with your hands anymore. He takes them for you in his own, long fingers stroking over your knuckles before he dragged your right hand up to his lips and places kisses along your knuckles. Over the top, up your wrist. Up to your forearm and then only stopping when your t-shirt blocked away your smooth skin. Nam-gyu brushes hair from your neck and buries his face into the cradle of you, breathes you in, his hands still squeezing gently on your hips.

“What’s going on…?” You chirp, eyes falling half lidded.

“You tell us.” Nam-gyu murmurs against you, hot breath ghosting over your skin, and you shiver in, you realize, pure delight. You feel a weight start to settle in your cheeks, your head starting to feel just a little bit heavier than before to hold up on your neck.

The drugs are kicking in just in time, your shoulders slumping, a content sigh leaving your lips. Opening yourself up to them, head lolling to the side to give Nam-gyu more of your collar. He takes, greedy, excited, and presses a smile into your jugular.

This was calculated. This was planned. And fuck, it’s working.

“I don’t know.” You say. But you do know. And you know you’re clearly enjoying it- already wet between your legs and feeling the roll of anticipation settle in your belly.

The anxieties start to ebb away, and Thanos is watching your every micro expression with blown pupils. You watch him from under your thick lashes, lips swollen, your breath leaving you in shallow pants. It beckons him, draws him in for another kiss.

Thanos is the one who finally decides to stop beating around the bush. He breaks your second kiss to touch your face, one hand caressing down your cheeks, the other brushing stray strands of hair away from your eyes. He’s beautiful- he’s always been beautiful.

“You want more?”

You swallow. “Drugs? Or…”

He traces his thumb over your lower lip. “...Or.”

Yes, you do. Fuck yes. But for some reason you can’t say it outloud- this weird, nagging feeling that surely comes from some insecurities buried among the skeletons in your closet, that this is all some cruel prank. That if you say yes, really give in to them, they’ll leave you high and dry, laughing all the way back to their beds outside. You’d never live it down. It would change everything.

“...Are you being serious…?” You have to ask, even if you’re so wet it’s uncomfortable, clenching on nothing when strikes of need course through you.

There is no laughter. Just excited, aroused breathing all around in the silence. Nam-gyu squeezes you once more, fingers pressing into your skin through your clothes that are suddenly much, much too warm to be under.

“Seriously.” Thanos murmurs, and then he finds your lips again. Kisses exhilaration into you like a drug of its very own. You let him in, lean forward and hum a sweet little sound into his mouth. He pulls back again, and there’s those expectant eyes again. He’s being genuine, they both are, their hands and their eyes and their mouths unable to leave you for even a moment.

“Let’s have some fun, yeah?” Nam-gyu breathes, and you shiver. His fingers dip below the thin fabric of your t-shirt, barely brushing his calloused fingers over your skin, and it’s enough to light you up with goosebumps and desire. You can feel your heartbeat throughout your entire body now, from your head all the way down to your aching cunt.

Yeah. Let’s have some fun.

The moment you nod, it’s the green light they’d been waiting for- hoping for.

Your shirt is gone in a matter of seconds, Thanos making quick work to pull it over your head and toss it over the wall of the nearest stall. Before you even get the chance to cover yourself, exposed in the bathroom before them all over again, you’re being walked backwards, pushed gently by the front when Thanos kisses you fervently- like he can’t get enough of you. Like everytime he breaks away he’s just waiting for his chance to find your lips again. You’re sore with him, kiss-drunk and willing. The world disappears behind the stall, and all else disappears except for them.

Nam-gyu backs up to the wall, keeps you in front of him, sandwiched between their bodies. His hand slips under your bra and he kneads your breast with one hand, the other wrapping around your waist, keeping you pinned against his warm, warm body. When his thumb flicks over your nipple, you jump with a sharp gasp. Thanos groans an equally as delighted sound against you, doesn’t let up, doesn’t give you the chance to have second thoughts.

Gentle pinches and tugs make you whimper, forced to break Thanos’s kiss when you’re overwhelmed with the need for air. You suck in greedy breaths, a sound that raises into a high keen when there’s suddenly pressure flattened right where you needed it between your legs. Thanos’s palm is grinding against your sex through your sweats, your hands clutching against his jacket in need of purchase.

“I knew you’d sound cute.” Nam-gyu harps, grinning into your hair.

You wonder when they’d planned this. Initially you had figured it was a fuck it, why not scenario- after all, tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed. But the little comments like that, like this was something they’d thought about before, tells you otherwise. It makes you even hotter. Fuck, if you had known, you would have been on it. Especially if it felt like this.

Your head tips back, resting against Nam-gyu’s shoulder, and he makes quick work of nipping at your throat. Thanos is all kisses, but you’re finding the other male is mostly teeth, biting and grazing along the sensitive flesh of your neck. Thanos adds just a bit of pressure, just enough to make you moan again, the sound like music to their waiting ears. You’re quickly dissolving into a squirming mess of sultry cries and ember-hot skin.

Your bra is next up on the chopping block. It’s actually shocking it’s taken this long, Nam-gyu growing impatient with the idea of touching, but not seeing. When it’s pulled away, the cold air meets you, makes you shiver, exposed. Now it’s getting real- you’re entirely bare from the waist up, panting in front of them like a present begging to be unwrapped.

“So fucking hot,” Thanos coos, feeling you, bouncing between catching your sensitive nipples in his fingers and easing his palm against your sex. You need more- you’re so wet you’re sure he can feel it through your clothes, now, hips rocking, begging for more. He drops to his knees in front of you.

“Woah-” You clam up, tensing, and Nam-gyu lifts his head so he could see what your sudden fuss was about. Thanos freezes, his fingers caught and hooking over your sweats. You swallow hard and squirm. “I mean- You don’t have to do that.”

“You don’t… Want me to?” He’s actually taken aback that you’re stopping him, clearly worried about cold feet coming into the picture. You stammer again.

“Well-, Not like, I don’t want you to, but that’s… I don’t know.”

He leans back on his heels, tilting his head. “So you do want me to.”

You’re under the spotlight, frozen, floundering. They’re exchanging glances from over your shoulder. Fuck- you don’t want this to stop but you’re nervous at the thought of him eating you out. You force out, “I-I just- I’m embarrassed.”

Thanos gapes at you. “Embarrassed?”

You can’t bear to look at him in the eyes anymore, nerves getting the better of you.

Fuck, you want more drugs. Anything to get away from this random bout of insecurities that seemed to jump you out of the blue. Or maybe it was the sobering reality that was your good, good friend about to be face to face with your cunt.

Nam-gyu drags his hands along your sides, makes you shiver, before they settle on your breasts again. He grasps you, rolls your sensitive buds between his fingers. He’s trying to break you out of your funk, you know it, and it’s starting to work. Reminding you how good this feels, how they’ve been all over you like drooling hounds to scent from the moment you’d invited them into yourself.

“Don’t be shy, c’mon.” He whispers in your ear. You’re inclined to listen, even if it takes a few extra beats of silence.

“Okay.”

Thanos’s eyes light up. He leans forward. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

He’s quick to drag your pants down, takes great care to bring your underwear with them, into a pool around your ankles before tugging them away all together. When you lift your left leg to step out, he catches you by the thigh and hikes it over his shoulder, your other leg supporting your weight. You’re spread open and he’s eyeing your sex like a wolf eyes a cornered rabbit. Hungry, primal. He doesn't let you develop those worries this time, wastes no time before butting his tongue up against your slit and licking a broad, deep stripe.

A high, blissful sound escapes your lips. Something like a mewl, but from somewhere deep in your chest. It’s lewd, it’s downright pornographic, and it’s making Nam-gyu groan into your neck while Thanos’s eyes slip shut. Every lick makes you jump, every prod of his tongue against your lonely clit a cause for squirming. If Nam-gyu’s arm wasn’t wrapped around your waist, crushing you against him, you would have crumbled into a heaping mess.

“God, you’re such a fucking babe.” He murmurs in your ear, a taunt to his tone. “You’ve wanted this bad, huh?”

You did want it. You wanted it so bad that you’re already dripping with your own slick, Thanos devours you like the finest of fruit. He’s ravenous, hungry, sucking on your clit and spreading you open with his fingers until all you can do is wheeze out sharp cries. You can’t do anything to slow him down, urge him deeper, stuck in place and expected to do nothing else but let them have you.

“Look at that,” Nam-gyu’s voice again in your ear, you can hear his grin. “You're soaking his face already.”

It’s too much. You can’t lock eyes with him- you can barely even stand the sight of him buried between your legs on its own, let alone locking eyes when he's making all these obscene, salacious sounds, drunk on your slick. But then the male behind you grabs your chin and he makes you look and he whispers dirty, downright bawdy things in your ear that make you shake in his unrelenting grip.

When Thanos’s eyes flick up to find yours, you whine and bury your hand in his hair. He moans against you, letting his eyes fall shut again, reveling in the way you tugged and clawed. You’re covered by them, covered by hands and kisses, losing any and all sense of prudence. These wanton, needy sounds are slipping past your lips and you can’t seem to stop them. It’s all so good, pleasure from every angle.

Your orgasm is quiet, but it rocks you to your very core. This rippling, climbing tantamount of pleasure that bursts into fiery roars of euphoria fluttering under your skin. Head tossed back against Nam-gyu’s shoulder, scrabbling for purchase on his arm around your waist, you cum and cum and cum until it feels like you’re never going to find your way back down.

If you’d been soaked before, you were downright drenched now, and Thanos couldn’t have been happier. He’s greedy, clutches your twitching hips so you can’t jump away from his mouth when he drinks you in until you’re writhing to get away from it. When he finally pulls away, he laps another wet kiss onto your clit for good measure, and then another for the road. And then one more, one more just for good luck.

“Holy shit,” Nam-gyu chuckles against your hair. “Fuck, that was so hot.”

Thanos kisses up from your thighs to your abdomen, up to your breasts, where he finds his mouth busy once more latching onto a nipple and earning another bout of whimpers. You lurch back, wiggly and restless, but you can’t go anywhere else. You’re trapped, cornered. It’s perfect.

