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kathaelipwse · 8 days ago

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OFF THE GRID… ✦ only the beach waves know what you almost did that night [1.4k followers special]

˗ˏˋ 12.1k ˎˊ˗ — word count. ୨୧ 𓈒𓂂 ˖ beach ✧ sunburnt feelings ✧ lingering stares ✧

pairings ༉‧₊˚ bf!choi seungcheol ꒰ best friend!cheol ꒱ × fem!reader tropes ✿ best friends to lovers · tropical vacation · shared bed · jealousy (her) · slow burn · 16+ tension (no sex) · cuddles · angst · emotional confession · soft boy possessiveness · shirtless!cheol supremacy

warnings ୨୧ 16+ content, heavy physical tension, suggestive touching, shirtless cuddling, mutual pining, emotional vulnerability, mentions of a toxic ex, angst, crying, jealousy, grinding, neck touching, hands wandering, insomnia due to feelings, no smut, i have a feeling i missed smth

synopsis ✧ there’s a reason you never crossed that line— because once you do, there's no going back. ⠀ what was supposed to be a peaceful getaway turns into everything you weren’t ready to feel: sweaty tension under a shared blanket, almost-kisses in moonlight, and the way he touches you like he’s forgotten how to be just your best friend. ⠀ he told you he wanted peace. you didn’t realize he meant you.

author’s note ⊹ this one is sweaty, soft, and just a little bit stupid. i wanted to bottle that feeling of "are we really just friends?" and stretch it out until you’re screaming. if you like tension that never gives, jealousy that hurts, and hands lingering a little too long — this one’s for you.

REQUEST ARE OPEN!!

For years, you and Seungcheol had operated under the unspoken, yet rigidly enforced, rule of "just friends." You were the kind of best friends who shared too much, touched too often, and flirted shamelessly, but always with that invisible, unbreakable barrier keeping things strictly platonic. Or so you told yourselves. Your hands would brush, linger, and pull away. Your jokes would skirt the edge of something more, then snap back into comfortable banter. It was a dance you knew by heart, a familiar rhythm that kept you close but safe. You'd perfected the art of casual intimacy, the kind that convinced everyone else – and sometimes even yourselves – that there was nothing more to see here.

That dance, however, felt particularly fragile after your latest toxic situationship imploded, leaving you feeling hollowed out and raw. You were wallowing, nursing a bruised ego and an even more bruised heart, when Seungcheol called. His voice, usually so steady and confident, had a subtle tremor that told you he was burning out. He'd been working himself ragged, the stress evident even over the phone. "You know what we need?" he'd declared, cutting through your self-pity with his characteristic directness. "An escape. A proper, off-the-grid island getaway. Just us. Recharge and reset."

The idea, so sudden and yet so perfectly Seungcheol, was like a cool splash of water on a fevered brow. A few days later, you were booking flights, a spontaneous decision fueled by your heartbreak and his undeniable exhaustion. He found a gorgeous one-bedroom villa – beachfront, private, idyllic. It was perfect. Almost too perfect.

"Only one bed, huh?" you'd teased, trying for lightheartedness, a practiced smirk on your face. "Guess we'll have to share." The words felt easy, familiar, but your stomach did a clumsy, surprising flip, a secret reaction you quickly squashed down. You told yourself it was just the excitement of the trip, the novelty of it all. He just chuckled, a deep, warm sound that did nothing to settle your nerves. "Yeah, well, you snooze, you lose, right?" he'd shot back, his eyes twinkling. It was all so normal, so you two, and yet, something felt subtly, irrevocably different.

The journey itself was a blur of chatter and comfortable silence. You talked about work, about your recent breakup (or, more accurately, you vented, and he listened, offering quiet support and the occasional, perfectly timed sarcastic jab that made you laugh despite yourself). He played your favorite songs as you drove from the airport to the villa, singing along off-key just to annoy you. It was pure Seungcheol – your rock, your confidant, your oldest friend and the bestest one you could ever ask for.

Arriving at the villa, the air was thick with the scent of salt, hibiscus, and something else entirely – a quiet, electric hum that wasn't quite tension, but not quite relaxation either. The main room was open-plan, leading directly onto a veranda overlooking the turquoise ocean. And right in the center, a massive, inviting king-sized bed. It seemed to dominate the space, a silent third party to your carefully constructed friendship.

"Alright, pick your side," Seungcheol had announced, tossing his duffel bag onto the foot of the bed. You’d chosen the side closest to the window, claiming the view. He’d just grinned, taking the other. You unpacked quickly, trying to ignore the way your eyes kept drifting to the shared sleeping arrangement.

As dusk settled, painting the sky in fiery oranges and purples, you found yourselves on the veranda, sipping cold drinks, listening to the gentle lapping of waves. The conversation flowed easily, tales of childhood mischief mixing with recent work dramas. It felt good, familiar, safe. This was exactly what you needed. Just friends, unwinding.

Later, after a simple dinner and a couple more drinks that loosened your limbs and tongues, you both retreated indoors. The soft glow of bedside lamps cast long shadows across the room. You changed into your sleep clothes in the bathroom, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and nerves. When you emerged, Seungcheol was already in bed, propped up against the pillows, scrolling on his phone. He glanced up, offering a tired but warm smile.

You climbed in carefully, creating a chasm of sheets that, despite the vastness of the bed, felt surprisingly small. You lay back to back, the cool sheets a thin barrier between you. But the mattress dipped slightly where he lay, and you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, just inches from yours. Your shoulders brushed his, a small, innocent contact that felt anything but. Every nerve ending in your back seemed to be screaming an alert, hyper-aware of his presence, the steady rhythm of his breathing. The ocean outside whispered secrets you couldn't quite decipher, and the distant calls of night birds felt like a soundtrack to your racing thoughts.

You must have drifted, a light, restless sleep barely skimming the surface of your consciousness. Because the next thing you knew, a warm, heavy weight draped across your waist. Seungcheol had rolled over in his sleep, his arm settling naturally around you, pulling you closer. Your back was pressed flush against his front, and his breath, soft and even, ghosted across your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

You froze, every muscle in your body locking up. Your mind raced, screaming at you to move, to break the contact, to preserve the sanctity of "just friends." But your body refused to obey. You could feel the steady beat of his heart through his arm, a rhythm that was now inexplicably syncing with your own frantic pulse. The air between you, once comfortable and easy, now crackled with an undeniable energy. The scent of him – clean laundry, faint cologne, and something uniquely him – filled your senses.

You lay there for what felt like an eternity, rigid and awake, while he slept on, blissfully unaware of the havoc he was wreaking. Every instinct screamed at you to pull away, but another, far deeper part of you, the part you rarely acknowledged, yearned to lean back into the warmth, to melt into his embrace. The 'just friends' rule suddenly felt like a flimsy excuse, a paper-thin wall against a rising tide.

Sleep didn't come. Your heart, it seemed, had forgotten how to, too. It throbbed a frantic, uncertain rhythm, a stark counterpoint to the quiet, steady beat of his. You closed your eyes, but the darkness offered no escape from the undeniable truth slowly dawning in your chest: this trip, this shared bed, this casual touch… it was already changing everything.

The insistent, melodic trill of exotic birds outside finally pulled you from your restless, half-sleep. It wasn't the harsh squawk of city pigeons or the monotonous hum of traffic, but a sweet, vibrant chorus that felt utterly alien and utterly perfect. Sunlight, impossibly bright and golden, streamed through the sheer curtains, painting stripes across the pristine white sheets. For a blissful second, you were just here, wherever 'here' was, free from the crushing weight of your last relationship and the gnawing anxiety of everyday life.

Then, the weight around your waist, the soft, rhythmic breathing on your neck, jolted you fully awake. Seungcheol’s arm was still draped over you, warm and heavy, his body a solid, comforting, and utterly terrifying presence pressed against your back. Your breath hitched. Your heart, which had just begun to slow, picked up an anxious flutter again, a hummingbird trapped in your ribs. This wasn't just a sleepy shift, you realized. This was a deliberate, intimate cuddle, even if he was still lost in the depths of slumber. Every nerve ending sang with an awareness of him – the subtle scent of his skin, the gentle rumble of his breathing, the undeniable heat radiating from his side.

Carefully, painstakingly, you began to disentangle yourself. It felt like defusing a bomb, each tiny movement a risk. Don't wake him. Don't make it awkward. Just… slide away. You slid his arm back onto his side of the bed, slowly, inch by agonizing inch, holding your breath until your lungs burned. He stirred, a soft sigh escaping his lips, and your heart leaped into your throat. You braced for him to open his eyes, to catch you mid-escape, but thankfully, he just settled back down, his breathing deepening. You slipped out from under the covers, tiptoeing to the bathroom with a silent, fervent prayer of relief. The cool tile beneath your feet was a welcome shock after the warmth of the bed.

After a quick, almost frantic, shower, you dressed in your swimsuit – a simple, dark one-piece – and emerged to find the bed empty. A damp towel lay crumpled on Seungcheol’s side, and the faint, fresh scent of his shower gel lingered in the air, oddly comforting. A pang of something you couldn't quite name – disappointment at his absence mixed with a profound sense of relief that you hadn’t had to face him right then – went through you. You felt a little like you’d dodged a bullet, but also, surprisingly, a little bit cold.

You found him outside, and the sight immediately stole the breath from your lungs. He was standing at the edge of the private plunge pool, shirtless, his swim trunks riding low on his hips. The morning light caught the slight sheen of water on his tanned skin, highlighting the lean, understated strength of his frame. His hair was slicked back, dripping wet, water still clinging to his eyelashes and tracing rivulets down his neck and shoulders. He looked utterly relaxed, a stark contrast to the stressed-out workaholic who’d boarded the plane with you just yesterday. This version of Seungcheol, with his sun-kissed skin and easy confidence, was… dangerous. He was no longer just the comfortable best friend from your everyday life. This version was a whole new level of attractive, an almost primal appeal you weren't prepared to confront.

You must have been staring, openly, unashamedly, because he turned, a wide, easy grin spreading across his face. His eyes, crinkling at the corners from the bright sun and genuine happiness, met yours.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he said, his voice a low rumble, richer and deeper than usual, as if the ocean air had smoothed out any lingering stress. "Finally decided to grace us with your presence, huh?" Then, his eyes narrowed playfully, a hint of something else sparkling within them. "See something you like?"

He was teasing, you knew that, the familiar Seungcheol banter you’d grown up with. But there was an undertone in his voice, a deeper resonance that made your stomach clench. Your cheeks heated instantly. You could feel the blush creeping up your neck.

"Just admiring the view," you retorted, trying to sound breezy, trying to inject enough sarcasm to mask your sudden shyness. You gestured vaguely at the shimmering ocean behind him. "Couldn't tell where the horizon ended and your abs began."

He laughed, a genuine, booming sound that made the birds momentarily hush. It was a sound that always made you smile, a deep, full-bellied laugh that started in his chest. "Smooth, real smooth. Come on in, the water's perfect. Best way to wake up, trust me." He extended a hand towards the pool, inviting you in.

You shook your head, still trying to compose yourself, trying to shake off the effect his shirtless presence had on you. "Nah, I'm good. Need coffee first. And maybe an hour to adjust to this level of… brightness." You gestured vaguely at his gleaming, wet chest, trying to make it a joke. It barely sounded like one to your own ears.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, a considering look in his eyes that felt too intense for just friends. You felt like he was seeing right through your feigned nonchalance, past the easy banter, right into the confused flutter of your heart. "Sure. I'll get you a cup," he said finally, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fleeting second before meeting your eyes again. "Make yourself at home." He disappeared into the villa, and you took a long, shaky breath, letting it out slowly. Get it together, you chastised yourself. He’s your best friend. He’s always been handsome. This is just the vacation air getting to you, the lack of sleep, the… everything.

After a much-needed cup of coffee – which Seungcheol had thoughtfully prepared just the way you liked it – you decided to explore the rocky coastline near the villa. Seungcheol, ever the adventurous one, insisted on leading the way, bounding over rocks with an almost childlike enthusiasm. "Come on, slowpoke! There's a cool tide pool just around this bend!"

The rocks were smooth and dark, slick with sea spray in places, and you were laughing about some ridiculous incident from your university days, a story about a botched science experiment that involved a lot of smoke and a very angry professor. You were mid-sentence, gesturing wildly, when your foot slipped on a particularly wet patch, hidden beneath a thin layer of seaweed.

You yelped, arms flailing, bracing for an embarrassing, probably painful fall onto the sharp, uneven rock. Before you could hit, Seungcheol was there. His hands shot out, gripping your hips firmly, steadying you with an almost instantaneous reaction. His fingers dug in just enough to anchor you, preventing the fall, and the unexpected strength of his grip, the warmth of his palms through your thin swimsuit, sent a jolt right through you. You were acutely aware of how close he was, the faint scent of salt and his sun-warmed skin filling your nostrils.

"Whoa there, careful," he murmured, his voice close to your ear, a low rumble that vibrated through your entire body. "Almost took a dive. You okay?"

You nodded, your voice a little breathless, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Yeah. Yeah, fine. Thanks. You, uh, you caught me." You tried to pull away, but his hands remained, a comforting, yet thrilling, weight on your hips. He didn't release you until you were completely steady, his eyes searching yours for any lingering sign of distress, concern etched on his face. The brief touch felt like it had stretched into an eternity, leaving a tingling sensation long after his hands finally left your skin.

Just as you managed to regain your composure, to pretend that moment hadn't completely thrown your equilibrium, your phone vibrated insistently in your pocket. You pulled it out, glancing at the screen. Your breath hitched. Your stomach twisted into a painful knot. It was your ex. Mark. The name glared back at you, cold and unwelcome. You hadn't heard from him since the messy, confusing breakup weeks ago. Why now?

You quickly silenced the call, your thumb hovering over the delete button, a flicker of panic in your chest. You turned your back slightly to Seungcheol, trying to shield the screen from his view. "Everything alright?" he asked, his voice sharp with a hint of suspicion. You could feel his gaze on you, probing.

"Yeah, just… spam," you mumbled, the lie feeling flimsy and transparent even to your own ears. You shoved the phone back into your pocket before he could see the caller ID, but the quick movement, the sudden evasiveness, hadn't gone unnoticed. You felt his gaze on your back, heavy and questioning, but he didn't press it. The air between you, which had just been lightened by the shared laugh and the near-fall, thickened again with unspoken tension.

The rest of the day passed in a pleasant haze of swimming in the clear, warm ocean, reading on the veranda, and more easy conversation. Yet, that brief, unsettling moment with your phone, and the way Seungcheol’s gaze had sharpened, clung to the back of your mind like a persistent burr. You found yourself subconsciously avoiding the topic of your ex, skirting around any mention of your life before this trip. You felt a new, unfamiliar layer of guardedness settling over you.

As night fell, a gentle, tropical rain began to patter on the villa roof, creating a soothing melody that lulled the island to sleep. You were both curled up on the large sofa in the living area, a movie playing softly on the screen. The day's activities, combined with the rhythmic sound of the rain, slowly started to lull you into a heavy drowsiness. Without realizing it, your head drooped, your eyelids growing heavy, the exhaustion of your sleepless night catching up.

The next thing you knew, you were waking up, truly waking up this time, to the soft glow of the television and the undeniable warmth of a body next to yours. You were no longer just on the sofa; you were nestled against Seungcheol. Your head was comfortably tucked into the crook of his shoulder, his arm was wrapped loosely around you, and your ear was pressed against his chest. You could hear it, clear as day, a strong, steady thump-thump, thump-thump. And it was fast. Not frantic, but definitely faster than a resting heartbeat should be. Your mind, still hazy from sleep, tried to make sense of it. Was he cold? Was he having a bad dream? Was he… excited about the movie? The excuses felt hollow, even to you.

Your fingers, nestled against his chest, felt the subtle vibration of his breathing, the warmth radiating from him, the solidness of his muscles beneath your cheek. You longed to ask, to break the comfortable silence and query the frantic rhythm of his heart, to understand what caused it. But a strange, potent fear held you back. Fear of what the answer might be. Fear of what it might mean if his heart was racing because of you. You stayed perfectly still, feigning sleep, listening to that wild beat beneath your ear, your own heart echoing its frantic pace, far too afraid to ask why. And as you listened, you realized that the soft rain outside wasn't the only sound filling the villa. It was the increasingly loud, undeniable beat of a truth you were desperately trying to ignore.

The next morning dawned with a relentless sun, burning away any lingering mist from the night’s rain. You woke feeling surprisingly refreshed, the confusing tangle of the previous night’s closeness pushed to the back of your mind by the sheer brightness of the day. Seungcheol was already up, clattering around in the kitchen. When you emerged, he was whistling, flipping pancakes with an almost professional flourish.

"Morning, stranger," he chirped, setting a plate piled high with golden pancakes in front of you. "Slept well?" His eyes, bright and unreadable, met yours, and for a fleeting second, you wondered if he remembered draping his arm over you, if he'd felt your heart hammering against his chest. You quickly averted your gaze, focusing intently on drizzling syrup.

"Like a log," you lied, hoping your cheeks didn’t betray the heat rising in them. "The rain helped."

He just chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "Good. Because I've got a surprise for you." He gestured towards a neatly tied mesh bag by the door, and inside, you could make out the unmistakable orange of a basketball. "There's a court down the road, part of the resort. We're getting some shots up."

Your eyebrows shot up. "Seriously? On vacation? Cheol, I haven't played basketball since high school gym class."

He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Exactly! Time to relive the glory days. Besides," he winked, "you owe me. I made breakfast."

You tried to protest, but Seungcheol was notoriously persistent when he had an idea. Ten minutes later, you found yourself walking down a sandy path, the warm concrete of a half-court shimmering in the distance. The court was surprisingly well-maintained, nestled amongst palm trees, the ocean visible through a gap in the foliage.

"Alright, princess, first one to twenty wins," he declared, bouncing the ball with an easy grace that made you feel acutely aware of your own rusty skills. He dribbled around you, feinting left, then right, effortlessly sinking a lay-up. "Still got it."

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. "Show-off. Okay, fine. But no mercy."

The game quickly devolved into less a serious match and more a chaotic, breathless flirt war. You were rusty, sure, but the competitive fire ignited something playful between you. You'd duck under his arm, snatch the ball, and make a clumsy dash for the hoop. He’d laugh, long and genuine, then be right on your heels, his shadow looming large over you.

"No fouling, Cheol!" you gasped, winded, as he managed to box you out, his broad back pressing against your front.

"What, this?" he teased, his voice vibrating through you. "I'm just playing defense. Close defense."

You elbowed him lightly. "Yeah, too close!"

He stole the ball from you mid-dribble, effortlessly spinning it on his finger before passing it back. "You’re off your game today. Need some pointers?" His eyes twinkled.

"I’m just warming up, don't worry," you retorted, though you knew it was a losing battle. You took a shot, your aim completely off, sending the ball bouncing off the rim. You groaned in frustration.

"Here, let me help you with that form," he said, stepping behind you. Before you could react, he pressed himself flush against your back, his chest against yours, his thighs brushing the back of your legs. Your breath caught. His arms came around you, reaching for yours, his palms sliding along your arms until his fingers intertwined with yours around the ball. You were hyper-aware of everything: the heat of his body, the faint scent of sweat and sunscreen, the rough texture of his swim shorts against your skin. His voice, now a low, husky whisper, was right by your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"Relax, princess," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your inner forearm, a feather-light touch that sent goosebumps blooming across your skin. "Let me take care of you. You gotta follow through, like this." He guided your arms, his body moving with yours, a single, fluid motion that felt electrifyingly intimate. The ball swished through the net.

You pulled away abruptly, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. "Okay, okay, I got it. Thanks, Coach." Your voice sounded far too shaky, even to your own ears.

He just chuckled, a knowing glint in his eyes, but didn't comment on your sudden retreat. The tension between you, though, was suddenly palpable, humming beneath the surface of the game.

Later, cooling off with drinks at the resort’s small beach bar, the easy camaraderie returned. But it was fleeting. A few tables over, a girl with long, dark hair and an infectious laugh caught Seungcheol’s eye. She was clearly a tourist, her skin glowing with a fresh tan, and she was undeniably pretty. Seungcheol, ever the charmer, exchanged a friendly smile and a brief nod with her. No big deal, right? Just being polite.

But then, she caught his eye again, a little too quickly, and this time she offered a wider, more inviting smile. Seungcheol returned it, and a polite, brief exchange of words followed – something about the great weather, a shared laugh. You smiled politely too, a fixed, slightly brittle expression on your face. Inside, though, you felt a cold, sharp stab in your chest. It was irrational, ridiculous. He was just being friendly. But the ice spread, a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the cool breeze coming off the ocean.

You watched them for a few more seconds, the easy way she tossed her hair back, the way her gaze lingered on him. A knot tightened in your stomach. She's definitely flirting with him. And he was… well, he was being Seungcheol. Polite, charming, completely oblivious to the sudden chill radiating from your side of the table.

When she finally turned away, you felt a disproportionate sense of relief. You took a long, exaggerated gulp of your drink.

"She seemed nice," Seungcheol commented, completely oblivious to your internal turmoil. "Cute, too."

You bristled, an unexpected sharpness in your tone. "Oh, really? You think so? Just 'nice'?"

He looked at you, surprised by your sudden bite. His eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Yeah, I mean… she seemed friendly. Why? What's wrong?"

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but your jaw was tight. "Nothing. Just commenting. You're very observant today."

He leaned back in his chair, studying you, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "You know, you get this particular wrinkle between your eyebrows when you're trying to hide something." He paused, his gaze unwavering. "Are you jealous?"

The question hit you like a splash of cold water. Your heart leaped into your throat. "Jealous? Of what? Don't be ridiculous, Cheol. We’re literally on vacation. And she's… she's just some random tourist." You heard the defensive edge in your voice, hated it, but couldn't seem to stop it.

He chuckled, a low, soft sound that did nothing to soothe your ruffled feathers. His expression, though, wasn't amused. It was something else – something unreadable, but definitely not convinced by your denial. It was a look that said, I see you. I see exactly what's happening here. He just took a slow sip of his drink, letting the silence hang heavy between you, charged with the unspoken truth of your denial. You suddenly felt very exposed, and very, very frustrated. With him, with her, and most of all, with yourself.

The next day unfolded under a sky so intensely blue it almost hurt your eyes. The air hummed with the gentle thrum of island life, a stark contrast to the buzzing confusion in your head after yesterday’s basketball court skirmish and that infuriatingly knowing look from Seungcheol. You tried to brush it off, to tell yourself his "Are you jealous?" was just a tease, but the sharp sting in your chest when that tourist girl had flirted with him was undeniable. And worse, he knew.

You found Seungcheol already on the beach when you ventured out, setting up a couple of lounge chairs under a wide, thatched umbrella. He looked unfairly good, relaxed in swim shorts and a loose, unbuttoned linen shirt that billowed slightly in the breeze, revealing tantalizing glimpses of his chest. He caught your eye and offered a casual wave, as if nothing had happened yesterday. His nonchalance almost infuriated you.

"Morning, feeling less murderous today?" he asked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as you settled into the chair next to him.

You narrowed your eyes. "I wasn't murderous. Just… competitive. And you were annoying."

He chuckled, stretching his arms above his head, his muscles flexing. "Right. And I'm sure that look you gave that poor girl yesterday was pure 'competition.'"

You bristled. "She was practically draped all over you! And anyway, what's it to you? You're just my best friend, remember?" The words felt harsher than you intended, a desperate attempt to re-establish the boundary you felt slipping away.

His smile faded, replaced by a strangely intense gaze. "Right," he echoed, but his voice was low, laced with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher. He turned away, picking up a bottle of sunscreen. "Want some?"

