#and it's supposed to storm all fucking week now. ://///

[eraserbread]

i LOVE ex husband gojo with all my heart🤞🏻

pls do one where he catches you still wearing the ring 🙏🙏

oh, it's the perfect day to love ex-husband gojo... ✧

→ f!reader, drinking, smoking, angst, suggestive but sfw

for two people who swear they never want to see each other again, you and satoru do have a funny way of always bumping into each other.

living in different neighborhoods, you still frequent the same stores in his—and vice versa. his friends are your friends, and satoru was your friend before you started dating. a part of you wishes it stayed that way. yes, he was a debilitating flirt who made sure you felt his need, but it was cheeky—fun.

now, you're staring at him half-lidded, barely able to see the glisten in his eye from across the room.

you have to give it to your friends. they definitely tried to keep you two apart, but sometimes, it's impossible. suguru knew the bartender here, but shoko didn't tell you that suguru was the one who invited her out—you should've known.

now you're standing with your back to the wall, fingers squeezing the cup's rim so tight you wouldn't be surprised if it shattered in your grip.

satoru is so fucking tall, towering against the doorway, hidden behind dark glasses. his hair is shorter, all mussed up with delicate precision. half-done button-up shirt, tight pants, glossy shoes—you're gritting your teeth.

"who's dying first: you or suguru?"

shoko's leaned over the marble bar, long hair pulled back in a clip. she's cradling a cigarette between her fingers, exhausted but tipsy enough to hide it over against your wound demeanor.

she reads that ugly look on your face, then turns over her shoulder. you can't believe she laughs when that familiar, lanky body comes into view.

"how was i supposed to know gojo would be here?" she replies unenthusiastically. there's no way satoru didn't notice you two here, but you can tell suguru is trying to keep him at bay—perhaps he didn't even know. actually... scratch that. suguru definitely knew.

and it's such a slap in the face because you were sober. it's been two weeks since you crawled in toru's bed. no contact was going beautifully.

"suguru, then. got it." you deadpan, steely eyes cold and harsh as they bore laser beams into satoru's shadow. he's hunching down, talking to some strange girl with a hand on her shoulder. suguru's laughing next to him, no care in the world.

you swallow down the rest of your bitter drink, gulping it twice to quell the aftershock. then, you slam it down on the bar next to shoko, hands shaking as you storm off to the bathroom.

lucky you—it seems like he didn't even notice you. in the oddly pristine bathroom mirror, you're avoiding your ruffled reflection at all costs, hands wet and shaking as you strain and work at your ring finger, trying to rid the evidence of satoru's ring from your skin.

it wasn't even your size—the ring was his grandmother's—but you loved it. he never asked for it back after signing the marriage away, so you kept it—not as a sign of love, but one of wealth and purity. it's a small, priceless ruby rock blending in with your dark outfit seamlessly.

there's no way you drank enough to be struggling and shaking like you are, but not even wetness from the faucet could make it slide off of your hand. it gets stuck at the worst moment—you feel like you're gonna hyperventilate.

just as you feel the metal start to give, the unmistakable creak of the bathroom door renders you silent and still. you're too on edge to look behind you, shaking like a candle in the wind as it draws shut. the lock clicks.

"crazy running into you here." satoru's voice—the one that haunts your dreams—splashes over your back like ice water. you sputter. "it seems like every time I've seen you since, you've been drunk... or high on something. I don't like it."

"i-i-i'm-i'm not h-high." you stammer, squeezing your eyes shut in meek embarrassment. "you s-should leav-leave."

"well, i locked the door... i'm sure we have a few minutes to ourselves." he coaxes, deep voice sweet and tempting as he gives it to you. you're finally able to look up at the reflection, fire spreading through your veins at the sight of him this close. you can't see his eyes under his dark glasses—thank god.

you hope he didn't notice your shaking hand covering the ring.

"you stopped calling me..." he muses, closing in on you and the water-stained sink. you're starting to sweat with nerves, thighs buzzing in anticipation as his heat grows unbearable. "and showing up. made me worry."

"i can't keep running back to you when I need sex. it's not right."

"but, you know i can give it to you exactly how you need it." he whispers, the front of his toned, hard body pressing against your back. you let your head hang, embarrassed that you aren't pushing him away and running for the hills. no, you relax under his touch. your hands fall.

between the kisses satoru is pressing to your neck, he notices the small shine on your finger. your jewelry reflects the light, and you wear a lot of it. most of the silver bands and diamond bracelets were from him, but that ring on your finger...

he reaches out, snatching your hand in his grip. under his glasses, his eyes are wide and focused, gaze quivering like he's staring at his demise.

you choke in surprise. "what?!" his grip is tight, your fingers flex and strain in his hold, heart falling when you realize what he's fixated on. "l-look, I just had it o-

"why did you start wearing it again?"

it's an odd question, but satoru knows you took it off the day you left him. he kissed it the night prior once you tucked into bed—there's no way he'd miss its return. for some reason, this gets him going. his blood pressure rises. seeing his family ring on your finger felt like a leash and collar keeping you connected forever.

his guts swim.

"i-it matched my nails. stupid, i know-

he shuts you up, bringing your spindly finger to his lips. he stares at the pristine, spotless glimmer against the hue of your skin and the shine of water, and just can't help himself.

he leans in, closing his lips around the ornament like he was trying to suck it off.

you feel so trapped, his free hand is crossing across your tummy, thick forearm flexing as you wiggle. you claw at the meaty flesh on his arm, head falling back into his chest.

you hate how good he feels. you hate the security of his body pressed to yours... you're so ashamed, you wish this ground could open and swallow you whole.

[warningstandbygo]

The great thing about being an Adult is that if you randomly get Extremely Overwhelmed by Existence, no one can stop you from going into your closet in your bedroom with your laptop, changing into a onesie, and sitting in the dark quiet enclosed space all by yourself (even though you're the only one here because your spouse isn't home from work yet).

[sleep-0-deprived]

Yandere male sea nymph x sailor reader drabble~! ૮꒰,,>﹏<,,꒱ა

WC:. 1.8k

Tags: pnp, double penetration, , sea nymphs have two cocks??, filthy smut, dub con, monster slime at as lube, dark themes, anal, mentions of mpreg, monster x human, Amab reader, monster anatomy, bottom male reader, no protection, anal creampies, cw lil blood, belly bulges <333

Taglist: @miyaisastar @asher-is-hotxp @silvern1006 @unstab1eperson2 @yyuinaa @dewday1 @blond3ang3l @creepy141dollie @m4r13ll @ihavezeropancreas @sooobiinn @just-ignore-them @fuckingmxonlight @nightwinglover101 @chasingknives @littlelilithsposts @gayaristocrat @whatupbishs

A/N: M’ sorry if my descriptions of tha monster aren’t accurate, S’ all jus m’ personal thoughts ! ( ≧ᗜ≦)

The feeling of cold water rushes your body all at once- the sea swallowing you up whole along with your ship, your arms reach up trying to make it to the top gasping out in desperate strides feeling the cold liquid fill your lungs when another wave crashes over you bringing you back to square one in the endless fight— this storm wasn’t supposed to come for another week.

You were supposed to have had time to make up enough money to live to last the durations of the storm but it didn’t work out that way seemingly. The sound of a calling filled your ears, it rang loud almost like a high pitch melody of wave splashing over each-other while it rained, the only thing to be seen was a old lighthouse giving light in the distance, you tried to swim closer fighting the tides.

The lighthouse shines light onto the water showing a cove off to the other side. You had no choice but to try to reach it for shelter from the storms before you got drowned and your muscles gave way to the force of the water. The light becomes more distant the further you make it towards the cove, it was dark and wet with the rocks being jagged in places but atleast you were standing on something solid that gave a reminder of the land you were very much missing right now.

“Such a pretty little thing you are”

As soon as you hear a voice your body goes stiff feeling all the blood in your veins just stop pumping, you look around quickly seeing a figure lurking in the darkness of the cove. A strange allure washed over you almost as if the monsters green eyes were calling out to you for you to come towards it?..why were you giving in- before you could think your legs took long strides forwards walking towards the nymph in a trance.

“What are you?”

“I am a creature of the waters, a nymph...I’ve seen you since you set sail on these waters whatever it takes to get you I would’ve- even if I had to rid of you of those wretched men”

“You had something to do with this- my crew is lost because of this”

“I am no god boy, but I do have enough strength to conjure up a storm, whatever I must do to catch you”

The words fell from the creatures lips like venom, his skin was cold to the touch with scales up his arms his face went unseen in the dark but his eyes were always felt he pushed you up against the wall of the wet cove leaving you nothing to grab or hold for comfort, he pressed his mouth to the side of your neck pulling your tunic down enough to expose the s/c flesh.

“You’re mine now- I don’t plan to ever let you escape me”

You felt sharp shark like teeth start to dig into you bringing a trickle of blood that spread across the wet fabric of your shirt. His hands held your hips pulling you back to him holding you against him with no chance of escaping.

The feeling of two lumps pressed to your ass was clear but you were too lost in the hot feeling in your neck, it was painful and rough but it brought pleasure too, his snake like tongue licked over the bite mark licking up the blood like it was ambrosia.

“You’re the sweetest thing to grace my tongue boy”

“Fuck-“

You hiss feeling one of his webbed hands slide down from your hip into your pants grabbing your soft cock and gripping it firm while he kisses your bruised and bitten neck. You buck your hips back into him pressing your ass up against the creature like a needy whore when your body gets forcefully aroused, you couldn’t help it even if it wasn’t in your wants your body reacted- your hormones were high and your body needed this.

You couldn’t even remember when the last time you had been properly fucked was, being out at sea never left the time for sex to be In your life. The sea monsters touches had you feeling like some horny teen all over again when you felt his nail poke at the tender tip of your cock earning a loud hiss to leave your lips. Whatever the two bulges were you rubbed your ass all over them creating friction between the sea nymphs groin and your pants.

“You want it so fucking bad don’t you, don’t even know my face an you already want my cocks”

“Cocks..?”

You could practically feel the grin your confused question got out of him, the kisses and licks on your neck halted but the touches your cock was receiving didn’t, in a moment of desperation you dig your nails into the stone wall of the cove and close your eyes meekly.

“You’ve never been mated by a sea creature, normally we don’t fuck humans but you’re the exception”

His hand slipped off your cock leaving you all stiff and disappointed at the loss of touch, his hands pull your pants down letting them fall around your ankles while he guides you pressing you down bending you over a rock with your cock bobbing between your thighs, then you feel them.

One slimy cock pressed between your cheeks and another between your thighs, you felt glad it was pitch because your mouth was watering at the thought of having them both stuffing you so full! Your rim puckered up like a rose bud expanding and opening again.

One of the monsters hands reaches down pressing between your shoulder blades forcing you to be pressed flat down against the rock all defenseless while the slickness tip of his first cock prods its way past your gummy walls making you cry out in pain and pleasure, you felt so full and on fire all at once arching your back deep.

“You’re as tight as a virgin aren’t you”

He coos out while you try to adjust to the size not being given any time before the sea monster starts fucking into you with his other cock slapping all hard against your thigh dripping precum and slime all over the floor of the cove, your walls open up wide accepting the cock that was being forced inside rubbing every ridge of your cavern, he was exploring you and groaning. The hand on your back sliding down back to your hip to hold it.

“O-h- hm so big~”

You can practically feel your stomach expand when you take his cock getting pulled back and fucked into it, you start rolling your hips giving a little wiggle to your ass trying to get him to fuck you harder while you pout and let your eyes rock back into your head. The sounds of waves from the outside becomes background noise compared to the moans that rolled off your tongue, you were splaying yourself in a wanton way on his dick.

“Don’t start acting like a girl in a pleasure house on me here- you’re a sailor act like one”

The words fall from his lips cooing and cunning leaving down with his hot breath on your neck pounding away at your insides having your hole stretched now taking him with ease. Your cock was painfully hard and untouched and you wanted to whine and complain of it but you felt his hand slipping down to his second cock pushing it against your pucker.

“T’mush- t’mush it huurts-!”

“Shh you can take it, I know you can”

Your mind becomes mush feeling your body taking more than it ever has before making your legs go like jello, if it wasn’t for the rock you were in top you would’ve fallen to the ground from how weak you felt. Once both cocks make their way inside you, the bulge in your stomach was unnatural almost looking knocked up with the monsters slime being used as lube dripping down your thighs on your balls all messy getting on the floor of the cove while his hand finally works its way to your cock pressing his chest to your back making out with your neck.

“Your hole is so greedy, you think it wants a baby. Is that what it is, do you need a few eggs inside you?”

“Close- so close”

You do your best to muster up coherent words feeling weak ready to cum at any moment, the two cocks split you open leaving you with a sense of knowing that you’ll never feel as stuffed in another man’s cock as you feel with his.

“You can cum all you want but I’m not stopping until I finish”

The sea creatures words make you pout a little leaking like a faucet in his hand with your neck drenched in his saliva having York prostate rammed and nailed into harshly making you jolt forward each time you feel him. Your rim starts burning again from being spread for so long but the pleasure is so high you can’t seem to care about the pain- the only thing in your mind anymore is orgasming.

He knew you were close when your walls clenched up tight and started spamming, shortly after hot ropes spurt from your tip making a mess on the rock. The thrusts continued in sync with his strokes, the nymph milked your cock like a milk cow getting the last drops out of you leaving your cock used up and tender twitching warmly in his palm.

“Gods, just look at the way you’re swallowing me boy, you’re hole is so greedy for dick”

You feel the vibrations of his groan against your neck. The way the veins on his cocks start to rub against your insides more harshly fucking you like he needs it, you can tell he’s on the verge and you can’t bring yourself to mind the thought..if he’s a monster then is his seed potent enough to give you a baby?..do you want to have his baby?

Your thoughts are cut short by the feeling of his first cock pressing to your prostate flooding you with thick ropes like he was trying to stuff a womb, his hips stutter pressing flushed against your ass holding still before his other cock starts shooting cum inside you bloating you up from the seed stuffing you.

Your insides overflow feeling cum dripping out of your ass down your thighs mixing in with his slime making a mess but his hands hold your waist letting your cock go as he presses as close as he can and continues humping his cum inside you.

You feel the cocks inside you twitching— they were already hard again and ready for the next round, you don’t know if you can take it you’re already so fucked out with your eyes glossed over, your hole so wrecked it can’t clench properly.

“You can take it, I’ve been waiting so long for you I can’t even help it mortal”

His voice sounded feral, you knew you weren’t going to find a way out of this one.

[geminiwritten]

all yours ; tyler owens

fandom: twisters

pairing: tyler x reader

summary: after being best friends and chasing storms with tyler for years, one night changes everything... now you're staring at a pregnancy test with two pink lines—and just as you're working up the nerve to tell him, tyler announces to the world that he never wants to settle down or have kids

notes: i'm sorry? i want to say i have no words but apparently... i have nearly 15k of them right here!!! i don't know who this is for, i lowkey feel like it will flop because it's long and angsty, but please let me know what you think if you read this!!! i've been working on it on and off for a while, so i am very glad to finally get it posted!

warnings: swearing, angst (but happy ending), pregnancy, a lot of crying, very brief mention of abortion, very brief discussion about the possibility of losing the baby, talk about sex (18+ ONLY PLEASE), a bit of horniness, and just a lot of emotions!!! (please let me know if i missed anything)

disclaimer: i am not pregnant and have never been pregnant. all this information comes from quick google searches, and things i've read in books. so i'm very if it's wrong or dumb. please don't come for me!

word count: 14818

You’ve known Tyler Owens since you were ten. 

You’ve been chasing storms with him for nine years, and hopelessly in love with him for eight. 

You’ve laughed as he lost seven cowboy hats to tornados, and helped him replace six shattered windshields. 

You’ve loved him through five of his lousy girlfriends and four of your own doomed boyfriends. 

You’ve tried—and failed—to tell him how you feel three times. 

You’ve kissed him twice. 

And you’ve slept with him once. 

Once. Exactly three weeks ago. 

You were both drunk—though you were probably pretending to be more gone than you really were—and lonely. Sure, you’d kissed before that night—once, years ago, on a dare. But that night, the second kiss happened as you stepped out of the bar. It was misting lightly, streetlights casting a glow, and Tyler looked so damn good as he—drunkenly—told you that you looked beautiful. How were you supposed to resist that? 

Back at the motel, you tried to go your separate ways. You even made it to your room alone. You were just about to reach for your vibrator, hoping to ease the ache low in your belly, when there was a knock at the door. 

You knew who it was before you even opened it. 

Tyler. 

You let him in—because of course you did—and he was on you in seconds. There was no way you were going to push him off. You’ve been in love with him for the better part of a decade. 

It was hot and desperate. All teeth and tongue, and handprints seared into your skin—ones you know you’ll never forget the feeling of. You were both so fucking wrecked there was no stopping it. 

Not even when the condom obviously broke while he was putting it on. 

Not even when something deep in your chest told you this was a bad idea. 

But now? Three weeks later—you wish you’d had more restraint. 

Sure, it was awkward the next morning—after Tyler snuck out of your room at three a.m., thinking you hadn’t noticed. It stayed awkward for about a week, with neither of you daring to talk about it. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t bring it up. It was obviously just one night for him. Maybe he was just curious. You’ve been friends for so long. A lot of friends have slept together at least once… right? 

But even in that painfully awkward week of trying to relearn how to be friends, you couldn’t quite regret it. 

Because eventually, he cracked a joke. Then you said something sarcastic. And although there was still a hint of something more simmering under the surface, things almost felt normal again. 

Almost. 

It’s only now that you regret it—everything. 

Right now, as you stare at the two pink lines on the stick beside the sink, your vision blurred with tears, and your stomach roiling with nausea. 