You’re suddenly hoisted into the air, hands gripping into your thighs and ass. Your back presses weight against Nam-gyu’s front, and instinctively, you wrap your legs around Thanos’s waist for support. They’ve got you sandwiched in between their bodies even more now, your weight entirely supported by their grasps, the soft fabric of their tracksuits brushing against you with every shift. Occasionally, there’s a sharp chill of cold along your back, the zipper brushing against your heated skin.

There’s a quiet, rustling of fabric that reaches your ears over the incessant pounding of your heart rate, and when you look, you feel your stomach roll. Thanos is shimmying his pants down to his mid thighs, and you watch with eager eyes as his cock springs free from its confines. His tip is red and angry with need, precum glistening under the overhead light. It makes you clench of nothing, suddenly realizing how empty you feel, how he could fill you up so perfectly.

When he settles between your legs again, he tests the waters, drags his tip along your slit, knocking it against your clit. You jerk your hips against him, trying to urge him in without outright telling him. He’s a good listener- doesn't make you wait and agonize, doesn't even make you beg for it. Just lines his shaft up with your entrance and lets out a shaky, eager breath. He doesn’t wait for an okay. He doesn’t need one. Not when you’re driving your heel into his lower back and biting at your lip in anticipation.

You’re so drenched that he’s inside of you all the way to the hilt in one move. You go from uncomfortably empty to suddenly bracing the impalement, your walls fluttering and sucking him in, drawing these deep guttural groans from both of your throats. His hands are squeezing your ass, nails barely catching the skin. He certainly feels thicker than he looks, snug inside of your gummy walls.

“Damn,” English meets your ears, low and sultry as you wrap your arms around his neck. “So fucking wet.”

“Take her.” Nam-gyu says, and before you know it, your weight has shifted onto Thanos almost entirely. The arm wrapped tightly around your abdomen slithers away, and then you feel it. The unmistakable, undeniable feeling of Nam-gyu’s erection pressing flush to your occupied slit. He’s so hard it must hurt, breathing heavy against your neck, a fever growing within him. And he’s bigger- you can tell, thicker. Thanos’s cock twitched inside of you, reminds you that you already feel full. You still, the sudden dawning realization that they’re both going to take you temporarily yanking you from your haze of euphoria.

“You gonna be able to take it?” Thanos can sense the change in you. He always does, his eyes seem to never leave you.

You can’t bring yourself to answer, because quite honestly, you don’t know. You don’t know if you could house both of their swollen cocks within the confines of your cunt. You’re trying to even your breathing, to relax around him, but it’s hard when Nam-gyu knocks his length along your sex once again. He’s trying to wait- but patience has never been one of his virtues. But he does it for you, does it because he wants this more than anything in his entire life. And he wants it done right.

Thanos rocks himself into you, sets you alight once more, lighting little sparks behind your eyelids. Reminding you, again, that they’re going to take care of you. Chirping, mewling little sounds pass your lips every time he does, spurs them both on, especially Nam-gyu, who butts his cock up against your slit one more time before he presses inside with a hiss.

It’s an impossibly tight fit. Your chest heaves, your body tenses, your heart is beating so rapidly you’re afraid it may burst any time now. There’s hands all over you, soothing you, toying with you, rubbing circles into your clit and catching your nipples between the pads of their fingers. The first inch of Nam-gyu manages a path inside your pussy. You tense with every fiber of your being, this searing, rippling burn forcing you to toss your head back with a dying yelp on your lips. It hurts- it hurts more than you thought it would, and you knew with certainty you’d be struggling. He won’t fit- he can’t fit, there’s no way the size of you could accommodate them both. But he continues anyway, forces another inch inside of you.

The stretch is unbelievable. You can’t cope

There’s hands petting down your hair, lips on your cheek, trying to kiss and lick and sooth you.

“Quiet, it’s okay.” Your ears are swimming, you can barely hear Thanos’s voice over the crashing waves beating along your eardrums. You whimper a pitiful noise- one that makes him shift your weight onto Nam-gyu’s iron grip. Your eyes are screwed shut so tight you’re unsure if they'll ever open again. Something pokes against your lips- fingers, you realize, slipping inside your warm mouth and dragging along your tongue. You’re so lost, swirling, you just let them explore you.

“You’re so pretty, baby, let me help you.” He hums, and that reaches you just fine. Another wave of red hot blush creeps over your cheeks as if having both of their cocks jointed in the cavern of your cunt wasn’t enough before. Chest swelling, leaning into his fingers collecting your drool and prying your mouth open for him, like an obedient dog.

A bitter, sharp taste explodes over your tongue.

Try as you might to rip your head back, retching, Nam-gyu’s holding you up so Thanos’s other hand has got you by the back of your head and he’s shoving that terrible taste to the very back of your throat until you're gagging it down. His voice is so sweet in your ears, sickly so, faux honey tipped words that reach you in cooing there you go’s.

“How much-” You gag with the taste of the pill still drifting down into your stomach. “How much was that?”

“Don’t worry about it. I got you.” And his broad hands are back onto your body, supporting and dragging you against him, burying his face in your neck, lapping the smooth skin there.

You trust him. You trust both of them, even when they give you every reason not to. And so, let them handle it all for you. To take care of you. In return they ravage you, take and pull anything they can get their hands on, stuck somewhere between treating you like the finest of china

whilst simultaneously brutalizing you at every turn. This precious, pliable, breakable, but oh so usable thing at their very fingertips.

At the very least, Nam-gyu hasn’t continued trying to bulldoze his swollen cock into you, not yet. He’s giving you the chance to relax, to let him have you.

This round of drugs takes as quick of effect as the first, and you can feel it starting in your back before all else, this overtaking, tranquilizing sooth that works to pacify your tense muscles. It spreads to your face, your arms, your thighs and your legs, like a flood slowly rising until you’re soggy and heavy in their arms. Your head lolls forward on your shoulders, your brain grows foggier by the second. Their heartbeats are in tandem- or perhaps, it’s just your own, pulsating through every nerve in your being.

The drugs are helping, you think, or you really are starting to enjoy the way you’re being lanced in two. It’s hard to think at all anymore, all you can really do is feel and pant and try not to cry anymore than you already have. As the seconds tick by, you’re still lucid enough to know a glaring fact- they’re going to gut you with this. But you’re starting to lose the ability to care and you aren’t sure if that’s entirely a good thing or not.

In that moment, however, it was bliss. Painful and scorching, but all euphoric consuming bliss.

There isn’t enough space for them between your legs, but they carve it out anyways, shape and mold you around their cocks. Nam-gyu pushes in again, and you wrench around them, gasping out high noises in the back of your throat. He stills- there isn’t enough room like this. Even being so soaked that there’s this audible, obscene wentess to your cunt as he makes his way inside, there’s simply not enough room. Not with Thanos already buried so tightly inside of you, snug and occupying. Your fingers grip anywhere they can get- their arms, their shoulders, desperate for something to cling to in your woes.

“I don’t think she can-” Nam-gyu groans when you squeeze around them mid sentence, and even with just half of his length sheathed inside of you, it’s fucking tight. He can’t even move, letting his forehead fall onto your shoulder. “M’ not gonna fit.”

Your weight is tossed back to Nam-gyu, your head tipping back, and he kisses your cheek again, breathes hot pants against your trembling skin. Thanos shifts inside of you, just enough to draw out urgent moans from all three of your throats. He’s so snug inside of you that it’s almost seamless, you can’t tell where he begins, where you end. That felt fucking good, whatever he had done. Your walls flutter around them, clenching, sucking them both in despite your qualms. Thanos resettles his grip, the weight redistributed.

“Just-” His voice is strained, coming out in quick huffs. “Just do it.” Thanos ducks his head to find your eyeline, this pseudo, eager concern on his knit brows and pleading eyes. “You can take it, right?”

All you can do is nod, even though you’re still sure that this will kill you.

Nam-gyu jumps you just a bit, hoists you up just an inch or so higher so he could get a better grip on around your waist while his other arm snakes up your face so he could touch your face. Small tears are biting at your waterlines, you’re weightless and heavy all at once, on fire from the very core of your being, terrorizing you from the inside out. He kisses your cheek again before his palm finds your chin.

“Don’t scream, don’t scream.” He covers your mouth, stifles all your frantic little noises, in preparation for what came next.

In one single thrust, he bottoms out inside of you. You do scream- a high wail against his palm that still echoes off the stall walls even muffled. Fire spears you, you’re wrenching around them as if it’s going to help ease the flame. You go nowhere. You can do nothing except cry into his hand and accommodate them. There’s no other choice.

Buried to the very base of his cock, Nam-gyu’s groaning against the back of your head, a hiss dying on his lips every time you squirm and vice around them. Thanos mirrors him, grunting at the friction, the unbelievable feeling of being stuffed into something so warm and so soft. You’re so full- you’re too full, filled to the very brim, wall to wall, crevice to crevice. Stuffed so deeply you can feel them in your fucking throat.

“It’s okay, you’re alright.” Frantic english meets you but you can barely register it. Nam-gyu’s hand leaves your lips, and the moment cool air meets your lips, you’re choking out sobs somewhere between erotic pleasure in its rawest form and the genuine pain of feeling as though you were being ripped in two. You’re struggling, tensing in all the wrong places. They’re heavy inside of you, both of their intrusive beings splitting you in half. Taking you, ruining you. All the while your walls are putting in the work, clamping down, rolling waves of squeezes that have them struggling to focus. A vice so wet and plush that it truly does seem like you were built for this- built to take them, painfully for not.

Thanos is trying to keep you at bay, trying to pet down your face and ease those lines in your expression brought on agonizing, brutal pleasure.

“Fucking- so fucking tight,” Nam-gyu, however, isn’t trying. Not at all. “Holy shit, baby, can’t even breathe-“

Since the very beginning he’s been desperate to have you on his cock, waiting for the moment he could sink into your heat long before you’d let them kiss and lick and bite you, corner you, feel your soft skin underneath all those dreadful clothes. Long before he followed Thanos into the women's room, and long before the games were even a thought at all. And now that he’s finally got you, he’s out of his mind with it. He’s ramrod straight and terribly hard, damn near pulsating inside of you, crushing you against his chest. The hand that was once stifling you is now gripping marks into the flesh of your under thigh- but you’re slipping, just barely. Just enough for him to have to jump his hips to have you properly held in his grip. It rips a cry from you, the burn clawing and tearing from within all over again.