The sudden shift in atmosphere was jarring. You nodded, feeling a strange mix of regret for your sharp words and a defiant refusal to back down. He poured a generous amount into his palm, then started rubbing it onto his own shoulders. You watched the play of muscles under his skin, the smooth, powerful movements of his hands, and suddenly felt a fresh wave of heat.

"My back too?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, pushing the boundary back just a little, unable to resist.

He paused, then slowly turned. His eyes met yours, a silent question passing between you. He nodded, a small, almost imperceptible dip of his head. You turned, pulling down the straps of your swimsuit to expose your back. You felt the cool smear of sunscreen first, then the warm, firm pressure of his hands as they began to rub it in. His touch was deliberate, slow, his fingers tracing patterns along your shoulder blades, his thumbs pressing gently into the small of your back. Every brush of his skin against yours sent a shiver through you. It was far too intimate for 'just friends'.

"You're tense," he murmured, his voice a low hum against the backdrop of the waves. His thumbs worked circles into your tense muscles, dangerously close to the sides of your waist. You bit your lip to suppress a gasp. The line between platonic comfort and something entirely different was not just blurring; it was dissolving under his hands.

When he finally pulled away, your skin tingled, and you felt oddly exposed, despite being fully covered by your swimsuit. You didn't dare meet his eyes.

The afternoon rolled into evening, the golden light softening as you found yourselves at a quaint little beachside bar. You were under the same umbrella you’d claimed earlier, now strung with fairy lights, creating a cozy, almost magical ambiance. Cocktails, vibrant and fruity, arrived, their clinking ice a cool counterpoint to the growing heat between you two.

You were halfway through your second drink, laughing at one of his ridiculously bad puns, when a drop of condensation ran down the side of your glass and onto your lip. Without thinking, Seungcheol reached out, his thumb gently wiping the moisture away. His touch was feather-light, barely there, but his thumb didn't pull away immediately. It lingered, brushing softly against your bottom lip, tracing its curve. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then slowly, deliberately, lifted to meet your eyes.

The air thickened, crackling with unspoken words. The soft music from the bar, the gentle lapping of the waves, all faded into a distant hum. All that existed was the warmth of his thumb on your lip, the intensity of his stare, and the sudden, overwhelming awareness of his proximity. Your heart hammered, a frantic drum against your ribs.

"What are you doing?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His thumb slowly, reluctantly, pulled away. He leaned back slightly, but his eyes never left yours. "Nothing," he murmured, though his expression said otherwise. "Just… wiping your lip."

The flirt-off, already a staple of your dynamic, escalated. "Why do you look at me like that, Cheol?" you challenged, the alcohol loosening your tongue, making you bolder than you would have been sober. Your voice was soft, but laced with a dare.

"Like what?" he countered, his voice equally low, his eyes dark and intense.

"Like you want me," you breathed, the words out before you could stop them, raw and honest and terrifying.

A flicker of something—surprise? desire? satisfaction?—crossed his face. A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips. "Maybe I do," he said, his voice a dangerous whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "What if I do?"

Your breath hitched. The honesty was disarming, shattering the carefully constructed wall you'd maintained for years. You had no response. You just stared at him, your mind reeling.

He didn't press it. Instead, he just raised his glass. "Another round?"

Before you knew it, another hour had passed, then another, and the "too many drinks" threshold had well and truly been crossed. The world felt softer, brighter, and all your inhibitions seemed to have dissolved into the warm island air. The music, which had been background, suddenly felt irresistible.

"Come on!" you giggled, pulling him from his seat. "Let's dance!"

He followed, a smile on his face, though he swayed a little. You both stumbled onto a small, makeshift dance floor near the bar, joining a few other tourists. You danced badly, laughing loudly, your arms flailing, bumping into each other. He caught your waist, steadying you, and you leaned into him instinctively, the world spinning just a little.

His grip tightened, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, then tangled in his hair as the music swelled around you. You pressed against him, moving to the beat, your hips swaying against his. The laughter died down, replaced by a breathless awareness. His head dipped, his forehead resting against yours, then lower, until his lips were just inches from yours. You could feel his warm breath on your mouth, the faint scent of his drink, and the intoxicating pull of something you'd denied for so long.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, his voice rough with something that sounded like raw longing. His eyes were half-closed, heavy-lidded, fixed on your lips.

Your breath hitched. This was it. The moment. The line, stretched to its absolute breaking point, was about to snap. He leaned in further, his lips just barely brushing yours, a feather-light touch that promised so much more. Your heart hammered, a wild bird desperate for escape.

But then, the familiar, insistent voice of reason screamed in your head. He’s your best friend. Your best friend. Don’t ruin this. Don’t lose him.

You stopped it. You put a hand on his chest, gently but firmly pushing him back, just an inch. The world, which had been spinning, crashed back into focus. His eyes opened, suddenly clearer, and a flicker of something—disappointment? confusion?—crossed his face.

"Cheol," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, filled with a sudden, overwhelming regret for the proximity, for the almost-kiss, for the chaos of your own feelings. "I… I can't. We're… we're best friends."

He looked at you for a long moment, the warmth in his eyes slowly cooling, replaced by a familiar frustration. He just nodded, a slight, almost imperceptible dip of his head. He pulled his hands from your waist, his arms dropping to his sides, the distance between you suddenly feeling vast. The spell was broken. You felt a wave of cold sobriety wash over you, leaving you chilled despite the warm night.

You stumbled back to the villa in a tense silence. The comfortable ease had evaporated, replaced by an awkward chasm. When you got back, you both went through the motions of getting ready for bed, but the unspoken words hung heavy in the air.

That night, in bed, you lay awake for what felt like hours. He was next to you, shirtless, the covers half off, his body a dark silhouette in the dim room. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the soft rise and fall of his chest with each breath. You desperately wanted to reach out, to touch him, to erase the distance you had just created. To pull him back into the almost-kiss, to let the line completely dissolve. You rolled over, facing the ceiling, biting your lip hard enough to taste copper. Your mind replayed the feel of his thumb on your lip, the raw longing in his voice, the weight of his body against yours as you danced. The 'best friend' mantra, which had been your shield for so long, now felt like a cruel prison. You could hear his soft, even breathing, and knew he was asleep, utterly unaware of the storm raging within you. And that, somehow, was the most frustrating part of all.

The morning after the almost-kiss hung heavy between you, a tangible weight in the humid air. The vibrant blues and greens of the island seemed muted, overshadowed by the awkward silence that had settled in the villa. You woke to the dull ache of a hangover – both from the too-many drinks and the emotional whiplash of the night before. Seungcheol was already up, sitting on the veranda, staring out at the ocean. His back was to you, rigid, giving nothing away.

You showered quickly, trying to wash away the lingering tension. Every movement felt self-conscious, as if he could feel your nervousness from across the villa. When you emerged, he still hadn't moved. The silence stretched, becoming unbearable. This wasn't how your mornings with Cheol usually went. There was always laughter, easy banter, the clatter of breakfast being made. Now, there was just this oppressive quiet.

You decided to break it, to pretend everything was fine, to re-establish the "best friend" boundary you’d so desperately clung to last night. "Hey," you said, your voice a little too bright, a little too forced. "Beautiful morning, huh?"

He turned slowly, his expression unreadable. His eyes, usually warm and crinkling with a smile, were cool, almost distant. "Yeah," he said, his voice flat. "Real beautiful."

You walked over, trying to project an air of casualness, and leaned against the railing beside him. "Rough night?"

He scoffed, a short, humorless sound. "Rough night? You stopped me. You physically pushed me away. After everything." His voice was low, laced with a quiet anger that made your stomach clench. "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

Your carefully constructed facade crumbled. Your heart hammered. "Cheol, I… I just. I can't. We're best friends. What happened last night, it was the drinks. It was… a mistake." The words felt like sandpaper in your throat, a betrayal of your own swirling emotions, but you felt trapped, desperate to pull back from the edge.

He finally stood, turning to face you fully. The sudden proximity, the raw anger in his eyes, made you instinctively take a step back. "A mistake?" His voice rose, though he kept it under control, a dangerous undertone to its controlled volume. "A mistake? Are you serious right now? You think all the flirting, all the touching, all the tension between us for the past how many years has been a mistake? You think that kiss you almost let happen was just 'the drinks'?"

His gaze pinned you, sharp and accusatory. "You think I haven't seen the way you look at me? The way your breath hitches when I get too close? The way you go stiff when some other girl even looks at me? Don't you dare tell me that was a mistake. Don't you dare act like it's nothing, and then shut me out the second it gets real!"

His words hit you like a physical blow, each one echoing the truths you’d been so desperately trying to suppress. Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring the perfect ocean view behind him. The anger in his voice was a whip, but it was the hurt beneath it that truly stung.

"I just… I don't want to lose you, Cheol!" you finally yelled back, the words tearing from your throat, ragged and desperate. "You're my best friend! What if we… what if we try this and it ruins everything? What if we lose us? I can't risk that!"

The admission hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. Your voice cracked on the last word, and a tear finally escaped, tracing a hot path down your cheek. The fear of losing him, of shattering the foundation of your friendship, was a deep, primal terror. It felt safer, easier, to stay in the familiar, even if it meant denying a burgeoning desire you couldn't control.

His face softened infinitesimally, the anger in his eyes dimming, replaced by a profound sadness. He stepped closer, reaching out a hand. You flinched, expecting him to pull away, to turn his back on you entirely. But his hand simply cupped your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away the tear. His touch was feather-light, tender, a stark contrast to the angry words that had just passed between you.

"You think I haven't thought about that?" he murmured, his voice now low, rough with emotion. "You think I'm not scared?" His thumb moved, stroking your wet cheek bone. "But what if… what if we've already lost 'us' by pretending we're just friends? By denying what's been between us for so long?"

Another tear escaped, then another, and soon you were openly sobbing, the floodgates opening on weeks, months, years of suppressed feelings. The fear, the confusion, the longing – it all poured out. Your shoulders shook, and you buried your face in your hands, the shame of your emotional breakdown overwhelming you.

Suddenly, his arms were around you, pulling you against his chest. He held you tight, a warm, solid anchor in the storm of your tears. He didn't say anything, just let you cry, his hand stroking your hair, murmuring soft, comforting sounds. Your body sagged against his, finding an unexpected solace in his embrace. The anger had dissipated, replaced by a profound sense of relief, of being held and understood.

"You always shut me out right when I get close," he whispered, his voice vibrating against your ear, his words a gentle accusation. His hands started rubbing your back, a soothing, rhythmic motion that felt both comforting and subtly spicy, sending shivers through your damp skin. "Every time I think we're getting somewhere, you pull away. You put up that wall."

"I'm scared," you choked out, your voice muffled against his shirt. "I'm so, so scared, Cheol."

"I know," he whispered back, his voice thick with empathy. He pulled you even tighter, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "But you don't have to be. Not with me." His fingers tangled in your hair, gently massaging your scalp. The quiet intimacy of the moment, the raw vulnerability, felt more profound than any physical act. His warmth seeped into your bones, chasing away the chill of your fear.

You clung to him, your tears slowly drying on your cheeks. The soft sounds of the rain outside had stopped, replaced by the gentle hush of the ocean. You could feel the steady beat of his heart against your cheek, a comforting rhythm that finally began to soothe your own frantic one. Exhaustion, emotional and physical, washed over you.

You fell asleep right there, held tightly in the crook of his neck, the scent of his skin and the gentle rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a peaceful slumber. His fingers were still tangled in your hair, a silent promise of comfort and closeness. For the first time in days, maybe even weeks, you felt truly safe, truly at peace, despite the raw honesty that had just erupted between you. The anger had passed, leaving behind a fragile, yet undeniable, bridge built from shared vulnerability.

The morning after the storm, a fragile peace settled over the villa. The air felt lighter, the tension that had been a constant companion since your arrival having finally broken, giving way to a raw, tender honesty. You woke still curled against Seungcheol, his arm a gentle weight around you. This time, there was no panicked escape, no frantic disentangling. You simply lay there for a moment, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. When you finally stirred, he was already awake, his gaze soft as he looked down at you.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep, a faint smile playing on his lips. He didn't move, just let his fingers trace lazy circles on your back, sending shivers through you.

"Morning," you replied, your voice still a little thick with sleep and lingering emotion. You finally pushed yourself up, the warmth leaving your side immediately missed. You felt a blush creeping up your neck, but this time, it was less about embarrassment and more about a shy awareness of the shift between you.

Breakfast was quieter than usual, but it was a comfortable quiet, punctuated by soft glances and small, knowing smiles. The elephant in the room hadn't vanished, but it felt less like a threat and more like a shared secret, something still too new and delicate to articulate fully.

After eating, you decided on a lazy beach day. The sun was already high, promising a scorching afternoon. You pulled on your favorite bikini – a simple, classic black one – and then, almost as an afterthought, grabbed a loose, oversized tank top to pull over it. It was more for sun protection than anything else, or so you told yourself.

When you stepped out onto the veranda, Seungcheol was already there, spreading a large beach towel on the sand. He looked up as you approached, and his eyes, which had been scanning the horizon, fixed on you. His gaze lingered, trailing from your face, down the loose fabric of your tank top, to your legs. A slow, appreciative warmth spread through his eyes. He paused, his movements stilled, openly watching you.

You felt the heat of his stare, an entirely new sensation, even after all your years of casual flirting. This wasn't the teasing, friendly gaze. This was something else. Something possessive, hungry, and deeply, undeniably masculine. It made your stomach flutter and your skin tingle. You felt oddly exposed, despite the loose fabric.

"Eyes up here, bestie," you teased, your voice a little breathy, trying to break the intensity of the moment. You batted your eyelashes playfully, but inside, your heart was hammering.

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that seemed to vibrate through the air. His gaze finally lifted, meeting yours, a spark of pure mischief in his eyes. "Hard to do when the view's so distracting, princess." He pushed himself up, still looking at you, and walked over to where you stood. "Need help with that?" He gestured with his chin towards the small tube of sunscreen in your hand.

Your pulse quickened. You swallowed, trying to appear nonchalant. "Oh. Uh, yeah. Sure. My back, anyway." You turned, pulling down the straps of your tank top, then your bikini top, exposing your entire back. It was a bold move, an unspoken invitation. You felt the warm air on your skin, and then, the cool, smooth slide of sunscreen as he squeezed a generous dollop onto your shoulder.

His hands began to work, his touch slow, deliberate, almost agonizingly so. His palms glided over your shoulder blades, down your spine, the movement languid and sensual. His fingers seemed to drag, almost imperceptibly, along the curve of your back, taking their time. Every brush of his skin against yours sent electric currents through your body. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as his thumbs, with agonizing slowness, brushed the sides of your waist, just above the line of your bikini bottoms, lingering there for a fraction too long before moving up again.

His touch wasn't rushed or hurried; it was a patient, exquisite torture. You could almost feel the heat radiating from his hands, seeping into your very bones. You bit your lip, trying to control the shivers that threatened to erupt. The silence stretched, filled only by the whisper of the waves and the frantic thrum of your own heartbeat. You closed your eyes, utterly consumed by the sensation. It was an exercise in pure, delicious slow burn, every inch of his contact a whispered promise of what you now knew he wanted.

"You're going to burn if I don't get this all the way down," he murmured, his voice a low, rough rumble right by your ear. His fingers slid further down, lingering just above the curve of your buttock, then returning slowly. "Or maybe I just want an excuse to keep touching you."

You gasped softly, a little sound escaping your lips. The honesty, delivered in that husky tone, sent a jolt right through you. "Cheol," you whispered, his name a plea, a warning, and something else entirely.

He chuckled, a low, satisfied sound. "Done," he said, but his hands didn't immediately pull away. They lingered on your lower back, his thumbs still stroking gently. You felt his chest brush your back as he leaned in slightly. "Go enjoy the sun."

You practically bolted to the beach towel, throwing yourself down, your skin still tingling from his touch. You could feel his eyes on you, even from a distance, and it was all you could do to try and regulate your breathing. This was a whole new level of 'spicy without sex,' a simmering cauldron of unspoken desire.

The rest of the day was a blur of swimming and sun, punctuated by glances that lasted too long, touches that lingered, and a constant, almost unbearable awareness of each other. You felt like you were walking on a tightrope, every step a delicate balance between pulling away and leaning in.

As evening approached, Seungcheol suggested a special dinner at the villa. "Candlelit, just us. I’ll cook."

You agreed, a nervous excitement fluttering in your chest. The villa transformed. Candles flickered on every surface, casting warm, dancing shadows that made the familiar space feel intimate and new. The scent of a delicious, savory meal wafted from the kitchen.

You watched him as he moved around, effortlessly chopping vegetables, searing meat. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his casual shirt, revealing strong forearms, and a lock of hair kept falling into his eyes, which he’d push back with an impatient flick of his wrist. He looked utterly masculine, utterly captivating.

"Need any help?" you asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, your voice softer than you intended.

He glanced up, a grin spreading across his face. "Just moral support, princess. And maybe some dancing." He reached for your hand, pulling you gently into the center of the kitchen. A slow, romantic song was playing softly from his phone.

You laughed, a little shyly, but let him pull you close. His hands found your waist, and yours linked behind his neck. You swayed together, slowly, to the music, the flickering candlelight making his eyes seem darker, more intense. The comfortable silence settled, filled only by the soft melody and the brush of your bodies.

His hold tightened, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. Your chest was pressed flush against his, your legs brushing with every subtle sway. You could feel the solid warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart mirroring your own frantic rhythm. His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, a silent question passing between you.

"You have no idea," he murmured, his voice raw, thick with unexpressed desire, "how hard it is not to touch you the way I want to. How hard it is to just stand here, holding you like this, when all I want to do is…" He didn't finish the sentence, but his eyes said it all.

Your breath caught in your throat, a sharp, ragged sound. The intensity of his gaze, the raw honesty of his words, was overwhelming. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the potent pull drawing you closer. He leaned in, slowly, his head dipping, his lips just inches from yours. You could feel his warm breath on your mouth, the desperate longing in his eyes. Every cell in your body screamed to lean in, to close the distance, to finally give in to the magnetic pull that had been building for days.

But the fear, the familiar, insidious fear, clawed its way back. The memory of your breakdown, of your desperate plea not to lose him, flashed in your mind. This was it. The point of no return. And you were terrified.

You put your hands on his chest, gently but firmly, and pushed. Not a harsh shove, but enough to create a small, desperate space between your bodies. He stopped, his eyes wide, confused, but he allowed the distance. You were shaking, your hands trembling on his chest.

"I can't do this," you whispered, the words choked out, raw with emotion. The decision felt like tearing a part of yourself away.

His eyes, which had just been filled with longing, hardened, a flicker of that familiar frustration returning. "Why?" he asked, his voice low, controlled, but laced with a simmering anger. "Why can't you? Because I make you feel something? Because it's not 'just friends' anymore? Because you're scared?" Each question was a jab, a direct hit to your most vulnerable spots. He knew. He knew your fears, your denials, and he wasn't letting you hide from them anymore.

The kitchen, once so warm and inviting, now felt suffocating, filled with the bitter taste of your unresolved emotions. You couldn't meet his gaze, unable to deny the truth in his words, unable to voice the overwhelming terror that held you captive. The line, which had blurred so beautifully under the candlelight, had once again become a chasm, separating you from the very thing you secretly craved.

The morning after your retreat, the villa felt colder, despite the tropical heat. The air crackled with unspoken frustration, a stark contrast to the fragile intimacy of the previous day. You woke up feeling raw, exposed, and deeply, terribly regretful of pushing Seungcheol away. You could still feel the phantom warmth of his hands, the ghost of his breath on your lips, and the sting of his unanswered questions: “Why can’t you? Because I make you feel something? Because you’re scared?”

You found him in the living area, meticulously wiping down the kitchen counter, his back to you. The silence between you was a thick, oppressive blanket. He usually left that kind of tidying to the staff, a clear sign of his internal agitation.

"Morning," you offered, your voice small, tentative.

He didn't turn. "Morning," he replied, his voice devoid of warmth, clipped and distant. He continued wiping, his movements precise and stiff.

You hovered awkwardly, wanting to bridge the gap, but unsure how. "Look, Cheol, about last night… I just… I panicked. It's a lot, okay? All of this." You gestured vaguely around the villa, trying to encompass the sudden intensity of your shared space.

He finally stopped wiping, slowly turning to face you. His eyes were cold, shuttered, a stark contrast to the open vulnerability of the day before. "Yeah, I get it," he said, his voice flat. "It's a lot. Too much, apparently." He dropped the cloth onto the counter with a soft thud. "Maybe we should just… stick to the original plan. Relax. Be friends. No more 'spicy without sex' moments, right? Wouldn't want to make you 'panic' again." The sarcasm in his tone was a bitter sting, cutting deeper than any anger.

Your heart ached. "That's not fair," you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes again. "You know it's not that simple."

He scoffed. "Isn't it? Seems pretty simple to me. I make a move, you run. Classic." He walked past you, out onto the veranda, leaving you standing alone in the suddenly silent kitchen, feeling utterly abandoned.

The rest of the morning was unbearable. He avoided your gaze, spoke only when necessary, and maintained a polite, impenetrable distance. It was worse than anger; it was indifference, a stark reminder of what you truly stood to lose. You tried to suggest activities – a snorkel trip, exploring the local village – but he just gave non-committal answers or suggested you go alone. The easy camaraderie had completely evaporated, replaced by a chasm of hurt and frustration.

Around midday, you decided to take a walk along the beach, desperate for some space and fresh air. You rounded a bend in the coastline, near a cluster of vibrant coral reefs, when you saw them. Seungcheol, standing by the water's edge, talking to her. The same tourist girl from the beach bar. She was laughing, her head thrown back, her dark hair catching the sunlight. And Seungcheol was smiling, a wide, genuine smile that you hadn't seen directed at you all morning.

Your breath caught in your throat. He looked relaxed, engaged, completely at ease with her. He even reached out, his hand briefly touching her arm as she pointed at something in the water. It was just friendly, you told yourself. Casual. Harmless. But it stung, a deep, hot ache in your chest. The ice from yesterday had returned, but this time, it was laced with fire.

You quickly ducked behind a cluster of palm trees, your heart hammering. You felt a wave of pure, unadulterated jealousy wash over you, hot and undeniable. You watched for another minute, the sight of them together, so easy and carefree, twisting the knife in your gut. She's everything I'm not right now, you thought bitterly. Easygoing. Uncomplicated. And she clearly wasn't afraid to lean in.

You turned and practically ran back to the villa, the beautiful beach now feeling like a personal affront. You burst through the door, your blood still simmering, and found Seungcheol already inside, getting a bottle of water from the fridge. He looked up, his easy expression from the beach still lingering.

"Oh, hey," he said, his voice still too casual, too normal, after what you’d just witnessed. "You're back quick. Find any cool shells?"

You slapped your hands on your hips, your eyes narrowed. "Actually, I found something much more interesting." Your voice was tight, strained. "Looks like you had a very pleasant conversation out there."

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about," you shot back, your voice rising. "The girl from yesterday! The one you find so 'nice' and 'cute.' Looks like you two are getting along famously."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. The casual indifference was gone, replaced by a weary frustration. "Are you serious right now? I was literally just talking to her about the best snorkeling spot. We ran into each other. You're going to make a scene over that?"

"A scene?" you scoffed, feeling the irrational anger bubble up. "I'm making a scene? You're out there, flirting with some random tourist, acting like everything is perfectly fine, while I'm in here, completely losing my mind because I don't know what we are anymore!" You knew you were being unfair, lashing out, but you couldn't stop. The jealousy was a live wire, sparking and burning.

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes hardening. Then, a slow, infuriating smile spread across his face, a challenge in his gaze. "Oh, so now it's about you losing your mind? Interesting. Because last night, when things actually got 'interesting,' you were the one who pushed me away. You don't want me, but no one else can have me either, huh? Is that it? You want to keep me on a leash, just in case?" His voice was low, dangerous, hitting every raw nerve.