The harsh crack of knuckles against the bathroom door startles you, sending your heart leaping into your throat. 

“You alright in there?” Lily calls through the wood. “It’s been like ten minutes—I’m getting worried. Do I need to break down the door?” 

You swallow the lump in your throat, willing your voice to come out steady. “Y-Yeah, I’m all good.” 

There’s a beat of silence before Lily speaks again, her voice lower this time. “Are you sure? You don’t sound good.” 

You shake your head and hastily wipe the wetness from your cheeks. Then you snap a photo of the pregnancy test before tossing it into the trash—this is just a gas station bathroom. No one’s tracing that stick back to you unless they run a DNA test, and that’s not likely. 

It’s not like you plan on going missing. Just… away. For a while. 

You splash your face with cool water and stare at your reflection in the mirror until you’re convinced you look close enough to normal. Then you square your shoulders, take a deep breath, and open the bathroom door. 

It’s only Lily waiting there—thank God—but she’s already watching you with sharp, perceptive eyes. 

“You good?” 

You nod once, forcing a smile. “Never better. Sorry. Lady stuff.” 

Technically not a lie. Still, you cringe at the way it comes out. You’re not someone who shies away from saying things plainly—especially not something as basic as a damn period. 

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t push. 

“Alright. Let’s get going. Tyler said we’re only twenty minutes out from a decent-sized town. Should be able to find good food and a motel where we don’t have to share rooms.” 

You nod again, not trusting yourself to laugh or offer a sarcastic remark. You just walk past her, the fake smile still fixed to your face, and head for the door. 

Twenty minutes later, you’re climbing out of the RV in a motel parking lot. Tyler’s truck is parked beside the reception office, his hat on the dashboard and Boone waiting in the front seat. Dani and Dexter walk ahead of you, muttering about something they saw pop up on the radar earlier, and Lily is rummaging around in the back seat of Tyler’s truck—her butt sticking out the passenger door—looking for the headphones she lost yesterday. 

Your heart aches at the thought of leaving, throbbing dully behind your sternum. You’re not sure if the nausea swirling in your gut is from the idea of walking away from your friends—your family—or because of your newly discovered… condition. Either way, you feel sick. And you need space. Time to think. To breathe. 

Once everyone has a room, you lug your few belongings up to the second floor and collapse onto the bed. You text Lily, telling her you feel sick sick—period pains—and that you’re going to skip dinner. You ask her to tell the others for you, because you can’t stomach lying to their faces. 

You spend the next few hours on your laptop, reading everything you can about pregnancy. You scroll through pages about what happens to your body, how your life is going to change. You read about complications, risks, even abortion. 

It’s strange, really. You’ve always been practical, logical. And this doesn’t seem like the practical choice. But you knew the second you saw those two lines that you were going to keep it. 

Call it maternal instinct. Or just plain insanity. Either way, your mind is made up. 

Now you just need a plan. 

Most people don’t announce their pregnancy until twelve weeks—you know that much—so you’re giving yourself twelve weeks to sort your shit out. 

First, you need to leave. You’ll make up some excuse about a sick family member and tell the crew your mom needs you immediately. Tyler will try to come with you—call it a detour or a bonus road trip—so you’ll have to convince him your mom only wants to see you. No one else. 

Then you’ll leave for... an indefinite stretch. You’re not going straight to your mom’s. You’ll hole up in a hotel halfway home, see a doctor, get the blood tests, the shots, the supplements—all the crap you’re supposed to do. 

Once your head is on straighter and you’ve got a handle on things, you’ll start looking for an apartment. Something short-term, just in case… well, in case you lose the baby. At least then you’ll have somewhere to crash and recover before deciding what comes next. It feels morbid, sure, but you’re not a total daydreamer. Life can be brutal, and you know better than to think you’ll be spared. 

But assuming things go well—assuming you hit that twelve-week mark after moving in—that’s when you’ll start telling people. You’ll tell your mom first, maybe find a therapist and tell them too. And then... Tyler. 

The moment his name crosses your mind, your body reacts. You jump up from the motel bed and stumble into the tiny bathroom, hunching over the toilet and gagging like you’re going to throw up. But nothing comes up—your stomach is empty. You know this isn’t the pregnancy making you sick. It’s the thought of telling him. 

It feels cruel, waiting three whole months before telling the father. But you can’t bring yourself to do it any sooner. You know this isn’t what Tyler wants. Especially not with you. What happened between you was a one-time thing—a fun night, a way to blow off steam. It wasn’t meant to change everything. 

So you’ll wait. Make sure it’s real. Make sure it’s sticking. Plain and simple. Harsh? Maybe. But you need time to figure yourself out before dropping a bomb on him. And by the time you do, it’ll be six months to impact. Give or take. 

You have no idea how he’ll react, but you know it won’t be like one of those social media videos where the dad cries and jumps for joy. No—this will be very different. Which is exactly why you’re not telling him for at least a month or two. You’ll figure out exactly how far along you are once you see a doctor. 

You take a deep breath and snap your laptop shut. Time to get some sleep. You’ve got a full day of driving tomorrow, and you’re going to need the energy. 

- 

“What?” Tyler drops his bacon back onto the plate, staring at you wide-eyed across the diner table. “If you’re going home, then we’re all-” 

“No, Tyler,” you interrupt, sighing as you stare down at the table. You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. “She said just me. I know you want to help, but I don’t know how long I’ll have to stay. I’ll call as soon as I get there and keep you updated. I just—she sounded really fragile, alright? I don’t want to overwhelm her.” 

It doesn’t feel like that much of a lie. You’re not talking about your mom—you’re talking about yourself. At least, that’s how you justify it to your guilty conscience. 

“You sure?” Lily asks, leaning forward beside Tyler. “We don’t have to go see her. We can just come to town, hang out nearby. We don’t mind staying a week or so.” 

You take a deep breath, eyes locked on your untouched plate of plain toast and fried eggs. “It might not be a week,” you say, bracing yourself. “It could be a couple of months.” 

“Months?” Dani echoes, her coffee cup clattering against the table. 

Tyler looks stunned, frozen in place. His expression is unreadable—shock, maybe disbelief, etched into every line of his face. His lips are slightly parted—lips you haven’t stopped thinking about, hot on your skin—and his brows pinch together. His cheeks are flushed, but not with embarrassment. He looks... unsure. Concerned. 

“What are we going to do without you for a couple months?” Lily asks, her eyes wide. 

You wave a hand, trying to sound nonchalant. “You’ll be fine. I’ll only be a phone call away. If I can come back earlier, I will. But right now, I really need to be there for... for my mom.” 

God, you’re a terrible liar this morning. 

“When do you need to leave?” Tyler asks, his voice low and flat. 

You swallow hard, still staring at your toast. “Today.” 

A wave of protests, questions, and complaints breaks out—everyone but Tyler. He stays silent, still watching you like he’s trying to piece something together. Like you’re a puzzle he didn’t realise needed solving. 

He looks at you like he sees straight through the lie. His green eyes don’t blink, and it makes your stomach churn. 

For the next half hour, you lie and deflect as best you can. You keep your head down, your answers short. No promises, no explanations. Breakfast turns into a full-blown protest, your friends more upset than you expected by your sudden departure. But no matter how hard they try, nothing could convince you to stay. 

You can’t. 

Back at the motel, you pack your things. You’d already asked Dexter to drive you to the nearest car rental place—he grumbled but agreed. Now comes the part you’re dreading. 

The goodbyes. 

To them, this is temporary—a month or two, maybe. But you know better. This is something else. Something longer. More permanent. 

Moisture stings your eyes as you zip your duffel shut. Your nose burns, and this time, you don’t stop the tears from falling. 

“Hey,” Tyler’s voice startles you, and you realize in your rush to get into the room, you hadn’t fully shut the door. 

You sniff and wipe your cheeks, keeping your back to him. “Hey.” You clear your throat. “What’s up?” 

He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You’re seriously asking me that?” 

You don’t respond. You just keep your head down and continue stuffing the last of your things into your backpack. 

He sighs as the door clicks shut behind him. A few steps bring him closer, and you can almost feel his warmth hovering just a few feet behind you. 

“Look,” he says gently, “I’m not going to press you about what’s really going on. But it’s obvious something’s got you rattled. I just want you to know that I’m here for you. We all are. Whatever it is.” 

You close your eyes, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. 

“I’m worried,” he continues. “This isn’t you. Cutting and running like this? I know you. I know your family. This is something else. And I’m really damn worried.” 

“It’s fine, Ty,” you say, your voice catching in your throat, the words barely a whisper. 

“No, it’s not.” He steps closer, and now his warmth is unmistakable—his presence pressing in, impossible to ignore. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but I need you to promise me you’ll be okay. That you’ll come back.” 

You drop the sweater you’ve been folding and refolding, letting it fall from your hands. He reaches out, his fingers wrapping gently around your bicep, coaxing you to turn toward him. Then he lifts your chin with one curled finger, forcing you to meet his eyes. 

You can barely make out his face through the tears—hot and heavy, falling faster than you can blink them away. 

His voice cracks. “It’s not the same out there without you. You know that.” 

A sob breaks from your chest, and you fall forward. He catches you easily, arms strong and sure around your trembling frame. Pressed against him, for a moment it all feels like it might be okay. Like maybe this whole life-altering thing won’t change everything after all. Tyler makes you feel like you can handle anything. Like you’re more than human. Invincible, even. 

Maybe that’s why you fell in love with him in the first place. 

But you can’t stay in his arms forever. You’re not even sure he’d be holding you if he knew the truth—if he knew you were the one holding the pin to the grenade that could blow his whole life to pieces. 

“You’re scaring the shit out of me, darlin’,” he whispers into your hair. 

You sniffle against his shirt, steadying your voice. “I’m okay. It’s okay.” 

He slowly lets you go, giving you space to stand on your own again. 

“I promise you’ll see me again,” you say, trying to sound certain. “I promise I’ll be back once everything’s... sorted.” 

His brows draw together like he wants to believe you but can’t quite manage it. Still, he nods, swallowing whatever emotion is caught in his throat. Then he pulls you into one last hug, holding you tighter than before, like he’s afraid to let go. 

You inhale deeply—maybe too deeply—committing his scent to memory, as if you hadn’t already. You memorise the way he holds you, the way your bodies fit together, and the quick, steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. 

You know you’ll see Tyler again. One way or another. 

But it won’t be the same. Nothing is the same anymore. 

- 

“You’re both doing really well,” the doctor says, eyes scanning the computer screen. “Your baby is perfectly healthy, and everything about you is exactly where it should be for fourteen weeks.” 

You nod and give her a tight-lipped smile, gripping the ultrasound picture like a lifeline. 

“And the bump isn’t... too big?” you ask, trying not to sound completely clueless. 

The doctor smiles warmly. “It’s perfect,” she assures you. “You’re showing a little more than some women might at this stage, but everyone’s different.” 

You nod again. “Okay, good.” 

“Any other concerns?” she asks after a moment. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Good.” She pushes up from her chair and heads for the door. “I’ll see you in four weeks.” 

You smile and nod once more. “Thanks, doctor.” 

“No worries. And—” she pauses, brows pulling together slightly. “You know you can bring the father to these appointments, right? Regardless of your relationship, he’s welcome. It might help ease some of the anxiety.” 

You blink quickly at the sudden sting in your eyes—fucking hormones—and offer a watery smile. “Thanks. I’ll... talk to him.” 

She gives you one last kind smile before shutting the door, leaving you alone in the pale-yellow hallway with nothing but spiralling thoughts. 

Okay, so you haven’t told Tyler... yet. But you plan to. As soon as you stop crying at everything and start acting like a functional adult. These hormones have wrecked you—just like the internet said they would. 

One minute, you’re sobbing over nothing. The next, you’re halfway to committing a felony. And then suddenly, you’re numb. Emotionally whiplashed. And the thought of telling Tyler—of seeing him again—drags every human emotion you have straight to the surface. 

You’ve talked to him a few times. The rest of the crew, too. You’ve spun some lies and danced around their questions. You spoke to your mom and made her promise to keep your secret—because you know Tyler’s tried calling her since you left. But you haven’t yet mustered the courage to tell anyone else. 

It’s been exactly eight weeks since you left. You're running on borrowed time. You know they’ll come looking soon, and you can’t let that happen. You need to go to them. To Tyler. You need to tell him the truth—your way—before it all blows up. 

But first... you need a really big bowl of croutons. Just croutons. And if you don’t get them soon, you’re going to kill someone. 

Pregnancy is wild. 

A few hours later, you’re back in your studio apartment, curled up on the lounge you bought last week, your laptop propped on your belly and a second bowl of croutons at your side. Your résumé is open, and you’re tweaking it for a few job applications—hoping to land something at a desk for at least a few months. You could use the extra money. 

On the small TV across the room—still sitting on the floor because you don’t have a table yet—YouTube is playing. More specifically, the live stream of a storm chaser you used to know. Someone who follows storms and interviews other chasers. Her name is Corey—you’ve met her a few times, but she’s never interviewed you. She’s always wanted Tyler, though. Everyone does. The man has... an effect on people. 

Today’s the day, apparently. She finally convinced him to do an interview. And to say you’re jealous of how close she’s standing to him would be a laughable understatement. 

Think pregnancy crying is bad? Try the horniness. 

Ugh. 

You can barely glance at a photo of Tyler without creaming your jeans. Just thinking about him twists your stomach into a knot—equal parts guilt and raw, desperate lust. You’ve thought about him way more than you should while touching yourself, and honestly? You don’t even care. 

You’re not sure if it’s because he’s the father of the baby growing inside you or just because you’ve been in love with him for years. Either way, everything is louder now. Sharper. Half the reason you haven’t seen him again is because you’re not entirely sure you could stop yourself from tearing him apart—devouring him the second he’s in front of you. 

“Fuck,” you sigh out loud, feeling that familiar ache low in your belly. 

You need to calm down. 

You shift your focus back to the Word doc on your laptop, trying to let Corey’s high-pitched voice blur into the background as she asks Tyler about the storm they just chased. It’s hard though—because then he speaks. And the second he does, his voice draws your attention like a magnet, sending shivers racing down your spine. 

You’d think after all these years of friendship, you’d be used to him by now. 

“So, Tyler,” Corey says, her bright blue eyes sparkling above a megawatt smile, “now that we’ve completely and totally hashed out that EF2, I think it’s time to move on to some live questions. Mind answering a few from the fans?” 

Tyler nods, the usual charming smirk tugging at his lips. “Bring it on.” 

“Amazing.” Corey flips her auburn hair over her shoulder and holds up her phone. “First question: which tornado wrangler would be most likely to survive a horror movie?” 

Tyler chuckles—low and rich, the kind of sound that somehow wraps around you even through the TV speakers. “Definitely Boone, but not because he’s outsmarted anyone. Just pure dumb luck.” 

Corey giggles, and the sound literally makes you gag. Because pregnancy nausea? Not just limited to tastes and smells. Nope—it’s upgraded to all five senses. 

“Okay, next up,” she says, eyes dropping to her phone screen. “What’s your go-to road trip snack?” 

Tyler starts rubbing his hands together as he answers, but you don’t register the words. You already know his favourite snacks. You’ve been buying them for him for years. Instead, you find yourself watching his hands—his long fingers, the way he laces them together in front of his body. Those fingers you know can find magic inside you. 

Your pulse thrums in your ears—and between your legs. Hot and heavy, making your breath catch in your throat. 

Corey’s pitchy laugh pulls you back. “Noted. I’ll be sure to bring sour worms to our next interview,” she says with a wink. 

Tyler laughs politely and pretends to adjust his belt—something you know he only does when he’s uncomfortable. 

Sucked in, Corey. He doesn’t like you. 

“Alright, I’ve got a slightly more serious one,” she says, tone shifting as she angles herself toward him. “This one’s come in from quite a few people, so I can’t not ask it.” 

Tyler’s brows furrow and he nods once. 

“Obviously, the Tornado Wranglers have welcomed two new members recently—Kate and Javi,” she says, referring to the two you met via video call a couple weeks ago. “But fans have also noticed the absence of one particular chaser. Your partner in crime…” she pauses for dramatic effect. “Will she be back?” 

Your heart crawls into your throat. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes—so routine by now, you don’t even bother blinking them back. 

Tyler shifts uncomfortably and glances at the ground. Then he mutters something the mic doesn’t quite catch. His shoulders go rigid, his jaw clenched as he struggles to find an answer. 

It makes your chest ache. 

“Well—uh,” he clears his throat, “we don’t usually get into personal stuff. We try to keep things focused on the storms. But, um...” His eyes are everywhere but the camera. “We all have personal lives, and sometimes things come up. Unexpected things. But in short… yes. She’ll be back. We’re not sure when, but she will be.” 

The confidence in his voice rips a sob from your chest. You push your laptop off your stomach and sit up, arms wrapping protectively around the little bump low in your belly. To say you feel guilty about this whole thing is a gross understatement. You feel wretched. Each day you wake up knowing you’ll find another excuse not to call Tyler, and each day you inch closer to hating yourself for it. 

You need to stop being such a coward and just do it. He has every right to know what’s going on—not just because he’s the father, but because he’s your best friend. These last two months have been the longest you’ve ever gone without seeing him since you joined the chasers nearly a decade ago. And the distance—physical and emotional—is chipping away at both of you. 

You swipe the sleeve of your sweatshirt across your eyes and reach for your phone. Opening your chat with Tyler, you scroll through the brief exchange from a couple days ago about an EF3 they’d been chasing. You start typing a message—trying to ask when you can see him without sounding too obvious. 

But then Corey’s voice cuts through the room, snagging your attention again. “So, the fans want to know,” she says, “what’s next? What comes after storm chasing? Do you see yourself going back to school to become a qualified meteorologist—or maybe settling down? Starting a family?” 