There’s not enough space. They’re killing you.

“Take it easy, this is a lot.” Thanos’s brows are knit, he adjusts himself and slips in just a little further. Such a small action but it sends riveting electricity up and down your spine. It’s enough to draw yet another whimper from your sore lips, and he coo’s at you, at least tries to act like he isn’t getting off on your pathetic noises.

Their lust dark, greedy beasts, drooling and starved with prey backed into a corner fit for the taking.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry,” Nam-gyu tries to sound like he’s apologetic but it falls flat in comparison. Mostly because you can feel him grinning, feel him tighten his grip. His breath is a quick ghost over the shell of your ear. “Taking it so well, though, fuck.”

“Oh god.” You’re crying again- not entirely out of pain. It’s overwhelming, they're all over you, their voices are swimming around the fishbowl of you skull and they sound so sweet but they’re devouring you whole and tearing you into bits. There’s another nudge inside of you that's making your stomach roll- you still can’t decide if this hurts too bad or it’s so fucking good that it’s almost blinding. The noise that leaves you certainly sounds pleased, however, and Nam-gyu groans in response, an instinctive carnal reply.

“That’s it, that’s it. Feels good, right?” You can hear his smile in his words, your face is red hot with all the attention, and the tears, and the mind numbing rapture of it all.

“We’ll take care of you baby, just-” Thanos hisses, struggling to get the words out. “Just say the word.”

You’ve got them teetering on the fine line of wanting and waiting, craving the slick and lushious feel of your walls writhing against their cocks, ready to take you and break you and fuck you. Thanos tries to be patient, or at least act like he’s patient, but you can see how he’s grappling with it. You’re stuck, held fast in the chains of their arms and strong hands, and he knows he could just take you like this and you couldn’t stop him. But he wants to wait, he wants to hear you sing, and he wants to hear you cry and cum for him, and forcing you wasn’t the road to that destination.

Something urged you to wrap your arms around his neck and drag him down for a kiss he’s all too eager for, clashing teeth and pressing into your mouth so intensely he’s pushing your head back against his friend's shoulder with the force of it. And while you’re distracted, scrambling to keep up with the ferocity of him, Nam-gyu decides to take a gamble. He rocks his hips just enough for you to feel that tight, tight pressure against your cervix where he lays. Pleasure lights up within you like a spark that soars from the very depths of your cunt all the way to the behinds of your eyes, and you constrict around them.

This longing, aching keen leaves you and plants itself against Thanos’s lips, he's quick to grasp your jaw in his fingers and swallow the sound like fine wine. You hadn’t expected it to feel this good already, this glorious thrum of heaven that makes you arch and press into the feeling for more. Your walls are clutching, dragging them in, your brain is choosing to ignore the burn in favor of the racing pleasure vibrating through your core.

Thanos breaks away from your kiss to lick up your neck, and you finally get the chance to whimper, please.

The beasts close in on their prey, snarling and snapping, catching its little body between their teeth.

Thanos, with his face buried in your neck and his hands shaking as they clutchy you, draws back just far enough to kiss your stretched slit with the tip of his swollen head before he’s driving himself back inside of you. Fuck, you could scream all over again at the spread, but instead all that escapes you is hoarse cries. Nam-gyu presses his forehead against the back of your hair and breathes you in, readies himself. You don’t even get the full length of a second to prepare before you’re ravaged.

He moves quick- hard, with the hiss of fuck on his lips. He’s been waiting and waiting and waiting and you’re so soaked around his cock that it’s dripping onto his legs, how could he ever stop himself from gripping you in his mighty claws and fucking you like an animal. He’s drawing himself to the tip and forcing his way back inside at a speed you can’t keep up with, and he’s making all these guttural lewd grunts into your ear that make you even wetter, somehow, even slicker. You’re sucking them in and constricting around their lengths like you’re trying to keep them buried within the confines of your body forever.

“Oh my god,” Thanos is chirping out mixtures of english and korean, all words lost on you, his eyes slipping shut as he takes his time properly fucking you. He’s slower than Nam-gyu for sure, but the way he rocks his hips against you is making you squirm, toes curling, fingers grabbing hard into his tracksuit for some sort of desperate need of release. His cock is mapping you out, becoming familiar with every ridge and valley of your softness, seeking out the entirety of you and the perfect curve of his dick is hitting spots that have you barking out yips of ecstasy.

Nan-gyu changes his angle and you can’t take it. There isn’t a slow thing about him. He fucks you like he’s been dying for it, like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, savage and wild, so fervent and profound that it’s making you see stars. He’s a little longer than Thanos- but only just a little, just enough for him to pound away at your cervix while you’re stuck folded and taut in his iron grip, damn near bouncing on his length. Wet squelches and the undeniable slap of skin on skin thicken the humidity between your bodies until it’s hard to breathe between the thickness and the rapid beat of pleasures sweeping through you in pulses.

You’re crying out broken little sounds that either die in your throat or find their way lost in all the hazy noise and he’s echoing you, telling you dirty, dirty things in your flushed ears, how you’re so fucking tight, how perfect and wet you are for him.

Someone- you can’t even figure out who anymore, finds your lonely clit under their fingers, rubbing quick and slick circles into the sensitive nub. Your thighs clamp down around Thanos’s waist but he’s too broad to offer any reprieve, your eyes slipping shut, head tossed back. It’s escapable- they’re inescapable, and their uneven tempos are making you see blank- a sheet of veneer white sparks you can feel with every pop. There’s no air left in your lungs, there’s so much pressure between your legs that you fear you may burst.

There’s a certain moment when you’re right on the edge. This perfect moment when you’re right there and then you’re rolling through it in convulsing waves. All the stars align, the inferno stoking within you suddenly becomes this roaring wildfire swallowing you whole. You’re at that peak, focused on nothing but the endless stream of slurred words and the feeling of being stuffed to the very brim, no singular spot of your leaking pussy left abandoned.

“You gonna’ cum?” Nam-gyu’s voice barely even registers with you when you first hear it. He’s still got you taking him in pistoning jerks of his hips, bullying himself into your poor, swollen sex. You don’t exactly try to nod, but the way you’re being pounded is making it all too easy to. Just a little more…

It’s not Nam-gyu pressing the pads of his fingers against your clit- no, his free hand is right back to grasping at your face, roughly flattening your hair back out of your face and keeping your expression on full display. Not quite pulling, but ensuring your head doesn’t leave its spot pressed against his shoulder.

“That’s it, fuck, lemme’ see you cum.” You’re twisting in his grip, drooling and babbling please, please, please, and the fucker is laughing at you between carnal grunts. He’s hissing and groaning against your cheek like you’ve made him feral.

“Come on, baby.” There’s another voice- Thanos’s, it’s reaching through the fog of lust and sultry cries, fishing you out of your own head and lulls you into a messy, heated kiss. You’ve gotten familiar with these lips now, familiar with the taste and the feel of his tongue slipping past your lips until you’re panting breathy cries against his taste buds. His fingers, you’ve realized, speed up their assault on your clit.

Anything anyone says after that point is lost on you.

If not for his lips on your own, you’d have outright screamed when you finally tipped over that edge. It’s everything, it’s everywhere. It’s in your eyes and your mouth, it’s in your toes and fingertips, it’s racing in colliding atoms up and down the length of your spine.

The sheer shove and weight of their cocks pushing and grinding raw friction into you, impossibly deep, their grips holding you in place, you’re in a damn chokehold. Can see nothing, can hear nothing. Can only feel, and feel, and feel that pressure having snapped and unfurled into blooming pleasure that takes root within the very core of your being.

You’re squeezing them, a torrent of slurry drenching and spilling around their shafts. Pulling, dragging, you’re clamping around them in pendulum pulses. It’s knocking the wind from their lungs, drawing out all the air in a slew of chest rumbling groans and teeth-whistling hisses. You’re delicious on it- blissed out and fucked and still being fucked with reckless abandon.

Nam-gyu bites and licks red into your neck, little specks turned into welts just above where your tracksuit collar reaches, the asshole. But he’s lucky- you’re so spent and raw and limp in their arms that you aren’t even registering it. That’s a problem for later, right now you’re too focused on how they’re both so damn heavy inside you, swollen intrusions that twitch for release everytime they drag along your plushy walls.

“Shit.” Thanos is gripping wounds into your thighs, hips stuttering, fighting his own release. You’re too warm, too perfect and tight around him, he doesn’t want this to end- not yet. Not when he’s got you just where he wants you. His head is falling on his shoulders, chest shaking with his stuttering breaths. “Slow down, slow down. Make it last.”

Nam-gyu listens. Kind of. For good measure he bucks up and slams himself as far as he’ll reach before he finally settles and breathes heavy pants against your collarbone.

“Slow down, man, fuck.”

“Can't help it, feels so good.” Tongue lapping over your jaw, cruel laughter grazing your skin in huffs. “Look at you. You feel good, baby? Hm?”

You’re still reeling from your orgasm, still riding out the aftershocks. Some strangled whimper-like sound leaves you, he’s laughing at you again, finds everything you do something worth a reaction. He kisses the marks he’s littered on your throat. Shivering and trembling, you’re blitzing on the borderline of over and under stimulation while they’re suspended inside of you. There’s a sense within you, something filthy and needy, that’s so insatiable, unsatisfied until they’ve had their fill with you. Or, perhaps, until you’ve been properly filled with them.

Thanos presses his forehead against yours. “See? I said we’d take care of you.”

“Feels- I’m-...” You’re breathing so hard it hurts. “I’m so full.”

Nam-gyu groans against your jaw. Your voice has this gravitational pull to him, like he leans on every word, or feels the primal need to meet you at the end of every noise you make. That same primal need also crosses him when you suddenly grind into him, feels the urge to find you halfway and kiss your cervix with the tip of his dick in a sharp buck. It rips a shrill sound from your throat, his tongue tasting the vibrations on your skin. Wet kisses dot your chin before they’re on the corner of your mouth, and then taking over your lips entirely.