The accusation, so close to the truth of your own fear, felt like a direct punch to the gut. "That's not fair!" you yelled, your voice cracking. The villa, usually so peaceful, now echoed with your raised voices. "You think I want to keep you on a leash? I just… I just don't want you with anyone else! Okay? Is that what you want to hear? I don't want you with anyone else!"

The words burst out of you, raw, unplanned, and laced with every ounce of your desperate, painful jealousy. The confession hung in the air, heavy and undeniable, silencing the argument instantly.

Silence. The only sound was the distant murmur of the ocean, a stark contrast to the storm that had just erupted between you. Seungcheol’s eyes, which had been hard and challenging, softened, a flicker of something new replacing the anger – surprise, then a slow, dawning understanding. He took a single, deliberate step closer, then another, closing the distance you had so desperately tried to maintain.

You watched him approach, frozen, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. He stopped directly in front of you, just inches away, completely invading your personal space. The tension that had been building for days, for years, was now a palpable force, thick and electric. His gaze was intense, unwavering, reading every single one of your unspoken thoughts.

"Then show me," he said, his voice a low, rough murmur that sent shivers down your spine. He didn't raise his voice, but the quiet demand was more powerful than any shout. "Stop running. Stop hiding. Show me."

Before you could even process his words, he moved. He didn't grab you, didn't pull you in forcefully. Instead, he simply reached out and placed his hands on either side of your head, framing your face, his fingers gently tangling in your hair. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned in. Your breath hitched, your eyes wide as you watched his face draw closer. His forehead came to rest against yours, skin to skin, the contact sending a jolt right through you. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the slight tremor in his hands, reflecting the tremor in your own.

His eyes, dark and intense, searched yours, seeking confirmation, demanding a final answer. He was so close you could feel the soft brush of his eyelashes, the faint scent of his skin, and the raw, hungry longing in his gaze. His lips were just a breath away, so tantalizingly close. Your own lips parted slightly, an involuntary invitation. Every instinct screamed to close the distance, to finally give in to the magnetic pull that had been building between you for so long.

This was it. The culmination. The moment you’d denied, fought, and secretly yearned for. You felt the delicious, terrifying pull towards him, your body aching to melt into his.

But then, just as your eyes fluttered closed, just as you leaned the last fraction of an inch, he pulled back. Not completely, but enough to break the imminent contact. His forehead remained against yours, his hands still cradling your face, but his lips were no longer hovering. His eyes, now clear and resolute, looked deeply into yours.

"If we do this," he said, his voice a low, gravelly whisper, filled with a gravitas that made your heart skip a beat, "you better be ready. Because once we cross this line, there's no going back to 'just friends.' Understand?"

The question hung in the air, a final challenge, a demand for complete honesty. The spice and tension of the moment weren't in a kiss, but in the raw, aching anticipation, the undeniable craving, and the terrifying weight of his words. He was putting the choice squarely in your hands, asking you to be as brave as he was. And the silence screamed with the magnitude of that decision.

You woke to an emptiness beside you, a cold dread seizing your chest before your eyes even fully opened. The bed, vast and silent, swallowed you whole. The last thing you remembered was Seungcheol's intense gaze, his raw question hanging in the air: "If we do this, you better be ready. Because once we cross this line, there's no going back to 'just friends.' Understand?" And then… nothing. You had been too overwhelmed, too terrified, to answer.

Panic, sharp and cold, hit you like a physical blow. He was gone. Had you pushed him away for good this time? Had your fear finally driven him away, just as he’d warned? Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drum against the silence of the villa. You scrambled out of bed, a frantic search beginning. The bathroom was empty. The kitchen, usually smelling of his morning coffee, was cold. You called his name, a desperate whisper, then a little louder, but only the gentle hum of the villa’s air conditioning answered.

You rushed to the veranda, your eyes scanning the horizon, your breath held tight in your throat. He wasn't by the pool. He wasn't on the lounge chairs. For a terrifying moment, you thought he'd packed up, hailed a cab, and left you there, stranded with your regret. The thought sent a fresh wave of tears pricking at your eyes.

Then, you saw him. A lone figure on the beach, far down the shoreline, near the water’s edge. He was sitting on a fallen palm log, staring out at the vast, indifferent ocean. His shoulders were hunched, a posture you rarely saw in the usually confident Seungcheol. Relief, so potent it made your knees weak, flooded through you, quickly followed by a resolute determination. This was it. No more running. No more hiding.

You didn't hesitate. You practically ran down the steps, the sand cool beneath your bare feet, then warm as you hit the sun-drenched expanse of the beach. Your heart pounded, not just from exertion, but from the immense gravity of the conversation you were about to have. With every step, your mind cleared. The fear of losing him, which had shackled you for so long, was now eclipsed by the terrifying, exhilarating prospect of not having him. Not truly having him, in the way you now realized you desperately wanted.

As you got closer, you could make out the slight tension in his shoulders, the stillness of his form. He looked like he was deep in thought, perhaps coming to his own painful conclusions. You reached him, your breath a little ragged, and stopped just a few feet away. The sound of the waves crashing softly on the shore filled the silence between you.

He didn't look up immediately, lost in his own world. You swallowed, trying to find your voice, your hands suddenly clammy.

"Cheol," you finally managed, his name coming out as a soft, almost broken whisper.

His head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise as he registered your presence. They were shadowed, tired, but held a flicker of something that looked like hope, quickly masked. He started to say something, perhaps another cutting remark or a dismissive question, but you cut him off. You couldn't let him retreat again.

You took another step, closing the remaining distance, until you were standing right in front of him. You reached out, your hand trembling slightly, and gently took his. His fingers, initially stiff, slowly relaxed, intertwining with yours. His skin felt warm, familiar, comforting. Your eyes locked.

"I want you," you said, your voice clearer now, stronger, despite the tremor in your hand. You squeezed his hand gently. "Even if I'm scared. Even if it changes everything. I want you. I'm ready."

The words hung in the air, simple, honest, utterly raw. His eyes widened slightly, a profound relief washing over his features, chasing away the shadows. He searched your gaze, as if trying to find any trace of doubt, any lingering fear. But there was none, only a desperate, aching longing that matched his own.

A slow, breathtaking smile spread across his face, lighting up his eyes like the sunrise. He stood, pulling you gently towards him until you were standing directly in front of him, hands still clasped. His other hand came up, gently cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking softly.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, barely audible above the waves. "Because once we do this, there's no going back, princess."

"I'm sure," you breathed, leaning into his touch, your own hand coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart. "I've never been more sure about anything in my life."

His eyes devoured yours, a silent communication passing between you that transcended words. Then, with a low groan that vibrated through your chest, he leaned in, finally, definitively, closing the last agonizing inch between you.

His lips met yours, not tentatively, not as an "almost," but with a fierce, unleashed hunger that took your breath away. It was a heated, desperate kiss, months—no, years—of unspoken longing pouring into it. His mouth was soft yet firm, demanding and receiving. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more. You kissed him back with equal fervor, your body arching into his, a soft moan escaping your lips as his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, crushing you against him.

His hands, restless and eager, roamed over your back, tracing the curve of your spine, pulling you even tighter against his hard body. You could feel the rigid strength of him, the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressed against your swimsuit-clad body. A delicious friction started as your hips instinctively pressed closer to his. Your soft moans were muffled against his lips, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a sensual dance that left you dizzy and breathless. The world spun, but it was a joyous, exhilarating spin, not the dizzying fear of before.

He broke the kiss for only a moment, pulling back just enough to graze his lips over your jawline, down your neck, scattering hot, open-mouthed kisses that left a trail of fire in their wake. You gasped, your head falling back, granting him more access.

"God, you don't know," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with emotion, his breath hot against your neck. His hands slid lower, tracing the curve of your hips, pulling you into an undeniable grind against him. The exquisite pressure, the body-to-body tension, sent a fresh wave of desperate longing through you. "You don't know how long I've wanted this. How long I've dreamt of touching you like this. Of having you like this."

His lips found yours again, deeper this time, more possessive. He guided you down, gently pulling you to sit on the warm sand, then pulling you into his lap, facing him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, clinging to him, your bodies pressed together, swimsuit to swim shorts, the friction delicious. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, his hair, pulling, demanding more.

"Mine," he whispered against your mouth, a fierce, primal claim that sent a thrill through every nerve. "You're finally mine."

You could feel his heart hammering against your chest, matching the frantic rhythm of your own. Your whispered confessions mixed with desperate moans as you kissed him again, your mouths fused, the taste of salt and him filling your senses. His hands were everywhere, roaming, exploring, pulling you impossibly closer, eliciting soft, breathless sounds from your throat. The sand was rough beneath your bare skin, the sun warm on your faces, and the ocean roared its approval.

He pulled back, just slightly, to look into your eyes, his own dark with desire and a profound, overwhelming happiness. His thumb stroked your cheek, brushing away a stray grain of sand.

"From now on," he said, his voice husky, filled with a new, beautiful certainty, "I'm not just your best friend."

You smiled, a wide, genuine smile that reached your eyes, feeling a profound sense of rightness, of coming home. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, a promise in the touch. You were tangled in his arms, the ocean breeze ruffling your hair, the stars slowly beginning to emerge in the vast expanse above. The fear was gone, replaced by an exhilarating sense of freedom and belonging.

"Guess we’re not going back the same way we came, huh?" you murmured, your voice soft, content, nestled against his chest.

He chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound that vibrated through your body. He tightened his arms around you, pulling you closer still, his lips brushing your forehead. "No," he whispered, his voice a possessive murmur, filled with triumph and adoration. "We’re going back as mine."

The End

Divider credits: @uzmacchiato

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stargirlygirl · 3 days ago

Text

caleb as the new graduate your workplace just hired, and he's only got eyes for you.

the only day in your four years with the company, and you're late. when you show up, your boss is showing this hunk of man around your open office. your boss doesn't even question why you're late (the fry pan accidentally slid off the stove while you were cooking breakfast, leaving a scorch mark on your kitchen floor). instead, he calls your name and waves you over.

sunset eyes watch you curiously as you rush over, all nervous and giddy from your tardiness. your boss introduces the latest addition to your team: caleb xia.

since hearing your sweet voice and seeing your gorgeous smile, the rookie's been enchanted by you. all it took was one run down to the local café, and now he brings you your usual coffee every weekday at the same time.

and of course, with your morning coffee comes a check-in. he'll ask how you slept, if you ate, how your pet is. in the afternoon, he'll come around and remind you to take a break from your work emails. almost every time you leave the office to head home, he's by your side, walking you to your car because he says it's dangerous for a woman to be out at night (it's 5pm).

any time you stay back after hours, he stays back with you.

"what could you possibly have to catch up on, caleb? i saw your reports. they looked perfect to me," you ask him while looking up from your monitor. he's leaning against your door frame, burly arms crossed over his chest and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. those veiny forearms flex deliciously as he stands upright. you return your gaze to the spreadsheet, a blush threatening to spread across your cheeks.

"you looked like you could use some help," he replies cheerily, like it's just natural for him, your junior, to assist you with your work that's way above his pay grade. you try to protest, but caleb's not having it. and with the way he effortlessly advises you on calculations and proposal ideas, you're wondering if the roles should be reversed.

soon enough, your relationship isn't strictly related to work. it starts when you call him over to your place to help with your leaky tap. he seems like he knows this kinda stuff, right? and he said you could always turn to him for help, no matter what.

within 20 minutes of showing up, he's already fixed your tap and is now replacing your ancient light bulbs. you offer to buy him lunch, your treat to repay him for his hard labour. caleb reassures you that you don't need to, that he'd do anything for you, no compensation required. but you insist, and well, he's not going to push it.

as you drive to your fav noodle place to pick up your takeout, caleb takes this opportunity to install little cameras all over your house. for protection purposes, of course. safety comes first, and a woman living alone in this neighbourhood isn't safe. that's definitely the reason. not like he's obsessed with you or anything.

by the time you return, he's lounging on the couch, playing with your pet who seems to like him even more than you. after sharing your takeout, he heads off.

not much else changes, except for the occasional out-of-office-hours call you make to caleb when something somehow goes wrong at your place. every morning, he still asks what you had for breakfast and if you slept well, even though he was watching you for most of the night.

when you find out he has trouble sleeping, you—the good colleague you are—offer to help him in any way possible, seeing how he always helps you. but you never thought that would lead you to his bed.

your smaller body is beneath his huge one as he sucks cruel hickeys on your neck that no amount of makeup can conceal. you push at his chest, chanting his name instead of calling it.

he murmurs into your neck, "promised you would help me, pips. need to burn some energy before bed. think you can lie here n' take it?"

"caleb, we can't—"

"you've been so stressed lately. let's help each relax, hmm?" he coos against your ear.

"please." his voice is strained, near the breaking point, like he'll get on his knees and beg for you if that's what you want.

it's not coercion when you've been needing him for months now, when you've been touching yourself far too often and moaning his name into your pillow (the cameras have no microphone, so caleb can only imagine the sounds you're making).

you permit yourself one night to your relinquish control and hand it over to the sweet puppy staring at you all pouty. and you know you made the right choice when he fucks you like no else has ever before. beyond his years. beyond your wildest dreams. the way he makes you feel is heavenly and oh-so-sinful at the same time.

pulling on your hair while kissing your forehead and rasping out the sweetest praises against it. choking you on his length while wiping your tears and caressing your cheek.

caleb xia programs your body to need him and only him.

the next morning is filled with groans from you about how wrong last night was, how you shouldn't have given in to temptation and ruined your working relationship. but caleb reminds you (physically) how good it felt, how right you two feel together. and that's more than sufficient evidence to suggest that being colleagues simply isn't enough for the both of you anymore.

#where did this come from i'd like to know #kinda a role reversel here #no gege just didi #but also not didi because you're not related but chow it's fine #★’s works #love and deepspace #caleb x reader #caleb smut #lads caleb #caleb xia #xia yizhou smut #xia yizhou x reader #caleb x you #lnds caleb

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lambiconic · 1 month ago

Text

simon's finally got that date with the barista

if you havent, can i interest you in reading the first six: simon , gaz , johnny , price , the aftermath , the confrontation

(18+ you being angry at simon gets him the tiniest bit excited)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

After cleaning up the coffee beans you’d spilled on the floor in anger, you finally felt calm enough to try to talk things out with the four men.

Unfortunately, while you’d been crashing out in the back room they had leaving behind just a test message:

“This is Simon. Talk later.”

Despite your previous anger you couldn’t help but smile, its really cute that he somehow texts exactly how he speaks.

…

The men spent the better part of a week debating (honestly arguing) over how to even bring up the idea of… sharing you.

Though.. the longer they talked about it, the worse it sounded. Not because they didn’t want you. God, they did. So badly.

But, well, asking the same woman they’d all but cornered in her place of work and interrogated like you’d been married for 20 years with 3 children if she’d be open to dating all of them?

“Feels a bit... predatory, yeah?” Price had said at one point, frowning as he paced with uncharacteristic nervousness.

“We already ganged up on her once,” Gaz muttered. “Now we’re coming back to say ‘erm actually we’d like to take turns, thanks’? Bit dodgy.”

“We could ease her into it!” Johnny proposed, “One date each. Give her time to realize we’re all *cough* mostly me *cough* amazing.”

“So your plan is emotional whiplash in four acts??”

Simon, of course, offered nothing besides something about how if you laughed them out of that café, not a single word would leave his lips for weeks on end. Still, none of them backed down.

They just had to figure out how to say “Would you consider going out with all of us?” without sounding like a cult.

Easy. Right?

They came to the conclusion that Johnny was right, they needed to take you out. Try to woo you! Hopefully, that would make up for their ambush as well.

But who would go first?

Johnny concluded that because he was the only one who had actually asked you out on a date, he should be first!

But, no no, Price should go first! He was the most mature! You need a sexy, mature, older man to lead you into this.

Gaz didn’t care, he was convinced you’d fall for him the fastest no matter where he stood in line.

And Simon— wait where the hell is Simon?

Simon wasted no time slipping out of the room. He had somewhere to be.

And, like clockwork, Simon showed up at noon on Tuesday. He didn’t say much, just leaned against the counter like always, watching you work in silence. But this time, you were silent too.

Not the calm, flirty kind that matched his silent he was used to. No. You were giving him the silent treatment.

And he definitely deserved it. And he kind of liked it.

Your narrowed eyes. The dramatic scoff when he handed you a full $50 bill for a tip instead of his usual $10. The way you didn’t even try to mask your irritation with your usual sweet smile.

It wasn’t your customer service charm… it was all you, properly pissed off.

And strangely? That made him feel closer to you. At least this meant he still mattered enough to you to be met with something real.

And there was something about that slight look of disgust in your eyes that had heat pooling low in his stomach and him forced to drop a hand to his crotch in hopes no one could see his growing… problem.

“Can I…” he started quietly, just as you slid the cup across the counter.

Unfortunately for him, you turned right back around. He cleared his throat, his eyes locked on your back. “Y/N..?”

You didn’t stop what you were doing., offering a dry little ‘hm?”

He swallowed hard. “Can I… can I take you out?”

There was a pause. Then, slowly, you glared at him over your shoulder. “Pardon?”

He blinked. Panic hit (and there was that warm feeling in his groin again). Then, like it was rehearsed, he reached behind his back and held something out.

A wildflower. Well, a weed. Obviously tugged from the sidewalk out front, roots still dirty. But somehow, in his trembling hands, it looked about as pretty as the large bouquets Johnny kept offering you.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

His voice was tight, and you noticed now how his fingers were shaking. Like he was expecting you to laugh in his face. “I… we can do whatever you’d like. If you’ll give me a chance.”

The weed was already wilting in his hand but he kept it cradled in his palm like it was worth his weight in gold.

His head stayed bowed, jaw clenched, and the other hand curled into a fist behind his back, nails digging into his palm to keep from shaking.

After what felt like an eternity he saw your hand reaching out and carefully taking the small flower from his palm. “When are you free?”

His head shot up, eyes wide as they locked with yours. “I–I’ll have to check! I can text you. Just… I will text you.”

He continued to ramble, promising again and again that you'd hear from him as he stumbled backwards toward the door, his now-cold coffee clutched in hand.

He’d done it. He asked you out. He’s going on a date. With you.

Outside, he let out a breathless laugh and gave himself a small, victorious pat on the back, his thumb brushing over his name on the cup. His small personal treasure. A symbol of this joyous moment.

But then he paused.

Squinted.

“She spelled my name wrong..”

You may have an attitude problem.

…

Simon was a pretty blunt texter, you’d learned. He also started every single text message by stating it was him.

‘This is Simon. Would you like to go for dinner?’

‘This is Simon. I’ll send a list of restaurants. Pick what interests you.’

‘This is Simon. Don’t look at any prices. Leave your wallet at home.’

‘This is Simon. Eight sound good?’

‘This is Simon. Leaving out now. Excited to see you. Leave your wallet at home.’

‘This is Simon. At the entrance.’

You watched him for a couple seconds from your car, partially to feel out the situation and partially because you drove over in flip flops and needed to switch to heels.

Simon looked.. Nervous. A side of him you’d seen a lot of in the past few weeks but now it was at an all time high. It was like he didn’t know where to put his hands.

He tugged at his collar, checked his watch, ran his fingers through his slicked back blonde locks over and over.

He seemed to perk up like a dog as he saw you approach, his jaw slack and his hands now suddenly folded in front of him. “Y/N.. you look—you look…you are—”

“Hi..” You interrupt as you come to a stop in front of him, “Were you out here long?”

“No! He said, quickly offering you a hand. “Been here for two minutes at the most..”

He opened the door for you, his hand on the small of your back. “You’ll like it here..”

Once seated, Simon stared at the menu blankly, sneaking glances at you every few seconds.

“You good?” you asked, raising your eyes from your own menu.

“Yeah.” He nodded, setting the menu down. “Just… tryin’ to figure out how to talk to you. I really like you. We all do.”

“We..?” You repeat, non committedly as you run your finger over the menu.

“Yknow.. Johnny, Gaz–suppose you call him Kyle, and uhh Price–John..” He stutters out. “We all really like you.”

You didn’t look up right away. Instead, you let the silence stretch just long enough for Simon to start shifting in his seat. His fingers tapped nervously against the edge of the table, like he was bracing for you to stand and walk out. He always seems prepared for the worst around you.

Finally, you looked up from menu. “You all talk about this together?”

He nodded slowly. “Not at first, per our.. ambush. But… yeah. Eventually. It wasn’t exactly avoidable.”

You let out a quiet breath, straightening in your chair. “So what is this, then? A group interview?”

He snorted, caught off guard, and the tension in his shoulders eased. “More like… an application process.”

“And you’re the first brave soul to show up?”

“Might not be the brave one. Might just be the most desperate.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That supposed to impress me?”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “But I was hoping this would.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something small, setting it gently in front of you on the table.

A little wildflower. This one wasn’t wilted. Still clumsy, still a little dirt clinging to the roots, but fresher. Something he clearly went out and searched for.

You stared at it for a moment before your lips stretched out into a grin so wide your cheeks started to hurt. “Oh.. you are ridiculous.”

He smiled. “Yeah. But you haven’t told me no.”

You reached out, taking the flower. “…What night are the others taking me out?”

Simon grinned. “I’ll let ‘em know you asked.”

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kaylovestwd · 1 month ago

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hii dear, can you write something with daryl x reader in a relationship where he had just gotten used to receiving physical affection from his gf and since then he cannot stop holding ou being clingy with her even in public? it could be at the prison bc i miss earlier seasons daryl😭

We love clingy relationships .

Yesss the prison era was soon memorable it's been on my mind recently

The watchtower creaked a mournful song in the wind, a constant reminder of the precariousness of their sanctuary. But tonight, in the relative quiet of the prison block, the sounds felt distant, muted. Daryl sat beside you on the edge of your cot, the thin mattress offering little comfort but enough for the two of you to huddle together. The ever-present tension that coiled tight in his shoulders seemed to ease ever so slightly as his calloused hand found yours.

It was a marvel, really, how far they'd come. Just months ago, the idea of Daryl Dixon, the gruff, solitary hunter, initiating any kind of physical contact beyond a necessary pat on the back would have been laughable. Now, he sought it out. Not with words, of course. Daryl wasn't one for grand pronouncements or flowery language. But the way his eyes followed you, the way his hand instinctively reached for yours whenever you were within reach, the almost imperceptible softening of his features when you touched him… it spoke volumes.

The change had been gradual, almost imperceptible at first. A lingering brush of his hand against yours as he passed you a knife, a shoulder bumping yours a little harder than necessary as you walked side-by-side on a scavenging run, a fleeting touch to your back as he guided you through a crowded room. Each small gesture a tentative probe, a silent question: Is this okay?

And you, understanding the vulnerability hidden beneath his rough exterior, had answered with gentle smiles, a returning squeeze, a comfortable lean. You understood that for Daryl, physical touch wasn't just a sign of affection; it was a language he was only just beginning to learn. A language of safety, of trust, of belonging.

The prison, for all its grimness, had fostered a strange kind of intimacy. Shared hardships, the constant threat of death, the necessity of relying on one another… it had stripped away the layers of pretense and forced them to confront their rawest selves. You had seen Daryl at his most vulnerable, witnessed the pain that haunted his eyes, the scars, both visible and invisible, that marked his past. And he, in turn, had seen your strength, your compassion, your unwavering hope even in the face of despair.

Tonight, the silence between you wasn't uncomfortable. It was a companionable quiet, filled with unspoken understanding. Daryl’s thumb traced circles on the back of your hand, a small, repetitive motion that was strangely soothing. The gesture grounded you, reminding you that even in this broken world, there was still tenderness to be found.