Your breath catches in your throat. Your chest tightening until your lungs ache. 

Tyler scoffs. “There’s an after chasing?” he says, the words stabbing into you like pins into a voodoo doll. “Chasing is it for me. I’ve worked too hard to get here, doing what I love. Nothing’s going to stop me—at least not until I’m too old to drive my truck. And even then,” he laughs, “I’ll find someone else to drive me into the eye of the storm.” 

Corey giggles and tips her head, teasing. “So no dreams of settling down? No wife and kids someday?” 

Your heart slams against your ribs. Heat and nausea roll over you in waves. 

“No,” Tyler says. “I just don’t see that for myself. Nothing feels as important to me as this—the storms, the research. Especially now, with Kate—she’s incredible—and Javi on the team, we’re doing real work in the name of science. I never want to stop. A family just doesn’t fit into that. It’s not what I want.” 

The words hit like a gut punch, knocking the breath clean out of you. 

“That’s not to say I won’t have a wife one day,” he adds. “If I find someone who loves this as much as I do, then maybe. But kids? No. I know myself too well—I’d resent anyone who took me away from what I really love. Which is chasing.” 

You bolt from the couch and rush into the bathroom, dropping to your knees in front of the toilet just in time to hurl up an unsettling amount of croutons. Tears blur your vision, and all you can hear is the pounding of your own pulse in your ears—and Tyler’s voice echoing in your head. 

It’s not what I want. 

- 

Your hands shake as you slide the mouse across the screen, clicking the answer button on the Skype call request. When Lily’s grinning face pops up—just Lily—you let out a sigh of relief. 

“Oh my goodness, hi,” she says, leaning toward the camera. “You look... different. Like, good, but different. How do you look different from last week?” 

You let out a soft laugh and roll your eyes, one arm resting on the kitchen counter where the laptop is propped, the other hung protectively across your stomach below the counter. You’re perched on the single barstool you picked up from a second-hand store last weekend, specifically for your weekly video calls with Lily. The couch wasn’t cutting it anymore, and you can’t exactly lie on your belly on the bed these days. 

“Maybe I’ve been abducted by aliens and what you’re seeing now is just a bad clone,” you tease, deflecting. 

She snorts. “Well, that would make sense, since that’s the only thing I can think of that would keep the girl I know away from chasing. Like, seriously. It’s been three months. Please tell me you’re coming back soon.” 

You sigh, eyes darting to the notepad where you’ve scribbled your pre-planned excuses—not trusting yourself to think clearly on the fly. 

“I’m sorry, Lils. I thought I’d be back by now too, but with everything going on with the family—it’s just been so stressful. And... I went to the doctor the other day. They think I could have a stress-induced stomach ulcer. I’m on meds, and I feel okay, but it needs to be monitored.” 

Until you give birth to it… 

Lily’s brow creases. “What? Seriously?” 

You nod slowly, avoiding her big brown eyes on the screen. “Yeah, but it’s okay. It’s not too serious—it’s manageable. I just need to, uh... stay here and keep things steady for a while.” 

“Can we visit, then?” she asks. “Everyone misses you so much.” 

“And I miss you guys too,” you say quickly. “But don’t come all this way for me. Keep chasing—it’s the season. Besides, it’s kind of boring over here. I’m just resting and helping out with family stuff. If you could actually help, I’d say get over here, but there’s really nothing to do except mope around.” 

She nods slowly, still looking a little unconvinced, but mostly reassured. 

“Besides, I need you to keep sending me updates so I can live vicariously,” you add, trying to lift the mood. “How was yesterday’s chase?” 

Her face lights up, and she launches into a detailed rundown of what they got up to. You try to stay focused, to really listen, but she keeps mentioning Kate’s name beside Tyler’s, and your thoughts start spiralling. 

You’ve met Kate and Javi—the new wranglers—a couple of times now via video call. They seem lovely and super smart. You hadn’t thought much of it. Until last night. 

You’d stupidly decided to watch one of Boone’s Instagram live videos—one where he and Tyler recapped the day over beers in a motel parking lot. You thought it might help ease the ache in your chest from missing them, but instead it twisted something sharp and jealous low in your gut. 

Kate had been there too, sitting beside Tyler, who wore a dopey grin and kept glancing at her like she was magnetic. They were clearly comfortable with each other—she even rested her hand on his knee once or twice as she answered some of Boone’s questions about the science side of things. Tyler didn’t adjust his belt. He didn’t shift awkwardly or look away. 

He looked at her like she belonged there. 

The jealousy that coursed through you had been instant and overwhelming. You’ve dealt with your fair share of Tyler’s girlfriends and hookups, but you’ve never seen him look at someone like that. Never once worried that maybe he’d find someone who didn’t just make him forget you—but replace you entirely. 

It’s your biggest insecurity, one you hate even admitting to yourself... Tyler doesn’t need you as much as you need him. 

“But anyway,” Lily says, her voice dragging you back to reality, “we were thinking of taking a break for a week or so. Maybe head somewhere quiet, less full of chasers. I think Tyler needs it—he’s been super stressed lately.” 

“At least he has Kate,” you say before you can stop yourself. “I—I mean, she sounds really great and helpful. Just what Tyler needs.” 

Lily’s eyes narrow. “Yeah... she’s cool, but...” She tips her head and sighs. “You know he misses you like crazy? I’m pretty sure he’s not sleeping, and he’s always talking about coming to find you. I don’t know how much longer we’re going to be able to keep him at bay.” 

You roll your eyes, trying to sound casual while swallowing down another wave of emotion. “I’m sure Tyler’s doing just fine. He always said I was a liability, so technically he should be way less stressed without me around.” 

She gives you a flat, unimpressed look. “You better be joking, because I’ve never seen Tyler this wound up before.” 

A flicker of hope sparks in your chest—small and fragile, but impossible to ignore. Maybe... just maybe... this whole fucked-up situation is still salvageable. 

“Speak of the devil,” Lily says before you can respond. 

You watch as she shuffles off the motel bed she’d been lying on and disappears out of frame. Your pulse quickens at the sound of a deep, muffled voice and approaching footsteps. For a split second, you consider ending the call—blaming it on bad reception or something—but it’s already too late. 

The video shakes as Lily picks up her laptop and spins it toward Tyler. “Look who it is!” she announces. 

He looks pale, the lines in his face more defined than you remember, but his eyes still sparkle the same. “Hey,” he says, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “You look... different.” 

You blink quickly to stop the moisture welling in your eyes—internally cursing the hormones, even though you know they’re not the only ones to blame. 

You haven’t actually spoken to Tyler in almost two weeks. You mostly text, dodge his calls with excuses, and only agree to video chats with Lily or Dani. Tyler knows you too well—and you’re starting to look different. He’ll know something is off. 

“She’s sick,” Lily says before you can answer. 

“Sick?” Tyler repeats, his smile fading. “Sick how?” 

You shake your head, swallowing hard against the emotion rising in your throat. “I’m fine, really. Might be a stomach ulcer, but it’s mild and I’m already on meds. I just need a bit of rest.” 

“We can come visit,” Tyler offers quickly, his green eyes full of concern that makes your stomach turn. “We were planning to take some time off soon, and we could-” 

“No,” you cut in, your voice cracking. “Seriously, don’t. I’m okay. And there’s still stuff going on with the family. I just told Lily—if there were anything you could do, I’d say come help. But there’s not.” 

He opens his mouth, ready to argue, then hesitates. His eyes flick across the screen, studying your face, your posture, the way you’re nervously chewing your lip. He’s probably already clocked that the background behind you isn’t your mom’s house. 

“Don’t worry, Tyler,” Lily says with a smile, trying to ease the tension. “She’ll be back soon. She can’t stay away much longer—the chase is calling.” She looks at you with a playful grin. “Or we’ll come kidnap you.” 

You let out a shaky laugh. “I know you will.” 

“How’s your mom?” Tyler asks suddenly, leaning closer to the camera. 

Yeah. He’s definitely trying to figure out where you are. He’s been in every room of your mom’s place—he knows this background doesn’t match. 

“She’s alright,” you say, shifting closer to the laptop to fill more of the frame. “Still a little fragile, so it’s good I’m here. But she’s doing well.” 

He opens his mouth again, eyes narrowing slightly—keen and searching. 

“Anyway,” you cut in quickly, “I should go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” 

Lily nods, oblivious to Tyler’s suspicion. “Love you,” she says. 

“Love you too, Lils,” you reply, before your gaze flicks toward Tyler’s frowning face. “You too, Ty. Stay safe out there.” 

Then you move the mouse and hit the red button, sighing out a breath of relief as the call drops. 

- 

The next four weeks are brutal—worse than the twelve before them combined. You’re creeping up on the six-month mark, which means the third trimester isn’t far off. Your belly has officially popped—there’s no hiding it now unless you borrow your mom’s retro maternity parka—and you’re out of breath more often than not. All you want to do is sleep, eat, and cry over the fact that your closest grocery store just stopped stocking your favourite juice flavour. 

But that’s not the hardest part. 

The hardest part is Tyler—he’s relentless, and you’re pretty sure he’s rallying the rest of the crew too. The messages haven’t let up, and now he’s started calling at random times during the day. He asks about your mom, your family, your ‘stomach ulcer’. And everyone else is pestering you to come back to chasing, even just for a week, because they miss you like hell. 

You feel like a total piece of shit. 

You’re running out of excuses, and you’ve deflected for as long as you can. You’ve tried over and over to come up with a version of the truth that doesn’t make you sound like the villain. But no matter how you spin it, you’re still the asshole who kept a massive secret from the people who are practically your family. They’re going to find out soon—you’re already on borrowed time—and you know you have to tell them before Tyler shows up pounding on your mom’s front door. 

The only thing you’re still absolutely certain about is this: you’re not telling Tyler he’s the father. 

On the surface, it makes you look like a terrible person, but every time you imagine telling him... you hear his words again. And you know you just can’t. 

It’s not what he wants. It would ruin everything. He’d resent you. 

You can’t do that to him. You don’t expect anything from him, and you’re more than ready to do this on your own. In fact, at this point, you’d prefer it. You made the decision to keep the baby—this is on you. All Tyler did was break a condom and fuck you more thoroughly than anyone else ever has. He didn’t sign up for consequences. And for him... there doesn’t have to be any. 

So you’ll tell them it was a one-night stand—technically true. That the father travels for work, and you gave him an out—also true. 

Now you just have to hope the baby doesn’t come out looking like a carbon copy of Tyler Owens. 

Not that you’re even sure the crew will be around to see much of the baby. You’re doing this solo for a reason—you don’t want to weigh anyone down. No matter how they react when you tell them, you’re not letting them give up chasing. That’s their life, and this choice? This was yours. 

So, yeah, you’re going to tell them. But after that... you have no clue. You might never see them again, now that you’re settling down. Or maybe they’ll pop in once or twice a year. You don’t know. 

The only thing you’re sure of right now is that you’re having this baby—and surprisingly, that’s more than enough. 

“She’s perfect,” the doctor says, handing you the sonogram. “What made you want to find out the sex?” 

You stare down at the little black and white image. Twenty-two weeks exactly. You’re more than halfway there. 

“I don’t know,” you reply. “Thought maybe I should get to know my new roommate a little better.” 

The doctor laughs softly but doesn’t press further. She types something into the computer, then jots a note on a scrap piece of paper—her recommendation for the heartburn you mentioned earlier. After a few more routine questions, she offers a kind smile and a dismissive nod. You thank her and step out. 

Her office is just around the block from your apartment, so you chose to walk today. The sun is warm, the sky is blue, and—for the first time in a while—you’re feeling a little less weighed down. 

You’ve also decided that today’s the day you’ll message Tyler to ask where they are and see if you can meet up soon. You’ve practiced your story in the mirror more times than you can count, and you’ve run it past both your mom and your therapist—the latter was less thrilled about the lying, but you’re ignoring that part. All that’s left now is to show up and break the news gently. Although, your belly will probably do that for you the moment they see you. 

Strangely, you feel at peace today—despite the whirlwind of the past few weeks. You woke up clear-headed, even a little hopeful. Like if you can grow an entire human, you can handle anything. 

You try not to overanalyse the sudden shift—your moods have been a rollercoaster lately—and you’re especially trying not to compare it to the weather before a storm. But that’s exactly what it feels like. 

Everything is calm. Still. The sun is out, and there’s no wind. But you know better than to trust this kind of stillness. 

It’s the calm before the storm. 

You shake your head and take a deep breath, refocusing on your route from the doctor’s office to the grocery store. It’s still early—barely nine a.m.—and you’ve got a craving for the sugary cereal you ran out of days ago. 

The sun is warm enough that you have to shrug off your sweater the moment you step inside the store. It’s blissfully quiet—no crowded aisles, no screaming kids, and no one crashing their cart like it’s a demolition derby. 

You sling your sweater over one shoulder and head toward the breakfast aisle, one hand resting on your belly as the baby wriggles—still too small for proper kicks, but very much there. A soft smile tugs at your lips as you scan the shelves, eyes flitting across the bright, colourful cereal boxes. 

You really should start thinking of names. You haven’t even made a list. 

You grab the box you came for and continue toward the end of the aisle, already thinking about swinging past the bakery section. But just as you round the corner, a voice stops you in your tracks. 

“Holy shit.” 

You know that voice. You know it too well. 

You almost don’t want to look—but your head turns before you can stop it. And sure enough, there’s Tyler, looking downright sinful in a tight white T-shirt and faded Wrangler jeans. He’s wearing a cap, backwards, and it’s making your hormones riot. You could devour him right here in the middle of the store. But not only would that be wildly inappropriate... you’re pretty sure he’s gone into shock. 

He looks pale—too pale. Frozen. His eyes are wide, and his mouth is moving, but no sound is coming out. He looks like a fish out of water. And judging by the expression on his face, he probably feels like one too. 

“Oh my God,” you say, instinctively shifting the cereal box in front of your belly. “Tyler.” 

You want to launch yourself at him, to throw your arms around his neck. You want to hug him, kiss him, get lost in him the way you’ve been craving for months. But the way he’s staring... you’re not even sure he recognises you. 

“W-What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice shaky and weirdly high-pitched. “Are the others here too?” 

Panic overtakes you now, shoving the longing and hormones down into your gut and replacing them with a fresh wave of anxiety. 

“I—uh,” he clears his throat, blinking hard. “We were just... just passing through.” 

You can feel your heartbeat thumping in your throat. 

Tyler shifts on his feet and clears his throat again. “We got in late last night. I was going to—uh, call you. See where you were, but...” His eyes drop to the cereal box in your hands, like he can see right through it. 

“Wow,” you say, because it’s the only word your brain can summon. “That’s... great. I’d love to see them. Are they-” 

“They’re back at the motel,” he cuts in. 

Slowly, his expression twists—shock giving way to confusion, then something sharper. Anger, maybe. 

There’s a long pause, thick and heavy, before you clear your throat. “Well, maybe we could all catch up? I’m not doing anything this after-” 

“No,” he says, cutting you off again. He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “I mean, yes. They want to see you. But I think I’d like to catch up now.” His tone is harder now, his expression unreadable. “Do you want to grab a coffee—” he hesitates, “or... tea?” 

You rock back on your heels like a kid caught doing something they shouldn’t. “Tea still has caffeine in it,” you mumble. 

He doesn’t even flinch—just pins you with a look. There’s no room to argue. 

“But I could definitely go for a smoothie!” you say too brightly. “There’s a café around the corner, and my apartment’s just the next block over. If you don’t mind... can we go back there? I’ve got ultrasound jelly in my underwear and I really need to pee.” 

His brows draw together. There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—hurt. “You have an apartment?” 

You didn’t expect that to hit hardest, but you see why. As far as Tyler was concerned, you were coming back. You’d only ever been on a break. But hearing you have an apartment here... it tells him something else entirely. 

That you’re not coming back. 

You nod, tears starting to sting at the corners of your eyes. “Yeah... I do.” 

The walk out of the store and around the corner is one of the most painful things you’ve ever endured. You’re already planning to compare it to childbirth when the time comes—but honestly, you’re pretty sure this will still win. 

Tyler’s movements are stiff and deliberate. He keeps a cautious distance, like you’re contagious, and it takes everything in you not to cry right there on the sidewalk. 

Neither of you speaks. You just lead the way, and he follows. At the café, you order a smoothie—nothing else. You feel so nauseous, you're worried you might throw up your baby. Tyler orders a coffee, then steps back to type something on his phone. For a moment, panic grips you—is he telling the others? But no. Tyler’s not like that. He’s probably just letting them know that he got caught up. 

Once your drinks are ready, you head down the street toward your apartment. You don’t bother making conversation, you don’t even point out the ridiculous-looking dog in the window across the street. You just let yourself into the lobby and ride up to the fourth floor. 

Down the hall, you unlock your door and step inside, holding it open for him. 

The look on his face as he enters your space is what finally breaks you. The tears spill over before you can stop them. He looks wrong here—too big for the tiny apartment you’ve made your own. And he looks like you’ve just ripped his heart out and stomped on it. 

You make a beeline for the kitchen, dropping your untouched smoothie on the counter and diving for the tissue box. A sniffle escapes as you swipe at your eyes and nose, followed by a soft, rattling sob. 

“Hey,” Tyler says gently, suddenly at your side, a hand landing on your back. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.” 

Of course he’s not. He’s too good. Too decent to treat you the way you probably should be treated—without kindness. 

You clear your throat and look up at him, close enough now that you can smell the familiar scent of his cologne. “You should be,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks. “It’d be easier if you were mad at me.” 

He lets out a humourless chuckle. “I mean, I’m not exactly happy. But why would I be mad?” 