Nimble fingers pinch and knead your clit, sliding through your swollen folds before showering the sensitive nub with attention. Thanos doesn’t wait for any sort of confirmation from you, barely even waits to collect himself before it’s been entirely too long since he’s felt you moving against him. You run your fingers through his hair, feel him sigh against your collarbone, and then he’s dipping down to bite marks into your chest. It’s that same rhythm that drives you insane, nerves buzzing back to life following your earth-shattering orgasm.

Nam-gyu is still by choice for the first time since he’d entered you, something about the way your lips are moving against him keeping him locked in this trance. One of your hands finds it’s way from Thanos’s hair and into Nam-gyus, having to reach over your shoulder to clutch at the back of his black strands. It beckons him, draws him in deeper into the feeling. When he finally does start to move again, it’s different. Different pace, different angle, different sounds, even. Sensual and smooth, a slow drag inch by inch until he’s just buried by the tip, then rocking his hips until he’s pressing hard against your cervix all over again.

You’re trying to be still, trying to not heave out breathless sobs but Thanos is still rubbing you and it’s too much to take- Nam-gyu eats every sound funneled into his lips, tongue tangled with yours, unwilling to let you catch your breath.

You don’t get even a second of reprieve, their rhythms mismatched but also perfectly timed, never a moment you aren’t full, wrecked with jolting twitches and shaking legs. At this point you’re just along for the ride, nothing but flesh and warmth and slick. A pound of meat masticated and devoured between them.

Teeth find your left nipple, Thanos’s excited hum meeting your ears when you writhe in response. He speeds up, both his thrusts and his fingers, grunts against your breast and you start to feel it- that deep, deep simmer between your legs. A crescendo up, and up, and up within your belly that mounts alongside the seconds. You’re so messy and wet that you’re feeling it run along the underside of your thighs, each movement accompanied by slapping skin and trilling moans.

Up, and up. The pressure building until you’re arching your back and trying to squeal into Nam-gyu’s mouth that you’re right there, you’re gonna-

You seize up around them and wail. It rips through you, spears you like a lance, you aren’t sure how anything in this life could ever feel so good. How anything will ever feel this delicious again.

Heaven is on earth, and it’s in your shaking hands and leaking pussy and shoved up inside you with their cocks. Surging pleasure washing through you and scrubbing you of everything else except the rut of their hips into yours.

Nam-gyu cums first, manages to fuck you through you through your own, but no longer than that, growling into your mouth and biting your lips and your biting your jaw when he wrenches himself out of your cunt and paints the underside of your thigh with thick, pearly ropes of his cum. He’s shaking hard, and you’re sure you’re shaking harder, more akin to a leaf in a raging storm than a fellow human being.

Thanos bites your shoulder. You’re absolutely covered in bites, in drool, in their sweet words lashing into your skin. He’s so close- you can feel him twitching inside of you, his cock pulsating before you feel the spread of his cum coating your walls. It’s thick, it’s red hot, and there’s so much of it that before he even pulls himself out of you it’s already dripping around him and onto the floor. Your head tips back, eyes half lidded, unfocused on the ceiling.

You’re hollow. You're so empty that it's uncomfortable, carved out and built into their perfect mold.

“Fucking dick. I pulled out.” Nam-gyu pants, irritated, but not on your behalf. No, irritated because he would have loved to see his own seed seep from your spent pussy and down your trembling thighs.

When you’re set back down, you forget how to stand. Your knees buckle underneath you in an instant and you plummet, only stopped by Thanos’s arms suddenly hoisting you up from underneath your shoulders. He pulls you to him, your face rubbing drool into the chest of his tracksuit. The ‘O’ patch scratches your face but you can’t be damned to care. You’re too focused on wondering how the hell you’re supposed to walk at all after this- fucked out and completely drunk on sex. Useless and sore and swollen.

You’re sticky, you’re sweaty, you’re fucking exhausted and barely managing to stay awake now that you’ve settled and the drugs are still in effect. Pretty soon now, when you’re able to stand upright without having someone supporting most of your weight, they’ll have to sneak back out of the room and saunter away to their beds. You’ll have to wash yourself off, again, and figure out how you’re going to get back to your little corner of the dormitory without limping.

But for now, you just hum out a sound dripping in satisfaction. Your eyes are shutting, all the tensions and the nerves slipping away in the white noise.

“I have to ask,” You slur. “How long have you guys been planning this.”

Thanos’s chest rumbles with his reply. “You don’t want to know.”

“You should have done it earlier. That was…” You start to laugh. It’s a drained, weary sound, but a laugh nonetheless. “Fuck. That was nice. I’ve wanted that.”

You can practically hear it when Nam-gyu shoots a wide-eyed glare at his friend.

“I told you!”

#nam-gyu #nam-gyu x reader #thanos #thanos x reader #thanos x reader x nam-gyu #squid game #smut #imagine #player 230 #player 124 #namgyu x reader #thanos x reader x namgyu

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hiskillingjar · 1 month ago

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Shotgunning (Fox/MC)

second person. gn mc, no genital references, referred to as "honey" and "sweetheart". maybe fox is ooc but he's ren so he has the potential to be nice, especially if he's had a joint or smthn. pluh.

"Is that...weed?"

You knew that you were probably speaking above your very low station when you poked your head around Fox's home office door, but you couldn't help it.

The familiar, earthy and herbal smell in the unfamiliar apartment had signalled to you like a siren's call, after all, like a dog to a bone. And you were endlessly curious about what a professional like Fox would be doing, lighting up a joint in the middle of the afternoon.

"Mmmm," He hummed absentmindedly, taking a long drag from the joint between his claws. He didn't turn around to look over at you, keeping his eyes on the landscape outside the penthouse, but he did let out a slow breath, smoke escaping from his lips, as he idly turned, to and fro, in his office chair, like he had nothing better to do. "Can I help you, dear?"

"No, no," You said with a little shake of your head, idly hovering beside his desk after you entered the office and shut the door behind you. "I'm just...surprised to see you smoking, I guess...you don't come across that way."

Fox couldn't hold back a good-natured chuckle as you spoke, taking another drag from the joint before he let out a low and light hum.

"And how would you say I come across, hm?" He finally turned in his chair to look over at you, a smile on his face and his golden eyes half-lidded and almost sleepy-looking. It was a nice look on him. "What image of me did you have in your mind?"

"Someone who was put together and kind of uptight," You admitted, leaning against the side of his desk. "Someone who probably did cocaine instead of weed."

He laughed at your answer, exhaling a lungful of smoke as he did so.

"And if I've partaken in both?" He grinned before he leaned back languidly, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle. "Would that be a surprise, or expected of me?"

"Don't worry. You're full of surprises," You said, almost smiling, before tipping your head to the side. "What's the occasion?"

"Occasion?" He repeated with a raised brow, his golden eyes sparkling with mischief as that smile remained. "Can a man not relax, in the privacy of his own home, with a little bit of herbal stress relief without some event to justify it?"

"I mean, I used to smoke when I had a shitty day at work," You said, crossing your arms over your chest. "It would take the edge off a bit. That's all I'm asking."

He hummed with a light shrug, idly tapping the joint's ash away in a glass ashtray on his desk.

"Mmh, I wouldn't describe my day as shitty, per se," He explained offhandedly, his tail swishing behind him, making his office chair twist. "But it was tiring enough that I thought it warranted a bit of a...pick-me-up. A reward for my own good behaviour, and ah," He licked his teeth, his eyes going up. "Not ripping out one of my client's throats."

"Yeah," You said with a little scoff. "Yeah, I guess that does deserve a pick-me-up, huh."

"Mmhmm," He leaned forward a bit, looking at you with those golden eyes as he offered the joint. "Want a little pick-me-up, too?"

Your eyes lit up eagerly, looking from the joint and to him, like he might stub it out to spite you.

"Really?" You asked. "No catch?"

"No, of course not, honey," He said, amused, "No catch. I'm offering to share, that's all."

"Oh, well...thank you," You said with a grateful smile, truly meaning it too, as you took the joint from his hand and raised it to your own lips as he sank back into his office chair, folding his arms and letting his eyes drift close, like he was at peace for the first time in his life.

Shit, if this was what Fox was like high, he should do it more often.

"You're welcome, honey," He said, his voice low and a tad bit lazier than it was. "How's it feel?"

"Strong," You said through the mouthful of smoke, blinking watering eyes as you tried to exhale it as smoothly as possible, your posture relaxing and sinking down as you slid to the ground and sat on your ass beside his chair. "And smooth. It's really nice."

Fox chuckled again, his lethargic and amused smile growing wider as you made yourself comfortable on the ground beside him.

"It's high-grade," He said, nodding, reaching out to lazily stroke your hair, his touch gentle and almost affectionate as he watched you smoke. "Only the best, of course. Are you feeling relaxed?"

"Mmhmm," You hummed softly, practically keening into his gentle touch and taking another inhale from the joint, oddly comforted as his hand continued to pet your hair like he was petting an animal he was especially fond of, soft and slow, only occasionally tangling in the slightly frizzy tresses. You might have been more comfortable on the floor, but you couldn't deny that giving him the advantage when it came to height often made him a little softer on you. It had been a tactical decision, and it was paying off.

"Good," He murmured encouragingly."Very good."

As you exhaled another cloud of thick smoke, twisting and fading in the thickening air of his office, he let his hand slip down to your chin, tilting your head up slightly to look into his golden eyes.

"You're cute when you're high, you know that?"

"I'm hardly high yet," You murmured with a hesitant chuckle, breathing out the last tendrils of smoke as he raised your head up and brought your faces closer together. "You seem pretty buzzed, though. Been in here smoking all afternoon?"

"Mmh, perhaps a bit," Fox admitted, his voice slow and heavy with intoxication, the claws pushing through your hair practically inert thanks to the haze of weed on his mind. "It's been a long day, honey. Needed to unwind a little."

He then leaned a bit closer, sitting on the edge of his office chair and his face hovering just above yours as he took in the sight of you, your head lolling up to look at him, eyes half-lidded and hazy from the high.

"You're certainly helping with that."