He hadn't always been so open, so… clingy, as Carol had teasingly called it the other day, earning her a glare that could curdle milk. But that was the thing, wasn't it? Daryl wasn't used to having someone to hold onto, someone who wanted to be held. He'd spent so long pushing people away, building walls around his heart, that letting someone in was a completely foreign concept.

And now that you were in, now that he had finally allowed himself to be vulnerable, he seemed almost desperate to maintain that connection. It was as if he feared that if he let go, even for a moment, you would disappear, vanish like a mirage in the harsh desert of their reality.

The hand-holding had started subtly. A brief clasp of fingers during a particularly tense moment on a supply run. A comforting squeeze when one of the younger children had a nightmare. But lately, it had become almost constant. Walking through the prison yard, waiting in line for food, sitting around the campfire at night – Daryl’s hand was invariably intertwined with yours.

At first, you had found it endearing, a sweet and awkward expression of his affection. But now, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle changes in his demeanor when your hands weren’t connected. A furrowing of his brow, a slight stiffness in his posture, a barely perceptible unease in his eyes. It was as if a part of him felt incomplete, adrift, without that physical connection.

You had noticed this most acutely on a recent scavenging run to a nearby town. The streets were eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the crunch of their boots on shattered glass and the distant moans of walkers. Daryl, as always, was in the lead, his crossbow raised, his senses on high alert. You walked close behind him, your hand hovering near his, but not quite touching.

You wanted to give him space, to avoid being a distraction. He needed to focus, to be aware of his surroundings. But as the minutes ticked by, you could feel his anxiety growing. He kept glancing back at you, his eyes searching your face, a silent question in their depths.

Finally, as they rounded a corner and encountered a small group of walkers feasting on a fallen corpse, Daryl stopped abruptly, his hand shooting out to grasp yours. His grip was tight, almost painful, but you didn't pull away. You understood. It wasn't just about physical comfort; it was about reassurance. It was about knowing that you were there, that you were safe, that he wasn't alone.

He dispatched the walkers with brutal efficiency, his movements swift and precise. But even as he reloaded his crossbow, his hand remained firmly clasped in yours. It was only when they were back inside the relative safety of the prison walls that he finally released your hand, but not before giving it a lingering squeeze, a silent thank you.

Now, sitting beside you on the cot, you knew you had to address it. You couldn't let him continue to rely on you so heavily, to use physical touch as a crutch. It wasn't healthy for either of you.

"Daryl," you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He tensed, his eyes darting to yours, a flicker of apprehension in their depths.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, his voice gruff, his hand tightening its grip on yours.

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. "Everything's fine," you reassured him, "But... I've noticed you've been... needing to hold hands a lot lately."

He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding your gaze. "So?" he mumbled.

"So," you continued gently, "I love holding your hand, Daryl. I really do. But I also want to make sure you're okay. That you're not relying on it too much."

He remained silent for a long moment, his eyes fixed on your intertwined hands. Finally, he looked up, his expression a mixture of vulnerability and defiance.

"It makes me feel better," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "Makes me feel like... like I ain't gonna lose you."

Your heart ached for him. You understood his fear, his need for reassurance. But you also knew that he needed to learn to trust, to believe that you weren't going anywhere.

"I'm not going anywhere, Daryl," you said firmly, cupping his face in your hands. "I promise. But you need to know that you're strong enough to stand on your own, even without me holding your hand. And I'll always be here for you, whether we're touching or not."

He searched your eyes, his expression searching, questioning. Then, slowly, a flicker of understanding dawned in his eyes.

He took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Okay," he said, his voice stronger now. "Okay, I'll try."

You smiled, relieved. "I know you will," you said, leaning in to kiss him softly. "And I'll be right here, every step of the way."

As you pulled away, he hesitated for a moment, then reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from your face. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. It was a sign of trust, of vulnerability, of a love that was growing stronger with each passing day, even in the face of the apocalypse. And as you leaned your head against his shoulder, his arm wrapping around you in a comforting embrace, you knew that even without holding hands, they were still connected. Connected by something far deeper, far more profound. Connected by the unbreakable bond of love and trust that had been forged in the fires of their shared survival. The prison might be a cage, but within its walls, they had found freedom in each other.

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aeniiverse · 3 months ago

Text

CO-PARENTING A CAT

Synopsis — You and Karina broke up three months ago. It was clean, it was adult, it was entirely her idea. But neither of you thought about what it would mean for Miso your shared, overly dramatic, tuna-obsessed cat who now requires joint custody and emotionally complicated drop-offs.

contains — fluff, angst (maybe a sprinkle), exes to lovers, miso is a bit sassy 😭 (I love her), not much warnings lol

WORD COUNT — 2.5k

A/N — Karina just wants to get back together with you and the cat is a perfect excuse 🙏, have this short fic while I start planning out a longer one

You don’t expect to see her when you open the door in your oversized hoodie and one sock missing, but there she is. Karina. Holding Miso in one arm like a prize she’s just won in a claw machine, lips pursed and eyes wide like she wasn’t planning on seeing you either. The cat meows bored, judgmental, as if she’s the one being inconvenienced and Karina finally speaks.

“She was at my door again,” she says, shifting her weight like the three seconds of silence have started to burn. “Scratched it too. I think she hates me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Miso hates everyone. She’s fair like that.”

“She didn’t hate you when we were dating.”

You pause. And that’s the thing about Karina. She’s always been good at slipping the most dangerous sentences into the most harmless moments. Like she’s tossing grenades in with the groceries. You open the door wider, silently letting her in because fighting in the hallway would mean acknowledging to your neighbors that you’re still, sort of, accidentally, in each other’s lives.

Karina walks in like it’s still her place, like she remembers the way the floorboards creak near the fridge and where you keep the emergency Miso treats even though you moved them last month. Miso jumps out of her arms the second she spots the empty food bowl, trotting off like this whole “shared custody” arrangement isn’t ruining your peace.

“You cut your hair,” Karina says, and you swear her voice softens. You resist the urge to touch it, resist the part of you that wants to explain how post-breakup chaos spiraled into a salon visit where you panicked and said “surprise me.”

“You dyed yours,” you shoot back, because this is what the two of you do now, dodge real things with stupid observations. But then you see the way she smiles, just barely, and you hate how much you missed it. How much you still know it by heart.

Karina crouches to pet Miso, who rolls onto her side and purrs like she didn’t just abandon you two hours ago. “I think she’s manipulating us.”

“She’s a cat.”

“She’s your cat.”

You don’t say it, but that’s not true. Not anymore. Miso was a joint decision. She was an “our” cat. Back when you were an “our” instead of a weird arrangement involving Google calendar custody swaps and avoiding the third drawer in the kitchen because it still has Karina’s chopsticks in it. You don’t throw them out. You don’t know why.

“So,” Karina says, standing up and dusting her hands like she just did something heroic. “Should we talk about the scratching or…?”

“She’s probably just mad you don’t feed her the good stuff.”

“I literally bought that overpriced tuna mousse she likes.”

“You mean the one you used to say ‘smelled like ocean trash’?”

“I’ve grown. People grow.”

You snort, and you hate that it feels natural. You hate how she still makes you laugh in that stupid, knee-jerk way. Like your ribcage remembers her before your brain can stop it. She notices of course she notices and that smug, infuriating smile spreads across her face like it never left.

“I can leave,” she offers suddenly, even though she hasn’t moved an inch. “I just didn’t want her to get run over again. You remember last time—”

“I remember you crying harder than she did.”

“She had a cone! She looked like a furry UFO!”

You laugh. Really laugh. And for a second, it feels like you’re back in that strange little bubble you two built together. Where nothing made sense but it didn’t have to, because at least you had each other. But then the silence creeps in again, heavier this time. And you both know what’s missing.

Karina clears her throat. “Anyway. I can… take her back tonight if it’s too much.”

You want to say no. You want to say yes. You want to ask her if she still uses your Netflix profile and if she misses falling asleep next to you and if she meant it when she said it was better this way. But instead you say, “She’s already here. Might as well let her stay.”

And maybe you’re not just talking about the cat.

You’re halfway through a sad microwave dinner and a worse true crime documentary when your phone buzzes with a message from Karina: ”Miso’s acting weird. Like… really weird. Is she supposed to do that thing with her eye??” There’s a photo attached. Miso, mid-yawn. Not dead. Not dying. Just annoyed. You blink at the image for a long moment, then reread the text. Twice. Because it’s either an actual emergency or Karina being dramatic, and you’ve known her long enough to know those two things often look exactly the same.

Still, she said “really weird.” And that’s just enough to push you out the door.

When you show up at Karina’s apartment, you’re out of breath and slightly pissed, mostly because you didn’t have time to put on real pants. She opens the door in her stupid soft cardigan and even stupider wide eyes like she’s genuinely surprised you came. Which is insane. She knows you. She knows the second she says “Miso” and “weird” in the same sentence, you’ll drop everything.

“She stopped blinking for like twenty seconds,” Karina says as you step inside, voice hushed like Miso might hear her and take offense. “That’s not normal, right?”

You walk straight past her to the living room where Miso is perched like a smug little gremlin on the back of the couch. She looks up at you, unimpressed. You reach out a hand, and she immediately headbutts it, purring like an engine. Zero signs of trauma. No eye twitching. Just healthy, spoiled indifference.

“She’s fine,” you say, turning around slowly. “You made me run over here because she blinked weird?”

“I panicked!” Karina throws her arms up. “It was either call you or Google it, and I didn’t want to see something that said she had feline eye cancer or some shit.”

You want to be mad. You really do. But she’s doing that thing again wringing her hands in her sleeves, lips pressing into a guilty pout, eyes flickering everywhere but your face. Like she’s trying to look casual and failing spectacularly.

“You could’ve just said you wanted to see me,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

The silence that follows is loud enough to make Miso flatten her ears.

Karina looks at you. Actually looks. And for a moment, it’s like you’re both back at the beginning, before the breakup, before the calendar swaps and cold distance and pretending you don’t miss each other. Her face softens, jaw unclenching just slightly. “I didn’t think I had the right.”

You sit on the edge of the couch, gently scooping Miso into your lap. “You gave her tuna mousse last week. I think you forfeited your moral high ground then.”

Karina groans and flops onto the other end of the couch like she’s been holding her drama in all day. “Okay, but have you seen her face when she eats it?.”

“She’s a cat.”

“She’s a tiny angel with expensive taste.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Miso stretches luxuriously across your legs, clearly enjoying the attention. Karina glances at the two of you, then hugs a pillow to her chest like it might keep her from saying something stupid. It doesn’t.

“I thought I was over this,” she says quietly.

Your heart stutters. “Over what?”

“This. You. Wanting to make up reasons to text you. Sitting around hoping you’ll ask for a sleepover again just so I can pretend it’s not a big deal.”

You freeze. Because you weren’t expecting that. Not from her. the one who ended it. The one who said she needed space, clarity, whatever. You’d nodded, swallowed your hurt, let her go. But now she’s looking at you like none of it made her feel better. Like maybe walking away wasn’t some strong, mature decision but a mistake wrapped in fear.

“Then why’d you end it?” you ask. The question hangs in the air like smoke thin and choking.

Karina doesn’t answer right away. She picks at the edge of the pillow, lips tugging down. “Because I thought you deserved someone who wasn’t scared all the time. Who didn’t freeze every time things got serious. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You ruined it anyway.”

“I know.”

And that’s the part that stings the most, how calm she is about it. How she says it like she’s been carrying the guilt around every day, tucked inside all the moments where she played it cool and acted like she didn’t miss you. You shift under the weight of Miso and the truth pressing down on your chest.

“I kept your hoodie,” she says suddenly. “The blue one. It still smells like you.”

You blink.

“I didn’t mean to. I just… never gave it back. And now it’s like… this comfort thing? Is that weird? That’s probably weird.”

You stare at her. “Do you sleep in it?”

She shrinks into the pillow. “Sometimes.”

Your laugh is soft, disbelieving. “You fake a cat emergency and sleep in my clothes and you’re wondering if that’s the weird part?”

Karina groans and hides her face. “God, I sound so creepy.”

“No,” you say. “You sound like someone who didn’t want to let go.”

She peeks out, hopeful. “What if I don’t?”

You look down at Miso, who’s blissfully unaware of the emotional mess she’s caused. Then back at Karina, at the flush on her cheeks, the nervous curl of her fingers, the quiet hope in her voice. She doesn’t look like someone who’s moved on. She looks like someone who’s been waiting for a sign.

“You didn’t have to pretend,” you say softly. “You could’ve just said you missed me.”

Karina bites her lip. “I missed you so much it was pathetic.”

You smile. “Good.”

Her eyes widen. “Good?”

“Yeah,” you say, nudging Miso gently to the side as you shift closer. “Because I missed you too.”

There’s a pause, charged and soft at the same time. Then she leans in like gravity’s pulling her there, like she’s done waiting. Her voice drops just above a whisper. “So… does this mean I can stop inventing medical emergencies to see you?”

“No promises,” you tease. “But maybe next time, just say hi like a normal person.”

“Normal’s boring,” she murmurs, and then she kisses you.

It’s tentative at first. Careful. Like she’s afraid you might change your mind. But you don’t. You kiss her back, slow and sure, and when she exhales against your mouth like relief, you realize you’re both still in love. Just slightly less afraid now.

Miso meows loudly between you, possibly out of protest. Possibly because she’s no longer the center of attention.

Karina pulls back, grinning. “I think she’s jealous.”

“She’s just mad she can’t fake another crisis now that the truth’s out.”

You both laugh, leaning into each other, the tension finally breaking.

And maybe it took fake emergencies and tuna mousse and an emotionally manipulative cat to get here, but you’re here. Together. Again.

Sort of.

Almost.

Just enough.

You wake up to the sound of purring and something soft against your cheek. For a brief, disoriented second, you think it’s a dream the one of those warm, sugar-fogged ones where everything is right again and Karina’s still yours. But then you blink, and the ceiling isn’t yours, and the blanket smells like Karina’s detergent, and Miso is fully sprawled across your face like the world’s most possessive weighted blanket. You groan, gently shifting her to the side, and that’s when you feel it. Karina’s arm curled loosely around your waist, her breath steady against the back of your neck, like she never let go at all.

You don’t move. You don’t even breathe for a second. Just lie there, frozen in this strange, tender limbo where maybe you’re not exes, maybe you never were, maybe last night was the first step back to something you weren’t brave enough to fight for before.

Then her voice breaks the quiet, sleepy and rough at the edges. “You drool in your sleep.”

You reach back and smack her arm without turning around. “You kissed me last night.”

“Technically, you kissed me back.”

You finally roll over, careful not to disturb the ball of fur between you. Karina’s hair is a disaster, her eyeliner smudged, one cheek creased from the pillow and she still looks stupidly, unfairly pretty. You hate that it makes your heart do cartwheels. You hate that all it took was one dumb night of honesty and tuna mousse to unravel weeks of distance.

“You really missed me?” you ask, quieter this time. Not teasing. Not testing. Just needing.

Karina nods, eyes meeting yours. “I missed you so much I started naming my plants after you. Even the cactus.”

You stare. “Why the cactus?”

“Because it’s prickly and hard to take care of but it still makes me happy.”

You bury your face in the pillow to muffle the groan. “That’s the worst metaphor I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been emotionally constipated for weeks. Let me live.”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough to make both of you feel the shift. Like something fragile is settling between you, just out of reach. You lift your head and meet her gaze again, softer now.

“So what does this mean?” you ask. “Was last night a one-time makeout brought to you by guilt and cat anxiety, or…?”

Karina hesitates, then slowly, carefully, reaches for your hand beneath the blanket. Her fingers lace through yours, and her grip is warm. Steady. “It means I want to try again. If you’ll let me. No more running. No more hiding behind Miso.”

You glance down at the cat, who is now asleep with one paw dramatically draped over Karina’s stomach like she’s claiming her.

“She forgives you,” you say.

Karina smiles. “What about you?”

You think about the hoodie she kept, the look on her face when she kissed you, the way she’s holding your hand like she never wants to let go again.

“I think so.”

Karina squeezes your hand. “Good. That means I’ve got time to win you back properly.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Properly? Is that code for elaborate gestures or more fake cat emergencies?”

She grins. “Oh no. I’m done lying. Next time I want to see you, I’m just gonna show up with coffee and a tragic playlist and say, ‘I’m still in love with you, please let me in.’”

You snort. “That sounds terrifying.”

“Yeah, well,” she says, tugging you closer until your forehead brushes hers, “so is losing you again.”

And when you finally lean in, kissing her like you mean it this time no confusion, no fear. Miso lets out the most offended meow imaginable and storms off the bed like she wasn’t the reason you’re here in the first place.

#aespa x reader #aespa fluff #aespa x fem reader #aespa #aespa fanfic #aespa fic #aespa x you #aespa karina #karina x reader #karina x you #karina fluff #karina fanfic #yu jimin #aespa karina x reader #yu jimin x reader #yu jimin x you

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sweetpeaaquarius · 7 days ago

Text

Bribing Shadows and Small Surprises

Request for: @dumbness7

Pairing: Azriel x Mate f!reader

Summary: After years of Solstices shared and gifts exchanged, she’s officially out of ideas, because how do you surprise the male who remembers everything, who loves with impossible depth, and always gives too perfectly? With the holiday approaching and pressure mounting, she turns to a solution that’s equal parts absurd, heartfelt, and unforgettable.

Warnings: light suggestive content, romantic teasing, established relationship, holiday fluff, mild language, mischievous shadows, one very spoiled baby goat

Word count: 2,270

What do you get the Shadowsinger who has everything?

A man who speaks in silence and shadows. He moves like smoke and kisses like fire. I’ve known him for centuries, been mated for a decade, and loved him with every part of my being. Throughout our long lives, we’ve exchanged gifts for more than half of that time. Now, I find myself unsure of what to give him.

I lie sprawled across our bed, groaning into a pillow still scented with Azriel’s cologne, dark and deep, like night, fresh air, and something unmistakably him. The kind of scent that fills your lungs and never really leaves.

I flipped onto my back, stretched my limbs across the mattress in dramatic frustration, and started mentally listing every gift I’d given him over the years, as if retracing the past might spark inspiration.

Our first Solstice together, I gifted him a dagger forged from pure Dawn Court light, crafted to mirror Truth-Teller in shape and balance, but where his blade absorbed shadows, mine shimmered with sunbeams. The way he smiled, though it hurt. That smile stayed with me for weeks.

In the second year, I gifted him a stone of observation, rare and sensitive to shadows, one that sang to them. Cassian had to carve it from the side of an Illyrian mountain with gritted teeth and a string of curses I still quote, but Azriel’s shadows had purred like cats in the sun.

The third, a complete set of ancient books, tomes he’d been collecting since childhood. I’d traded a merchant more gold than was remotely reasonable for the final volumes. Watched him run his scarred fingers over the cracked spines as if they were spun from starlight.

After that, I gifted weapons, maps, surprise estates, and weeks in isolated cabins with nothing but silk lingerie and a roaring fire between us. Solstices spent tangled under furs. Vacations disguised as missions. Even a god-damned riverboat experience, which ended with my head in a bucket.

Now, nothing.

Absolutely. Stars-damned. Nothing.

I rolled over again as morning light spilled in golden ribbons across our sheets. Our bedroom glowed warm and soft, and I could already feel the gentle tug of our mating bond, quiet and constant in my chest, the fluttering reassurance that Azriel was on his way home.

Two days until the Solstice.

Two days until he walks through that door with a gift so thoughtful, so him, it’ll make me laugh, cry, and want to drag him straight to bed, and I have nothing.

I gazed at the ceiling of our estate, a haven perched just above Velaris, gifted to us by Feyre and Rhys. Sitting in the bend of the mountain like a secret spoken between worlds. The sort of place you fall in love with every morning, just like I fall more and more in love with him each passing day.

Birdsong drifted in through the open windows, blending with the gentle flow of nearby streams. I sat up, running my fingers over the still-warm side of the bed Azriel had left days ago. Our room faced a wall of sheer-draped windows, offering a view of our blooming estate, garden beds, and tall trees heavy with blossoms of peace, love, and protection.

Inside, the fire crackled in the white-stone hearth. The walls were lined with Feyre’s artwork and soft, sentimental gifts we’d exchanged over the years. Three doors led to rooms we filled with our life together: a bathing chamber with a sunken tub big enough to swim in, a closet that could house a small family, and Azriel’s office, overflowing with files, weapons, secrets, and an organisational system that defied all logic.

I leaned back against the carved headboard, frowning. Maybe a new garden? Elain could help with forget-me-nots, maybe another olive tree for love and endurance, but our gardens were already a jungle of memories and meanings. It would feel too cheesy, too safe, not enough.

Still scowling, I dragged myself out of bed and got ready for the day. Morrigan would arrive soon, sweeping in like a storm made of beauty and mischief. She was on a mission to shop for a lover she refused to name. I bathed, dressed, and sat in the living room waiting, trying to quiet the slow-simmering panic beneath my calm.

Maybe I’d find something in Velaris, perhaps fate would save me.

Even as Mor and I roamed the sparkling streets of Velaris, nothing clicked. I considered a new weapon. A cooking class. A rare spice. A romantic week away, but none of it was right.

All I could think about was what Azriel would give me.

Because his gifts are never just gifts. They’re stories. Layered with memory, edged in thoughtfulness, soaked in a quiet, breathtaking intimacy. He watches. He listens. He remembers. His gifts are reflections of how he loves, silent, fierce, and utterly unwavering.

Here I was, standing in the heart of the most stunning city in all the realms, surrounded by shop windows dripping with enchantments and wonder, without a single clue what to get him.

By midday, Mor had bought three pairs of shoes, two scandalous dresses, and something from the “private” section of a boutique that had me blushing for her. Meanwhile, I was still giftless and spiralling into an existential panic.

We passed another glittering storefront, and I groaned.

“If he gives me something poetic again, like a star chart of the sky the night we met, or an enchanted music box that hums the sound of our bond, I swear I’m going to scream.”

Mor just smirked. “You love it, and you know it.”

“I do,” I muttered darkly. “That’s the problem.”

Just as the sun dipped low and gilded the rooftops in gold, I saw it.

A shop with a single item in the window, and the moment I saw it, I knew.

The bell chimed as I pushed through the door. A stern-faced woman greeted me with an unimpressed stare, but I didn’t care. I paid what was far too little gold, and then Mor and I winnowed home just before dusk, shadows curling like curious cats at our heels, nosing through the gossip we brought back.

Azriel’s shadows greeted us at the edge of the estate, brushing against my cloak like loyal, but nosy, spies.

I crouched, cloak still wrapped around me, and narrowed my eyes at the nearest wisp of shadow.

“Alright,” I said in my most threatening voice, “if any of you squeal to Azriel, I swear to the Mother, I will salt every shadowed corner of this estate. You won’t find peace for weeks.”

They stirred as if laughing, a soft swirl across my cheek and through my hair, whispering back in Azriel’s voice, low and affectionate and smug.

“I’m serious,” I growled. “I know your favourite hiding spots. I know what makes you purr. You keep this secret, and I’ll enchant the bath always to be the perfect temperature when you hover in the steam.”

A long pause.

Then the shadows disappeared, scattering in what I hoped was a silent agreement.

So, I waited, and waited.

Solstice morning dawned golden and frost-kissed.

I was already in bed, silk and lace clinging to my skin, the nightgown he liked best. I heard the crunch of boots on the path outside, then the heavy steps racing up the stairs.

Azriel burst through the door just after sunrise; wings flared wide, shadows coiled tight to his skin like they were holding something in.

He scented the air like a male on the hunt.

“You bribed my shadows,” he said flatly, eyes narrowing. His mouth twitched.

I reclined back against the pillows like temptation incarnate. “Would I do that?”

“Yes.” He leaned in, nose brushing mine.