You feel small. Pathetic. Like if the floor cracked open right now, you’d gladly let it swallow you whole. But it doesn’t. 

You force down another sob, blinking hard as you reach for your smoothie and carry it into the living room. You flop down into your favourite corner of the couch and nod for him to follow. 

Then you clear your throat, summoning every ounce of confidence you have left. 

“Okay,” you say. “Here’s the story.” 

You don’t say the truth or what really happened. Because that’s not what you’re about to give him. 

You’ve got a story. And that’s what you’re sticking to. 

“A few weeks after I got back, I went out with some old friends,” you begin, technically not lying. “It was supposed to be a way to blow off some steam after everything with my family... and I missed you guys so much, I thought it would take my mind off things. But I got a little too drunk, and I ended up going home with some guy my friend knew.” There's the lie. “It was stupid and reckless, but... that’s what happened.” 

He winces at your words, his expression unreadable. It looks like hurt, but why would he be hurt by that? Maybe it’s just disappointment. 

You clear your throat and continue, slipping into the rhythm of the story you’ve practiced a thousand times in front of the mirror. “About three weeks later, I found out. I contacted the guy, but he travels for work, so... I gave him an out. I made the decision to keep it, told him I didn’t expect anything from him. So... here we are.” 

The silence hangs thick and heavy between you, suffocating you as you try to breathe through the storm of emotions clawing at your chest. 

“I was going to tell you,” you add, your voice steadier than you feel. “I just couldn’t find the right time. It all felt so messy and rushed, and time kept slipping by. You guys were so busy, and with Kate and Javi... I didn’t want to ruin the high you were on.” 

He doesn’t react at first. Just stares at you—his eyes flicking between your face and your belly. 

Then it hits him. A thousand emotions all at once. Confusion. Hurt. A flicker of anger. Sadness. And finally, he lands back on hurt. 

“You’re going to do it alone?” he asks, tension threading through his words. 

You nod once, steady. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I don’t doubt that. You’ll be amazing. But you shouldn’t have to do it alone.” 

Your heart squeezes. Would he still be saying that if he knew who the guy really was? 

“I won’t be alone,” you say, resting a hand on your stomach. 

His eyes fall to your hand and linger there. You think his bottom lip might wobble, just for a second. But then he looks back up, brow creased. 

“You know we’re all here for you,” he says, voice strained. “We’re not going to let you do this on your own. I know you’re strong, but-” 

“It’s not your problem, Ty,” you cut in quickly, desperate to stop him before the tears start again. “It’s not anyone’s burden but mine—not that it’s a burden. But I was scared to tell you for a reason. I didn’t want you to freak out. I made this choice knowing it would change my life, and mine alone. I know I have support if I need it, but wait for me to ask. Not that I could ask any of you to stop your lives—stop doing what you love. I’d never do that. I’d never ask for more than you’re willing to give. So please believe me when I say... I’m happy about the choice I made. I’m excited to do this by myself. You need to live your life, Ty. Chase those storms. Chase your dreams. I’m good. I’ll be fine.” 

His expression is unreadable—somewhere between pain and disbelief. He just stares at you, silent, like he doesn’t recognize what he’s looking at. Not scared. Just... bewildered. 

The silence stretches, the only sound your uneven, too-loud breathing. 

Then, finally, he whispers, “But it’s not the same without you.” 

You roll your eyes, trying to keep it light. “Don’t be silly, Tyler. You’ve got Kate and Javi now. You probably didn’t even notice I was gone.” You pause. “And Kate seems great. I’m happy for you.” 

No, you’re not. But you’re getting better at lying. 

His gaze snaps from your belly back to your face, eyebrows drawn tight. “Happy for me?” 

You nod, forcing a smile. “Anyway, I really need a shower. That ultrasound goo gets everywhere. Want to catch up later? With the crew?” 

You need him gone. Now. Before you fall apart. 

“I—uh...” He glances around the room, like he’s trying to find an excuse to stay. “Yeah. They’ll want to see you.” 

You nod and head to the kitchen for your bag. “Could you do me a favour?” The guilt is immediate and sharp. How dare you ask anything of him right now? 

He nods. 

“Could you... tell them? Warn them?” You can’t meet his eyes, so you focus on the tear in the knee of his jeans as he approaches. 

“You want me to tell them?” 

“Yeah,” you murmur. “It’s just... been a lot. And the way you reacted—I don’t think I can take five more of those. If you could just warn them before we meet up... it would help.” 

Straight to hell. That’s where you’re headed. You’ve spent months trying not to burden him—and now this? 

He swallows hard and nods, eyes drifting to something on the counter. “Yeah... okay. I can do that.” 

You exhale, not realizing you were holding your breath. “Thanks, Ty.” 

He picks up the sonogram. “Is this the one from today?” 

“Oh.” As if she knows her dad is seeing her for the first time, your little girl wriggles. “Y-Yeah. That’s today.” 

His mouth twitches into a watery smile. “Can I take a photo? Then I can show the crew.” 

You nod, speechless, watching the way he looks at the picture. If he doesn’t leave soon, you’re going to cry and throw up all over him. 

He snaps the photo and tucks his phone away, gently placing the sonogram back on the counter. 

“You said you weren’t busy this afternoon?” he asks. 

You nod, throat tight. 

“Good. I’m sure they’ll want to see you soon. Maybe dinner? I’ll text you after I talk to them. I bet you know all the good places around here.” 

He’s speaking too fast, his eyes everywhere but your face. He wants out just as badly as you want him out. 

You walk him to the door, trying to smile. It’s pitiful. It feels like everything around you has stopped moving. His eyes are wide, glassy, full of something unfamiliar. But then again, do you even know him anymore? Four months is a long time. 

Before you can say goodbye, he steps forward and wraps his arms around you. Holds you like he means it. Like it’s the only thing keeping him together. 

Tears stream down your face, your shoulders shaking. The baby kicks—harder than ever—and you want to blame the pressure of Tyler’s hug. But then you wonder... does she know it’s him? 

The thoughts keep coming, hot and heavy, as your tears soak into the shoulder of his white shirt. 

After what feels like both forever and not long enough, he pulls away. His eyes rimmed with red. 

“I’ll text you,” he says hoarsely, then turns and walks down the hall. 

You shut the door—and collapse to the floor. You stay there for almost an hour. Crying. Thinking. And for the first time, wishing you’d just told him the truth from the start. Back at the gas station. Would it really have been that bad? 

You’re not so sure anymore. Because this? This doesn’t feel like the right thing. 

- Tyler - 

Tyler doesn’t remember how he got back to his truck in the grocery store parking lot. All he knows is that he’s in it now—but he doesn’t have the courage to drive. He doesn’t trust himself. His hands won’t stop shaking, his eyes are burning with tears, and his throat aches. When he closes his eyes, all he can see is you: your soft smile, your wide, tearful eyes, and that intrinsic glow—granted by your pregnancy, despite how clearly distressed you’d been. 

He can’t believe you’re pregnant. 

He tried so hard to be understanding, to not blow through you with every emotion that crashed down the moment he saw you. But it was so hard. He wanted to be angry that you didn’t tell him—but he knew he had no right. He didn’t have the right to be upset at all. You were clearly stressed about him finding out—about the crew finding out. 

But why? 

That’s what he can’t figure out. 

Sure, it might not have been planned. It’s going to turn your life upside down. But why wouldn’t you want your friends to know? He knows you’ve rationalised it—told yourself you didn’t want to burden them. But he also knows that you know better than that. Your friends wouldn’t feel burdened. They’d just want to be there for you. 

He just wants to be there for you. 

And as complicated as this whole thing is, it’s confusion that lingers the loudest. He’s confused about how he should feel, and confused about what he does feel. He thought he knew you—but right now, he’s not so sure. You’re still familiar... but different. 

The sharp chime of Tyler’s phone cuts through the silence of the truck cabin. He glances at where he tossed it on the passenger seat, just able to make out the text from Boone: ‘You good?’ 

No. 

He exhales slowly and turns the key, the truck rumbling to life around him. Then he grabs the phone and fires off a quick reply: ‘Be back in 10. Get everyone together for breakfast.’ 

Then he pulls out of the grocery store parking lot and starts rehearsing how he’s going to break the news to the crew. 

An hour later, in a quiet café on the other side of town with two small tables pulled together, Dani leans toward Tyler and blurts, “She’s what?!” 

Dexter chokes on his coffee, spluttering into his napkin, while Lily’s jaw drops mid-chew, revealing a messy mouthful of pancake. 

“She’s pregnant?” Boone asks, his voice calmer than Dani’s, though his eyes are still wide as saucers. 

Kate and Javi exchange a quick, uncertain glance, both clearly unsure how to react to the news that’s left half the crew reeling over their breakfast. 

“I can’t believe she didn’t say anything,” Dani says, her voice tight with offense. 

Lily finally swallows. “So that’s why she’s been avoiding us?” 

Dexter tips his head, eyes narrowing on Tyler. “How far along is she?” 

Tyler shrugs, his stomach twisting with nausea—though he’s not entirely sure why. It’s not like this is his big news. “She said she met the guy a few weeks after getting home. So... she’s probably around four months.” 

“Four months,” Dani echoes. “And she didn’t tell any of us?” 

Kate’s quiet laugh draws every eye to her. She quickly slaps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbles, wide-eyed. “I just—” She glances at Tyler, then looks around the table. “I mean, can you blame her? Look at how you’re all reacting.” 

Tyler frowns. “What do you mean?” 

Kate sighs and leans back in her chair. “No offense, but you’re all acting like this is about you. If this wasn’t planned—and it doesn’t sound like it was—then she’s probably just scared. Of course she was nervous to tell you guys. She probably knew how you’d react.” 

The group goes quiet then, effectively chastised. And Kate isn’t wrong—Tyler knows that. As someone less emotionally entangled in your situation than the rest of the crew, she can probably see it more clearly. Understand why you did what you did. 

But that doesn’t make Tyler feel any less conflicted. He still feels off. His palms are damp and his stomach won't stop twisting itself into nauseating knots. His heart is beating too fast, sitting high in his throat. And he can’t stop seeing your face—those tearful eyes, flushed cheeks, parted lips the moment you saw him again. 

For a fleeting moment, he’d been taken back to that night. The night where everything else blurred except for you. Your flushed face, kiss-bruised mouth, lips parted for him, breathless beneath him. The way you’d whispered his name like a secret, the sounds he drew from you with his hands and mouth, the feel of your skin against his. 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about that night… a lot. At first, he tried not to. He couldn’t believe the lines he’d crossed, waking up with you in his arms at three a.m., your bare body pressed to his. He wasn’t even that drunk—just drunk on you. And God, he wanted nothing more than to pull you closer and fall back asleep. But panic had crept in. He had to get out. Had to breathe. 

The next day was awkward—mostly because he couldn’t stop seeing you the way he’d seen you the night before. He wanted to talk, to say something. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk burning down years of friendship for one selfish desire. So after about a week, he cracked a joke. You shot back with something sarcastic, and things felt… almost normal again. 

Until you left. 

And when you did, you took a piece of him with you. A big piece. One he doesn’t know how to get back—or if he even wants it back. 

“Hey.” Kate nudges her knee against Tyler’s. “You good?” 

The rest of the group has slipped into quiet conversation, murmuring among themselves about you and the baby. 

Tyler nods once, eyes fixed on nothing in particular as he fishes his phone from his back pocket. He opens it, pulls up the sonogram picture, and slides it across the table. 

“She had an ultrasound today,” he says, the words tasting like lead on his tongue. 

Lily’s eyes light up as she snatches the phone, gazing at the black-and-white photo. Dani leans over one shoulder, Dexter over the other, and it’s not hard to catch the soft smiles spreading across their faces. 

“I’m not saying you’re not allowed to be upset,” Kate says, her voice lowered just for him. “I just think... maybe consider how she’s feeling before you take too much of that out on her.” 

Tyler sighs and scrubs both hands over his face. “I tried to be calm. But it was so fucking hard. She kept crying.” 

Kate exhales a half-laugh. “Yeah, she’s pregnant. Whatever you think you’re feeling, multiply it by a thousand. That’s probably where she’s at.” 

The memory of your tear-streaked face hits him square in the chest, stealing the breath from his lungs. He’d felt so useless, even as he held you close. All he wants is to make things better. To go back, find you sooner, and give you everything you’ve needed but never asked for. 

“I just want to help,” Tyler mutters, his voice rough. “She said she’s happy to do it on her own, but... I want to be there.” 

“Then be there,” Kate says, brows furrowed like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “You don’t have to overstep or force your way back in. Just be her friend. Isn’t that what you’ve always been? Just because she thinks things have to change doesn’t mean they do. Show her that.” 

Tyler’s eyes flick to Dani, who now has his phone and is zooming in on the sonogram with an awed expression. 

“But things have changed,” he says, turning back to Kate. 

On her other side, Javi has his phone in front of his nose, but Tyler can tell from his posture that he’s still listening. 

“For her, yeah,” Kate replies. “Her whole world’s flipped. But for you? Not really. So be something that hasn’t changed. Something stable. Something she can still count on.” 

Tyler’s brows draw together, eyes starting to burn again from the now-familiar sting of tears. He knows Kate’s smart—but wise too? Suddenly, he feels like a kid who threw a tantrum he didn’t fully understand. 

“I mean,” Javi chimes in, the straw of his milkshake still at the corner of his mouth, “it’s not like you’re the father.” 

The words hit Tyler harder than they should. They sink into his skin and burn as they draw blood, the pain spreading through his chest. His skin prickles, heat rushes to his face, and his head goes a little light—like the floor’s been yanked out from under him. 

He’s not just angry that you didn’t tell him. Not just upset that you left, that you ran away from the crew with a half-assed excuse. He’s confused, yes—but underneath it all, he’s heartbroken. 

Because it’s not just about you being pregnant. It’s not about the distance, or how much everything suddenly feels so different. It’s the fact that you’re pregnant with someone else’s baby. 

Not his. 

And for the first time, the weight of it truly hits him— 

He wants it to be his. 

“Ouch!” Javi hisses as Kate smacks him on the back of the head. “What was that for?” 

She rolls her eyes. “Not reading the room.” 

“Shit,” Javi mutters, leaning forward past Kate to see Tyler—a very shocked-looking Tyler. “Sorry, man.” 

Tyler tries to shake his head, but it’s slow, almost robotic. “It’s fine,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. 

Kate rests a hand on his knee and leans toward him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

He opens his mouth, but hesitates. He was going to say yes—but that would be a lie. He’s not okay. He hasn’t been okay since you left. 

Kate’s brows draw together, her head tilting slightly. “You’re not, like... just realizing you’re totally in love with her, are you?” 

Tyler’s green gaze snaps to her face, a jolt of electricity running down his spine at hearing those words said out loud. 

“Oh, Tyler...” she sighs, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Wake up.” 

He’s always known he loves you—of course he does. But in love with you? Maybe it should’ve been obvious. He hasn’t felt fully human without you by his side. There’s been a gaping hole in his chest since the day you left—because you took his heart with you. 

It always has been yours. He just never really thought about it that hard. He’s just always known, deep down, from the very beginning, that he belongs to you. 

And he’s always thought of you as his. Never questioned it, even through your crappy boyfriends and his meaningless hookups. Some part of him was sure you’d always come back. That at the end of the day—after the storm—you’d be his again. 

But now? Now some other guy has a claim on you. And he knows it’s selfish. He knows it’s primal. But God, he fucking hates it. 

After breakfast, the crew heads back to the motel. They try to work—and try even harder to pull Tyler out of whatever existential wormhole he’s fallen into—but it’s not easy. He spends most of the day staring into space, half-listening (at best) to anyone who speaks. Eventually, they give up and leave him to it. 

Lily ends up messaging you about dinner, since Tyler’s too dazed to even type a text. You agree to meet at a restaurant downtown, halfway between your place and the crew’s motel. 

“Okay, pal,” Kate sighs as she drops into the lawn chair beside Tyler’s. “You’re starting to worry us.” 

Lily drops into the chair on his other side, braced like she might have to chase him if he bolts. 

“Are you going to be alright tonight?” Kate asks gently. 

Tyler nods—slow, uncertain. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Because you’ve been a damn zombie all day,” Lily snaps. “You think acting like this is going to make her feel loved and supported?” 

There’s a beat of silence before she speaks again, her tone sharp. “The answer is no. So get your shit together.” 

Tyler turns to Kate, frowning. “Why is she being mean to me?” 

Kate rolls her eyes for what feels like the thousandth time today. “Because you’re being a child. So what, you’re in love with your best friend who’s now pregnant with some random guy’s baby? Suck it up. Start acting normal—or you’ll just make her feel worse.” 

Tyler lets out a long, dramatic sigh and tips his head back. “I can’t.” 

“Yes, you can,” Lily says. “Come on—practice talking about baby stuff with us.” 

Kate perks up. “Good idea. Ask us about being pregnant.” 

Tyler slowly lowers his head and gives Kate a flat stare. “This is dumb. I’m not going to make things awkward. I’ll be fine.” 

“Then why have you walked away from every conversation about babies today?” Lily fires back. 

“Just try,” Kate pleads. “Let’s just talk about her, okay? And no deflecting.” 

Tyler groans but doesn’t argue, silently accepting the assignment. 

Kate folds her hands in her lap and leans in like an interviewer. “So, you said she’s got an apartment here—did you see the nursery?” 

“No,” Tyler replies, nausea twisting in his gut. Just thinking about that visit makes him uneasy. “Wasn’t exactly a show-and-tell kind of vibe.” 

Kate sighs. “I get that. But just work with us.” 

“I’ve got one,” Lily chimes in. “Did she say she’s having any weird cravings?” 