"Glad to help," You said, telling yourself that it was the polite and sensible thing to say, the sort of thing that would aid your survival in the long run. But you couldn't stop the warm tendril of pride that curled inside you when his tail began to wag lazily behind him, and his ears went up in amusement and fondness. "You should uh," You found yourself flushing a little. "T-Take care of yourself..."

"Oh, is that so?" Fox asked, his golden eyes tired and yet gleaming with delight as he looked down at you, his hand still buried in your hair. "Are you worried about me? " He leaned a bit closer, then, his face nearly nuzzling into your hair as he pressed a light and teasing kiss against your temple. "That's...awfully sweet of you, darling. Almost a little too sweet. Should I be worried about what you're planning?"

"Mmh," You hummed softly, unable to hold back a pleased sigh as he kissed and nuzzled into you, scenting you like the animal he was, the smoke still heavy on your tongue. "I think you're being too sweet this time around. It's weird."

Fox tittered at your words, high-pitched and yipping like a hyena (his real laugh, like his real voice, his real personality that he kept for you), his hand still playing with your hair as he pressed another light kiss against your neck, just beneath the edge of your jawline.

"Is it?" He mused, his voice a bit mischievous despite the haze of sleepiness still attached to his words. "Maybe I'm just feeling...particularly affectionate tonight, darling."

With a few more soft and idle kisses, he paused to bite at the sensitive skin of your throat, leaving behind a dark bruise and letting you feel the sharpness he was capable of.

"Don't get used to it."

"I won't," You assured him cynically, though you kept your voice low and soft, tipping your head back and taking another drag on the joint as he kissed over the dark bruise, running his tongue down your collar. "Trust me."

"Mmh, you little minx," He murmured with a sly grin, all sharp teeth and malice and hotness, amused by your cynical tone as he took full advantage of the arch of your neck and the added space you'd surrendered to him.

He pressed closer to you, yet still above you, and continued to kiss and bite at your skin, his lips trailing over the sensitive flesh with a mixture of playful possessiveness and a hint of gentleness. And as his hand slowly moved to tilt your head back even more, he took the still-burning joint from your lips and replaced it with his own in a deep kiss.

You exhaled your mouthful of smoke in languid surprise, before happily keening into the rare display of affection that he gave you, moaning when Fox took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, greedily swallowing every tendril of smoke that escaped your lips. He pulled you closer to him, forcing you up on your knees, his hands still buried in your hair as he tethered your bodies together, his tongue demanding entry and continuing to explore your gasping mouth, tasting the mix of smoke and the drug that hung on your breath.

"Ren," You groaned weakly as his biting claws found your skin, your head swimming from the drug and your own arousal, all while his hands roamed your body, pawing almost needily at the fabric of your clothes, as though determined to get as close to your skin as possible.

"That's it, honey," He crooned softly, his hands continuing to move over your body.

"You sound so pretty when you say my name like that. It sounds perfect on your lips."

#fox tpof #ren hana #ren hana x reader #ren x mc #fox x reader #fox x mc #drabbles

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justmochi · 4 months ago

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250310 EDEN INSTAGRAM UPDATE

e.denraelee To my dearest BLINKS

Hello, this is Eden.

I have decided to pick up my pen and write to you because I have some very exciting news to share with you. I would like to thank all the people who have cheered me on throughout my entire career. Even the good and the ugly moments. Before debut, to my solo debut, and every moment after. Every person I’ve come in contact with throughout the years has had an impact on me, no matter how big or small, and has shaped me into the person I am today.

There is someone very special that I met along the way who I cherish very much. We met personally just after I had entered my 20s and we became close friends. Our friendship soon developed into something deeper and more precious than anything I’ve ever had. 21 year old Eden would have never imagined she would be writing this letter 7 years later.

Not many people can say that they’ve met their soulmate in their lifetime, but I am endlessly grateful to say that I have found mine. He loves me and embraces every form of myself. And I love him to itty bitty pieces. He is the love of my life, my best friend, and the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. After many years of shared trust and affection, we have proposed to each other and are getting married!

I was very anxious and worried a lot about how we should deliver this news. But the love we have previously received has assured me that everything will be alright. We are looking forward to spending the next chapter of our lives together and hope you cheer for us in the future.

BLINKS, I am so grateful for all the love you have given me over the years. I hope your worries can be eased a little knowing that I will be taken care of. Please open your arms to him and treat him with care. He makes me the happiest girl in the world.

CARATS, thank you for welcoming me into your family. You’ve shown me lots of love that I will always hold dear to my heart. I promise to love and cherish Dokyeom for the rest of my life. I know he is a very precious person to you and I, so I will protect and take care of him as much as he has of me. He will be loved, I promise.

Even after marriage, I will continue to be an idol you can be proud of. I will continue to showcase my passion for music and repay all the love you have shown me.

Sincerely, Eden.

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cuubism · 6 months ago

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Michelangelo's Hands

Dreamling | E | slow burn, hurt/comfort, trauma, + smut | ~40k total

Hob's beloved stranger comes back to him, but he seems… changed. Damaged. Hob wants to help, but it's hard when his friend can barely even admit that he's hurting. It's hard to come home and find home destroyed, everything you created gone, the pieces you crafted of your own soul turned against you. Dream barely wants to think about it. But if he is ever to create again, he's going to have to let that pain in.

In retrospect, the fact that his friend—and what a glorious word—was over thirty years late to their meeting should have been Hob’s first indication that something was awry.

Hob had no idea if his stranger was punctual in his day-to-day life, but he had never been late to any of their meetings. Initially, he chalked it up to him still being peeved about Hob pushing the boundaries of their relationship, back in 1889, and nothing more.

What did finally alert Hob to something being up was the lack of his friend’s usual ruby ornament.

“You—” he cut himself off midway through the story of the moon landing. “Your ruby.”

Every time they’d met, he had worn it in pride of place on his otherwise black attire. As a pendant, or along his collar like a brooch. Hob had questioned the sanity of wearing such a large ruby so openly, but he supposed his stranger could take care of himself.

His stranger looked down at his chest, pressing a light hand to the spot on his sternum where the ruby pendant would have lain. “Ah. Destroyed.”

There were a few explanations Hob had thought he might get (including no explanation whatsoever), but this was not one of them. “It’s not so easy to destroy a ruby,” he observed, rather than asking directly. Asking was a bit of a touchy business with his stranger.

“No,” he agreed. Drat, Hob thought, maybe I should have been more direct. But his stranger continued, “An immense amount of power was involved.”

Hob barely resisted the urge to lean across the table in his eagerness. He was endlessly curious about his stranger, but only ever got— not even crumbs. Molecules of information.

“You destroyed it?” he asked.

His stranger shook his head, but didn’t elaborate on who might have done it.

“Gonna get another one?” Hob asked, as if such a ruby could be picked up at the corner store on the way home from work.

“It was rather unique,” said his friend, head tilted.

“Ah. Sentimental. I get it.”

“In a sense.”

He didn’t continue, and Hob couldn’t think of any other questions that wouldn’t be prying. So much for that conversation.

Rather than pressing, Hob took a sip of his drink and returned to what he’d been sharing before. “So, what’s interesting about the moon landing— as if landing on the moon itself wasn’t interesting enough— is that now some people are saying it’s fake, filmed in a studio and everything? and—”

As he continued, letting the more personal topic slip away, Hob got the sense that his stranger was grateful that he hadn’t pushed. Not indignant that he’d brought it up in the first place, like he might have been in the past. Grateful. His shoulders relaxed and he leaned back in his chair, listening to Hob with a tiny smile.

Odd.

(( Rest of part 1 on AO3 ))

#hope you guys enjoy this tome #dreamling #my writing #michelangelo's hands #i started this two fucking years ago

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diamjem · 5 months ago

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blame the champagne

pairing: sebastian sallow x f!mc

summary: sebastian sallow attends his ex’s engagement party and he is fine.

word count: 7.1k

warnings: angst, alcohol abuse (sort of), marriage is a prison, 19th century high-society, no y/n, sebastian ruins everything he touches

a/n: first fic i’ve ever posted on tumblr pls be kind im jus a girl (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) ANYWAYS i wrote this while listening to exile by ts over and over and over again so maybe give that a lil listen while you read if u wanna set the mood. can you tell by the end i was just excited to get it done with lols. also this is really far from my usual writing style (i mainly post on wattpad ik boooo) but here ya go. im well aware of how all of u eat up angst like it’s a happy meal YES THERE WILL BE A PART TWO. if the hyperfixation persists this might even be a longer series BUT god knows how many wips i already have pls have mercy on my poor soul

[ao3] [wattpad]

it was a nice party.

no, really. it was.

sure, there were some things sebastian could’ve done without—the awkwardly stiff ballroom, for one, with its velvet curtains that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe—but on the whole, he couldn’t deny credit where it was due.

the music was stimulating enough to have ballgowns spinning around endlessly on the dancefloor. food, exquisite; hors d'oeuvres that looked more like art than appetizers, but delicious nonetheless. and the decor? a tad too extravagant, maybe, with gold ribbons draped from every chandelier, catching the candlelight in a way that felt more like a royal procession than a social gathering. but who was he to judge? he was certainly drinking enough to blur any such distinctions, and there was more than enough champagne.

so, yeah, it was a really nice party.

well, save for the fact that it’s his ex’s engagement party to some guy from a prestigious pureblood family or whatever. sebastian still couldn't quite remember his name, though he’s pretty sure it starts with the letter h. he read the invitation, the fine lettering that seemed too fancy for its own good, but the moment he’d seen “engagement” paired with her name, his brain had short-circuited. he didn't need nor want the details. it was enough to know that she was moving on—and he, apparently, was not. but that's fine. he’s fine.

sebastian would have preferred to avoid the entire affair, but anne had insisted—no, berated him—into attending. "just be grateful she even thought to invite you to such a special day." she'd demanded.

ominis, bless him, had tried his best to offer some well-meaning, clumsy attempt to soften the blow, but when all was said and done, suggested sebastian defer to anne. there was no doubt (maybe a little) ominis was his best friend but he was also anne’s husband now. and a wife’s word, especially in the sallow family, was the law. infuriating, as if they haven't ganged up on him enough their whole lives.