“Well,” I purred, “then you already know not to trust them.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, then kissed me slowly and deeply, tasting of snow, pine, and something warm beneath it all. Something that’s mine.

We exchanged gifts, shared laughs, blushes, and smouldering glances. One of Azriel’s gifts was a hand-woven, enchanted tapestry that shimmered like starlight, capturing the very moment our mating bond clicked into place.

I nearly cried into my cocoa.

Another gift was a collection of dresses I knew wouldn’t stay on for long, and a set of candles meant to heighten the atmosphere. My cheeks warmed as I met Azriel’s smirking gaze.

Then he opened his smaller gifts: his favourite bath salts, a new holster designed for his blades, and some custom knives. He was pleased.

“I saved yours for last,” I said, rising. “It’s in the solarium.”

He followed, shadows flickering with poorly concealed glee.

In the centre of the sunlit solarium sat a massive ribbon-wrapped box.

It wobbled slightly, then a sound escaped the box.

Maa.

Azriel froze.

“Is that—?”

“Open it.”

He shot me a look, equal parts suspicion and disbelief, then stepped forward and slowly lifted the lid.

A baby goat popped its head out.

White, fluffy, with big blue eyes and a velvety black nose.

It bleated sweetly and immediately began chewing on Azriel’s siphon.

Azriel stared in silence.

“You got me a goat.”

I cleared my throat. “His name is Woolly. He likes dried figs, and he snores.”

Azriel blinked again.

Woolly bleated cheerfully and began chewing the ribbon.

“You got me a baby goat,” he repeated, as if his brain had taken a rest.

“I’ve run out of ideas, Az. You have blades made from starlight, books older than Velaris, and maps of entire forgotten realms. So, I got you someone to keep you company when you’re brooding and I’m not home.”

Woolly headbutted Azriel’s leg with unfiltered devotion.

Az crouched, scooped him up, and, Mother save me, smiled.

Neither the polite public smile or the rare smirk of amusement.

A genuine smile.

Soul-deep and eye-crinkling. The kind of smile that made our bond sing.

He stood again, Woolly snug in his arms as he’d always belonged there.

“This,” Azriel murmured, gazing down at the fluffy creature nibbling his leathers, “is the best gift you’ve ever given me.”

“You’re joking.”

He kissed me.

“I love him, and the fact that you bribed my shadows to keep it secret?” His grin turned wicked. “You’re devious.”

I arched a brow. “You’re just now figuring that out?”

He pulled me close with one arm, Woolly squirming between us.

“You’re perfect,” he said.

Woolly bleated, and Azriel, the most feared man in the Night Court, cooed back.

It had been a few weeks since Solstice, and Woolly had fully integrated into our lives, as much as any goat could.

He had a favourite cushion in Azriel’s office, his enchanted fleece-lined coat for winter walks, and had even learned how to nose open the pantry door in search of figs.

This morning, I wandered out into the garden with a steaming cup of tea, stretching beneath the soft winter sun. The air was crisp, the sky a pale blue brushed with clouds. I followed the stone path that wound between the trees, trailing my fingers along lavender bushes that had somehow survived the frost with a bit of Elain’s magic.

In the centre of the garden, Azriel crouched beneath the broad arms of our ancient olive tree. Woolly stood loyally beside him, munching contentedly on a clump of grass, his little tail wagging with unbothered joy. Azriel’s siphons glinted in the soft sunlight, his leathers catching just enough gold to make him look like something out of a dream, or maybe a daydream I’d never quite woken from.

He was speaking quietly, so softly that I had to hold my breath and step closer, pressing into the shade of a nearby tree trunk to listen.

“I’m telling you,” he murmured to the goat, voice warm with amusement, “she’s not going to appreciate you eating her flowers.”

Woolly gave a thoughtful bleat.

“I know you enjoy them,” Azriel sighed, “but you can’t eat all of them. That’s not a compromise, that’s sabotage.” His shadows swirled lazily around him and Woolly as if they, too, found this exchange thoroughly entertaining.

Another sound, this one higher in pitch, an argument.

Azriel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you think she’d like a garden fountain? Or would that be too much? Maybe those singing wind chimes Cassian found in Adriata...” He exhaled, gaze drifting to Woolly, like the goat might offer some advice.

Woolly turned and began chewing on the leather strap of Azriel’s harness.

Az didn’t stop him.

I stood there, caught mid-step, my heart softening, melting, and filling with more love than I knew how to hold. The most feared male in the Night Court, the blade in Rhysand’s shadows, the spymaster of legend, whispering secrets to a baby goat in our garden.

I stepped into the clearing, unable to stop the smile from tugging at my lips. “You two having a heart-to-heart?”

Azriel looked up, completely unashamed. “He’s a very good listener.”

Woolly bleated as if he agreed.

I crouched beside them, slipping smoothly into Azriel’s side.

“And to think, I was worried he was a ridiculous gift.”

Azriel wrapped one wing around me, warm and protective, pulling me close.

“He is ridiculous,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. “And perfect.”

We stayed like that a bit longer, just the three of us, beneath the branches, surrounded by gentle laughter, stubborn blooms, and the sort of nonsense that only exists in the spaces between deep love and shared life.

For that moment, in the quiet of our blooming garden, I felt utterly, undeniably at peace.

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steddieasitgoes · 3 months ago

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Eggs

written for @steddiebingo hop into spring mini event prompt: eggs | rating: g | wc: 1.8K tags: pre-relationship, humor, post-Season 2, Eddie POV

this is really dumb, but I’ve been in a terrible writing rutt because 2025 is being incredibly cruel to me and this idea made me laugh and I needed to write it so here we are

“This is bullshit!” Eddie swears, throwing his arms up and nearly knocking over the display of cheap gum and candy behind him at the register.

“We have a strict policy,” the clerk says, tapping a worn Post-it note stuck to the small counter separating him from Eddie.

Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You mean to tell me that big man Bradley himself has requested his minimum wage employees police the amount of eggs that paying customers can buy?”

“Yes,” the clerk says. “One dozen per person under the age of 21.”

“It’s not alcohol, James. It’s eggs.”

“Eggs, you and your freak friends use to damage property.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not going egging?”

“That’s what they all say.”

Eddie wants to scream.

Sure, shitty kids in this town have been known to buy dozens of eggs just to hurl them at homes and people, but he’s not one of them. At least, not the one that’s doing the throwing; he has had his fair share of being on the receiving end, though, which is why he wouldn’t stoop to such low activities.

Egging is beneath him. It’s not creative enough of a punishment for the assholes in this town — and yeah, okay, maybe it’s also because he can’t throw an egg to save his life much less hit the right target but that’s beside the point.

Eddie fingers through his wallet, plucking out a handful of bills. He slams them down over the worn Post-it note and shoves them towards James. “Just take the money and give me my eggs.”

He reaches over, yanking one of the cartons into his hands. He moves to grab the second, but James’s faster, swatting it out of Eddie’s grasp. It hits the edge of the counter on the way down, opening and sending a dozen of eggs to the ground. A few crack at Eddie’s feet, covering his boots in fresh yolks, while a handful roll down towards the exit.

“Damn it,” James swears, flicking raw egg from his own hands. “That’s the dozen you’re payin’ for.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Eddie growls. The entire store is looking at him now, including a bruised and battered Steve Harrington, who's clearly seen better days. At least someone is having a worse day than he is. “I’m not paying for those! I’m paying for three cartons of uncracked eggs.”

“You’re not paying for a damn thing,” James says, yanking the phone free from it’s base beside the register. “I’m calling the police.”

Eddie can’t help himself; he laughs this time. “For eggs?”

“No, for assaulting an employee.”

“I didn’t even touch you! You touched me!”

“We’ll see about that,” James says, dialing the number to the Hawkins Police Department.

Eddie does scream this time, letting out a primal groan of frustration. “You’re a piece of shit James. I hope you get a raise for being the patron saint of fucking eggs!” He snatches the money from the counter, shoving it into the pockets of his jacket before stalking out of the store with both middle fingers raised.

Fucking James. Eddie knew he should have waited in Mable's long line. She may take twice as long, but at least she would have let Eddie make his totally reasonable purchase. Hell, she probably would have offered him a quiche or egg salad recipe because that’s the kind of person Mable is. She’s considerate -- something James is not.

But no. He just had to pick stupid James’s line because it was the shortest. He should have known better. It’s always the same with his type — lame ass jocks who peaked in high school and are now stuck in their hometown making life miserable for everyone else.

Eddie’s too fired up to get behind the wheel right now, so he pulls out a cigarette instead. The nicotine does little to curb the frustration coursing through him, but at least it gives him something to do besides marching back into the store and starting something with James, he knows he’ll lose.

After taking a long drag, he glances at the watch on his wrist. It’s five to eight; far too late to get in the car and drive the twenty miles to the next down over and pick up three dozen eggs. Gertrude is going to be mad. And then Wayne is going to be pissed when she and her gang retailiate against their trash.

Fucking James.

Eddie finishes his cigarette, snubbing out the end with the boot of his foot. He’s about to climb into his van when he’s accosted by none other than Steve Harrington. Great. Just what Eddie needs. Another lame, has-been jock giving him shit for simply existing.

Steve’s eye is a deep shade of purple. There’s dried blood caked into the corner of his cracked lip, and there are remnants of some cheap band-aid adhesive around a gash above his eyebrow that probably needs stitches. And that’s just his face. He’s walking smaller, curled in like every step he takes closer to Eddie physically pains him. He probably shouldn’t be lugging around two paper bags full of groceries either, but what does Eddie know? He’s not a doctor.

“You look like shit, Harrington.”

“A plate to the side of the head will do that to you.”

Eddie winces. He’s been hit in the head by a fair share of objects, but never a plate which leads him to wonder who Harrington pissed off. He doesn’t ask. Instead, he deflects. “Bet the other guy looks even worse.”

Steve snorts, immediately grimacing. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

Eddie fidgets, feet shuffling. This is the longest he’s ever been in Steve’s presence outside of mandated classes, and he doesn’t know what to say to him. Especially not when his face looks like that. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to because Steve moves, holding out one of the brown paper bags for Eddie to take.

“Does the liege need an assistant to his chariot?” Eddie asks, staring at the heavy brown bag Steve’s struggling to keep hold of. “I’m sure one of the fair maidens inside would have assisted you.”

Eddie waits for Steve to scoff and give him shit for speaking like some medieval idiot; but the judgment doesn’t come. At least, not in the form of harsh words. He does get a front row seat to Steve Harrington’s bitchy eye roll though so it’s not a total loss.

“These are for you.”

“For me?” Eddie asks, reluctantly taking the bag from Steve’s hand. He glances inside, almost afraid that something is going to pop out of him. Instead, he finds not one, not two, not even three, but four dozen eggs carefully stacked in the bag. “What the hell?”

“I heard you arguing with James inside,” Steve says. “He’s a jerk. I mean, the guy is working a minimum wage cashier job and he’s still finding ways to be a total douchebag.”

“So what? You just went to a different cashier and bought four dozen eggs?”

“No,” Steve says, shaking his head. “I went back to James with three dozen eggs, and he threw in the fourth for free so I could ‘teach whatever freak that rearranged my face a lesson’.”

“Fuckin’ hypocrite.”

“Tell me about it.”

Eddie blinks, the reality of the situation hitting him all at once. Ten minutes ago he was nearly arrested for trying to buy eggs and now he’s standing out here holding four dozen bought and paid for by Steve “the hair” Harrington who took a plate to the head less than 48 hours ago if his bruises are anything to go by.

What the hell is going on in this town?

“I uh,” Eddie starts, then stops, shaking his head. “You didn’t have to do that, but thanks.”

“It wasn’t a big deal. I mean, they’re just eggs, right?”

“Just eggs to you and me maybe,” Eddie says. “But these things are gold to Gertrude. You saved my ass from her wrath.

“Gertrude?”

“My pet. She loves eggs.”

“I didn’t know dogs could eat eggs.” Something washes over Steve in an instant — a look of panic if Eddie’s not mistaken. His eyes grow wide and then narrow into slits as they scan the permiter of the parking lot. His grip on the bag tightens as his entire body goes stiff. And then he’s leaning closer, lips practically touching Eddie’s ear as he drops his voice. “It is a dog, right? Like a furry, wagging tail dog with a full face kind of dog?”

“Are there dogs without faces?” Eddie asks, suddenly very concerned for Steve’s well-being. If he didn’t get stitches for the gash over his eyebrow, there’s no way he got looked at for a concussion. Maybe he’s hallucinating right now. That would explain why he willingly bought four dozen eggs for Eddie of all people. “Are you concussed still, Harrington? Do you need a ride home or something?”

“I need to know who is eating all these eggs,” Steve says, deathly serious. He takes a step closer, backing Eddie up against the van. “It’s not a dog, is it?”

Eddie shakes his head.

“Does it have a face?”

“Man, what are you—“

“Does it have a face, Eddie?” Steve shouts, startling a few shoppers headed to and from their cars.

Eddie’s never been more grateful for ease droppers than right now because Steve takes a few steps back, giving Eddie enough space to take a deep breath and try to figure out what the fuck is going on.

“Eddie, I swear to—”

“Gertrude is a raccoon!” Eddie says in a rush. “She’s a mother racoon who lives in Forest Hills and thinks she owns the damn place. She had babies this year, and I’ve been feeding them so they stay out of our trash.

Apparently, Gertrude is a gossip and told other raccoons, and now we have a whole horde of them. If I don’t leave scrambled eggs out on the porch, they wreak havoc on the entire park.”

“Oh.” Steve takes several steps back now, clearly satisfied by Eddie’s answer. “Are they cute?”

Eddie’s not a hundred percent sure it’s possible to get whiplash from a conversation, but if it is, he’s experiencing a pretty severe case of it right now. “Are you sure you’re not concussed?”

Steve waves him off. “Hop gave me the all clear last night. Told me to ice it with some peas, which is why I came here.”

“Okay…”

“So is she cute? This Gertrude raccoon?”

“I mean, she’s a raccoon, so yes, obviously.”

“Right,” Steve nods, then glances at the bag in Eddie’s hand. “Four dozen eggs is a lot for one person to make. Do you want some help?”

Jesus H. Christ, what is going on right now?

“You, Steve Harrington, want to help me make scrambled eggs for a family of raccoons?”

Steve shrugs. “Beats sitting at home alone with a bag of peas on my head.”

“What the hell,” Eddie mutters to himself, before turning to Steve. “Alright, Harrington. You can come help, but no distractions. If we don’t have eggs out on the porch by 9:30, Gertrude will make us pay.”

“Nothing’s scarier than a hungry woman,” Steve jokes. “Lead the way.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington ficlet #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

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formulafanfics13 · 28 days ago

Text

First Time Between Them - LN4 & MV1 🔥

Masterlist

Summary What begins as a joke between Lando and his girlfriend turns into a threesome with Max Verstappen. Max joins them at their flat, where Lando takes the lead in orchestrating the scene. The reader is shared between them — sucking Max’s cock while Lando fingers her, then bent over and double-used: Lando from behind, Max in her mouth. Overstimulation, praise, and dominance build to a messy, breathless climax that leaves her wrecked between them, safe and adored.

Warnings threesome (Lando x reader x Max), oral (f receiving and m receiving), spit play, light gagging, DP angle (not anal), shared praise, use of ‘good girl’, filthy dirty talk, power imbalance (consensual), overstimulation, reader fully submissive, rough sex, degradation/praise mix, aftercare.

It started with a joke. Lando was always teasing. Fingers tracing the inside of her thigh with a smirk, voice pitched low as he whispered some depraved fantasy between soft kisses and ruined bedsheets. "You know Max would fuck you stupid, right?"

She'd laughed. Swatted him with a pillow. But the thought stayed.

Lando could see it, the way her thighs clenched under the duvet, the way her lips parted a little too long after the idea slipped into the room like smoke. And now, somehow, it wasn't a joke anymore.

Max was here. In their flat. Sitting on the velvet sofa, legs spread, dark eyes trailing the way she fidgeted with the hem of her oversized shirt, Lando's shirt, while Lando stood behind her, hands on her shoulders like he was offering her up.

"You sure?" Lando asked, lips grazing her ear. "We stop the second you say so."

She nodded. Breathed in deep. "I'm sure."

Max didn't speak at first. Just watched her. His gaze was heavy. Possessive. Like he wasn't just seeing her, he was deciding what he'd do to her first.

"Tell her, Max," Lando said. "Tell her what you said when I showed you the photo of her in my hoodie."

Max's eyes didn't leave hers. "Said I'd bend her over your gaming chair and make her cry."

Her breath caught. Lando kissed her neck, soft and slow. "He also said you'd take both of us like a good girl."

She nodded again. Barely.

And then Max stood. Crossed the space in two steps. His hand slid under her chin, tilted her face up. "First time with two?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You want it?"

"Yes."

"Then listen to Lando."

She was already wet. Already aching. Lando walked her backward to the bed like she was something fragile and filthy all at once, hands never leaving her skin, whispering praise and filth in equal measure.

"You're gonna look so good between us," he murmured. "So pretty. So full."

She sat on the edge of the bed, legs parted slightly. Max stood in front of her now, shirt half-unbuttoned, belt loose. "You ever sucked one of us while the other plays with your pussy?"

She shook her head.

"You're about to."

Max pulled his cock out, hard, flushed, heavy. Her eyes widened. Lando slid behind her, pushed her shirt up, fingers already between her legs, sliding through slick folds.

"She's soaked," he groaned.

Max smirked. "Of course she is. You like being watched?"

"I-yes."

Max tapped her lips with the tip of his cock. "Then open up."

She obeyed. Lando fingered her slowly as she sucked Max in, the stretch, the heat, the weight of it on her tongue driving her wild while Lando circled her clit with maddening precision.

"That's it," Lando murmured. "Good girl. Take him. Let me see you fall apart."

Max didn't move much. Just let her suck, shallow bobs of her head, spit dripping down her chin, her moans vibrating through him every time Lando rubbed harder.

"She's gonna come just from this," Lando said. "From sucking your cock and my fingers. What a perfect little thing."

She did. Her first orgasm hit hard, thighs shaking, mouth still full, tears slipping from the corner of her eyes as she whimpered around Max's cock.

They gave her a second to breathe. Then Lando flipped her over, gently, face down, ass up, everything open. Max stood at the edge of the bed. Lando behind her. "Now we fuck you," Lando said.

"Together."

She was face down on the bed, heart pounding, body trembling, hips lifted by Lando's hands like he was sculpting her into the perfect shape to be filled. Her skin was flushed, pussy still slick from coming on his fingers. Her mouth tasted like Max. Her throat still tingled from taking him so deep. And now... Now they were going to fuck her. Together.

Lando leaned down, lips brushing her ear, voice molten. "Tell me who this pussy belongs to."

"You," she whispered, dizzy with need. "It's yours."

"Damn right it is," he said, lining up behind her. He pushed in slowly, dragging his cock through her folds, letting the tip nudge her entrance, then sink in, one long, deep thrust that made her gasp.

"Oh-fuck-Lando-"

"Feel that?" he growled against her neck, buried to the hilt. "That's mine. Always mine."

But before she could even catch her breath, she felt another hand, rougher, brushing the hair from her face. Max was crouched in front of her again, cock still hard, twitching against her lips. "You're gonna take both of us," he said, cockhead smearing against her cheek. "You're gonna let Lando fuck you while I ruin that pretty mouth."

She moaned, lips already parting, tongue out like instinct. Max slid in. Not gentle this time, he knew she could take it now. He'd already watched her gag for him. Already felt the way her throat clenched when Lando fingered her.

Now? He fucked her face slow but deep, each thrust matching Lando's pace behind her.

It was perfect.

She was caught between them, every inch of her body claimed, stretched, used. Her cunt full, stuffed to the edge with Lando's cock pounding into her with ruthless control, and her mouth owned by Max, who kept one hand in her hair, guiding her like she was his to command.

"Look at her," Max grunted, hips snapping forward. "So fucking greedy. Taking us both like she was made for this."

"She was," Lando growled. "She's my good girl. And tonight I'm sharing."

The sound of skin slapping filled the room — wet, filthy, unrelenting. Her moans were muffled around Max's cock, throat stuffed, eyes watering, spit trailing down her chin.

And she loved it. Loved how deep Lando went. How Max moaned when her lips tightened. How they used her like she was the prize. Their prize.

Lando reached around, fingers finding her clit as he fucked her harder. "You gonna come again with your mouth full?"

She whimpered, nodding.

"Good," he said, voice low and vicious. "Then do it. Come on my cock while Max fucks your throat. Show us what you're for."

She shattered. Her whole body jerked, walls clenching tight around Lando's cock, her throat pulsing around Max as she came hard, crying out, legs shaking violently as they kept going.

Max groaned. "Fuck-she's clenching-she's gagging-"

"Hold her still," Lando ordered.

Max gripped tighter. And then Lando came, deep, hard, groaning her name into her spine as he spilled inside her, fucking through every last twitch of her orgasm.

Max didn't wait. He pulled out of her mouth, slapped his cock against her cheek, then pushed back in for just a few more strokes. And came down her throat. Hot. Heavy. Ruinous. She swallowed automatically, broken and blissed out, lips parted, spit and cum dripping from her chin as she collapsed into the mattress.

Lando leaned over her, kissed her shoulder. "You okay, baby?"

She nodded. Barely. "Yeah."

Max pulled out slowly. "Fucking incredible."

She rolled onto her back, dazed. Breathing shallow. Lando lay beside her, pulling her into his chest. Max settled on the other side, one hand resting on her thigh. "You're perfect," Lando whispered. "So fucking perfect."

She smiled, flushed, ruined, satisfied. And ready for more.

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beloveds-embrace · 8 months ago

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So glad you asked for more roommates cause I’ve been brooding over it for the last 2 seconds since you asked.

Now just see the vision rq, it’s still kinda early into her moving in but yk they still want her BAD anyways she brings home a guy thinking they were gonna and now she just has four military men questioning and intimidating her tinder date…

I love writing for the roommate au sm so i am always happy for shared thoughts! 🙂‍↕️💕

Roommate au masterlist

The date had started innocently enough- or at least, you thought so.

It wasn’t like you were expecting the boys to be home. They’d mentioned a late training session, and with how demanding their schedules were, you figured you had the apartment to yourself for the evening. So, when your Tinder match, Matt, suggested coming over to watch a movie, you agreed. What harm could it do? Maybe it’d even turn to more. Hell, you hoped it’d turn to more.

Matt was nice enough, you supposed. Decent-looking, polite, and he hadn’t said anything off-putting yet. But as the two of you settled on the couch, popcorn in hand and the glow of the TV filling the room, your front door clicked open.

Your could practically feel a ball drop in your stomach.

The sight of Price stepping through the door, his shoulders hulking under his coat, was enough to send your nerves spiraling. He stopped mid-step, sharp eyes locking onto you and your date.

Behind him, Simon followed, pulling down his hood, but balaclava not yet removed. Johnny and Kyle weren’t far behind, their conversation halting as they took in the scene.

The air turned thick, tension palpable as four pairs of eyes honed in on Matt, who was looking increasingly uncomfortable by the second. You honestly couldn’t blame him.

“Didn’t know we were having company,” Price said, his tone low and deceptively calm as he shut the door behind him.

Your voice caught in your throat. Honest to God, you felt like you were a soldier who’d fucked up in front of him. He just had that Vibe. “I… I thought you guys wouldn’t be home until later.”

“And who’s this?” Soap asked, his smile wide as he nodded toward Matt. It didn’t feel friendly and even you could tell.

Matt shifted nervously, offering a small, awkward wave. “Uh, hi. I’m Matt. Nice to meet you guys.”

The silence that followed could’ve cut glass.

“Matt,” Simon repeated, his voice flat, his imposing frame seeming to block out all the light in the room. To you, he’d never felt that scary before… more like a particularly grumpy giant whose toes were always freezing. “And what exactly are you doing here, Matt?”