Tyler shakes his head. “No.” Then, at her expectant look, he adds, “But she was buying some sugary cereal when I ran into her. I think she told the cashier it was the baby’s favourite breakfast.” 

Lily nods, satisfied. 

Kate clears her throat. “Did she say how far along she is?” 

“Not exactly,” Tyler says. “But from what she did say, I’m guessing around eighteen weeks.” He did the math—counting from the day you left the crew, assuming you met ‘the guy’ maybe three or four weeks later. 

“Nuh-uh,” Lily says, brows pinched as she shakes her head. “She’s twenty-two weeks.” 

Tyler’s heart skips. “What? How do you know?” 

“It’s on the sonogram, stupid.” 

His pulse kicks up, head spinning, hands suddenly numb as he fumbles for his phone. He yanks it from his back pocket and pulls up the image, squinting at the screen. 

Lily sighs and takes it from him, zooming in on the small print in the corner. “See? Twenty-two weeks.” 

Kate says something, but Tyler doesn’t hear her. All he hears is the blood pounding in his ears. Loud. Fast. Deafening. 

Twenty-two weeks. That’s five and a half months. You’ve only been gone four months and three weeks. 

That leaves three weeks. 

Three weeks you were still with the crew. Still with him. 

Somewhere in those three weeks… you got pregnant. 

The world tilts. He blinks, once—twice—but everything stays blurry. The thought barrels through him like a freight train. It doesn’t make sense—shouldn’t make sense—but it does. The timeline. The things you said. The look on your face when you saw him. His stomach drops as the pieces slam into place, sharp and undeniable. 

Holy shit. 

“Tyler,” Kate says, her hand closing over his shoulder. 

Lily frowns again. “You’re supposed to be acting normal, dude. You can’t keep freezing like that.” 

“I have to go,” he mutters, shooting to his feet. 

Kate blinks. “Where?” 

“I’ll meet you guys at the restaurant.” He’s gone before they can respond, feet already pounding the pavement. 

He throws himself into the truck and jams the key in the ignition, peeling out of the motel lot fast enough to make the tires squeal. 

His grip tightens on the steering wheel as the truck barrels down the street, heart pounding like a war drum. The shock is still there, curling cold and sharp in his chest, but the panic has started to harden. Settle. Sharpen. He’s not going to lose it. Not now. If this really adds up—if the impossible is true—then he needs answers. Not anger. He sucks in a breath through his nose, jaw locked tight. 

He’s not going there to yell. He’s going there to hear it. To look you in the eye and make you say it— 

The truth. 

- You - 

You stand in front of your closet with your hands on your hips, trying to figure out what still fits and also looks decent enough for a nice restaurant. You picked a nice place on purpose—you haven’t been out in months. Literally. Most of your friends have been too busy chasing tornadoes while you’ve been stuck in this town, growing a baby. And while you’re not angry about the choices you’ve made, you’re more than a little excited to be getting out for the first time in what feels like forever. 

You’re feeling a lot better than you did a few hours ago. After a solid hour of crying on the floor, you dragged yourself into the shower and stayed there until your fingers pruned. Then you wrapped yourself in two towels, curled up on your bed, and passed out. When you woke up, your phone was full of messages—hearts, check-ins, a few sweet “can’t wait to see you” texts—and you decided that maybe you’d been overreacting. 

Sure, seeing Tyler had been the emotional peak of the last five and a half months, but that’s over now. And yeah, things might still be awkward. A little tense. But the secret’s out, and your story had him convinced—hook, line, and sinker. He was just emotional because he missed you. Because you’re best friends, and this is the longest you’ve ever gone without each other. 

You’d thought about telling him the truth earlier, while curled up on the floor. But once the initial wreckage settled, you remembered why you hadn’t. Just to be sure, you went back and rewatched Corey’s YouTube interview. It still stung—maybe even more than the first time—but it did what it was supposed to: reminded you to stay strong. Because when it comes to Tyler Owens, strength is not your strong suit. 

A knock echoes through the apartment and jolts you into motion. You yank a pair of thick black leggings from the drawer and wrestle into them while shuffling toward your bedroom door, grabbing an oversized knit sweater on the way. 

“Coming!” you call, your voice muffled as you pull the sweater over your head. 

Random visitors aren’t exactly uncommon. Your neighbour Marge likes to accuse you of stealing her newspapers, and you’ve definitely forgotten about more than a few online orders until the delivery driver comes knocking 

You reach the door and tug the sweater down over your bump before pulling it open. 

“Tyler,” you breathe, startled, taking an automatic step back. “You’re—uh—you’re like an hour early.” 

Lily had mentioned he’d be picking you up—something about saving you the cab fare. You hadn’t objected, for obvious reasons, but you’d hoped for at least enough time to do your hair and makeup. 

Still, he looks infuriatingly good. He’s swapped his white tee for a red plaid flannel, the top few buttons undone down to his sternum. His hair’s a tousled mess, like he’s been running his hands through it all day, and he’s holding his cowboy hat in one hand. 

“Yeah,” he says, a little breathless. “Figured we could catch up some more.” 

Did he drive here? Or run? 

“Um, okay. Sure,” you say, stepping back further. 

He nods as he walks in, kicking off his boots by the door before heading toward the lounge. But he doesn’t sit—he just stands there, stiff and distant, eyes scanning the room like he’s searching for something specific. 

“I was just getting ready,” you say, slipping into the kitchen. “Mind if I do the quick version before we... catch up?” 

He shakes his head and sets his hat on the coffee table, still glancing around like he’s casing the place. 

“Want a drink?” you ask, watching him carefully. 

“I’m good,” he says. 

“Okay,” you mutter, and retreat toward your room. So much for taking your time and enjoying getting ready. 

Maybe he’s just trying to be nice after this morning. Or maybe the others sent him here to smooth things over before they all see you for the first time in over four months—baby bump and all. 

“How far along did you say you were?” Tyler calls, poking his head into your room. 

You jump, dropping the sock you were trying to pull on. “Oh... um, about four-ish months.” 

He narrows his eyes but doesn’t press, just leans in the doorway, quietly taking in the space. 

This can’t be good. 

“When are you due?” he asks. 

“Five-ish months,” you shoot back with a smirk. 

His lip twitches, almost smiling—and it still gets you. That little flicker of him is enough to stir your heart. 

Then he asks, “What did you say the dad’s name was again?” 

You freeze mid-step toward the ensuite. “I didn’t.” 

“Oh...” His nod is slow, satisfied, like he was waiting for that. 

“It’s Todd,” you blurt, turning quickly and disappearing into the bathroom. 

Behind you, he scoffs. “Todd.” 

Yeah, this isn’t good. Tyler’s onto something. What, you don’t know. But you can feel it—he’s circling like a shark, toying with you before he bites. 

“So, when exactly did you find out you were pregnant?” he asks, stepping into view in the mirror behind you. 

The hairs on your neck rise. “About three weeks after I slept with him.” 

His eyes lock on yours in the mirror, steady and sharp as you try to run a comb through your damp hair. 

“What did he say when you told him?” 

You shrug, trying to appear unaffected. “Not much. He was shocked. Asked if I was keeping it, and I said yes. Told him it was fine if he wanted out. He took it.” 

Tyler shifts, raising one arm to lean against the doorframe. He’s filling the small bathroom doorway with his body—and you’re suddenly very aware of how broad his shoulders are, how strong his arms are, remembering the way he’d thrown you around that night... 

The memory slams into you, heat creeping between your thighs. You shift, pressing your legs together. 

He notices. That tiny smirk returning as he leans in a little more, boxing you in. 

“Bit strange, don’t you think?” he says, voice low. “Knowing you’re having a kid and not wanting anything to do with it. Sounds like a dirtbag move.” 

Anger slices through your chest. “Yeah, well. Some people just don’t see themselves settling down.” 

The words are out before you realise—they're his words, from the interview. 

His eyes narrow. “Who said anything about settling down? Kids don’t ruin lives.” 

You scoff, avoiding his gaze. “No, they just stop you from pursuing your dreams.” 

Another quote. Damn that interview. Damn you for watching it again. But the way he’s interrogating you is pissing you off. What right does he have? He’s the one who told the world he’d resent anyone who gave him a kid. 

And here he is, acting like he cares. 

A heavy breath hangs in the air as you trade your hairbrush for a makeup brush, leaning closer to the mirror. Tyler’s eyes stay locked on you—intense, unwavering, a little too focused. 

Then his voice slices clean through the silence. 

“Why didn’t you use birth control?” 

White-hot fury flares up your spine, lighting your cheeks on fire as you spin to face him. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t recoil. He just stands there with that same infuriating glint in his eye—smug, steady, unreadable. His posture is so relaxed it makes your skin crawl, like he didn’t just drop a live grenade into the middle of your lie. 

“You know I’m not on birth control,” you snap, your voice low and trembling with rage. “And the condom. Fucking. Broke.” 

The second it’s out of your mouth, you want to drag it back in. You could’ve said anything else—something careless, something wild, something stupid. But instead, you gave him truth wrapped in a lie—and now the whole thing is starting to crack. 

“That so?” he murmurs, eyes dark. “Crazy how that happened... twice in a row.” 

Your jaw clenches. “Clearly I need to buy a new box of condoms.” 

He lets out a dry, humourless laugh and leans in closer, eyes glittering. “That was my condom that broke.” 

Your breath comes faster now, chest tight, nerves sparking under your skin like live wires. You can’t even remember the lie you rehearsed. Your heart’s thundering, the baby is moving restlessly in your belly—like she feels your panic. Like she knows. 

“Maybe you and Todd use the same damn brand,” you mutter, spinning back toward the vanity and gripping the edge like it might hold you steady. 

“You just said you need to buy a new box,” he presses, relentless. “Does Todd leave his condoms here?” 

You grit your teeth, drop your chin, and breathe in through your nose. “Jesus, Tyler. I’m sorry I don’t remember every single detail.” 

You hear him shift. Feel the heat of him behind you. Too close. 

“You wanna know what I think?” he asks, voice low and dangerous. 

You turn, slowly, heart in your throat. He’s so close now your belly nearly brushes his belt and you have to press against the vanity for space. 

You meet his eyes. “What do you think, Tyler?” 

He tilts his head, just slightly. “I think you remember the night you got pregnant like it just happened. I think it’s carved into your brain. And I think you’re tripping over your story right now because you can’t forget what it felt like. Because it was so damn good, you don’t want to forget it.” 

Panic coils in your chest like a gathering storm—rising fast, twisting tight, pushing a tangled mess of guilt and frustration up your throat. Your breath catches on it, your lungs stuck somewhere between inhale and breakdown. And then it spills over. Tears blur your vision before you can even try to blink them back, heavy and hot as they streak down your cheeks—weighted with remorse and something close to desperation. 

Tyler is frozen in place, wide-eyed and still, his lips parted like he’s trying to speak but the words won’t come. You can see the regret flicker there—he hadn’t meant to be cruel, not like that. But it doesn’t matter. Whatever version of the truth he’s starting to piece together... he’s probably right. 

And still, you can’t say it. Not yet. 

Instead, you swipe at your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater and slip past him, your shoulder brushing his arm as you squeeze out of the bathroom. You cross the room on shaky legs and drop onto the bed, curling in on yourself as a raw sob breaks free and rattles from your chest. You bury your face in your hands, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. 

Tyler doesn’t move at first. The silence stretches and settles around you, thick and stifling. But then comes the soft creak of the floorboards beneath his feet as he steps closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like he’s approaching a wounded animal. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low and rough, like he’s choking on his own emotion. “That was too harsh.” 

You don’t look up. Not yet. You can’t. 

“I didn’t mean to come at you like that,” he continues, voice gentler now. “I got caught up—and I guess I’ve been walking around with all this shit in my chest. Then I saw you again, and it just... it all hit me. I’ve been pretending I’m fine, like it didn’t gut me when you left. But it did. You took more of me with you than I ever realised.” 

Your fingers shift, just enough to peek through them—and there he is, kneeling beside the bed, one hand resting near your thigh but not quite touching. His eyes search yours, glassy with emotion he’s clearly trying to hold back. 

“I love you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I did before all of this—before you left, before... the baby. I’ve always loved you. That night wasn’t a mistake. And honestly? I wasn’t even that drunk. I just—needed you. I still do. I need you more than anything.” 

You swallow hard. 

“But not more than you need the chase,” you mutter, tears spilling again. “Right? Because that’s it for you. That’s the dream, and you’ve worked too damn hard to give it up.” 

He blinks. Confused. Then his brows furrow as recognition dawns. You can see it hit him—he remembers. 

You let out a shaky breath and slide your hand over his. “I don’t want you to resent me, Ty. I don’t want you to give up what you love. You’ve got an out.” 

His eyes widen, locking onto yours like he’s just now realising what you’re trying to say. 

“You can still walk away,” you whisper. 

He stares at you, frozen—like your words knocked the air clean out of his lungs. His mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out. His brows knit tighter, his hand shifting beneath yours. 

Then, after a beat, he whispers, “Are you serious?” 

You don’t answer. You can’t. You just look at him, eyes brimming, heart thundering in your chest like it’s trying to burst out and reach for him itself. 

His throat works around a swallow. Then he says it—low and broken and burning. 

“Didn’t you hear me?” His voice cracks. “I fucking love you. More than anything. More than storms and chasing and everything I’ve ever been stupid enough to think mattered more. That interview... it was bullshit. I wasn’t thinking—I wasn’t thinking about you. Because with you, I want all of it.” 

Then he moves. 

There’s no breath between the words and the moment he surges forward—like he’s been holding himself back for years and finally snapped. His mouth crashes into yours, hot and searing, all teeth and desperation and need. One hand tangles in your hair, the other pulls you toward him with a grip that says he’s never letting go again. 

It steals your breath. Steals your thoughts. Your hands fist in his shirt as you kiss him back just as fiercely, matching the fire with one that’s been simmering in your chest since the day you left. 

There’s nothing soft about it. It’s raw and reckless and messy, and it tastes like every unsaid word, every sleepless night, every broken piece finally slamming back into place. 

It feels like the truth. 

Between frantic kisses, you whisper against his lips, “I love you.” 

You feel his mouth curve into a smile before he murmurs, “Fuck, I’ve missed you.” 

The kisses slow, soften—his tongue sweeping against yours with aching intention, like he’s trying to memorise every inch of you, every breath. The hand tangled in your hair slides down to cradle your neck, while the other one drifts to your waist, settling gently against the curve of your swollen belly. 

Then the baby kicks—hard. Harder than she ever has. You both jolt. 

“Shit,” you whisper, hands flying to your stomach. “Sorry.” 

Tyler stares, completely still. He looks unfairly beautiful like this—flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, wide, glassy eyes locked on your belly. He looks like he’s just witnessed something holy. Something impossible. 

“Why are you sorry?” he asks, eyes flicking up to yours. 

You shrug, brushing your damp cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater. “She doesn’t usually kick that hard. I guess she’s getting stronger.” 

His eyes shimmer. “She?” 

You nod, the ghost of a smile on your lips. “Yeah. We’re having a baby girl.” 

His bottom lip trembles, a small, stunned smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We?” 

A shaky laugh bubbles up as fresh tears spill down your cheeks. “Yes, Tyler. She’s yours.” 

His tears fall freely now, trailing down his flushed cheeks, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink. He just looks at you like you’ve hung the moon—just for him. 

“I’m yours too,” you whisper, voice trembling. “We’re all yours.” 

Then he’s kissing you again—wet and messy and full of everything you’ve both been carrying for months. You’re crying, he’s crying, but neither of you care. You just hold on—breathing hard, laughing softly—lips meeting again and again as you both sink into the familiar shape of each other… into home. 

END.

[renarots]

The ability to evacuate is a privilege and I’m sick of people applying Florida logic to the Appalachians right now. Yes it is horrible for those who couldn’t in Florida but the people in the Appalachian’s had no warning. People still have “dial up” there, 55.9% of the population is under the poverty line. “I’ve been seeing warnings for a week” no you haven’t the warnings were for Florida and Georgia, even then it wasn’t supposed to hit the apps like this at most flooding but they would recover. When hurricane helene took that turn it was too late to even warn others before dams broke. The infrastructure is not meant to take this beating especially given the storm they had the week before causing all of the waterways to be full already. Towns are wiped out, towns that relied on tourism and coal mining to bring in revenue are gone. My great aunt and uncle lived in a trailer off a plot of land and were so happy they finally got a clean running water system hooked up two years ago. They have one tiny little old android that they have to travel about an hour in town to use so they can call us up. They lived off a fixed income because any sort of job was two hours away at least and they’re getting older they can’t just travel that much anymore. My great uncle can’t walk without his cane and my great aunt is getting there too. They always joked about taking me home with them and I would always say when I got older they would come live with me because I knew how rough it was for them but they couldn’t just leave. I haven’t been able to contact them in over 48 hours and the highways leading out after the one hour evacuation notice was given was shut down. Most places are air rescues only because there is no other way for them to be rescued. To add on as well that they deployed FEMA in many of the places affected but yet there is barely any coverage and radio silence from our government. No national guards are here to rescue them they are left to fend for themselves. People are drowning, being electrocuted, some didn’t even stand a chance. These are human beings who have been prayed on for generations the least you can do is show some fucking sympathy. I don’t care what you have to say family’s are being devastated. I wouldn’t wish anything like this to happen to anyone so if you find yourself in your bed at night I hope you know that out there, there are families who are grieving all they have lost and you are cozy at home with running water, electricity and a warm bed and you feel an ounce of guilt for even thinking that.

A link to ways that you can help. Keep Appalachia in your minds do not look away.