speaking of those two, where the hell are they? sebastian was already this close to hexing them for dragging him here in the first place—much less leaving him alone in a crowd of polished, tight-lipped strangers. not that he hadn’t been to his fair share of these high-society events. as an established wizard, a decorated auror, top of his division no less, he had his place at these things, his duty even. in fact, somewhere deep down, part of him even liked the glitz and glamour. it was the sort of thing that would make most people feel important, like they were part of something larger, something better.

but this? this wasn’t his crowd at all. not when he had to stand there, watching the one that got away and her decorated hand clutch her husband-to-be’s arm. the sight of it churned something deep in his gut, like a bitter knot that wouldn’t untangle.

alright, maybe it’s time to admit it.

it was not a nice party at all.

the music? too stiff. too classic. she usually liked it loud and roaring. she used to love a ceilidh, for merlin’s sake. the food? too tiny. he could practically see her at the table, scarfing down a full plate before reaching for seconds, her stomach always growing faster than her appetite. the decorations? too gaudy. too excessive. then again, she never had a good eye for interior decor—at least, not according to the proper standards. her idea of decoration had been finding old furniture abandoned in the highlands and somehow hauling it back to their (now just his) flat in london.

salazar, this whole party is wrong. she never even cared for this kind of thing. she would always roll her eyes when he dragged her to some work event, muttering something about she’d much rather be laughing over a pint in the pub with him.

but it wasn’t just the party, was it? not the music or the food or the decorations. it was the fact that none of this felt like her anymore. it felt like she had become something else. something he wasn’t a part of.

sebastian watched her over the rim of his glass as he took a long swig of his drink.

now, the party may be no good, but the champagne? that's another thing. it was crisp, sharp, and cold, slipping down his throat with a tingle that almost made him forget where he was and who he was supposed to be celebrating. almost.

they were standing on the opposite side of the ballroom, where they were entertaining pompous-looking guests with what sebastian could only assume was ostentatious conversation. by they, he meant her and her fiancée (horace? henry?)—who, by the way, is the exact opposite of sebastian, with his raven hair, pale and freckle-free skin, and posture so impeccable that it even made sebastian straighten his own back.

she held out her hand to a lady she was talking to as if to flaunt her ring and sebastian crinkled his nose at the sight. he had to squint, but even from across the room, he could see that blinding diamond on her finger, catching the light like some cruel trick of the shadows. she’d always blabbered about how diamonds were too overrated, how emeralds were the only stones truly worth their weight. he never saw the appeal before, but now he did.

even her own hair wasn’t her. neater than usual, pulled up into that impossibly tight bun. it had always been free before, with that little curl by the side of her neck that always seemed to escape no matter how much she tried to tame it.

and that smile. it was perfect and even like it had been practiced for this very occasion. her real smile was never perfect. it was always a little crooked on the right side and it made her eyes squint into crescents.

pretentious. all of it. most of all, this engagement party. but at least, he had a drink in his hand and a healthy amount of champagne sloshing in it, which, at this point, was enough to blur the sharp edges of his cynicism.

or perhaps it wasn't his cynicism he’s been trying to drown in champagne all night but bitterness. who’s to say, though? certainly not sebastian—his pride would never let him admit that aloud, especially not when he’s supposed to be making merry with the very thing that made him bitter in the first place.

merlin, this engagement party is beginning to feel more and more like a funeral with every passing second, and he'd already dug himself a deep-enough grave just by showing up to this affair—by allowing himself to be here, in this strange limbo between the past he had to let go of and the future he no longer had any part in.

okay, funeral might be too near the knuckle. a stage play, now that's more fitting—complete with its flashy set, monotonous musical accompaniment, even the lead cast and audience. it all felt like a performance, and he, the unwilling spectator, had been cast in the worst role.

all that is to say, it really was not a nice party.

and it seemed he wasn’t the only one with grievances about the whole thing when just a few feet away, he caught the rasp of a shrill, hushed voice, rising above the ambient murmur of polite conversation like a knife through velvet.

“what a pity he's off the market. and to her, of all people. disagreeable little shrew of a witch, if you ask me.”

sebastian turned toward the source of the sound, narrowing his gaze. two women, dressed in garish, overly elaborate gowns were leaning in, exchanging what could only be described as venomous whispers. one of them, a woman with too much rouge on her cheeks, elbowed her companion, who, scandalized, raised a hand to her lips in mock surprise.

“an odd pairing, wouldn't you say?" the second woman chimed in, her voice betraying her amusement. “the hero of hogwarts and a pureblood heir. i wonder how they ever came to be.”

“if all the rumors about her past are to be believed, there has to be a conspiracy behind this. perhaps she slipped him an amortentia or, merlin forbid, blackmailed him.”

the second woman raised her glass in contemplation, her eyes gleaming with the sort of cruelty that only gossip seemed to nurture. “or maybe it’s for status,” she mused, “a marriage of convenience, perhaps? the hero marrying into a respectable family for a bit of security. a trade, if you will.”

he would have been inclined to agree—if only they hadn’t so thoughtlessly insulted the woman he once (still) loved. he could almost feel the heat rising to his face, the bitter sting of their insinuations making his hand ball into a fist at his side. but stepping in would be too over the line, even for sebastian. because she wasn't his to defend anymore. she’d made sure of that by giving her hand to some pureblood prick that wasn't him.

“well," the first woman continued, her voice turning sly, "whatever the case, she’s certainly fortunate. there aren’t many men left nowadays willing to be tied down, what with all the modern notions of ‘free love’ and 'unconventional living.' most prefer the arrangement where marriage is simply a word they needn't bother with. she’ll never want for anything, i suppose.”

“come to think of it, wasn't she in a long-term relationship just before this? witch weekly was quite abuzz about it. detailed how they’ve been together since their time in hogwarts and how everyone thought they'd be married by now, only for them to end in ruins all of a sudden.”

"oh, i think i remember that. though, as i recall, they never revealed the identity of her beau." the first woman pondered, tapping her fan against her cheek. "such a mysterious fellow, wasn't he? can you imagine what it must be like for him? finding out his beloved is to marry one of the wizarding world’s most eligible bachelors so soon after their parting?"

"oh, i’d be positively reeling," the second woman chimed in, a wicked grin playing at her lips. "i’d hardly be able to hold my glass steady."

that was it. he’d had enough eavesdropping for the night. no, scratch that—his whole life, actually.

this was precisely why he never engaged in gossip—not because he didn’t know it was often rooted in half-truths or outright falsehoods, but because on the off chance it was a truth, he couldn’t endure the sting of it especially when rubbed in his face. the incessant chatter, the giggling, the way their voices danced around his very existence like a cruel little game. it was as though they had found some perverse pleasure in prying open wounds that had barely even healed, turning them over in the light for sport.

but there was nothing like alcohol to cleanse the wound, so he had the snack steward pour him a fresh glass of champagne to flush out the muck that clung to the gash.

and it shouldn't even hurt in the first place. he was over this. he’d already accepted how things had come to be. hell, he wouldn't be here at this godforsaken party if he hadn't. this was not the time or place for this. he was a professional, damn it. he had been through worse than a half-forgotten heartbreak in his time, for merlin’s sake. this wasn’t about him, or what he thought he could have had. he was fine.

it was just the champagne. the party had so much damn champagne. it had clouded his head and muddled his thoughts. it made everything hurt more than it should. he just needed fresh air, something sobering, something to clear the fog.

so he excused himself without a word. before he knew it, he was standing on the balcony, the cool night air hitting his face with an almost brutal clarity.

as the cool breeze ruffled his hair, it felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down into the chasm below. maybe that was the real feeling—falling. that's what it had always felt like with her. a leap into something that he couldn’t control. something that was already lost before he had the chance to catch it. he’d never been able to get his footing, never been able to catch the ground beneath him before it slipped away.

and tonight, he was just watching her from the bottom, wishing he could climb back up.

—

sebastian stood there, the cold seeping through his coat as the social raged inside. glass of champagne still clutched tightly in his hand since he excused himself—how long ago had that been? a while. he wasn’t sure. time had started to lose its meaning out here. the muffled hum of the party drifted through the heavy stone walls, but he didn’t have the energy to care anymore.

it was a dreadful party, anyway.

at least out here, in the chill, there was a kind of comfort in the solitude. even if it felt like he was slowly being frozen into the stone.

the sound of the balcony doors opening caught his attention, followed by a soft click as they closed behind whoever had dared to step out into the cold.

“oh, my apologies! i didn’t know someone was out here. i—sebastian. there you are.��

sebastian turned towards the commotion, and there she was. with her too-primped hair, too-tight smile, and too-bright ring.

his gaze met hers, and for a moment, there was something there—a flicker of recognition, of shared history, that made his breath catch, almost rivaling the buzz the champagne gave him.

“there you are,” he replied, his voice hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken in days. it was almost instinctive—like a beck and call he didn’t even realize he was still answering to.

she let out a breath, looking as if she had been holding it in for far too long. “sorry, i just needed an escape from all that.” her hand swept vaguely behind her, motioning to the pantomime behind the balcony doors.

“i’ll take my leave if you like.” sebastian said, already moving to turn away.

her brows immediately shot up, her hands instinctively raised as if to stop him. “no, stay. please. i’d like some company that isn't somewhat of a stranger for once tonight. unless… you’d rather leave?”

“i’ll stay.”

the words slipped out before he had a chance to stop them, much to his chagrin. he could almost hear his own internal voice, the one that had always been a little too self-assured, a little too sure of himself, yelling at him for it. though he never really knew how to say no to her, he thought by now he’d learn to. maybe it’s because he’s out of practice, or maybe it’s just the champagne dulling his senses.

but then, a small, crooked smile curved on her lips—a smile so familiar, so raw, that sebastian swore it made his heart skip a few beats too many. it was a glimpse of the real her. the one without all the pretense. and gods, it hit him harder than any amount of champagne in the party—no, the entire world—ever could.

she lifted the hem of her skirt just enough to kick off her heeled shoes with a frustrated huff. “these shoes are killing me,” she muttered under her breath, her voice a touch more vulnerable than she probably intended.

sebastian watched her for a moment, his gaze lingering on the shoes she discarded with such finality, as if casting away a part of her carefully constructed image for a moment of relief. then stepped up next to him, leaning casually against the railing. she folded her arms across her chest, her gaze sweeping out over the city lights as if they held some unspoken truth.

the silence stretched between, but it felt oddly familiar—like the space between them had never really grown so wide. maybe he was just deluding himself, but for a moment, it felt like they hadn’t changed, like they could still slip back into those old rhythms. it wasn’t comfortable, not exactly, but it was natural in a way.