“I- I’m just hanging out with her,” Matt stammered, looking at you for reassurance. “A date.”

Kyle crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall, though his eyes never left Matt. “Funny. We don’t remember her mentioning anything about a date.” He almost spat the word out.

You shot to your feet, hands up in a placating gesture. “Guys, seriously, it’s not a big deal. We were just going to watch a movie-”

“And you thought bringing a stranger into the house without telling us was a good idea?” Price cut in, his tone clipped.

Well, he wasn’t wrong about that…

Matt’s eyes widened. “I’m not- I mean, I’m not dangerous or anything.”

“Oh, aye? That right, then?” Soap drawled, stepping closer, his easy smile taking on a sharp, menacing edge. “And how d’ye reckon we’re meant to trust ye, Matt? Could be anyone. A thief, a creep, someone tryin’ tae take advantage of her.”

“I- … what?” Matt looked at you again, desperation in his eyes and voice.

“Relax, Johnny, it’s-” you tried, but your voice wavered under the weight of their combined stares.

“We’re just looking out for her,” Kyle said, his tone deceptively smooth as he grabbed a chair and spun it around to sit on it backward. “You understand, don’t you? We are her roommates.”

Simon didn’t say much- he didn’t have to. The way he loomed was enough to make Matt visibly sweat.

Price, meanwhile, stepped forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are she let you in? She’s trusting. Sweet. Too sweet, if you ask me. Makes her a target for the wrong sort of people.”

“I- I’d never hurt her, sir-” Matt stammered, his voice cracking slightly.

Price’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. He looked unimpressed, more than anything else. “Good. Because if you did…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the unspoken threat hung heavy in the air.

“Okay!” you blurted, stepping between them. You gave up; you knew this date has gone to shit. “That’s enough. Matt was just leaving.”

Matt didn’t need to be told twice. He practically bolted for the door, not even stammering a quick goodbye before disappearing into the night.

As the door clicked shut, you turned to face them, your cheeks burning. “What the hell was that?”

“…you can do much better than him.” Kyle huffed, drawing you to sit down beside him on the couch even as you pouted glared. “Much, much better. Ain’t that right, John?”

Price nodded, sighing. “He was trembling like a leaf, love. Men like him? Not worth your time.”

Simon simply stood there, his eyes fixed on you. “Next time,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine. “Let us know before you bring someone here.”

You sighed, pressing a hand to your forehead. “…You’re all impossible.”

Though by the end of the night, you still found yourself between Johnny and Kyle, and finished the movie anyways, date forgotten.

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luveline · 1 year ago

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I need more Hotch x teacher PLEASE, I’ll take anything 😭🙏🏻

Mr. Hotchner —call me Aaron, he always says, because he’s a bully— walks across the school grounds with his son stuck to him.

According to your colleagues, Jack used to be more outgoing. Not extroverted, but friendly, with many friends and lots to say. But after the passing of his mother a few years ago he’s become a quieter child. It’s not uncommon to see him glued to his father or his Aunt Jess before school.

You tuck your hands in your cardigan against the early summer morning chill. “Hello,” you greet as the Hotchners approach. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Aaron says. His smile is a rare and lucrative sight; whenever he smiles at you like this, as though you’re some wonder he’s happened upon accidentally, it betters your whole day.

“Good morning, Jack,” you say, a gentle prompt to see what mood he’s in.

“Hi.”

“Hi, buddy. You got your reading diary filled out?” you ask.

“Yeah. Me and dad read Marlo again, I hope that’s okay.”

You bend just a bit to be smaller, “You can read anything you want to.”

“Dad says so too.”

You and Aaron share a look. “Dad’s always right, huh?”

Jack nods emphatically. Aaron edges a half step closer to you, looking as though his hand is itching where he’s tucked it in his coat pocket. There’s something in it, you realise. He pulls it out and offers it to you covertly.

“You left this behind,” he says.

It’s one of your bracelets. You open your palm and let him tip the bracelet into your hand, curling your fingers closed, but not before the brush of his thumb has made you miss it against your cheek.

“Oh, wow, I assumed I lost it.”

“No… it must have fallen down between my bed and the nightstand.”

You glance around, not as covert as you wish you were. It’s not that you and Aaron can’t date, but you perhaps shouldn’t, and besides that things are so new between you that it isn’t anyone else’s business either way. Plus, you have Jack to think about. He doesn’t know you’re seeing his father yet.

You smile gratefully and tuck the bracelet into your pocket. “Thank you.”

“Jack!” a blonde little girl called Sadie races up to you all and smiles wide. “Do you want to come and play with me? I want to try cartwheels before we go in.”

Jack looks up at Aaron, who nods and leans down. He kisses his unwrinkled forehead. “I should be going soon. Be good today, okay?”

Jack says his love yous as he jogs away with Sadie, his lunchbox forgotten in Aaron’s hands. “Want me to take it?” you ask.

“Oh, yes. Please, honey, if you don’t mind.”

Again, his hand brushes yours as he hands it over, his skin a reminder that he’s touched you now, and kindly, gentle fingertips trailing down your back as you dozed with your face against his chest. He’s so… perfect, in a way, such a caring person, you’ve never felt like this about someone. His proximity makes you wish you could go home with him now or follow him to work. It’s an achy feeling without being sore.

“I never mind.” You watch him carefully as you talk, “It’s nice to get to see you every morning.”

“It would be even nicer if we could’ve had the whole morning together,” he says agreeably, fondly. “Did you check your calendar for me? How are things looking next weekend?”

“Very open for nice men who bring me jewellery.”

“Don’t start,” he says quietly, his hand twitching toward yours, “or I’ll blow our cover.”

“I wish you could.”

“Me too, honey. I’m going to talk with Jack about it again this weekend.” He beams. “I wonder if he’ll change his tune this time.”

When Aaron brought up the idea of you and him together to Jack, it had been as a simple hypothetical: How would you feel if me and Miss L/N wanted to be friends, Jack?

He was ecstatic. Then we can see her all the time! he’d said. Aaron’s next port of call is to introduce the g-word.

You and Aaron meet eyes, looking at one another, his hand creeping closer and closer to your side. He takes the end of your cardigan into his hand and feels it between his fingers, the slight touch, slightest movement of the fabric against your shoulder sending a shudder down your arms and chest.

“Can I see you tonight?” he asks.

“You aren’t busy?” you ask, surprised.

“Of course I am, I always am. But I think I have to see you.”

Oh, you have to, you could tease. But you really need to see him too. “Just text me when you want me and I’ll be there,” you say, looking away from him toward the children and their racing.

You’re glad you aren’t looking at him when he next speaks. “I always want you, but I have to go. Have a good day, honey, alright?”

Jack’s lunchbox creaks in your hand. A funny soft kiss would be nice here, his smile pressed to yours. Maybe one day you’ll get one out in the open. “Thank you. Have a good day, too, Aaron,” you say, only looking up at him when you’re sure he’s crossed the school grounds to the parking lot.

He looks back over his shoulder to you twice.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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anarchblr · 6 months ago

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In 2017, a group of people in Chicago, decided to open a library/community center at Blood Fruit Printworks in Bridgeport. Since then, Blood Fruit Library has evolved and migrated across neighborhoods in order to work together with varying neighbors and friends. As always, we are committed to sharing and preserving the words of those we agree and, inevitably, disagree with who have published their own thoughts for our reflection. We believe these written words can serve as a jumping off point for our own discussions with others, helping us build networks of affinity. We invite you to share your own favorite readings with the library (be they in the form of pamphlets, zines, books, digital articles, posters), so that we are learning and sharing together. Although, we are amoebic in nature - moving, shape-shifting, and changing as we respond to the world around us, we continue our efforts to always offer a tangible "place" in addition to the books. We don't want another atomized pocket of learning through isolated book-reading. We want to always combine book sharing with human connection. A book is just a book. Let's meet, talk, connect, plan together.

✨Help Bloodfruit Library/Yolotl get through the winter! This space, ever transitioning from radical place to place in Chicago has held many people people, ideas, events and histories. ✨The space is in a commercial building and the gas bills are hundreds of dollars every month (on top of rent and other utilities!). With the cold snap in chicago it’s pertinent that we be able to keep on the heat on. Please consider subscribing to our Patreon or donating to the Venmo! Both links in bio.

From the new location of Bloodfruit we create linoprints of solidarity and send them across made-up borders to a couple of searching brigades/ family collectives of forcibly disappeared persons in Mexico. We also send messages of solidarity to comrades in that fight when they face hard times, to let them know that here in so-called Chicago we are thinking of them, that all of our worlds are wrapped up together, that our liberation is bound up together. We are still going strong as a donation point for unhoused neighbors and gatherings for folks, and are excited to be soon offering zines of the month, spanish classes, translations of texts, reading clubs, radical movies, workshops, and more. If you have any asks and/or offerings that can bring community together, please reach out to us, this is a space for you. Of course the anarchist books and zines in our collection have grown and are still available! Open hours currently are Fridays from 7-10pm in Rogers Park. Direct message us on instagram (@bloodfruitlib) for the address! See you soon!

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Hi everyone!

Please check out one of the long-standing anarchist projects my friends have been holding down in so-called "Chicago"; they've recently restarted their patreon because living expenses have been staggering lately. They do amazing work in spreading the anarchist message and communicating with comrades across international borders while always also helping an eye on local events, themselves being a host of a truly free anarchist library that has everything from writings from the Situationalist International to Zapatista Carocoles to Afro-Pessimisim to Kurdish revolutionaries; it's an invaluable cultural hub of anarchic culture.

You can give a one-off donation of whatever amount but the patreon starts at 5$; at 10$ you'll receive a free PDF zine per month and at 15$ we'll also send a print copy.

Please consider spreading and contributing to this project.

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thevillainswhore · 3 months ago

Text

Only A Touch From You Will Do

Pairing: Benjamin Poindexter x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Dex always counts down the minutes until he’s home again. Until he can breathe again. Until he’s back in your arms again.

Warnings: Established relationship, fluff, canon related, some light mention of self esteem issues.

Author’s Note: Unbeta’d. Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Image by @bullseyelover on Pinterest.

hi again! Thought I’d try my hand at a more softer Dex. I really liked writing this one, the idea that all of his troubles melt away once he gets home to the one he loves makes me happy 🥹 hopefully I’ve done him justice and it isn’t too out of character. Enjoy! x

As soon as Dex walks through the door of your shared apartment, he closes his eyes and takes what feels like his first deep breath of the day. The door closes as his back slumps against it, body sagging with the weight of exhaustion on his shoulders.

Work was a bust. The rigid structure the FBI provides him doesn't seem to be helping as it once did. His nerves fray with more caseloads coming in. The applause Dex formerly received when completing his assignments now crickets in a desert.

Each crack in his preserved regime is beginning to reveal itself and Dex’s hands sweat with cold anticipation with the thought of going back tomorrow.

“Hi, Ben.” And there you are, voice so soft with that soothing lilt that instantly deflates the anxiety that’s been living in his chest since he had to leave you this morning. A smile effortlessly upturns his lips as you drag him out of the dark. It’s just the effect you have on him.

Dex opens his eyes and is graced by the sight of you, adorned with your favourite hoodie of his. He can’t help how his ears burn as the hem flutters over your bare mid thigh. “Hey, Angel.”

Your feet patter delicately against the wooden floorboards, slowly making their way towards him. Dex’s heart increases in tempo as your scent gets stronger, the melody of the sweet perfume you normally spray upon your neck weaving its way into his consciousness and ridding the stress of the day.

He welcomes you instantly, practically dragging you into his body and wrapping his arms around you like a lifeline. Your small oof makes him chuckle and he nuzzles himself into your neck to inhale you in. To make sure you’re real. “Christ, I missed you.”

Giggling against him, you kiss his covered chest and hum tenderly. “I missed you too, love. Always miss you when you’re gone.”

A crack splinters Dex’s heart. Your intimate declaration forces him to cuddle you tighter. He misses you all the time too, stares at the framed picture of you on his desk at work and wishes he could be with you instead.

It only makes his frustrations of work fester; the growing demands he used to fulfill now suddenly too meagre, the injustice of himself being used as a scapegoat for the FBI’s failures. It was unravelling what was once his perfectly stabilizing routine he had curated with precision and instead shifting it into his personal nightmare.

But all of that fades to the background, into the dark corners of Dex’s mind when you hold him in the delicate way you do. Like he’s made of glass, like he’s something so precious you’re scared if you let go he’ll shatter. Like he matters — worthy of being someone better than he’s destined to be.

He believes it because of you.

You must feel the vines of stress winding themselves into Dex’s muscles. Propping your chin on his solid chest to look into his eyes, you offer him the most serene glimpse of comfort, eyes earnest and all seeing. As though you can see straight through him.

Somehow, that doesn’t scare Dex. If anything, it made him feel lighter.

“How about we snuggle while we order something in, hm?” You whisper gently. “You look tired, baby. Let me make it better.”

Weakness comes in its purest form at a simple request from you. Dex can no longer be a strong man when you ask for something he so badly needed. Especially in the sugared, saccharine matrimony you hold for him. Like a siren, luring him in only with the sound of your voice.

How can his answer be anything other than yes? “Yeah.” Dex’s styled hair begins to unravel as he nods his head, his nervous tick of combing his fingers through his hair resulting in several strands becoming loose. “Y-Yes. Please.”

Dex swallows the lump in his throat. He sounds so needy, so vulnerable and with any other he’d hate himself. But with you, he can’t help but let go and allow you to see him exposed.

Holding your hand out, you wait until Dex places his own in yours, intertwining your fingers together before leading him to your shared bedroom.

The two of you are quiet, a silent understanding that only comes with time and grace, as you position yourself against the headboard and pat your thighs.

“Come here, Ben,” you mumble, eager to not break the intricacy of your bubble. “Let me take care of you for a while.”

Dex’s head begins to blur, the once sharpened edges of his mind now turning fuzzy. There’s no longer any voices calling him from the darkness, just a bright light on the horizon asking him to join her.

With shaking hands, Dex undresses himself; tie, shirt, trousers landing on the floor unceremoniously as he rushes to be with you. It’s so unlike himself, such a vast display of disorder it would usually make him feel sick. But like any other since coming home, his worries have disappeared. For now at least.

Crawling onto the bed, Dex makes his way towards you — so inviting, so deliciously tranquil that his heart races.

You’re sitting there so patiently, with the kindest eyes Dex doesn’t deserve, waiting for him. He doesn’t let himself believe it most days, that you stick around and love every part of him. But you always lift him back up to the surface to remind him that no matter how hard he tries to push you away, you’re not going anywhere.

Resting his head upon the plushness of your thigh, Dex fuses himself into you, weaving his arms around your waist and holding you as tight as what’s comfortable.

You hum, content and happy, and begin to comb your fingers through Dex’s hair. Immediately, he exhales a shaky breath. The world has finally come to a stop, and time pauses for the two of you.

“Feels good, right?” You mutter soothingly at the purr he lets go. Your newly manicured nails scratch Dex’s scalp so good he shivers with pleasure.

With hooded eyes, Dex grabs your hand carefully and brings your fingernails to his eye level. “Is that the blue I picked out?”

“It is,” you confirmed. “Do you like it?”

“Mm,” he grunts, bringing the palm of your hand to his mouth and placing kisses to your soft skin. “Looks pretty on you.”

Though he’s buried himself into your stomach, Dex already knows the shy smile you’re wearing and the heat that’s rising upon your cheeks. You had texted him a couple of days ago while he was at work, asking for his opinion on a nail design. A French tip in a shade of navy blue. Dex smiles to himself; you had accepted him, no questions asked. He’s not used to that.

Your motions continue, nails smoothing over his head and consistently hitting the sensitive spot from the migraines he experiences.

Dex closes his eyes and allows himself a small slither of peace — only for a second, he tells himself. He needs his focus both sharp and precise and poured into you; your safety. But your loving touch is too strong that Dex doesn’t realise how heavy his eyes have become, or the concern that furrows your brows.

“They work you like a dog,” you whisper into the tender atmosphere. “It’s not fair.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he rasps back to you. “I get to come home to you.”

And Dex means it. It doesn’t matter what work throws at him, the very solid notion that you’re at home, protected and waiting for him trumps anything else.

But your solemn whisper, one that Dex has a feeling has marinated in your own busy mind while he’s been working later and harder unnerves him. “Until something happens.”

Though sleep is catching up with him in the cocoon of your warmth, Dex shakes his head vehemently, desperate to reassure you. “Never,” he declares, confidently. “I’lll always come back to you. Need you safe.”

He hears you swallow the lump in your throat and feels you nod, the manoeuvre crescending down your body. “That’s right, Ben. You keep me safe.”

Dex holds it like a secret. Something so sacred it’s scarred in his mind. You think he’s important. You think he has a purpose. You’ll never understand how your innocent affirmations hold weight in his mind.

“And you keep me sane, Angel.” Sleep catches up to Dex, your touch like a lullaby. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Consciousness waves in and out of Dex’s mind as he succumbs to slumber, but he can rest easy as you tuck the two of you into the sheets and gift him one last kiss to his forehead. “Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out.”

#ben poindexter x reader #ben poindexter x you #ben poindexter x f!reader #ben poindexter x female reader #Benjamin poindexter x reader #Benjamin poindexter x you #Benjamin poindexter x f!reader #Benjamin poindexter x female reader #benjamin poindexter fanfiction #benjamin poindexter fanfic #Benjamin poindexter x reader fluff #benjamin poindexter #daredevil born again #wilson bethel #bullseye x reader #bullseye x you #bullseye x f!reader #bullseye x female reader

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maybankswhore · 8 months ago

Text

BESTFRIENDS GIRLFRIEND.

a ‘mini’ continuation of this fic here!

summary: the night at the beach seemed to be long forgotten. or that’s what you thought until a stupid treasure hunt leads you and jj sharing a place in a locked incubation device and he helps you remember where it all started.

a/n: just recently finished season four & that scene w kiara and jj gave me the perfect idea. i know it doesn’t really ‘match’ the timeline of the last one but we can all pretend that it does <3

warnings: voyeurism , , mean!jj , reader that plays naive , fingering , use of afab anatomy , mentions of cheating , heavy petting.

You should’ve known you were setting yourself up for failure. The minute you saw the slight smirk on JJ’s face the minute you offered to take Kiara’s place— you should’ve known something was going to happen.

Though , almost getting killed and getting your life saved by JJ Maybank was definitely not on your BINGO card.

Things between you and JJ hadn’t settled since that day night. If anything , it only made everything worse.

You were grateful another adventure opened up for the time being because pulling away from John B made you feel sick. You were eaten up by guilt , fear that your dirty little secret would blow up in your face and you’d have to own up to what you’ve done.

You could only imagine the devastation it’d cause John B and the disappointed looks from Kiara and Pope. The idea alone made your stomach sick.

JJ made it impossible to forget. He never brought it up. Not once. But that look in his eyes every time he looked at you made that same familiar feeling from that night on the beach wash up all over again— and you just knew.

You laid there in absolute dread in silence. Your eyes had opened before JJ’s and the immediate feeling of pure terror overcame you. Your memories washed back up and as the bends slowly faded away , the reality of the situation sunk in.

Practically quarantined with JJ , in this closed space , for twelve hours seemed like the test of a lifetime.

As he began to stir away , you swallowed harshly and scooted away. You clutched your necklace , anxiously fiddling with the string as you desperately search for nearby nurses.

“My savior.”

His voice was raspy. A hint of edge around the words as he cleared his throat roughly.

Silence filled the air pretty quickly and JJ’s mouth made a sound. He played it casual , coy like he always did. Cocking his head towards the side , he stared at you. “Ignoring me?”

Again , you decided to stay silent. Your cheek was raw with how hard you were biting it.

JJ sighed. “You know , I’ve been waiting to get you alone since that night on the beach.” He murmured. “A bit offended you actin’ like nothing happened.”

He was baiting you and you knew it. You refused to give and kept staring out the circular window.

“C’mon , Y/N. . .” JJ drug out your name barely above a whisper. You could feel him inching closer making you start to feel hot , your ears burning at the tips. “Have you fucked him yet? After me?”

His question made you flinch.

“Stop playing little miss innocent —” JJ narrowed his eyes , bringing up his index finger to your chin. Everything in you was screaming at you to not make the same mistake twice , to stand your ground , to fight him. . . but you were like putty in his hands. The minute you felt his skin on yours , you felt a fire where he touched and your head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side. “I know you think about it. About me.”

JJ looked into your eyes and paused , before a wide smirk developed on his face. “You haven’t , have you?” You didn’t need to say it , it was written all over your face. You were never good at keeping secrets. You were always so easy to read.

Especially by him.

He knew you like the back of his hand. All that pining had finally paid off— in his mind.

“How come?”

“JJ stop it.” You mumbled , moving to push his hand away. But he didn’t care. Instead he turned on his side to look at you , feeling like the first time all over again.

God , he hadn’t stopped thinking about it. About you.

John B was his bestfriend , his brother , but you— he couldn’t help but be addicted to you. He couldn’t change it and he didn’t want to. He’d risk loosing it all , everything , just to have you.

“You liked it—” he taunted. “You liked it so much , that I ruined your sweet little pussy for anyone else. It only remembers me. It only wants me.”

You shivered and shook your head. “No. I—I love John B. You’re acting crazy.”

“Crazy?” JJ let out a dry laugh. “You should know just how crazy I can be , baby.”

“He’s your bestfriend , JJ.” You sighed and shook your head , pushing his hand that was starting to drift downwards away. “You know this is wrong.”

“I don’t care if it is.” JJ scoffed. “I meant what I said that night. You were supposed to be for me.”

His words made you shiver. The memories crashed onto you like waves , so vividly that you could almost feel exactly how you felt sprawled out on the sand with your legs wide open just for him.

JJ noticed your reaction and smirked. It only pushed him further. “You know it , don’t you?”

You pursed your lips. Pushing your chin up defiantly as you scooted closer to the window , putting as much space between the two of you as possible.

JJ rolled his eyes. “C’mon. You might be able to lie to yourself and lie to John B— but you can’t lie to me, baby.” He murmured softly , delicately. There was a teasing tone to his voice that irritated you because you knew he was right and you hated yourself for it.

“You’re acting crazy , JJ.” You whispered. You squeezed your eyes shut and prayed that this was all a dream— a nightmare. Though the warmth of JJ’s breath and how your heart beat so loudly you thought it’d beat out of your chest , you knew it was real. Too real.

“Maybe I’m just crazy about you.”

Suddenly everything began to feel hot. The all knowing fact that you were trapped in this stupid metal bubble , next to him , it all started feeling too much. Beads of sweat dripped down your forehead , and your hand twitched. Your chest began to rise and fall quickly and you weren’t sure what you were more bothered by.

The claustrophobic , suffocating feeling: or the thump between your thighs that you wouldn’t be able to blame on alcohol.

Light as a feather , his fingertips tapped across the smooth skin of your thigh. He watched you in satisfaction. Loving the way you responded to him despite you trying to fight it. “It’s just you and me in here , baby—” he cooed in your ear. Leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the side of your neck , making your breathing hitch. “Nobody’s gonna know.”

“I–I’ll know.” You answered softly , still refusing to look at him. You hated the way it began to hurt. How it started to burn with a certain need that only JJ could subside. Everything in your body was screaming for him. To feel him again. But your head was fighting it.

“That never stopped you before.” He quipped back.

You turned your head to look at him again. Looking into his eyes that had a certain darkness swimming inside of them. You hated it. You hated him. Most of all , you hated yourself for how badly you wanted him.

Without another thought , becoming slightly delirious and deciding to cave and give in , you rushed forward and pressed your mouth against his. On instinct , he was there. Kissing you back feverishly , gripping onto you like a man starved. He tasted of saltwater and weed , the familiar taste bringing out a soft moan from your throat.