[sknyuz]

hello!! I want to make a request ; is it alright if you can write about how seong je would be with a mute!reader? i just think it’d be an interesting dynamic ..! hmm other details i’d add is the reader often giving affection in a form of gifting (letters mayb?), cooking him a meal or quality time :) you may write this in whatever format you want!! thank youu and have a nice week (ps love your writing)

synopsis — seongje is a whirlwind of noise and chaos, but he finds unexpected peace in your silence.

now playing — sweet - cigarettes after sex pairing — geum seongje x gn!reader (hard of hearing, selectively mute) genre — hurt/comfort, slowburn, angst with soft moments, unconventional romance (nothing is conventional with seongje) cw — ableism/mocking of hearing disability, bullying, violence (including implied offscreen physical assault), power imbalance, toxic behavior, minor blood/bruising, strong language wc — ~2.1k

note: this was a pleasure to write <3 i hope i did ur request justice, anon. and please do not hesitate to tell me if i wrote something wrong or inaccurate to the experiences of hoh individuals.

masterlist | join the taglist | 400 follower event

seongje doesn’t do “quiet.” he doesn’t do subtlety, either. his entire existence is loud—his presence is a storm that makes everything feel tense and unpredictable. that’s how he’s known: the unpredictable, impulsive force, the mad dog. so, when he sees you for the first time, it’s almost like a challenge.

you’re sitting there, silently, in the bowling alley, a forced audience to the bullying happening around you. the union’s delinquents have gathered, sneering as they taunt you. they wave your hearing aids in front of you like a sick joke, expecting you to react. but you don’t. you’re quiet, your face unreadable, eyes glued to the floor, trying to stay as small as possible, like you’ve done countless times before. it’s a game for them, nothing more than a way to make you feel like an outsider.

“hey, freak, what’s wrong? can’t hear us?” one of them mocks, swinging your hearing aids back and forth with a smirk.

the noise is deafening to you in a different way—a slow, rising pressure in your chest. you want to speak, to make them stop. but your voice won’t come, and the words you want to say die in your throat, replaced by that quiet ache of helplessness.

that’s when seongje steps in.

he’s not supposed to be there. he’s supposed to be in baekjin’s office, probably arguing or being a general pain in the ass—but the noise coming from the alleyway catches his attention. he comes striding out, a curse on his lips as he surveys the scene, his eyes lighting up with the familiar flash of anger.

“what’s with all the fucking noise, fuckers?!,” seongje shouts, his voice dripping with disdain as he eyes the delinquents, but his gaze lands on the one holding your hearing aids, who freezes up as soon as he realizes who’s standing in front of him.

“aww, you guys are really fucking pathetic,” seongje steps forward, his mood shifting from bored to dangerous in an instant. he slaps the delinquent’s face, knocking the hearing aids out of his grip, and catches them before they hit the floor.

the delinquent stumbles back, startled, and seongje doesn’t miss the way his bravado slips. “hey, if you want to get your ass kicked, i’ll be happy to oblige. otherwise, get the fuck out of here,” seongje growls, and his voice carries an unmistakable warning.

the delinquents scatter quickly, realizing they’re not really looking forward to get beat up by the wolf himself. seongje watches them leave with a bored smirk, but his eyes return to you, where you’re still sitting silently, your gaze downcast. his anger bubbles under the surface, but it doesn’t seem to be directed at you—it’s more frustration at how they treated you. and, maybe… it’s confusion. because why would he be frustrated?

he despises those who put on a front, acting all tough and dominant when they're around someone they know is weaker, but turn into cowards the moment they face someone like seongje. the hypocrisy makes him sick—they don’t even have the balls to face him.

you look up at him then, your lips parting as if to say something, but the words stay locked inside. seongje stares back, a little too long, before he gestures to the now-empty bowling alley with a roll of his eyes.

“shit, it’s way too quiet in here now,” seongje mutters, half to himself. “i need a fucking drink. you coming?” his fist reaching out to you, making you flinch, but he simply turns and opens his palm to reveal your hearings aids, offering it back to you, his gaze not even meeting yours.

you hesitate, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. seongje doesn’t wait for a reply. he knows how this works—he doesn’t need words from you to tell if you’re okay. you’ve already said more than enough with that silence of yours.

it’s a few weeks later when seongje starts to notice something he wasn’t expecting—something soft. you’re not the type to speak, but you show him things. you leave him little letters. they’re simple at first, just words on paper—carefully written, neat and soft. but each one has meaning. you might leave him a note after a chaotic day, telling him, thank you for helping me today—a gesture he’s not used to.

seongje can’t stop himself from reading them over and over, even if he pretends they don’t matter. he tosses the first one aside in an exaggerated motion, but later, when he’s alone, he pulls it out again, trying to make sense of it. there’s something oddly comforting in your words. something real. his usual sharpness dulls just a little when he reads them.

it’s a typical night, and you don’t expect anything to go wrong. seongje has always been unpredictable, but you can’t stop yourself from trusting him. there’s a strange sort of understanding between the two of you now. he doesn’t need you to speak, and you don’t need him to be anything but… himself. still, you don’t expect what happens when he calls you to meet him in a parking lot late one evening.

the dim light from the streetlamps makes the whole place feel cold and detached. you spot him standing there, leaning against the hood of a car, his eyes narrowing slightly when he sees you approach. but there’s something different tonight—something unsettling in his stance.

"come here," seongje says, his voice almost too casual for the tense atmosphere.

your breath catches in your throat as the boy on his knees comes into focus. you've seen him around before—he’s one of the delinquents from the union. the same one who’d been taunting you in the bowling alley, waving your hearing aids like some cruel joke. that memory hits you sharply, and your stomach churns with discomfort as you recognize him now, his face bruised and bloodied, a lip split open, looking like he’s been through hell.

but why is he here? why is he on his knees, shaking in front of seongje? what happened to him?

seongje stands over him, his posture casual, his grin wide and wicked as he watches the boy with almost bored amusement. he kicks the delinquent’s side lightly, like it’s a game, and the boy flinches.

"come on, kid," seongje says, his voice teasing but edged with something darker, something almost amused by the kid’s fear. "just like we practiced."

the delinquent on his knees doesn’t speak, his eyes downcast, probably too terrified to even look up at seongje, but his shaky hand lifts. you watch as he tries to make the "a" handshape, his fingers clumsy as he attempts to sign. seongje looks down at the boy, his grin stretching wider as he watches him fumble.

the delinquent hurriedly completes the sign, his hands shaking, his breath coming in short bursts as he struggles to perform it correctly. he spins his hand in a half-hearted clockwise motion, and you can tell how hard it is for him to even try. he looks humiliated, and maybe that’s what seongje wants—to make him feel small, to show that he’s the one in control now. like how the boy probably felt back in the bowling alley with you.

“sorry.” he signed.

as the boy finishes, seongje pats his shoulder with an almost affectionate thud, a grin still plastered on his face. “good job,” he mutters, voice dripping with mock praise. but his eyes flick to you, then back to the delinquent, as if waiting for some kind of reaction.

the delinquent scrambles to his feet, not daring to say a word, but you can see the fear still fresh in his eyes. without another glance, he stumbles off into the shadows of the parking lot, and seongje doesn’t follow him, not bothering with any more theatrics. “now that’s how you apologize,” he sighs contentedly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye as he walks back to where you two came from.

you don’t respond, but you follow him. because, despite everything—despite how messed up all of this is—he’s still the one who, somehow, happened to feel like the safest person to be around. despite his… unique antics.

despite the way he does things no one else would dare to. because even if he’s rough around the edges, unpredictable and loud, seongje never made you feel small. and that, weirdly enough, was enough.

seongje’s desk at the bowling alley becomes a quiet sort of shrine to you—littered with your letters and notes, half-crumpled from him rereading them over and over. he never bothers to clean it up. they’re scattered across the surface like leaves in a storm, but he knows exactly where each one is. it’s an organized mess, chaotic in the same way he is. but if anyone even looks at them too long—tries to pick one up, makes a joke about the handwriting, even breathes too close to the edge of his desk—they’re basically asking for a death wish.

“touch it and you die,” he’ll mutter without even looking up, one foot kicked up on the desk, cigarette dangling from his lips. it’s not even a threat—it’s a promise.

somewhere in between the late night meetups—where the world is quiet and it’s just the two of you—and the stolen moments in back rooms lit by vending machine glow, seongje softens. not in a way that’s obvious to most, but in ways you catch. like when he plays bowling with you late at night at the union headquarters, just the sound of pins crashing echoing through the empty lanes. he’s terrible at it, but he doesn’t care. he would fair better hitting someone at the back of the head with these bowling balls. he only really lights up when it’s your turn.

you roll the ball, knock down every pin, and before you can even react, he’s throwing his hands in the air, exaggeratedly signing applause, a wide grin stretching across his face.

“that’s what i’m fucking talking about!” he shouts, clapping loudly on top of the sign for applause he just made, just because he’s still him—loud, obnoxious, impossible—but now he’s loud for you.

yeah… to seongje, you’re like a stray puppy at first. small, quiet, following him around without saying a word, eyes always wide and watching. at first, he thinks it’s kinda funny—endearing, even. you don’t talk back, don’t flinch when he’s loud, and you’ve got this habit of showing up with little notes or food like some soft, strange ritual he doesn’t understand. he starts calling you “puppy” just to mess with you, ruffling your hair whenever you come around.

but somewhere along the way, that fondness stops being just a game. no, you’re not a pet to seongje. but maybe, you became an equal.

he starts waiting for your notes. starts leaving his office door slightly cracked, just in case you come by. he catches himself watching you instead of his phone. gets weirdly pissed off when other people so much as look at you wrong.

and the night he realizes it’s different—that it’s not just him babysitting some quiet kid—it’s when you sign “stay” with soft hands after a long night, and he does. no grumbling, no jokes, just settles next to you and doesn’t leave.

after that, it’s not a question. you’re not a puppy. you’re his person.

and yeah, maybe he never said you were dating. but everyone knows. you leave your food in the union’s fridge, your letters in his desk, your comfort in the chaos of his life. and he protects you, respects you, listens to your silence more than he’s ever listened to anyone’s voice. and no one in the union dares to bring it up or even question your soft presence in the nitty gritty bowling alley.

seongje is loud. like, really fucking loud. he talks with his whole body, yells when he's annoyed, laughs like he owns the air around him, and never knows when to shut up. he's noise and motion and chaos wrapped in one, dangerously sharp-edged boy. but you—you're quiet. not just in voice, but in presence. you move gently, offer kindness without demanding attention, speak in ways that don’t need sound.

and somehow, in all the noise of his world, your silence is the only thing that ever made sense. he used to think silence was empty, but now it’s where he finds comfort. he’s still loud, still volatile, still the type to throw a punch first and maybe ask questions never. but now there’s this... softness around the edges. a space he carves out just for you. like you’re the eye of the storm, and he’s always, always circling back to you.

in your quiet, he feels understood. and maybe that's the wildest thing about this whole mess—that a boy made of sound found peace in someone who never had to say a word.

note: aaa i feel like this so short >><< i wanted to give them more of a backstory but for now this is what i’m going with. if you’d like to see more of them that’d be nice 🫶 this is such a different take from collarless tho, and it’s nice to also write a softer character to contrast our tough collarless!reader to explore more dynamics with seongje.

i don’t aim to reform or soften seongje, but have the peaceful presence of the reader be incorporated into his life without changing his ideals and personality.

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[tojisteddy]

Daddy issues | “and if you were my little girl, I’d do whatever I could do…”

cw: 18+ MDNI, 4.1k words (omfg), smut with plot, meanie!simon (he’s a crazy, asshole), Daddy kink, daddy issues (obvi), dd/lg dynamics, mentions of abuse, sexualization of ‘pa, kiddo’ (truly a case of if you hate it just scroll), oral (f receiving), dacryphilia, creampie, full nelson, age gap (reader mid-late 20s, Simon early-mid 30s), no use of y/n (I use [+]).

a/n: obviously influenced by daddy issues by the neighborhood (I know it’s not about this at all, take it up with god), also by take you down by sza :3

You weren’t used to being this needy in your entire life.

You swore you didn’t need anyone, let alone Ghost Riley. You’d been repetitively normal in all your past relationships.

But he’d run through your mind like the Flash going back in time— the older man ruined some of the circuits in your brain.

You’d two gotten into an argument, shocker, but this time over how you were acting. The usually chilled out girl who Ghost would call when he wanted to see his little kitten purr, was now desperate for every little bit of his attention. The blonde despised every bit of it.

“You’re bein fuckin greedy.” He told you, walking away from where you stood after you told you’d wanted to stay over again for another week. Of course, you easily followed right behind, attempting to match his long stride. You never could.

“By wanting to be with you? Aren’t boyfriends supposed to want to see their girlfriends? Supposed to spend time together? There are probably a million girls and guys with sweet boyfriends—“

“—Do I look like one of those buddy buddy, pretty boys you like to fuck to you, [+]?” He turned on his heal, luckily you didn’t crash into his chest like you usually did. His voice was ice cold, “Answer me.”

“No sir.” You mumbled, the air was thick, tightly wrapping around your vocal cords.

“Then why the hell are you bein so damn needy? I told you, I won’t give you all my attention. I’ve got my own shit to take care of and you want me to, what? Hold you on my fuckin hip like a baby?” Well, hey— “Stop bein a damn brat and get the fuck out my face.”

“ ‘M not askin you to take care of me Si, but, I just want-“

“—Cut the shit [+]. You’re pissin me off, why can’t you just fuckin listen? I hate the clingy, desperate shit, get it out of your damn head and get it out of my fuckin house.” He stormed off into one of the bedrooms with a slam of the door.

Simon never had to tell you when he was kicking you out. You’d always go on your own.

He swore if he saw you and you were still stuck on the idea that you had to cling to him, he was gonna rip you a new one.

Did you take him serious?

On a good day, never.

You’d be stuck thinking about how good he looked, blonde hair a mess, veins popping out his neck and his arms, large muscles flexing, face screwed up towards you— you’d lick up all the poison he’d spewed to you over and over. It’s funny, at times like that you’d just wanted to know, if he’d fuck all his anger into you? Maybe you’d cum so many times just from finger fucking you, you’d be a babbling mess, begging for more—

Delusional.

Maybe when he was actually angry with you, not when Ghost was aggravated to the point he didnt want to physically see you.

And at the absolute worst of times, you’d trusted his words. You stayed away for a couple weeks just as you were told because you so desperately wanted to be told how good you were when you got that call. How you weren’t a needy bitch, but the prettiest & smartest girl he’d ever been with.

And of course you could’ve heard those simple words from anyone in a ten mile radius, ask your online followers for a few complements and you would’ve gotten them like clockwork. But you needed to hear it from that meanie.

Did you have a praise kink? Perhaps.

Did you need men’s approval to live? God forbid.

You just wanted Ghosts approval. His rough hands from those long days of being in action to touch your body, the playful head pats you swore you hated it cause it messed up your hair, a good smack to the ass as praise when he instructed you on how to change a car tire, fat fingers trailing your back as you sat in his lap, reading those books you loved a loud. Gruff voice praising after you had such an amazing day at work— as if you’d been the one to align everything so it could all work in your favor. ‘Good job doll, you’re doin well for yourself.”

Those underlying daddy issues would tear themselves out of you— like some junkie, you craved to hear his praises, feel it on your skin. It tingled the ivory inside you like a piano.

You tried taking your mind off it, throwing yourself into work, hanging out with your friends, doing a stream or two just to see if anyone showed up, get your mind straight so you wouldn’t be so dependent.

But giving a stray attention then yanking it away would be plain rude.

Your brain was in turmoil, front of your brain started to thunk, thunk, thunk from how much you were over thinking. To top it off, your father had called you just as you’d gotten done having lunch with some friends.

It’d be a long fucking night.

“No, I'm not moving back to the US just so I can be married off to someone stranger. Are you crazy?” You practically shrieked once you’d heard your stupid father on the other side of the call. No ‘hello,’ ‘how are you?’ ‘It’s been a while’ just straight bullshit.

Something about an arranged marriage with the son of a businessman he was trying to partner with. You wanted to punch him square in his jaw— ooooh calm down. You were okay. It’s perfectly fine.

“It’s for the betterment of your future, [+]. Why am I the only one who cares about that? You can’t go playing around with dogs all day—“

“I have serious clients dad, famous ones. Rich one’s. I’m not grooming dogs for nothing, even talked about opening my own place.” You tried. It was your dream, something not even your boss knew about. But Simon knew, in fact, he was the one who pushed you the most about really chasing after what you wanted. He had the most faith in you, and you yearned to hear him reassure you right now. Even if it was just him saying, ‘dont let those cunts get in your head, you’re my smart girl, aren’t ya? You know best.’

You would’ve killed to hear that right now.

Your father chastised, “A little grooming license isn’t a bachelors degree, is it?”

Oh. You blinked. He always had to take it there when he couldn’t get his way, because everything needed to go your father’s way or no one could be happy. You wiped your hand over your face in frustration, huffing as you continued on to your apartment, tuning out whatever the man was saying with ‘mmhm’.

Like a knight in shining armor but the opposing enemy, there the skull mask wearing man sat in his big black truck right in front of your apartment building. Simon didn’t even have to say anything when he caught your brown eyes, just motioned his head. ‘Come.’

Did he have to tell you twice?

You climbed in the car, heart pounding, not even listening to the words that were coming from the other side of the line because someone ten times more important had showed up.

“Where’ve you been?” He’d filled the cars silence in a hushed tone. Just enough so you could hear but your father couldn’t.

You fumbled around with your purse, looking at anything you could but the man beside you, “…You told me not to come over.”

“And you actually listened?” Simon griminced, eyebrow raised at you as he continued to drive.