“congratulations, by the way. it’s a nice party,” sebastian said, his voice a little too casual. a lie. he knew it, she knew it. and yet, neither of them dared to say it aloud.

“the very picture of grandeur,” he added, lifting his glass in a half-hearted toast, as if the motion might somehow mask the gaucheness creeping into his tone.

she hummed in response, but it wasn’t in agreement. It was more like a sardonic chuckle, a sound that told him she saw through it all. “and then some,” she replied, her voice dripping with dry humor. “i think it’s quite over the top. but don't tell hector i said that, he’d have a fit.”

hector? oh, her fiancée. that must be his name.

for all his loquacious nature, sebastian didn’t quite know how to respond to that. there was a pang of something—jealousy, regret, resentment—that made the words catch in his throat. there was a part of him that wanted to ask how it felt, to ask if hector was everything she had dreamed of. but he knew he didn’t have the right. so, he stayed silent, letting the questions churn inside, only to swallow them down along with another gulp of champagne.

she smiled then, warm at first, but it quickly shifted into something more melancholic. “but i’m glad you’re here, sebastian,” she said, her voice gentle. “to be honest, i wasn’t sure if you’d come, considering, well, everything. if i were you, the last place i’d want to be is my ex’s engagement party.”

he shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “i could be in worse places,” he said, the smirk tugging at his lips as he raised his glass. “and hey, what could be better than a party with an abundance of champagne?”

“i know you’re joking, but take it easy on the champagne, alright? you’re a lot more indulgent than you like to think.”

sebastian leaned back, giving her a sidelong glance. “ah, there it is. your trademark nagging. i’m already starting to feel sorry for hector.”

the words were flippant, but his chest tightened the moment they left his mouth. the thought of someone else being on the receiving end of her odd brand of shrewish affection gnawed at him more than he wanted to admit. he would have swallowed every word he'd ever said if it meant he could keep all that cavilling to himself again. but that's neither here nor there.

she scoffed. “oh, trust me, he does enough nagging for the both of us. quite the pedant, really. i don't know how you put up with me for as long as you did. might be a good idea to ask for your advice."

her words were wrapped in jest, but sebastian didn’t miss the small shift in her expression. the tiniest of pouts tugged at her bottom lip, and he caught it—just a flicker. it passed so quickly he almost convinced himself he hadn’t seen it. but he had. and it twisted something in his chest, a reminder of all the ways he used to know her. again, he found himself telling himself that it didn't concern him. not anymore.

“advice?” he said, his voice forced into a casual tone, but it cracked just a little. “you’re asking the wrong person, hen. i’m hardly an expert on relationships. evidently.”

the irony in his own words didn't escape him. no, what did escape him was just how much the slip of that term of endearment landed with weight.

her gaze flicked over to him, brow raised in mild surprise, the corner of her mouth twitching with amusement. “hen?” she echoed.

ah, of course. yet another symptom of too much champagne that also falls under a lack of control—the slip of the tongue.

“force of habit.” his excuse came, quickly trying to backpedal.

hen was a relic of their past, something he’d used to call her when things were simpler, before everything had gotten tangled and messy. she would always mock him for using such a twee nickname, but there was always something in her expression when he said it, a brief flicker in her eyes that made him wonder if, deep down, she didn’t mind it as much as she let on.

but to his surprise, she just smiled, the curve of her lips soft, almost fond. she didn’t mock him, didn’t even raise an eyebrow. no judgement. no laughter at his expense. there was a quiet in her gaze, one that lingered longer than usual. recognition, maybe. nostalgia. the kind of thing that shouldn’t have been there, but it was. and it echoed in his chest, so painfully familiar.

she hummed, the kind she used to make when she was content, and turned back to the night sky, as though the way she looked at sebastian didn't just send him reeling right then and there. as if she knew that that one look would make him more flustered than she would if she’d just mocked him.

“so, what’s been keeping you busy these days?" she asked, her voice softer now, a hint of genuine curiosity underneath her teasing tone. "the world’s still spinning, i presume?"

"ah, you know. work, as usual," he replied, his tone flat and yet cautious at the same time.

if it were anyone else, he'd have launched into a long-winded spiel of his latest case. after all, his work had become the one thing he clung to, the only thing that made getting out of bed in the morning feel necessary. but with her? the words didn’t flow so easily. even back then, it had become a touchy subject between them—something that both defined him and drove a wedge between them.

okay, so maybe it wasn't his work that drove them apart and more so his obsession to it. or rather, his obsession to prove himself. his obsession to be part of something larger, something better. but that was a thing of the past, and there's no point dredging it up now when they're supposed to be celebrating the future.

"of course, still married to your job, i see. i mean, i get it, you've always been a workaholic.” she nodded, a knowing yet bittersweet smile playing on her lips. "i even heard you took down yet another beast trafficking ring. well done, sebastian.”

sebastian's brow arched involuntarily. had she been keeping tabs on him? the idea that she might still be keeping track of him, that he’s still running around in that mesmerizing clutter of a mind of hers? he wouldn't dare say it out loud but it tickled him pink. it was both absurd and somehow thrilling. maybe she had asked around—natty, perhaps? he had worked on a handful of cases with her over the past few months—there was no reason natty couldn’t have mentioned something about the work they’ve been doing. or maybe she’d been watching him? he wouldn't put it past her to do such a thing, sly little witch she is.

“oh, would you wipe that look off your face?” came her voice, the playful edge in her voice obvious. “i know what you're thinking, and no. i just happened to read about it on the daily prophet.”

sebastian couldn’t help the slow, satisfied smile that crept across his face. she could feign ignorance as much as she liked, but the flush on her cheeks told a different story. and it sure as hell wasn’t just the rouge she wore. it spread slowly, a warm pink creeping up her neck, staining her cheek.

“is that so?” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but it came out a little softer than he’d intended. “i guess i make the news more than i realized.”

“i’ll have you know the daily prophet reports on anything these days. they even had an article on what the best flavor of bertie bott’s beans is.” she rolled her eyes, her lips twitching with barely contained amusement. “beans, sebastian. on the very same page of your ring-busting article. i guess that's the kind of highly important news they decide to prioritize.”

“next thing you know, they're reporting on the right way to sneeze.” he added with a wry grin.

“oh, you’d better read that then,” she said, shaking her head, her eyes alight with a teasing sparkle. “merlin knows how many have suffered at the hands of your loud sneezes.”

“well, you know what the daily prophet won't be able to tell you? i adopted a cat.”

her eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised. "a cat?" she looked at him like he’d just announced he’d learned to juggle fire. “you? this happened when, pray tell?”

sebastian shrugged, his smile widening just a little. "oh, you know. a few weeks ago. felt i might do with some company that wasn’t a case file or a bottle of firewhisky.”

the glint in her eyes only told him she was intrigued, so he kept going. "yeah. you’d love her. she’s a restless bugger, but she can be so affectionate. she reminds me a lot of you, actually. it’s why i got her in the first place. i even named her hen after—”

he froze mid-sentence, his smile faltering as soon as he realized what he’d said. sweet merlin, is there any chance he could cast a shrinking charm on himself so he could be small enough to jump into his glass and drown in the champagne?

or maybe that’s just it. he’s had way too much champagne. it had messed with him already more times than he could count tonight, so it wouldn't be too far-fetched. but then again, he didn't really care enough to stop drinking. not when the alcohol made it easier to suppress the bitter feelings that threatened to spill.

she stared at him for a long moment, eyes wide with surprise, then a small, entertained twist of expression tugged at the corner of her mouth. if earlier hadn’t been enough to spark her teasing, then surely this would be.

“merlin, i’ve been replaced by a cat.” she tilted her head. “i don’t know whether to be offended, relieved, or touched.”

sebastian’s eyes narrowed, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his attempt to look disinterested. he rolled his eyes dramatically, though the teasing wasn’t lost on him. “oh, come off it,” he muttered.

“look at you,” she spoke again. her voice was soft, as if overflowing with a solemn pride. “sebastian sallow, slytherin’s finest, accomplished auror, and now, cat owner. everything you ever wanted to be.”

if one word could be used to describe sebastian, it would be amour propre. granted, that’s two words, but the point still stands: he’s everything he’s ever wanted to be, and he’s proud of it. hell, he’d sacrificed more than he cared to admit to get here, to prove himself, to show the world that he was enough.

but if so, why did her words feel like a punch to the gut?

because all he’d ever wanted was to be hers. that was the truth of it, buried beneath all the ambition, all the success, all the work that had consumed him. it had never been about the accolades or the recognition. it was all just smoke and mirrors, an illusion from what he truly wanted. to prove himself worthy of her hand.

and when his eyes landed on that diamond on her finger, he’d realized all of it was for nothing. true to sebastian sallow fashion, he became too focused on the end goal he’d lost sight of where it all began.

"and you?" he finally managed, voice rougher than he intended. "you’re becoming a... wife."

the words felt like lead in his mouth. he swallowed hard, as if trying to chase the bitter taste out of his throat.

she sighed softly, almost wistfully, and her hand moved to absently fiddle with the diamond ring on her finger. the band slid up and down, just a little too big for her, a subtle movement that made it seem like it didn’t quite belong.

"i know, right?" she said, a faint, almost bitter edge creeping into her voice. "everything i ever wanted to be..."

“do you ever wish things could have panned out differently, sebastian?” she asked the question softly after a beat, but there was a weight to it, like she already knew the answer.

sebastian tried to find the words, but only stayed silent. he would be lying if he said he didn’t—if he didn’t wish, deep down, that things had turned out differently. but he’d had a year to accept it. a year to make peace with the reality handed to him, to bury the gnawing what-ifs under layers of duty and time. he’d convinced himself he was moved on. convinced himself that this was what was meant to be.

but that was before today. before this party. before the sight of the ring—her ring—shining like a cruel reminder of everything he had lost.

well, what good was wishful thinking, really? what was it but a self-inflicted wound that only festered into regret? what was done was done. and what was done was them—two separate paths now, carved out by the choices of time.