The sound made him smirk. He liked knowing you had given in. That he got what he wanted.

And he was going to make the most of it.

His hand slipped between the two of you , immediately cupping your sex. You gasped , breaking the kiss for air. He hummed in response , rubbing soft and achingly slow circles. “Beg for it.”

“W–What?” You breathed , taken off guard.

“You heard me.” JJ said again , halting his movements. JJ gripped your chin , looking down at you. “Beg me for it.”

“JJ—”

“Beg.”

He wanted to know he had the control. The power. You knew it. As much as you wanted to deny him of it , to refuse it , you couldn’t. It ached agonizingly , just looking at him ignited something within you. Your whole body was on fire and now that it started , there was no way you would have enough willpower to put it out.

“Please. . .” you whimpered , arching your back to feel some type of friction again. JJ wanted to groan right then and there, give in to you. But he refused. He ignored the way his cock was hard and angry , rubbing against the fabric of his underwear harshly. Frowning , you grabbed onto him , fisting his shirt to bring him closer. “Please touch me , JJ. Please. I need it. I need you.”

Your words were like a song to him. He let out a groan deep within his chest and kissed you again , harder , letting his tongue slip past your lips as you gasped when his hand pushed the fabric of your tiny shorts to the side.

His index finger ran up your slit , basking in the slickness. JJ smirked down at you , cocking his head to the side. “Your pussy loves me.” He boasted , and you weren’t in a position to disagree.

“Still my dirty girl , huh?” JJ moaned , sliding his finger inside of you. He grunted as he felt your walls stretch out , the tightness of it amusing him. “I knew I ruined you for him— can’t fuck him now , huh? Too busy thinkin’ bout me?”

You only responded with a moan , throwing your head back as you felt yourself fill up.

JJ watched you with a glimmer in his eyes. He swore had had never seen something hotter. The way your eyebrows scrunched up , your lips pursed , he could your feels contracting around his finger and he couldn’t help but moan at the feeling. “You want more , baby?”

“Yes , JJ , yes. Please. . .”

“Tell me your mine.” He demanded but his voice was softer now. Almost pleading.

Your mind was hazy. You almost couldn’t understand what you were saying— but you knew in this moment it was true. “I’m yours , JJ. I’m yours.”

“Fuck.” He muttered. Dropping his head to kiss your neck , he added in another finger , rutting against the side of your thigh. He pumped his fingers in and out of you , curling upwards just enough to graze over the spot you needed most.

“Yes—” you breathed. Your head lulled to the side and your toes curled. It felt good. The coolness of his metal rings that slapped against your clit each time he pumped his fingers in and out sent jolts up your spine. It felt frivolous , like you were a school girl getting fingered by her first person. But JJ knew just what to do. He knew what you liked , how to make it feel good.

“You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.” JJ said , kissing your mouth. You moaned into it , shaking underneath him as the feeling of his mouth on yours amplified the pleasure you were feeling.

The familiar feelimg began building up in your tummy and you gasped , pulling away as you used him to steady yourself. He sped up , just a little , keeping the same place as before. He cooed in your ear , kissing and sucking on different places. “Cum for me. Cum for me , give it to me.”

With your head thrown back , you felt your legs shaking. A dirty , loud moan left your mouth , one that made JJ’s ears ring. You grinded against him , riding out your high.

“My fucking girl—”

You came down breathlessly , with a new urge. You quickly attached yourself to him , wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him closer to you. He kissed you back hungrily , grinding into you.

You jumped when you heard a knock on the glass.

“Sorry to um— interrupt.” The nurse cleared her throat awkwardly , looking away. “We need to check your vitals. . .”

And just like that , the weight of the world and your decisions fell back on your shoulders.

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moontabi · 1 month ago

Note

Hey gorg!! could you do us domming seunghyun when hes usually the dominant one? and he gets all whiny and complaining about it but then we put him in his place and hes begging for more😙😙 (female reader pls) Also if not thats totally okay!

SAY PLEASE

choi seunghyun x fem! reader

warnings: 18+ content ahead including slight foot stuff (kissing & stepping), pet names, dirty talk, degradation, praise, cunnalingus, face sitting/riding, handjob, oral (not enough to call a full on blowjob), edging, spit, thigh fucking, outercourse, unprotected p in v, cumming inside. dom! reader, sub leaning! tabi, they fuck on the floor

a/n: not proof read bcs im going to nap after i upload this sorry for any mistakes!!

You’d been to your fair share of gallery showings since getting with your man Seunghyun.

This one was hosted by a close friend of his—an understated, intimate space tucked into a side street somewhere outside of Seoul. You came with him, dressed to kill, sipping wine and politely pretending to look at the art.

But the paintings were never what held your attention.

Now, the gallery is winding down.

Empty wine glasses clink faintly against trays. The last of the critics are still murmuring over pieces on display, offering half hearted nods as they move from canvas to canvas. And Seunghyun—your Seunghyun—is still standing with that lazy, almost elegant slouch, sipping the final swirl of his white wine, eyes low lidded in that way that always makes the heat between your legs ache.

His shirt collar is open just enough to reveal the tiniest glimpse of his tan skin, the curve of his chest and the faint sheen of sweat at his nape. You watch the tip of his tongue flick out to taste the wine still on his lips.

He’s always like this in public—cool, sharp-jawed and golden, radiating that quiet, masculine energy that draws people in without effort. Seunghyun doesn’t try to be magnetic. He is magnetic. charming, unbothered, in control.

But only you know how flushed the tips of his ears are. How tight his slacks have gotten from the way you crossed your legs earlier. How badly he wants to have you.

And he thinks he’ll be the one in control when he finally gets you alone.

Thinks he’s going to take you back to the hotel, unzip your dress with his teeth, and make you moan until you’re clawing at his back.

Oh, he has no idea.

He catches your eye and smiles.

You smile back—but yours is different.

There’s a heat behind it. A hunger he’s not used to being on the receiving end of. And when he walks over to you, wine-warm and looking like he’s two seconds away from pinning you against the nearest wall, you don’t step back. You step forward.

“Let’s go,” you murmur, reaching for his wrist with manicured fingers and letting your nails scrape softly over his skin.

His brows lift slightly, but he follows.

The way back to the hotel is quiet, thick with anticipation. He touches your thigh and tries to kiss your cheek. He’s so used to leading. He keeps close to your side, fingers brushing yours every so often. He can’t help it. You glance at him, and he smirks—that confident, subtle tilt of his lips he always wears when he thinks he knows exactly how things will end.

Except this time, you don’t lean into him. Don’t touch back.

You just smile to yourself and that makes him nervous.

You feel it in the way his hand hovers too long before slipping into his pocket. See it in the way he keeps glancing over at you with shiny, hopeful eyes—tense and uncertain, maybe even wondering if he’s done something wrong.

He’s never had to chase you like this and that’s exactly the point.

You step into the penthouse suite, your dress clinging to your hips, heels clicking sharply against the marble. You don’t get more than three steps before Seunghyun pounces on you—hands gripping your waist, hips rolling into yours roughly. You can feel how hard he is against you. His fingers slide beneath the hem of your dress, starting to hike it up until—

“No.”

One word. Calm. Soft-spoken.

His hands pause.

You push against his chest to create distance between you and walk away, brushing your dress smooth.

Seunghyun blinks, confusion flickering across his face.

“Take off my shoes first,” you say sharply. Not a request.

He lets out a low laugh, slow and cocky.

“You serious?”

You turn your back on him and walk to the grand piano in the center of the suite, heels echoing with every step. You sit on the edge like a queen on her throne and cross your legs. The slit in your dress parts wide, revealing the long stretch of thigh he hasn’t earned the right to touch.

You tilt your head.

“I said, take them off for me.”

Seunghyun doesn’t move at first.

You can see the resistance in the set of his jaw, in the way his shoulders stiffen beneath his shirt. His instinct is to laugh this off, grab you by the ass, and drag you underneath him. That’s his default—control. Dominance. Knowing he can make you fall apart with just a look.

But now, that look is meeting something unfamiliar.

A woman who isn’t planning to melt.

Daring him.

He lingers there for a long second too long, still trying to figure out if you’re serious.

And then—slowly, the idea seeming to physically pain him—he sinks down onto his knees.

Not gracefully. Not like a man used to kneeling. He moves like it’s foreign, he’s never had to lower himself for anyone. But something about the way you’re watching him makes him obey anyway.

His hands find your ankle, large and smooth and a little too eager. You feel the slight tremble in his fingers as he reaches for the bottom of your heel.

You don’t speak. Just watch him. studying his expressions with a click of your tongue.

He’s an eager animal in this moment—caught between submitting and sinking his teeth in.

He slides the first heel off, cradling your foot in his palm. His thumb brushes over the arch as he sets the shoe aside, a soft grin tugging at his lips.

“Comfortable now?” His voice is a low murmur, deliberately intimate. He doesn’t let go, fingers shifting to massage slowly.

“Mm,” you hum softly, watching his dark hair flop over his forehead as he works his fingers deeper into your skin. His touch is light at first, coaxing, but you can feel the tension in his hands, like he's holding back something more.

Then, without warning, he presses a kiss to the top of your foot.

You arch a brow.

“That part of the request?”

Seunghyun hesitates. Then shrugs, trying to smirk through it. “Thought I’d add a little something.”

“Oh, baby,” you coo, dragging your other foot up to poke your stiletto into his shoulder. “You don’t get to add anything. Not tonight.”

You can see him fighting the urge to bite back. The tension winding through his neck, his jaw. He wants to argue. He wants to challenge you.

Seunghyun bends his head again—and kisses your ankle anyway. Then the curve of your calf. He believes he can still resist surrender—a silent “I can do what I want,” wrapped in silk.

You feel the sharp edge hidden beneath the softness and a shiver ripples across your skin. You could call him out—but you don’t. You let it pass this time, because you know exactly what this is.

He’s trying to hold on.

And you’re about to make him let go.

He slides off the second heel now, slower this time. You spread your legs wider as he does it, letting your dress slip higher to reveal bare skin and the stretch of thin lace between your legs.

Seunghyun sees. His eyes flash—dark, hungry, shocked.

“Lay down.”

Was he hearing you correctly? His voice comes out rough, the edge of defiance already fading.

“What?”

You don’t repeat yourself, gliding your foot down the center of his chest. His breath hitches as the pressure shifts lower, trailing over buttons and fabric, until you’re pressing directly against the bulge straining his pants.

“Down.”

A shudder rolls through him. His hips twitch beneath your foot. His pride is still there, clinging to the edge—but it’s brittle now. He breathes in through his nose, deep and shaky as the scent of you hits him hard.

That’s what tips him.

He lowers himself to the floor. Not fluidly but with a need too heavy to hide.

You hover over his face, dress hitched high, your soaked panties tugged down your legs.

“Hands at your sides. You don’t get to touch.”

He licks his lips, voice rough and challenging.

“You think I’m just gonna lie here and take it?”

You smile down at him—sweet, pitying.

“Sure you are, I can see how bad you want it.”

He lets out a low laugh, sharp and shaky, but it dies in his throat the second your thighs frame his face and your sopping cunt sinks down onto his mouth.

His groan is immediate, muffled. His hands flex at his sides—fighting instinct. His tongue licks up the full length of your slit, too greedy, too frantic.

“God,” you sigh, rocking your hips slowly against his face. “Needed this.”

He moans under you, hips twitching up into nothing. His cock is hard, straining against the front of his slacks, leaking already. You glance down at the sight and giggle softly.

“Already this worked up?”

You grind down a little harder, letting your clit slide against the bridge of Seunghyun’s nose. He groans, louder this time, tongue flicking faster—more hungry.

“Slow down,” you chide, threading your fingers through his hair. “You’re making a mess.”

He whines under you. You lift off his mouth just barely—just enough to let him speak and he gasps like he’s surfacing from underwater.

“Say something smart again,” you say, breathless. “C’mon. Thought you had something to prove.”

“I do,” he pants, voice raw. “Just—fuck—can’t think straight with your pussy on m’face.”

“Aw, sweetheart you think that’s bad? we’re just getting started.”

Then you lower yourself back down and smother him again.

His mouth opens instantly. Tongue back to work. “Good boy,” you breathe, “That mouth of yours is so much better when it’s not talking back.”

You ride his face slowly, teasingly, his nose continuously rubbing right against your clit, your slick dripping down his jaw.

He’s good at this. Always has been. But now there’s no control. No rhythm. No teasing.

He’s not leading anymore.

He’s trying to keep up.

He whines beneath you, the mocking praise short-circuiting something in him.

“Still think you’re in control?” you ask sweetly, rolling your hips a little harder now.

He tries to shake his head, but you don’t let up.

“I asked you a question,” you say, voice soft but firmly.

“N-no,” he gasps when you lift again for air. “Fuck—fuck, no. You win okay.”

You hum thoughtfully, then grind down hard enough to steal the air from his lungs.

“Mmm. That’s better.”

Seunghyun’s hands scramble on the floor, trying not to reach for you. “You want to touch so badly, don’t you?”

He nods, eyes glassy, lips wet with your slick.

You tilt your hips forward and smother him fully.

His moan is strangled now—deep and helpless. His tongue is fast, lapping and sucking and groaning into your pussy lips melodically.

You stay there. Grinding hard until your thighs shake and your orgasm crests and he’s gasping for air between licks.

And even when it hits, when your moans get high and tight and your hands dig into his chest for balance, you don’t let him up.

You ride through it. Overstimulate him with nothing but your cunt on his tongue and the power he’s always thought belonged to him, now crumbling beneath your thighs.

He drinks greedily from your pussy lips, savoring every drop of your release that spills out onto his face and onto his tongue.

When you finally pull back, his face is soaked and his eyes are dazed.

“Baby—” he croaks.

You place a finger on his lips.

“Not yet,” you whisper. “I’m not done with you.”

His breath is hot against your finger, lips parting like he might protest—but the look in your eyes keeps him obedient.

You trail that finger down Seunghyun’s chin, across his flushed throat, then lower, slowly unbuttoning his shirt one by one. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, still panting, lips wet with your slick.

“I bet you thought you were going to wreck me tonight,” you hum, slipping the shirt open and running your palms over his chest. “Thought I’d be begging for it.”

He shudders as your nails drag lightly over his nipples. he’s the one trembling now.

You reach for his belt, unbuckle it with unhurried precision. His hips twitch. His cock is straining, visibly rock hard, outlined thick and dripping pre-cum. You palm him once over the fabric of his boxers and he jerks beneath you, letting out the most delicious, strangled moan.

“Fuck,” he gasps and you smile.

“You’re already close, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t answer.

You wrap your fingers around his waistband and tug his boxers down. His cock springs free—stiff, flushed, soaked at the tip, twitching against his stomach.

“Baby…” you whisper, leaning in close. “You’re so hard. You’ve been like this since the gallery, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” he groans, eyes fluttering shut like it embarrasses him to admit it.

You kiss the base of his cock, then drag your tongue slowly up the side, pausing just before you reach the head.

“You were such a good boy with your mouth, think you deserve a little reward.”

His hips buck and he hisses the second you take him into your mouth.

Not all the way—just the tip, lips barely wrapped around it, tongue teasing the slit. It hurts.

You suck once. Gentle. Cruel.

Then you pull back.

He looks devastated.

“Let me fuck you,” he whispers.

“Oh, no,” you purr, tracing your fingertips down the underside of his cock. “We’re not there yet.”

You wrap your hand around him firm, steady and start to stroke.

Not fast. Not enough. Just enough to make him suffer.

He tries to thrust into your hand and you tighten your grip. His whole body tenses, catching onto your game.

You bend down again, tongue flicking the head, then dragging wetly around the tip in slow, messy circles. Your other hand trails down to Seunghyun’s thighs, pressing his legs open wider.

He’s panting now. Moaning every few seconds, he’s trying not to fall apart but he’s failing desperately. His legs are shaking, hips continuously twitching up for anything more than what you’re giving him.

“Fuck, princess—I—shit—don’t stop!”

You slow down.

He chokes on a gasp and you smirk against his cock.

“I thought you were in charge, Seunghyun,” you whisper. “What happened to all that confidence?”

He looks up at you, wrecked and his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

“You,” he gasps, “You happened. You’re driving me fuckin’ mad—”

You stroke him faster for three seconds—and then stop completely.

Seunghyun cries out, hands flying to his face. he needs something to hold onto or he swears his dick will fall off.

You lean over him again, whispering into his ear.

“I want to see you beg.”

He shakes his head, barely.

You sit back, lick your palm, and wrap it around his cock again. You start stroking him—slow at first, then fast, mean, tight.

He whimpers. Moans. His hips are bucking out of control now. His cock is leaking, twitching with every pass of your hand.

“Say it,” you murmur. “Say please, or I’ll stop.”

He shakes his head again—but it’s weaker this time.

You suck on the tip once, pop off with a soft ‘pop’ and then drop your hand entirely again.

“Say it.”

“I cant—”

“Say it.”

He looks at you, broken.

And then, in a voice that sounds nothing like the Seunghyun who first walked into that art gallery with you, he obeys.

“…Please.”

You hum, satisfied.

But you still don’t give him what he wants.

Instead, you wrap your hand back around his cock and stroke him again—but ridiculously quick this time. Not a rhythm meant to bring him complete pleasure—just a tease. A taunt. A reminder that his release belongs to you now.

“Jagiya!—” he whines, trying to thrust up into your hand. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”

His whole body arches off the floor. A sound escapes his throat—somewhere between a sob and a growl—and his fists pound once against the floor.

“You don’t get to come until I say so, be good and hold on for me.” you spit onto the head of his cock and press your thumb into it. He moans, body buzzing from the constant orgasm denial.

You shift upward now, straddling him suddenly with your inner thighs clamping firmly around his now trapped erection. His hands instinctively grip your hips, sucking in a sharp breath as he does so.

His dick presses between the slick mess of your folds and he twitches, hips stilling as he fights not to thrust mindlessly between your legs. His self-control is admirable yet shallow, like one movement could snap it completely.

You whimper, your chest brushing his.

“You want to fuck me now?” you ask, your voice a whisper at his ear.

He groans, nodding against your shoulder. “So bad, please…”

“Then use my thighs first.”

You flex your thighs tighter around him and rock your hips once, grinding your slick pussy against the length of his cock.

Seunghyun fucks up into the space you’ve given him—slow at first. You sit back, letting him work. His cock drags through your folds perfectly, head catching on your clit with every motion. It makes you gasp,

“There we go…” you praise, “K-keep going.”

His fingers dig into your waist as you rock back against him. A strangled groan rips from his throat, his cock jerking violently between the fat of your thighs.

Pre-cum leaks out onto your skin as he starts to desperately hump upwards into your grinding motions.

He’s panting now, jaw tight, every motion wet and obscene between your thighs.

“Feels so good,” he chokes. “Love these thighs and this perfect fuckin’ pussy—”

His whimpers become louder and more desperate as he feels your fingers wrapping around his hot, pulsing cock. He watches with tear filled eyes as you pull him towards your dripping entrance, his tip pressing against your hole.

His eyes go wide when he feels it—realizes.

And then you sink down onto him.

A quick, unrelenting push.

He cries out, head thrown back, thighs shaking as you take every inch of him inside you.

“Baby!” Seunghyun’s voice is rough, broken, already unraveling.

He looks up at you with a pleading expression, his cock pulsing inside you “Move... please move,” he begs through heavy breaths.

You start to move—deep, rolling thrusts, grinding down in perfect rhythm, your cunt clenching hard around him every time you sit all the way down.

You reach between your legs, press two fingers to your clit, and let out a pornographic gasp.

He’s barely saying words anymore—just moans, gasps, begging sounds caught in his throat. His eyes roll back when you tighten around him on purpose.

“Please…p-please baby—”

“Do it,” you moan. “Come inside me.”

Seunghyun’s hips jerk up into you the moment you give him permission—sloppy, desperate, completely uncontrolled. Maybe once, maybe twice more before he’s spilling deep inside you, groaning out broken ‘I love yous’ as it fills you.

You ride through it, chasing your own high, until your second high crashes down on you—tight, sudden, thighs trembling as you moan and fall forward onto Seunghyun’s sweaty chest.

Both of you catch your breath, skin flushed and sticky. His hands rest lightly on your hips now—gentle, tentative.

“…I really liked that,” he confesses, his voice deep and hoarse.

You glance down at him, teasing.

“Yeah?”

He nods, cheeks flushed, not quite meeting your eyes. “Like… a lot. You—” He swallows.

“You made me feel so fucking good baby.”

You blush, stroking his damp hair. “You were perfect.”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “I kinda wanna do it again.”

“Right now?”

He flushes deeper. “Not right now. Just—soon…really soon.”

“Don’t worry, next time, I’ll make you beg even prettier.”

Seunghyun’s eyes go wide again, clearly not expecting how much that would affect him. He swallows hard, “I’ll hold you to that.”

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ tags: @mashtatosworld @loveesiren @szonyix6277 @seungttttop @xxtoptaexx @tabibabib @s4intkwon @heartubeatusalon @breakmeoff @gdinthehouseee @septywitch @aizshallnotbefound @namsgyu @thanosspills contact me if you want to be added to or removed from my permanent taglist

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watchmegetobsessed · 10 days ago

Text

LEFT UNSAID (part 1)

A/N: it's here! this is not a drill, the wedding fic is here!! i've been teasing yall with this fic for about a week now and i decided to cut the wait and post the first part! i hope you'll like it and my very first OC, Ziggy! as always, im eager to read your thoughts on the story!

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

SERIES MASTERPOST | MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

NOW

I’m watching as the residential scenery slowly turns into more weekend houses and rentals as the Uber is nearing the lake house. Chewing on my bottom lip I’m lazily blinking out the window, the movements of the car lulling me to the sleep I would have rather sunk into on the plane, but couldn’t.

Then the distances between the houses start stretching out, more greenery, more space and between the trees I spot the glistening surface of Lake Eroda. The driver takes a left turn and through the windshield I spot Villa Matilda where the wedding will take place.

The car comes to a stop on the gravelly driveway and at the same moment the bride herself steps out of the building. Jade practically jumps down the stairs, her wavy, blonde hair floating after her like a mermaid’s tail. She envelopes me in a warm hug as soon as I get out of the car.

“I’m so happy you’re here!”

“Of course I’m here, it’s your wedding!” I chuckle, squeezing her in my arms before we let go of each other. The Uber driver has moved to the trunk of the car and he is now unloading my bags. I grab my duffel bag and Jade snatches the garment bag from him before I could get a hold of it, so I take the tote that’s filled with shoes, because I simply couldn’t decide which one I’d need so I brought all the options.

“I know, but you’re here earlier, helping me keep my sanity.”

“As a bridesmaid, it is my biggest duty.”

I thank the driver and head up the stairs, following Jade inside. The lake house offers the perfect blend of coastal charm and upscale elegance. With its airy, open-concept design, soft neutral tones and floor-to-ceiling windows in the back facing the lake, it is quite literally the most perfect venue for a wedding and it fits Jade and Ben’s style immaculately. The place features spacious outdoor terraces, a private dock, and beautifully landscaped grounds that flow seamlessly into the water’s edge. We walk past a sleek front desk and cozy lounge areas as Jade fills me in on what's been done since they’ve arrived this morning. It’s Thursday, only a handful of people arrive today to get a headstart on decorating and settling everything before the rest of the guests arrive on Friday evening and Saturday morning before the ceremony in the afternoon. The house is fully booked for the wedding from Friday, but today there are a few other guests lingering around still before the house turns private for the event.

“Also… please don’t be mad,” she sighs as we make our way up the stairs.

This is the universal sentence that gets someone mad, but I put on a poker face.

“What is it?”

“There was a bit of mix-up with the rooms. They had a broken pipe in one of them yesterday so we had to shuffle around a bit.”