Because usually, you’d show up even if you were the one who was mad. Ignoring him like he did you, even if you two were in the same space but you were still together. He’d still pull you in his arms, rubbing his head in the crevice of your neck because you were so damn cute with those eyebrows furrowed and pout.

“I didn’t wanna make you more upset this time.” You wanted to hide yourself but that truck left no room for it.

Well that didn’t work, did it? It just made him more annoyed. To the point Price had to tell him to ease up on the lower ranked soldiers during training. Even if he did push you away, you were a boomerang, always finding your way back to the older brute— a constant. You were a stray cat that would brush into Simon each time he gave you a little attention, a little food, a little love. And he liked it, his cute little thing that would ease his mind from everything even if you were a little annoying. Something to care for.

Like, a puppy? A kitten? No, more. Girlfriend? Of course. A step down to hell. His baby girl. His baby—

Before Simon could get another word out, the rambling from your phone the both of you were ignoring turned into yelling. His hand gripped the wheel with a scuff. Simon hated your father to say the very least, an annoying, prude that man was. He had a nasty habit of calling you and spewing utter bullshit in your ear, critiquing every little one of your life choices even though he didn’t raise you, didn’t pay for anything— he was just another entitled sperm donor. Simon had to tell you to hang up different times because he couldn’t stand someone talking to you like that.

It took Simon back to his own father, that abusive, psychopathic prick. Didn’t know what the hell he was doing with him and his younger brother, fucker always was on ballistic shit. Throwing things against the wall, putting his hands on anyone in that God forsaken house that breathed wrong, drinking non stop and the goddamn yelling. He didn’t want that for you— didn’t want to end up like that bastard. Simon cared about you too much, he wouldn’t let that happen. So in his fucked up way of caring, he’d push you away. Saying anything that came to mind, only meaning 61% what he actually said.

But that proved to be a new dead end.

Which led to a new resolution: he’d fix whatever issue went on in his head and keep you if it meant not having to see you very clearly, shut yourself down to cope or having to hear your annoying father talking down on you like an imbecile.

Ghost’s own head was reeling— he would never let anyone talk to you like you were an idiot. Couldn’t even imagine it. Yes, you were a little agitating, a little fucking dumb— but that was fixable. Nothing Daddy couldn’t fix. And if you trip and fall on your mistakes, the older man was right there to catch you. He’d refix your problems a thousand times over if he had to, why? Because he adored you to pieces.

But you weren’t an idiot, you can’t fix inherent incompetence.

His princess wasn’t incompetent.

That’s why every fuckin time you were on the phone with your father, which was already rare, he wanted to shove his booted foot right the man’s ass. Sew his asshole shut and keep feeding him, and feeding him, and feeding him. Water board the guy and show everyone how he was the fuckin embarrassment and not his sweet precious daughter—

Simon would try to hold whatever anger was festering this time because you, for your mothers sake, were trying to fix the relationship you didn’t break.

He was off the rocker, yes, but he’d get the shit together. Quick. Somehow. For you.

Be good, good, be good, be good—

“—And I bet you’re still fucking around with that ass aren’t you, [+]? You can be such a fucking idiot, it’s time to grow the hell up-“

You weren’t a fucking idiot. Never. If Simon didn’t call you that, what made anyone think they had the right to?

He didn’t hesitate to snatch the phone out of your hands, “—Are you out of your fuckin mind!?”

His voice boomed, filling the car, not even your father was talking anymore. The only sound that could be heard was the engine and the tires rolling on the pavement.

“Ya don’t say shit to your own kid for a decade but now you think you can run her life because you got some money in your pocket? Money you haven’t even spent a single pound on her—“ there was a quick muffled noise from the other side of the phone but Ghost was faster, “I’m disrespectful!? I wish I gave a shit about what you think of me or what I’m doin with your fuckin daughter. She’s with me for good reason.”

“—The next time you call you’d better have one foot in the grave or I’m gonna find you and make sure you do my fuckin self.” The blonde pressed the red button on the screen, a few more taps to block the man who, the blonde man had decided, wouldn’t be in your life.

After putting your phone in your lap, his hand immediately went to the back of your neck and letting out a deep breath, rubbing the baby hairs with his thumb. Soothing you. You saw Simon mouth move but you didn’t hear what came out of it. It was like your ears were shot just for a second, your heart beating loudly, you had wrapped yourself in a daze whenever you’d talk to your father and this had to be the first time someone not only yanked you out of it, but fully and undoubtedly protected you.

“Kid.” he barked, more profound.

Your big brown eyes snapped over to him, your brain finally catching up to what was happening in the moment.

“You’re okay, ‘s okay. I’ve got you, gonna take care ‘f you. Promise. You want that? Want me to take care of you, hm baby?” His voice was so soft, inviting, pulling you into whatever he’d had set for you in his mind.

How could you say no, when all you ever wanted was to be Simons?

“Yes sir.”

Famous last words.

Like you’d ignited a flame, his brown eyes flickered with mischief.

Ghost, the usual menace, rough man was being cloying with you.

Leaving gentle kisses all over as he made his was down to the heat in the middle of your legs. Big hands roaming the rest of your body as he slid your black, wet, underwear off, throwing your legs over his shoulders and giving a nice smooch to your cunt.

“So fuckin pretty baby, ‘s all for me?” His tongue slide up and down your vulva.

“Y-Yeah,” you said breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut as Ghost lapped up every juice that was coming out of you.

The older man scuffed, slipping a finger inside your tight walls and slowly thrusting them. “ ‘yeah’? That’s all you gotta say? Don’t be stubborn with me doll, wanna be nice to you today.”

You felt a pinch to your thigh, a warning, “keep those pretty eyes on me swee’art, need you focused on me.”

Your head tilted itself to the side, nodding your head and biting your lip to contain your moan but it’s barely doing anything as you watch Simon slip another fat finger into you, pumping his fingers faster and finally going up to your clit, taking a little nibble of it and then talking it in his mouth.

“Fu- mmm- fuuuck- wait- Si- I- can I cum? Please? Can I?” You whimpered, peeking down at the brown eyes that were stuck on you. Ghost was smirking, almost enough to get a laugh out of him.

“Course baby, bein so good. Can cum as much as you want today.” His fingers curled just right at the perfect spot inside you and your walls flutter around his fingers. But he’s not stopping, course he’s not, the man has to get a good taste of you, get you cumming with his fingers, without his fingers, without sucking your clit— he sucking out every drop that leaves your cunt.

Ghost was taking his sweet time, as if you didn’t need him inside you desperately. You were aching for more after cumming a fourth time, bucking your hips only for Ghost to press down on them to keep you still.

He pulled his mouth away from you, face covered in your slick, “Jesus baby, cut it out, will you? Thought you wanted Daddy to take care of you?”

“D-do, I do. It’s just- just-“

“Don’t tell me you’re not used to it.” His ends of his lips turned up into a smirk, teasing, fingers rubbing your clit just enough to keep you wanting more yet slow enough to keep your attention only on him.

No. No you weren’t. He’d known that.

Simon usually manhandled you every which way and any position he wanted you in. Edging you as much as he wanted then giving it to you deep and leaving you breathless at every moment. And it’s not like you hated it, you loved every second of it. But this- this situation made your brain melt.

The older man just looooved that.

“Give me another, let me feel it.” His hands went to grope your tits, squeezing and pulling at them as he rubbed his face further into your pussy, completely devouring you whole. The blonde slid his long tongue back inside your hole, thrusting it just right. The man groaned as you pulsed around him, somehow getting sweeter as you fell apart.

He kept touching all over you, the curve your breasts, the peak of your nipples, the dips in your hips and thighs— ever so softly. As if he was revisiting a map he’d known like the back of his hand, making sure he knew every nook and cranny of you, the cause of every twitch, shake, and moan, the reason slick kept flowing down onto his tongue.

Why?

Well a good Daddy just had to know his baby well, shouldn’t he?

You should’ve known, there was no way Simon would ever be nice and go easy on you the whole time he was fucking you. But you were being silly, fantasizing about him slipping inside you and being gentle.

Your mistake for thinking a man so large in size, so brutal with words, with the biggest and fattest dick you’ve ever seen in your life would ever treat your poor pussy kindly :(. You always looked so perfect when he had you crying, so easy to bully, Ghost just couldn’t help himself.

“Si- Simon!” You yelped out, as he finally bottomed out inside your pink walls that were gonna chop his manhood off. He’d had you stuck in an inescapable full nelson, legs spread wide open and beefy arms hooked under knees, forcing your head down to look at the disappearing act of the century happening with his cock and your cunt.

“Look at the fuckin mess you’re makin kiddo, gonna get my thighs wet at this rate.” Ghost was plopping you up and down, up and down on his length, the loud sloshing sound of your sopping wet pussy filling the room.

“No- Si- aangh- it’s too much!” And it’s not like you could even push any of him away, as he thrusted up into you, making sure you took every single inch imaginable.

“Such a fuckin liar baby. What a fuckin liar you are, ‘nd you don’t think I’ve fuckin noticed that you won’t call me how you’re supposed to? Huh? Didn’t teach you to lie like that, did I?”

You’d internally cursed, slapping at his hand for some relief but your mouth only letting out moans. Yes, you were avoiding calling him ‘daddy,’ even though you’d call him that casually, it felt so off today after your falling out with your father. It made your head spin, because it wasn’t just a nickname anymore.

You were craving the missing hole you’ve been ignoring this whole time, to be filled with the man fucking you like a slut in his big arms.

“Told you I’d take care of ya, didn’t I princess? Promised you I’d be reaalll good to ya but— shit, your squeezing the life outta me— can’t be nice if you don’t treat your own daddy proper, can I?” You moaned at his words, shaking your head because this man was gonna make you go insane, tonight. Pushing you past the point of no return, and no, he wouldn’t let go of your hand while he’d did it.

He’d hold your hand and jump with you.

“Come on, call me how you’re ‘posed to kid.” He grunted in you ear, sucking on your earlobe, “Call the only man you’ll ever need, the man who’s fuckin your pretty pussy right, know you want to. Come on.”

He was egging on that delusion that sat, triple boxed up and in the farthest corner of your mind of your mind. Teasing, taunting you, probing at the thought that you swore you locked away that one time it slipped out of you mid conversation months ago.

But Simon remembered. In fact, he’d just needed the ‘okay’ from your plump lips because he longed to hear you call him that oh so sweet yet oh so sinful name once more. He wanted to be your number one. The man you relied on, someone that would never leave you like your father did. Better than your father, better than any one of those little boys you’d fool around with in the past. Damn it, and it was making you wetter.

“Paaa! You feel so good pa!” You mewled, throwing your head back on his shoulder in pleasure.

You felt that maniacal grin form on Ghosts lips on your shoulder, leaving a kiss on your neck— he was proud of you. It tickled something in his brain, scratched the exact spot where his own daddy issues lay. He wasn’t new to hearing a sex partner call him daddy during sex, maybe he exuded that energy— it was in his blood, Ghost didn’t know. But you just kept pushing the line, accidentally calling him that magic word when he’d praise you. And it stuck. You’d call him daddy like it was second nature. Looking up at him with those pretty brown eyes, obediently listening to whatever he had to say. That’s what all the fucking clingy shit was about, the needy, desperation of it all.

Wanting a father figure from a hell raiser— it was arranged. You were a good girl. Ghosts good little girl.

“Therrre you go princess, atta girl! Doin so good for me, cum on your daddy’s dick. Show me how good you are baby, milk me dry.”

You shook your head, belligerent sobs escaping you. You couldn’t believe you’d just call him that, of all things. And you tried to retract it, whining your way through your orgasm that left you trembling, Simon himself filling your tight cunt with every bit cum that sat in his balls.

“I- I- hicc- I didn’t mean to call you- hicc- I’m sorry.” You blabbered out, how sweet. How cute, you were trying to collect yourself. He pulled out of you with a roll of his eyes, flipping you onto your stomach, rubbing the tip against your hole that was leaking with the both of your cum. What a miraculous sight.

“No, baby you did. Don’t worry that pretty little head,” he cooed, slipping his dick back inside you, groaning at the feel of you. “pa’s got you.”

“Come on doll, wanna hear you,” He rocked his hips into you, the room filling with the smack, smack, smack, smacking of his balls hitting your wet pussy, ripples forming on your ass with every thrust.

Your brain was turning to mush, drool forming and dripping down the sheets of the bed. The only thing you were able to think of was daddy, daddy, daddy, pa, pa, pa. How good your pa was drilling into you like a maniac.

Simon’s hand wrapped around your curly hair, dragging you up to your knees as he continued to ram into you, “This allll my sweet little girl needed? Your pa to take care of you like a good daddy should. Fuck, that bastard couldn’t treat you right could he? Show you how a man’s supposed to treat you, huh?”

“Noooo sir- nghhh.” you keened, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Tha’s right princess, don’t worry though— I love you. Your pa loves you soooo. fuckin. much baby. No one’s gonna love you more than me.”

Those words alone is what set off your next orgasm, he was talking crazy, actually. And you loved every second of it, back arching even more so as you pulsated around his throbbing cock. He was still thrusting into you chasing his own orgasm, a string of curses leaving his mouth as you felt the tip of him spasm. He made you so full of him, you’d felt so warm all over.

“Shit, such a good girl for me, gonna take such good care of you from now. What do ya say?” He took you in his arms, laying you on top of him. You could feel his heart beating, chest heaving. Both of your skin sticky with sweat.

“Thank you pa.” You wrapped your arms him.

“Oh princess,” Ghost smiled, pressing his lips against yours, cupping your face with one hand and caressing it with his thumb, “you’re so welcome.”

a/n: it’s three people who are gonna read all this, me being one of them. If you liked it leave me a message or comment. If you hated it, idk. I’m just a big dadbf!simon enthusiast.

most recent masterlist.

[semisasseater]

ILL NEVER LET THAT HAPPEN AGAIN

i mean never.

SUMMARY ‘ ni-ki protecting you from a perv.

𓊆 尼基 𓊇 x fem!reader 㞫⠀⠀ ִ ⠀ 865 teasing harassment crying emotional distress angst fluff — 类型 fluff angst

✴︎ LIBRARY ✴︎

‧˚⠀⠀ 🤍⠀⠀ ɞ 作者注 : if ur man ain’t like this leave em

You were excited for today. Ni-ki had been looking forward to visiting this mall for weeks, hyping it up every chance he got. It had all his favorite stores, an arcade, and a food court with the best ice cream he’d ever had.

But something was ruining it.

You felt it before you saw it—that unsettling sensation of being watched. Every time you moved, you could sense someone lingering just a little too close, hovering. It wasn’t until Ni-ki pulled you into a store that you dared to glance behind you.

A man. Older, with greasy hair and an unsettling grin. And… was he holding his phone low?

Your stomach twisted.

You gripped Ni-ki’s sleeve, whispering, “Ni-ki… I think that guy’s following us.”

Ni-ki immediately tensed. His carefree energy disappeared, replaced with something sharp and dangerous. “What guy?”

You subtly motioned toward the man, and Ni-ki’s jaw clenched when he noticed the angle of the creep’s phone—pointed directly under your skirt.

Something inside Ni-ki snapped.

Without a word, he stormed toward the man and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward so forcefully that his phone clattered to the ground.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ni-ki growled, eyes burning with rage.

The man stammered, trying to back away, but Ni-ki wasn’t letting go. Instead, he shoved him hard, sending him stumbling against a store display.

“You think you can take pictures of my girlfriend like some fucking pervert?” Ni-ki seethed. The entire store fell silent, eyes locking onto the scene. But Ni-ki didn’t care.

He picked up the man’s phone, unlocking it with ease and scrolling through the gallery. His blood boiled at the sight of the upskirt photos.

His fist connected with the man’s face before he could stop himself.

The pervert yelped, cradling his jaw, but Ni-ki wasn’t done. He punched him again, sending him crashing to the floor. “You’re lucky I don’t fucking kill you” Ni-ki spat.

Security rushed in, pulling Ni-ki back before he could do more damage. “Sir you need to leave. Now.”

Ni-ki didn’t fight them. Instead, he wiped his knuckles on his jeans, turned to you, and grabbed your hand. “Come on baby we’re leaving.”

You nodded numbly, letting him lead you out as he scrolled through the pervert’s phone one last time, deleting the photos from the gallery, the trash bin, and even the iCloud. When he was satisfied, he tossed the phone onto the ground.

Outside the mall, Ni-ki exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Disgusting.”

But you… you felt awful.

This was supposed to be Ni-ki’s day. He had been so excited, and now, because of you—

Tears welled in your eyes. “Ni-ki i’m so sorry…”

He frowned, turning to you. “What?”

You sniffled, biting your lip. “I ruined everything you were looking forward to this and now we got kicked out because of me.”

His expression softened instantly. “Baby… no this isn’t your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t worn a skirt if I had been more careful—”

“Don’t” Ni-ki interrupted, pulling you into his arms. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

Your tears spilled over, soaking his hoodie as you clung to him. “I just feel so bad…”

Ni-ki sighed, rubbing slow circles into your back. “Listen to me, okay?” He pulled back just enough to cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. His thumbs brushed away your tears as he spoke, voice gentle. “You did nothing wrong. That creep is the only one to blame. Not you, not your skirt, not anything else.”

You sniffled again, lower lip trembling. “But you wanted to go there so bad…”

Ni-ki smiled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Baby i don’t care about some stupid mall. I care about you.”

Your heart clenched. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do” he murmured, kissing the tip of your nose this time. “Now no more crying okay?”

You nodded, taking a shaky breath. Ni-ki grinned and wiped away the last of your tears. “Good. Now come on—I know another mall nearby and they have an even better arcade.”

Your eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really” he chuckled, lacing his fingers with yours. “Let’s go crybaby.”