“why am I even asking? i’m sure you wouldn’t have it any other way.” her voice broke through his thoughts, laced with a softness that almost felt too painful.

“but... isn’t this what you wanted?” he forced himself to meet her eyes, though the words scraped his throat like nails. “to settle down, build a family?”

her eyes dropped to the ring again, the weight of it between them. she didn’t answer right away, as though she were trying to decide how to put it into words. the silence stretched thin before she spoke, her voice almost wistful, a quiet ache behind it.

“i… it is. just not like this.”

sebastian frowned, his brow furrowing deeper with confusion. not like this? what did she mean by that? was she implying that this—this life, this marriage, this future she was about to walk into—wasn’t what she had hoped for?

but he knew better than to be presumptuous. the last time he'd done that, he’d assumed she would be there, waiting, standing beside him until the end of time. and look where that had gotten him. he had learned, painfully, that hope could be a dangerous thing when it wasn’t tempered by reality.

and for all he knew, maybe she wasn’t so much regretting her choices as she was adjusting to them. the end of a decade-long relationship. the move from a cozy one-bedroom flat to a grand, unfamiliar manor that seemed more like a cage than a home. an engagement. the pressure of it. the weight of the new, the unfamiliar. it had to leave her feeling a little unmoored, a little lost. after all, hadn’t it left him feeling the same way when he was forced to step into a future he never wanted?

so instead of speaking, of pressing her for answers he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear, sebastian did what he’d become so adept at doing in the last year: he held his tongue. he let the silence stretch between them, a thin, fragile line neither of them seemed willing to cross.

but then, after a long beat, her voice broke through the quiet, softer than before, hesitant and unsure.

“i mean... i…” she hesitated for a fraction of a second, her fingers twisting slightly around the diamond ring. “i just miss going out on adventures, taking down bad guys, the daily prophet reporting about my adventures. i’m sorry, i know, i sound so green-eyed.”

“well, if it’s any consolation,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, “i think you were in a witch weekly article.”

she elbowed him lightly, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “not a consolation. you know i don’t like being treated like a celebrity.”

“moot point when you’ve got a whole wingding for a marriage that hasn’t even happened yet.”

she rolled her eyes, a hint of exasperation creeping into her voice. “oh, hush. it wasn’t my idea. if anything, i was against this whole thing but a husband's word is the law.”

her words were casual enough, but there was something beneath them—a quiet fatalism that rang through her tone, as though she had long since stopped fighting against the roles others had set for her. it was so unlike her. the woman he had known would have never allowed herself to be so... tame. it made him wonder if, had she heard him say that, would she still have hexed him like how her normal reaction would have been?

she had always been a force in her own right—a woman who did things her way, consequences be damned. and for all his own reservations about this hector, sebastian couldn’t deny there was a certain respect in the way she spoke of him. no, not respect—submission. it was the resignation of someone who had, for better or for worse (pun unintended), accepted their fate.

well, if it had been him—if he had been the one to give her that ring—things would have been different.

oh. there it was again—champagne clouding his judgement, making him think of what-ifs. but really, how much longer could he hold onto the intoxicating delusion that things could still be different? and most of all, how much longer can one blame the champagne?

sebastian set his glass down on the railing, the crystal making a sharp, definitive clink that cut through the silence. the sound seemed to echo, as though marking a turning point in the conversation, a shift in the air between them.

“i ought to warn hector,” he said, the playful edge to his voice sharpening in the thick air. “you can be quite scary when things don’t go your way. i remember once, ominis asked you to stop breaking and entering into random homes, and what did you do? used a very advanced locking charm to lock him out of his own apartment. took him days to get back inside. perhaps i should share that delightful story with your fiancée.”

her eyes narrowed slightly, but the smile that tugged at her lips betrayed a knowing amusement. “oh, i’m sure hector would enjoy that just as much as he’d enjoy the scolding he'd give me after,” she said, her voice smooth but tinged with something heavier. “he’s a man of strong opinions—loves to hold court on matters of... propriety. and best believe, he doesn't sway easily.”

“ah, but you forget my irresistible charm. you were the most relentless person i know, and it worked on you, didn’t it?”

“more like it wore me down.”

“same thing.”

she laughed. actually, more like guffawed. the sound bubbled up from her chest and filled the space between them, louder and freer than he’d heard in ages.

for a moment, everything seemed to fall away—the lingering heartbreak of their separation, the party, the expectations, the wretchedness of it all. they were just two people, lost in the simplicity of shared history, the ease of old comfort.

her shoulder brushed his, the smallest of touches. sebastian hadn’t even realized how close they’d gotten, how their space had slowly shrunk until they were practically leaning into each other. he could feel the warmth of her next to him, the quiet rhythm of her breathing.

it made his head spin and he didn't know what to blame this time. was it the champagne he’d been nursing all night? or perhaps the party had made him stir crazy? maybe he’s gotten a cold from all this biting air? all he knew was that if she were any closer, he would surely die. but in that same breath, he didn’t want it to stop. he didn't want the dizzying rush of this feeling to end. to be this close to her, so near, so... alive—if this was what death felt like, he would die happy. hell, he'd beg for it.

and it seemed the universe, in all its cruel, whimsical glory, did indeed want him to die. because in the next breath, she moved again—just a slight shift, but it was enough. her head, soft and weightless, found its place against his shoulder, a gentle pressure that sent a shiver through him, down to his very bones.

it was a dangerous thing, this proximity. it made him ache for the things he couldn't have anymore. but for the first time in a long while, he didn’t mind the pain.

“i haven’t laughed this much in a while,” she said, her voice almost dreamy. “i forgot how easily you could do that.”

“you know for someone so talkative, you're awfully quiet today.” she added.

sebastian exhaled, trying to force a chuckle past the lump in his throat. “ah, well... it’s not every day i come to my ex’s engagement party."

the words were dry and brittle, a thin veil over the mess of feelings roiling beneath. he could feel the weight pressing down on him, his usual charm lost to the quiet ache that had been building ever since he’d walked into this damned party.

she looked up at him, her head leaving his shoulder. sebastian fought the urge to wince at the loss of contact. he hated how it made him feel—small, like a child caught in the act of wanting something he could never have. a pathetic little loser, lost in his own head.

“right. the party,” she said, her voice distant now, like she was already stepping away, back to the world she was now leashed to. “i should get back in there.”

sebastian could feel the words coiling in his throat, but he couldn’t make them come. the lump was too heavy, the ache too deep. he didn’t want to stop her, didn’t want to be the one to hold her in this fleeting moment, knowing it was already slipping away. so he simply nodded.

she nodded back, a small, quiet acknowledgment. and in that brief exchange, something shifted—like a subtle current pulling them together without either of them willing to fight it. they were both standing still, suspended in the space between them, as though the world around them had melted into a blur. neither could look away. their gazes locked, drawn together by the gravity of everything unspoken, everything left unresolved.

for a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, quiet and steady, as though time itself had momentarily paused. sebastian could see the subtle flicker of emotion in her eyes, the fragility of it. the distance between them was vast, but in that instant, it felt narrower than it ever had before. she wasn’t just the woman he’d lost; she was a stranger, yet also someone he knew more intimately than anyone else in the world.

her lips parted, but no words came. it was as though they were both afraid to break the fragile tension that hummed between them. they were too fixed on each other’s eyes, as if speaking would shatter something delicate, something that might never exist again.

but then the sound of the balcony doors opening broke the stillness. a shift in the air, sharp and unwelcome, as if the universe itself was demanding they face the reality neither of them wanted to acknowledge. the doors clicked shut behind the intruder.

“brother, i knew you’d be sulking out here,” came anne’s voice, sharp and too bright. sebastian turned, his jaw tightening at the sound of her footsteps.

her eyes caught the two of them, lingering just long enough to read the unspoken, heavy weight of the moment. then, her expression flickered, a mix of surprise and amusement, as if she were watching something she couldn’t quite comprehend.

“did i interrupt something?” anne asked, a sly edge to her words, as if she could see through the mask they both wore, but was too polite to say anything more.

before sebastian could even process a response, the woman in front of him beat him to it.

“oh, not at all,” she said quickly, brushing past him to put her shoes back on. her voice was light, but there was something strained about it now—an effort to keep her composure intact. as if she was already slipping back into the role she’d rehearsed for the evening. “i was just heading out.”

anne, ever the enigma, chirped with forced cheer. “oh, by the way, congratulations on your engagement!”

“thank you, anne,” she replied, her tone measured, smooth—too smooth.

with the speed at which her mask snapped back on, sebastian felt as if he'd just gone through the looking glass. the moment between them, that fragile flicker of rawness, shattered the second she spoke. the real her, the woman he’d known, was gone—swallowed by a perfect, polished version of herself. he could almost hear the click as the walls went back up, soundproof and impervious.

but just as she turned to leave, her eyes flicked back to sebastian, and for a split second, there was a crack in that mask. a fleeting moment of something raw, something unguarded. the way she looked at him made his chest tighten, the kind of look that carried a thousand unspoken words, a thousand regrets.

her lips parted as if she wanted to say something—anything—but she didn’t. the silence between them grew thick, heavy with all the things they never said and probably never would.

instead, he grabbed his champagne glass, fingers trembling just slightly as he raised it to his lips, swallowing the rest of it in one smooth, numbing gulp. anything to chase away the taste of the moment, anything to erase the feeling of her gaze and touch.

“excuse me,” she murmured, her voice soft and distant, as if this whole thing—this entire exchange—had already been written. she brushed past anne with the grace of someone who had long ago perfected the art of walking away, leaving sebastian with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of champagne and the cold, aching silence.

they say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. but sebastian knew the truth. watching her walk away, the woman he had loved with everything in him, the woman who had been his world before it all crumbled—it didn’t make him stronger. it just made him feel dead. and drunk.

or maybe it was just the champagne.

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