“Am I sleeping in the sand?” I joke. “Just give me a mattress at least.”

“You have the biggest room, actually.”

“Then what’s the matter?” I ask, confused as we reach the end of the hallway, lined with doors. Jade turns to me, an apologetic look on her face and I have no idea what could be possibly wrong.

“Because we are short of two rooms–”

“Two?”

“There’s water damage in the room underneath as well.” I nod. “So we had to move people around a bit and… you’re sharing a room.”

“Oh, with your sister?” I ask brightly, thinking of how fun it would be to room with Cece this weekend, but Jade shakes her head and just when I’m about to ask who is going to be my roommate, the door flies open and I’m staring at the only person I was dreading to meet.

THEN

Running late.

Jade’s text is not surprising. She is the type of person who always runs late, which is the exact opposite of what I am. She used to jokingly call us a ‘punctual mess” when we were roommates in college.

With a sigh I just give a thumbs up on her message and slow my steps down, not that I think that matters, the bar is right now the street, I’m about two minutes away and if I had to guess I would say Jade hasn’t even left home.

Lu cancelled tonight this morning, because of a family emergency and Asa couldn’t even come to begin with, and Helen… no one knows anything about Helen usually until the moment she just turns up and that always has a fifty-fifty chance. Being physically in the same room has gotten massively harder the past couple of years, but I guess that’s just adulthood.

I take a detour, round the block so I don’t have to sit in a booth on my own, giving apologizing looks to bigger groups because they don’t have a place to sit. And just when I reach the bar after my little trip, my phone starts ringing.

“Please don’t kill me,” Jade starts as soon as I answer.

“I have a feeling that I will, in fact, want to kill you after this conversation.” She ignores my frustration.

“Ben is not feeling good, I’m gonna go over and check in on him.”

“Okay, then when are you getting here?” I ask, already doing the math in my mind. Ben lives twenty minutes from Jade, she will probably stay a little bit, about half an hour and Ben lives a little over thirty minutes from here, so that means…

I realize she is silent on the other end of the call.

“Jade.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Don’t tell me you’re not coming–”

“I’m so sorry!”

“Jade!” At this point I’m whining. “I’m literally at the entrance!”

“I know!”

“No you don’t know! Because you’re not here and you’re not even coming!”

“I’m sorry!” she screams dramatically and I huff one more time before taking a deep breath in favor of keeping my sanity. I turn to the glass door and look inside the bar we often come to, my gaze sweeps over the place, everything looks the usual and I’m about to turn away when I spot a familiar face.

“Jade,” I start, voice low. “Why is Harry Styles sitting at a table in the bar?”

You can’t hear someone’s smile, but right now, Jade’s is screaming at me. I know, I just know she is smirking and the urge to punch her in the face jumps instantly.

“Oh well, then you didn’t go there for nothing I guess.”

She acts like she is more innocent than Holy Mary herself, like she didn’t just lure me here pretending like we were meeting up with the group. I bet she told Asa to reject it from the get go and then made Lu cancel on purpose just so it would be only me turning up at the bar where oh so conveniently Harry is.

The guy she’s been so keen on setting me up with.

Harry was high school classmates with Jade and knows Asa from some camp the both went to in summers growing up, so he is loosely tied to our little group even though he didn’t go to college with us. For the past year Jade’s fixation has been that Harry and I should date.

“Believe me, you are a perfect match. I can just see it!” she told me the first time she brought up her masterplan to set the two of us up.

We had met a couple of times. He seems like a great guy actually, with his unruly brown curls and boyish smirk paired with a great sense of humor, he is the type of guy I can see myself develop a crush on, but the pressure Jade put on us the second she called us the perfect match, it just made everything super awkward once we were in the same room.

“That’s it, I’m going home,” I say, but don’t actually start moving my legs. Instead, I’m looking at Harry through the glass as he scrolls on his phone, most likely oblivious to the fact that this is a set up.

“Just give it a chance, Ziggy. Have a few drinks with him and if you don’t feel the spark, then I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Forever?” I ask instantly.

“Well…” I roll my eyes. Jade could never let go if she sets her mind on something, she is way too stubborn. But maybe I can have some peace if I give in just this one time and then, if the stars align and she finds something or someone else to fixate on, she might forget about it.

The sigh I let out is drenched in defeat and Jade knows she won.

“He doesn’t know about it, right?”

“No. He thinks he is meeting Asa for a few drinks.” She sounds way too cheerful, telling me that she made our friend lie to him.

Unbelievable.

“I think I’m gonna kill you one day.” Jade just laughs cheerfully, definitely not taking my threat seriously.

“Have fun and I expect a detailed report on the date tomorrow.”

“It’s not a date.”

“Sure. Bye!”

And with that, she ends the call.

I often question how we get along so well, she is everything I’m not. Carefree, always going with the flow, Jade trusts her instinct and most importantly, herself. I can’t imagine a scenario where she is not the most confident person in the room. I’m none of these. A struggle I’ve been working hard to overcome is spiraling down when anxiety takes over me. I tend to keep obsessive control over things, pair it with constant self-doubt and it’s the perfect recipe for a very fragile mental state.

I’m working on it though, God bless the work of my therapist!

I huff again, eyes landing on the unsuspected guy sitting in the booth, eyebrows furrowed at something on his phone’s screen.

Spontaneous. You’re trying to be more spontaneous, live more in the moment and not overthink, this is a moment to practice that, I tell myself. My fingers flex and then curl in over and over rhythmically, movements fueled by anxiety that’s ready to sweep me off my feet, right into a spiral anytime, but I catch myself and use the sudden adrenaline rush to walk inside before I could chicken out.

My eyes are fixed on him as I cross the place, but he still hasn’t noticed me. I stop by the table, casting a shadow and that’s what catches his attention. His green eyes snap up at me and I’m sure he was expecting to see Asa, but when he realizes that I’m neither 6 feet tall nor a man, his lips part in surprise.

“Ziggy?” he asks, taken aback. I slide into the booth across from him.

“We’ve been tricked.”

NOW

I question whether the whole broken pipe thing is actually true. Maybe I could ask someone from the staff to confirm. This has to be Jade’s latest trick.

But I just smile at her from the door, because there is no damn way a bridesmaid will cause any trouble for the bride two days before her wedding.

“You sure it’s fine?” she asks again, gaze jumping from me to the figure standing behind me, whose presence is like a fire radiating heat against my back, but I choose to ignore it.

“It’s fine. We can manage, don’t worry about us,” I smile at her sweetly, though I’m clenching my jaw painfully.

Jade’s face brightens as she claps her hands together.

“Thank you guys, you’re the best. I have to run now but catch you later!”

She practically sprints off and I stare at the empty hallway for a few heartbeats before closing the door. I know he is looking at me, I can feel his burning gaze and I take a deep breath as I slowly turn around and look him in the eyes.

“She said we only have the bed, but I checked, it’s a pullout.”

At first I don’t register what he is talking about, but then I spot the small couch under the window.

“I’m taking it,” he simply informs me, his eyes searching for something in my gaze. Is he trying to decide whether I’m about to scream or break something on his head? Or maybe tell him I refuse to share a room with him so he has to sleep in the bathtub?

He would do it, no doubt. But I’m not trying to be bitter.

“You were here first, only fair if I take the couch.”

He shakes his head.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sigrid.”

I ignore the way I feel hearing him use my full name, my body is betraying me. I watch him walk over to his suitcase, digging around it, then he pulls his charger out and plucks it into the outlet beside the couch.

“You know she did it on purpose.” I say, focusing on packing out of my duffel bag and into the small dresser in the corner.

“I know.”

“And this won’t be her last attempt this weekend.”

“Surely. That’s why I think maybe we should tell her…”

“Absolutely no,” I cut in.

“It might make things easier.”

“I think it would just make things messier. She would ask questions we wouldn’t answer.”

He is staring back at me, cheeks turning a light shade of red, jaw clenching, but no words spoken. At last he nods.

“Right. Okay.”

I drop my bag onto the bed and unzip it, but don’t start unpacking just yet.

“This doesn’t have to be a thing. We’re adults. We can share a room for a couple days without turning it into a telenovela and ruin our friend's wedding.” Harry nods, but doesn’t look at me.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Let’s just stay away from each other as much as possible. This place is huge and there will be a lot of people. We can manage it without anyone finding out we have a weird history.”

“Is that what it is? Weird history?” He finally looks up at me with a blank expression, but I know there’s a lot behind those eyes that seem closed off in front of me now.

I used to be able to read them.

“Well I wouldn’t call it a fairy tale, would you?” I turn my gaze to my bag and start pulling out the clothes. “Don’t worry, I won’t make it awkward.”

“Ziggy, I–”

“I said don’t worry,” I snap and when I look at him, for a moment I regret, because I see a sliver of… something behind the mask he’s been wearing since I arrived, but then I lock my emotions off before I could lose my mind. “We’re roommates for the weekend. That’s it. After the wedding, we go our merry ways.”

“Right. Okay.”

Harry nods once again, hesitantly looks around the room before his eyes settle on me one last time. Then with a soft sigh he walks out of the room. When the door clicks and I’m alone my knees give up and I bounce on the mattress, taking deep breaths, willing my thoughts to stop racing, but it takes longer. My usual tactics don’t work.

Not when it comes to Harry.

THEN

It’s hard to read Harry. He has this stoic look, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed as he chews on his thoughts that I wish I could hear.

A waitress appears with the two beers, sets them on the table and then she is gone.

“I haven’t realized Jade is this obsessed with setting us up,” he speaks up at last.

“You haven’t?” My eyebrows shoot up, because if I’ve been the only one she’s been bombarding, then I’ll get really mad.

“No, not really,” he shakes his head, taking a sip of his beer.

“So she hasn’t been dropping my name every time you see each other?”

Harry opens his mouth to answer, but then he thinks to himself and I know it’s been the case, he just hasn’t noticed, bless his heart.

“Let me guess. Whenever you talked about a new hobby or a place you visited or literally anything, her reaction was that I would absolutely love it too. She randomly shared stories that included me and she emphasized my part in it. She shared group photos that featured me. And my favorite, when you talked about anything dating related, she always ended up raving how this problem would never happen if you were dating me.”

Harry stares back at me with a blank expression, then it falls.

“For fuck’s sake, what a sly fucker.”

I bark out a laugh and we grab our beers at the same time, needing the alcohol for sure.

“Now that you said all that, I realized that we’ve met what, like three times before?” I nod. “And I feel like it’s been way more, like you were there every time I saw Jade. What a witch!”

“She’s good,” I grin.

We sit in silence, I’m watching the bubbles dance upwards in my beer and melt into the thin, white foam on top. When I glance at Harry he seems deep in his thoughts as well. My mind starts racing, taking in the situation I was forced into and an idea materializes.

“Do you want to do an experiment?”

“What kind?” he asks curiously, though I can feel the hesitance in his voice as well. I pull out my phone and open a browser.

“If Jade wants us to give it a try so much, maybe we can actually do it and we either prove her right or wrong, but she might stop bothering us.”

“What are you thinking?” His narrow eyes tell me he is still not sold, but open to hear me out.

I place my phone in front of him, an article open on the screen that I just searched up.

“Have you heard about the 36 questions that can make two people fall in love with each other?”

“No… Yes? I don’t know.” He starts scrolling through the list of questions and I continue.

“Let’s go over them. At the end we will either be madly in love and Jade will have her ‘I told you’ moment or we won’t be in love and we can prove her wrong.”

He is taking my words into consideration and my anxiety suddenly skyrockets, because I just asked a man to try and fall in love with me. I don’t do that, I’m never this straight forward, I like the odd comfort of uncertainty, because it’s not rejection at least.

“Okay.”

I mask my surprise as he looks up at me and slides my phone back, reaching for his beer.

“Okay,” I repeat and turn my attention to my phone, scrolling through the questions and I explicitly ignore the warmth in my chest. “I take no responsibility over what happens, alright?”

“That sounds… sinister,” he smirks. He leans back and watches me while I pretend to be busy with the questions, though I’m not reading any of them.

I did not think this through. I don’t do well with attention, especially from men and now I put myself in a situation where a rather handsome man’s attention will be fully aimed at me and my answers to some kinda intimate questions.

Talk about exposure therapy.

“I’m just saying, some of these questions can be… intimate.” From the way his eyebrows rise, I quickly add. “And I’m not talking about sexual intimacy.”

“So we are about to bare our souls to each other?”

“Kind of. Is that okay?”

He muses on the question, taking his time to decide and I can’t tell if he is just trying to look like he is still considering or he is actually contemplating whether he wants to be part of this impromptu experiment Jade forced us into.

“Okay. Let’s do this,” he nods at last, leaning forward, ready to tackle the first question.

At the same time, I start doubting whether it’s a good idea to share such details with each other. Baring some of these personal experiences and thoughts with someone I have only seen a handful of times in my life does not sound like something my anxiety appreciates. In fact, I’m definitely not known for being open and sharing my deepest, darkest thoughts, not even with my closest friends.

Whenever I oddly decide to share more, I have a sour feeling afterwards that I’d just become a burden for that person, that I loaded my shit on them, they didn’t ask for it (even if they actually did), they don’t want to hear about my problems and I should never open my mouth again. It’s a constant struggle I fight every day and I’m yet to win against it.

But I can’t back down at this point. I need to push forward and at least give it a try. I can always just end it and walk away. That would also require a lot of power over myself, but let’s not bring that to the table just yet.

Clearing my throat I go up to the very first question and read it out loud.

“Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?”

It’s a light question, great start. Okay, I can do it, I can talk about stuff like this with Harry.

He thinks for a few moments, seemingly he takes the experiment very seriously, judging from the way he considers his choice and when he has the answer, he nods.

“You go first,” you tell him.

“Okay. I would want my stepdad to be the dinner guest.”

“Oh, why?”

“Because he passed away and I miss him a lot. I also know Mum misses him too, so I would want to bring him back, even if it’s just for one dinner.”

Well, shit. He is going deep. Like, deep deep.

“I’m sorry about that,” I say wholeheartedly and he just nods, with a tight-lipped smile. I’m actually surprised he gave me such an honest answer.

From what I’ve seen, Harry never seemed like a loud, share-it-all kind of guy, he is not quite the silent type either, but my impression is that he only speaks when he has something to say and keeps the rest to himself. When I’d met people like that, it always took them time to share more personal details, they need a certain level of trust and I can truly relate to that. So it’s an odd experience that he started with telling me about his stepdad, but I like it that he is actually taking this seriously.

“What about you?”

I realize that I haven’t even thought of my own answer, I was too busy figuring him out. I take a moment to think.

“Is time traveling acceptable in this question?” Harry squints his eyes and then nods. “Then I want to have dinner with my younger self.”

The surprise on his face is obvious.

“That’s actually a great thought. What would you talk about?”

This is the point where I take three big gulps from my beer. If we go deep, I’m gonna need the alcohol, actually, I’m considering taking shots as well.

I take a deep breath before answering.

“I want to tell her about my life now and ask what she thinks. If she is proud or if she thinks I’m cool.”

“You can’t tell what your younger self would think?”

I shake my head.

“I have an idea, but I don’t think that we can actually see things like we did as kids once we grow past a point. Adulthood consumes you, whether you like it or not and I feel like a whole different person than who I was at thirteen, let’s say. I know what I liked, what I didn’t like, but I can’t tell what I would have actually thought if I met my current self.”

I feel lightheaded once I finish talking. It’s liberating and nauseating at the same time, giving such an honest answer to him. It’s very unlike me and I can already feel myself slipping into a spiral, telling myself I shouldn’t have said it, I should have answered differently, now he thinks I’m weird and–”

“I like that and I agree,” he says, a tiny smile tugging on his lips and just like that, I’m out of the spiral. I return his smile and can feel the blush on my cheeks, so I turn my attention to my phone.

“Alright. Second question.”

NOW

When I step out to the back patio I spot a few very familiar faces near the outside bar. Asa is talking with Ben, the groom who looks a lot more relaxed than Jade appeared earlier. There’s a tall, slim figure at the bar and she doesn’t have to turn around for me to know it’s Lu. Her long, black hair is in a low ponytail that bounces with each of her movements as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, waiting for the bartender to finish her order. As I walk closer she turns, two margaritas in her hands and her face brightens when she spots me approaching.

“Hey! When did you get here?” she beams. I wait for her to put the drinks down, then she hugs me tight, swaying from side to side a little before letting me go.

“About thirty minutes ago. Are you already getting drunk?” I ask as we settle by the table with the guys.

“Hey Ziggy, now that you’re here, you can have the fancy looking drink with Luelle and I can get a beer.” Asa stands from his chair, steps closer and gives me a short, one-armed hug before walking up to the bar.

“I wanted to make an Instagram story, they make them so pretty!” Lu explains, pushing one of the cocktails over to me. I gladly assist her as she makes a short video of our glasses clinking, the amazing scenery of the lake and gigantic pine trees running up the hill on the other side of the water right behind.

“Benny, how is the groom feeling?” I smirk at him.

“Good. I think it will kick in on Saturday,” he chuckles.

“Has Jade turned into a bridezilla yet?”

“No, but you can make a bet,” Asa chimes in, two beers in hand. He gives one to Ben before taking his previous seat.

“I think we will hit rock bottom tomorrow night.”

“Why are we making bets about our friend? Also, I’m betting on Saturday morning,” Lu adds, making us all laugh.

“She is taking it surprisingly well. But maybe because there hasn’t been a mishap yet.” Ben turns to the side and I follow his gaze to another group of people a little farther away, lounging in the sunchairs with drinks in hand.

I spot Jade’s mom along with Ben’s, Then there’s Jade’s grandma in an iconic looking, pink sunhat and shades, what a diva. Around them their family dog, Loki is cruising, happily trotting from one person to the other, eager to find someone to pay him attention. That Beagle is such a princess at the age of nine, he has the whole family wrapped around his paw.

Behind the mothers I spot two figures. The shorter one is Ben’s sister Lory, who I haven’t seen in probably two years. She was nineteen back then, which makes her twenty-one now and the change is undeniable in her looks. College has truly transformed all her teenage features into a more feminine, mature appearance.

She has a wine glass in her hand and she is animatedly telling something to the person next to him who is none other than Harry.

The pang of jealousy that zips through my gut is annoying. For one, I should definitely not feel anything when it comes to Harry, especially not jealousy. Two, Lory is nine years younger than him, he has known her since she was practically a child, there’s no way Harry would want anything from her. And three…

Lory laughs at something Harry said and there’s that cheeky smile on his face that I love so much. My stomach turns and… what was I thinking about?

“Ziggy?” Lu’s voice snaps me out of my whirlwind of thoughts.

“Hm? Sorry.”

“Asa wants to check out the pedal boats down by the dock. Want to come?” I haven’t noticed that they all started getting ready to leave the table.

“Yeah, sure.” I grab the margarita, chug the whole thing down at once and join them. From the corner of my eyes I see Lory and Harry, but choose to ignore them as we make our way down to the dock.

***

We watch from the dock as Asa and Ben fight for control in the pedal boat, beer in hand, the water carrying their voice back to us so we can hear them bickering like kids.

“Jade put me in a room with Harry,” I say, legs dangling from the dock, my toes grazing the surface of the water.

“What? Why?”

“Because apparently, there was some kind of plumbing issue in one of the rooms so it can’t be used and the one underneath has damage as well, so she had to rearrange the rooming situation.”

“And out of all the guests, you have to share with Harry, huh?”

“She never gives up,” I sigh.

“Maybe you should talk to her.”

Luelle is the only one who knows about my history with Harry, but not the whole story. She only knows we had a kind of date that night when Jade set us up and I told her things just didn’t work out, leaving out some pretty crucial details, but I just couldn’t get myself to talk it through again. Going through it was enough for me.

“That is not happening on her wedding weekend.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. So then what’s the plan?”

“There’s no plan. We are roommates for the weekend and that’s it. Hopefully the wedding keeps Jade busy enough so that she doesn’t try to play more games with us.”

“I doubt that,” Lu scoffs.

Loki appears between us, poking his nose under our hands, demanding scratches that we gladly give him. A few moments later Jade walks down the dock.

“Is that my fiancé on that pedal boat, without a shirt on?”

We turn towards the water and realize Jade wasn’t hallucinating. Ben is standing on the boat, empty beer glass in his hand and his shirt is floating in the water a few feet away from them while he argues with Asa about something.

“Babe! Is everything alright?” Jade calls out. Ben’s head snaps towards us, holding up his thumb. “Please don’t drown before we get married!”

“Can I drown afterwards?” Ben laughs, sitting back finally, though the boat sways dangerously from the motion and I wonder how much he has drunk before that beer.

“Maybe after the honeymoon! Now come back, your aunt and uncle just arrived!”

The boys unite and slowly head back to the dock. Loki has settled in my lap, enjoying the belly rubs I can give him with my longer nails.

“Am I marrying a child?” Jade questions as she watches Ben fill his empty glass with water from the lake and then throw it at Asa, who in return, smacks him in the head. The two of them grew up like brothers and Asa introduced Jade to Ben in the summer after our first year and uni. They danced around each other for a while. Jade even briefly dated some jock from school before she finally came around and realized Ben is the one for her.

I hear steps on the dock as the boys are only a few feet away. I look up and see Harry approaching, hands in his pockets, the gentle breeze playing with his curls. I can admit that he looks good without having any feelings for him, right? I always found him good looking and that doesn’t change just because of what happened between us.

His gaze catches mine and my hand stops moving on Loki’s belly for a moment, because for a moment I feel like the wall I’ve been building up has just crumbled from just one look. But before my thoughts could get carried away, I hear a big splash from the end of the dock and when my head snaps around I see Ben in the water, the boat rocking quite wildly.

We all gasp at once and Jade is quick to fall to her knees at the end of the dock. There’s a heartbeat when everyone panics, but when Ben comes up to the surface, seemingly unharmed, relief washes over us.

“What happened?” Lu asks Asa, who is still in the boat.

“He said he can just jump over to the dock, but I told him we were too far away.”

“I was feeling hot anyway,” Ben laughs, swimming over to the dock, grabbing the edge right in front of Jade.

“You scared me!” Jade hisses at him, but it’s obvious she is not mad at him.

“I’m sorry baby. Don’t worry, nothing can stop me from marrying you on Saturday.” Ben grins at her, pulling himself up so they can meet for a kiss.

“Okay, swimming lesson is over. Come on, let’s dry you, we have shit to do.”

Jade stands and steps back so he has space to get out of the water, but the dock is just high enough that he can’t pull himself out.

“Here, let me help.” Harry reaches for him, their arms link and he helps the groom out of the lake. When Ben is on his feet he pulls Harry into a hug, completely ignoring that he is fully wet, soaking Harry’s front as well. They pull apart and Harry looks down at himself and I find myself looking as well.

Because the white linen shirt he is wearing is now clinging to his chest, the thin fabric almost fully see-through, sticking to his chest and shoulders in a way that makes my brain short-circuit for a second. I drop my eyes from the sight too late. When I glance back up Harry is looking at me.

He is not smug, not teasing, just… watching, as if he is trying to figure me out.

I turn my attention back to Loki, though I can feel the heat crawling up my neck, to my cheeks. My body is betraying me.

“Let’s get you dry and please try to stay that way.” Jade takes Ben’s hand as they head up the dock, back to the house. Harry stalks after then, Asa jumps out of the boat and starts walking back with Luelle, who glances back at me.

“Coming?”

“Yeah, just a minute.” She nods, probably certain I just want to stay with Loki for a bit, but my intention is to put some distance between me and Harry.

“I’m fucked, right?” I ask Loki, who just gives me a blank look before nudging my hand with his nose to get some head scratches. I obey and my gaze moves to Ben’s shirt in the water as I wonder how I’m gonna survive the weekend.

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