You pouted at the teasing nickname, making him laugh as he tugged you toward the car.

And just like that, the day wasn’t ruined anymore.

@semisasseater

[poisonofthepaint]

lucky you

jack calls you in on your day off, which leads to hooking up in the on-call room, which leads to him finding your tattoo.

wc: 2.5k

cw: MDNI, semi-public sex, f!reader, age gap, pinv, oral, lmk if i'm missing anything!

The date you were heading toward was less than exciting. You knew you needed a life outside of the hospital, Dana had given you a wake up call last week. You had been working doubles like it was nothing, but this was your first day off in a while, so you figured you’d download a dating app, get a free dinner on a Friday night. Not that you couldn’t afford dinner, this was more like dinner and a show. Max was a kind guy, but you could tell he didn’t take you seriously— that he underestimated you. So this was your chance to show up a man, and have him pay for your dinner. Win win.

Then, your phone rings. The ringtone that you have set for hospital staff interrupts your music and blares through the speakers. You groan, checking to see who it was. You were surprised to see that it was Jack, you figured since he was agreeing so hard with Dana last week that he would be the last person calling you.

“It’s my day off,” you answer

“I need you here.” Jack sounds out of breath. 

“Are you kidding?”

“You know I’m not. Ellis is sick, I thought we could manage but we cannot. I need you here.”

“You’re buying me dinner.” you say, exasperated.

“Gladly,” Jack ends the call. 

You know he wouldn’t call you unless it was actually an emergency, Jack wasn’t like that. He wanted to be able to manage. He wanted to be able to handle it by himself. So when he calls you, it’s important. You take off the blue dress you had on, switching it out for a plain white t-shirt before throwing your scrubs on top. You grab the bookbag full of your supplies for shifts and head out of your apartment.

The hospital is only a few blocks from your apartment, so you walk. It’s a bit chilly out; the springtime air blowing through the trees. It looks like it’s gonna storm, and you get to the hospital right before it starts, ducking your head as you walk into the entrance. 

The patients are grouchy in the waiting room, all groaning and yelling. The seats must’ve been taken up hours ago, there’s more people standing than sitting. You push your way through the front door.

“Good, you’re here.” Abbot was waiting at the doors like he had timed you. “You’re not supposed to wear perfume here.” he chastises.

“Had already sprayed it when you called me, figured I didn’t have time to shower.” 

“Right,” his eyes catch yours and he refuses to look away. “We have a lot of injuries from a car crash. A bunch of guys were speeding on the highway and about six of them were sitting in the open truck bed. A semi driver didn’t see them swerving around and knocked them off the road.”

Jack finally breaks eye contact and walks away, you follow him back into Trauma 1. There’s a young guy, probably around twenty-three, screaming in pain. His hand is holding on by a string, like, literally. It’s barely connected. 

“Noah, this is my best resident, she’s gonna take a look at you.” Jack tells him, yelling over the boy’s own screeching.

“I don’t care who she is, fix my fucking hand! I’m on a baseball scholarship!”

“I’m really glad I cancelled my date to be here.” you say, examining his arm.

“You were going on a date?” he says, you think you hear a tinge of jealousy in his voice, but you brush it off.

“Aren’t you the one who told me to go have fun?” Jack doesn’t answer, just goes back to the patient, and you do too.

There are a lot of injuries, some superficial, some very serious. Noah will lose his hand, because he was stupid. You learn that he was the driver of the truck, and that he was drinking. You try to have empathy for all of your patients, but it’s hard when they’re being willingly stupid, and killing their friends. Noah heads up into surgery, and everything is rather stable now. The ED returns to its normal business, waiting for beds upstairs, triaging emergencies from the ambulances. 

You sit at your station and chart your patients, trying to remember all that happened in the whirlwind of your arrival. Jack stands right in front of you, charting as well. He looks back once, twice.

“You need something?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“Nah, just making sure you’re good.”

“I am just peachy, although I could use some dinner.” you smile up at him brightly.

He makes a noise that’s somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, “Guess I did promise.”

Jack pulls out his phone, opening DoorDash before handing it over to you. You swipe through the restaurants before you find some Chinese place that catches your eye. You put what you want in the cart before handing his phone back to him.

  “Thank you, Dr. Abbot!” you get up from your seat and go to do a round of checkups.

You briefly see him shake his head as he looks down at his phone. 

It’s  a while before the food gets there, and even longer for the driver to argue with the nurse at triage. Jack finally sees the commotion and goes out and grabs it, apologizing to the nurse.

He calls you over and you grab the food, heading into the breakroom. You sit down and open up the paper brown bag. You think about how your night worked out, you got free dinner and a show anyway. And this was actually a show you quite enjoyed. You did love your job, maybe an unhealthy amount. But you had worked so hard to get here, and you were good at it. You were Abbot’s best resident. You were fast at assessing and scoping out which treatment would be best. You flew around the ED like it was nothing to you. 

After a few minutes of eating alone, Jack came to join you, taking what he ordered out of the bag.

“So, what’s wrong with Ellis?” you pry.

“She thinks she has the flu, super high fever and throwing up.”

“Got it, just wanted to make sure this wasn’t all a ploy to get me here on my day off.”

“And if it was?” Jack asks. 

You’re stunned for a second before you regain yourself, “Then I would say you’re very unprofessional, and that you’re interfering with my personal life.”

He shrugs– smirks, “You don’t want a healthy work life balance. Plus, we have fun together, don’t we?”

You try not to think about how he can read you; how he’s got you memorized like you’re the back of his hand. “We do.”

You finish your food and throw the empty container in the trash, excusing yourself. You swoop into the on-call room, trying to calm yourself. You rest your back against the door and swipe a hand down your face. 

The truth is, you’ve had a crush on Jack since your first day at The Pitt. it was a schoolgirl one at first, you thought he was cute. It was fun to be attracted to your boss; to have a little work crush that you could be excited about. But then, it started getting deeper, Jack paid extra attention to you, he could tell that you actually enjoyed the ED. You were always with him on cases, he picked you for his ‘team’ during busy mass casualties. He got to know you, you got to know him. He was no longer a mysterious crush who you just thought was cute. You liked him, in a way you didn’t want to. It was distracting some days. It was even more distracting when you had a feeling you weren’t being delusional. When you wondered why he called you, a second year resident, instead of one of the seniors, or another attending. 

There’s a knock at the door, and you open it, shocked to see Jack standing outside. He walks in and you allow him, moving out of the way so he can lock the door behind him. You can feel your heart in your throat. You sit down on the bed, hoping it’ll stabilize you. 

There’s silence; tension you could cut with a knife. He stands with his hands resting on a countertop. The storm rages outside the window, a big crack of thunder rings throughout the room. Jack is just looking, trying to scope you out. He pushes off and approaches you. You swallow, and look down at your feet, trying to avoid eye contact, but Jack isn’t having any of it. He grabs your chin and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him. He leans down, presses his forehead against yours. He lets his lips ghost yours— just barely.

“Tell me to stop.” he begs, out of breath, just like when he called you.

You place a hand on his neck, fingers threading lightly through the hair at the bottom, “What if I don’t want you to?” He groans, burrows his head into your neck. “I want it, Jack, of course I want it.” 

That’s all it takes. His lips are on yours without another beat. The kiss is rough— needy. Your teeth clash against each other, and his tongue explores your mouth. He lays you back onto the bed and your legs open, making room for him. He settles himself and gets to work on your neck, his hand slowly slides up your shirt, resting on your stomach.

He’s still being cautious, you think. You push his hand up and he cups your breast. He makes a strained noise when he feels the lace on your bra.

“You were gonna wear that for him?” Jack asks, right into your ear.

“No, I was wearing it for myself.” an honest answer. 

Jack rips your pants off and sees, what he assumes, is the matching thong. The underwear shifts down a bit, and you think Jack is gonna pass out.

Your small tattoo, a mistake from undergrad. A scripture on your hip that reads, ‘lucky you.’

“You’re gonna fucking kill me, kid.” he brushes his thumb over the words. Thinks about them. Doesn’t move for a minute. 

“Good thing we’re in an emergency department.” 

The nickname sends a wave of arousal through you, just like it always does. It’s how he usually referred to you during emergencies, when you’d catch something that no one else saw. It was how he praised you. You never imagined you’d hear it in this context.

Jack stands up and you whine. He quickly strips off his clothes and is back on you in a second. He rests on his stomach and kisses your tattoo sloppily.

He rips off your underwear with ferocity. You’d be smart to feel a tinge of embarrassment. He is your boss. But you don’t. This feels right, this feels good. He swipes a finger through your folds and you keen. 

“So wet for me.” he mumbles.

Jack wastes no more time. His tongue makes quick work on your clit. He moves like he knows you. Like he’s done this a million times, like there’s no room for error. And there isn’t. You both knew this needed to be quick. There were patients outside of the door, and the nurses and other doctors will be wondering where you two went. He works at your clit and you try your hardest to not make any noise. He looks up at you while his tongue is buried in you, and you let out a cry. He reaches a free hand up and covers your mouth. You bite down on it and let your head fall back on the lumpy pillow.

Then, Jack pulls away. “The fuck?” you say it into his hand, so it’s a bit muffled.

“We’ve only got time for one thing. You’re gonna come when I do. Just had to get you ready.” He says.

You want to salute. You want to scream. You don’t really know how this is happening. 

Jack pulls off his boxers and you gulp. You see why he needed to get you ready. The length alone was bigger than anything you’ve taken, but he was girthy too. 

He pulls a condom out of a drawer in the room. “Did you stash that in here?” you laugh.

“No, they keep them in here. I always wondered why, but now I see.”

He rolls it on quickly and comes back to the bed. He rests on his heels, taking you in. “Are you sure?” Jack asks again.

“I’m positive. I’ve wanted this since I met you.”

He nods slowly, small smile coming to his lips. He moves so his hands are right next to your head. Jack lines himself up with your entrance and sinks in deep. 

“Shit,” he mumbles. “So fucking tight.”

“You feel so good,” you cry.

“Yeah? This good for you?” He sets a brutalizing pace, hips never faltering. His head falls into your neck again. “Your perfume is driving me fucking crazy, sweetheart. Could smell you whipping around this hospital. Every time you passed me, I thought I was going to have to take you right there.”

He’s rambling now, you realize. Pussydrunk from how you feel. 

“Maybe I’ll have to wear it more, break the rules a bit, if it leads to this.” you say, resisting the urge to moan in the middle of your sentences.

He pants, stifles his own noises. “You’re close,” you say.

“It’s been a while, every time I went on a date, I would just think of you.” 

“Is that true?”

“I’m already in your pants, no reason to lie.” his hips start to stutter. “Y’gonna come with me?”

You scope out the feeling in your stomach and focus in on it, Jack brings a hand down between your bodies and starts rubbing your clit. “Fuck, God, yes. Yes, I am.”

The room is filled with heavy breaths, the air has gone thick. You spot a bolt of lightning run through the sky and grab Jack’s head, bringing his ear down to your mouth. “Now,” you whisper.

The thunder hits right as you both finish. It’s loud enough to mask the noises neither of you could hold back. He continues the pace until you come down. You both gasp into each other. Jack slowly pulls out, taking the condom over to the trash can and burying it under some paper towels. 

He comes back to the bed and sits on the edge, massaging your shin. “I’m gonna make an assumption and say that was the best sex of your life,” you scoff, but don’t deny it. “But, we have to get back.”

“I know,” you say, wishing you could stay in this room forever. “God, this is really gonna fuck with my work life balance.”

Jack laughs and stands up, placing a kiss on your forehead. “C’mon, lucky girl. We’ll figure it out.”

[vanillasweetpie]

spudsy’s shifts and dumbass rabbits (jax x reader)

i watched episode 4 and couldn’t resist writing this lil silly fic because i hate jax <3

you swear you’re gonna kill him.  

you don’t even care what happens after that, Caine can throw you in the void or force you into a therapy session with him, or whatever horrifying punishment his ai brain comes up with. it’d be worth it. it’d be so worth it if it meant shutting Jax up for five goddamn minutes. 

he’s been sitting at the counter, feet kicked up onto the register looking like he’s on fucking vacation, while you scramble around Spudsy’s kitchen. the fryer’s spitting oil, the soda machine’s doing that weird gurgling thing again

and Jax does nothing all shift except make snide comments about your “technique”, pretending to be Gordon Ramsay trapped in a rabbit’s body.  

“you’re gonna burn them,” he drawls, spinning one of the ketchup bottles like it’s a fidget toy, watching you flipping the fries.

you slam the fryer basket down harder than necessary and whirl around to glare at him. “maybe if you got off your lazy ass and helped, they’d come out looking better.”  

Jax snickers, tilting his head back to look at you upside-down. his ears flop over the back of the chair, and he grins widely. “nah, why would I do that when you’re doing such a great job on your own?”  

“Jax, I swear to #@?!—”  

“language, language!” he interrupts, wagging a finger at you. “what would Caine think if he heard you talking like that?”  

you grab the nearest ketchup bottle and launch it at him. and honestly, it’s more satisfying than it should be when it hits him square in the chest, splattering his black uniform with bright red.  

“oh, wow.” he looks down at the mess and then up at you, opening his eyes wide in fake surprise. “was that supposed to hurt my feelings? because it’s just pathetic, sweetie, really.”  

“pathetic?!” you’re halfway across the counter before you even realise what you’re doing, hands grabbing at his stupid clothes to yank him closer, practically face to face, however this damn bastard is taller than you, but you don’t back down.

Jax doesn’t fight it. in fact, he leans into it, daring you to say something else.

his stupid sharp smile only growing wider. “aww, isn’t it romantic. you’re starting to sound so obsessed with me, sweetheart.”

“obsessed with killing you, maybe.” your grip tightens on his shirt. Jax’s smile fades for a moment and his ears twitch what makes you think he might actually shut up.  

but no. of course not.  

“if i knew getting you riled up was this easy, I’d’ve started weeks ago,” his tone is so insufferably casual that you’re losing your temper.

you shove him back, harder than you meant to and he stumbles, nearly tripping over the chair he’s been lounging in all shift. you expect him to snap at you or at least throw some sarcastic quip your way, but instead—  

he laughs.

it throws you off just long enough for him to close the distance between you, his hands catching yours before you can storm off.  

“hey, you’ve got a little ketchup—” Jax swipes a gloved finger across your cheek, smudging red sauce where there definitely wasn’t any before “—right there.”  

you glare at him, opening your mouth to yell, but before you can say anything, he leans down and—  

oh.

it’s quick. as if he’s testing the waters, but the kiss leaves you frozen in place. his grin is back in full force when he pulls away, his eyes half-lidded. you stand there, dumbfounded, looking at his infuriatingly pleased face. the fryer beeps in the background and the soda machine gurgles again.

“there. now we’re even,” he says, stepping back and slipping out of your reach before you can punch him in the face.  

“you’re such a—”  

“Jax! y/n! get back to work!” Gangle's voice sounds.

you fucking hate him. probably.

[no-144444]

family fights- o.piastri

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summary: you and oscar were never meant to be together, lando made that clear. one night changes everything, then another changes it again.

pairing: oscar piastr x fem! norris! reader

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He’d done it again. Another win. Oscar Piastri was a two-time GP winner. 

And no one could ever take this one away from him. 

Over the past few weekends, he’d been pretty down about everything. Hungary, the whole ‘papaya rules’ bullshit, and how everyone had something to say about Monza. He’s a fucking racecar driver, and he wasn’t a second driver. It’s in his goddamn contract, thanks to Mark. And anyways, why would he pull over and let Lando take points from him, when he’s so close to P3 in the Driver’s standings? Charles is slowly but surely trying to build a gap, and Oscar is not planning on making it easy for him. It’s his second fucking season of F1, and he’s matching his teammate. Is that not something to be proud of? 

Apparently not in Lando’s fan girls’ eyes. It’s pathetic really, the memes were funny a while ago, and now it’s all getting to be too much. 

And then there’s you. Lando’s sweet little sister who loved Oscar more than life itself. You’d gotten him through the lows of the past few weeks, with just a smile his way.

But Lando wouldn't let you two be together. It was a ‘betrayal’, in his mind. 

It was bullshit. Lando liked having something over him, and you were the ‘thing’ in this scenario. You’d liked Oscar for ages, and you started in secret, too scared to tell Lando. You continued like that for a whole year, somehow hiding it seamlessly. It was the best relationship either of you had ever been in. You matched each other perfectly, and you got to see him everyday, since Lando had brought you on as his physio. Stolen kisses behind closed doors was a-ok with you two, until Lando had to walk into something he wasn’t supposed to. It was your anniversary night and yes, maybe you should’ve checked that the door was properly locked, but when he was kissing you like that? Who would be able to find it in themselves to care? For some reason, Lando walked into your apartment, ready to tell you off for not locking your door, and he found you and Oscar asleep in your bed, 1 year anniversary cards on the counter, and a bottle of wine beside the sink. On the drying rack there were 2 clean plates, two sets of cutlery, two glasses, one bowl, and two spoons. He was so angry. He just stormed in and started screaming at the two of you, telling you that you’d betrayed him for a whole year, making accusations left and right, and generally just ruining your perfect night. 

Then he gave the both of you an ultimatum. Date and lose him as a brother and a friend, or break up and he’d never speak about it again. You two could be friends, but always at a healthy distance. 

It took you both a week to make the decision. You were both crying when you called him to tell him you’d broken up. His response? Good. 

He barely talked to either of you for a month, and you truly feared the worst for your relationship with him. But, in true Lando fashion, one day he just started to be normal again, and everything was ok. 

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Oscar still remembered the way you looked when he'd made the choice to go behind Lando's back. You were wearing your favourite dress, you hair styled perfectly, your nails done, your makeup done, everything. It was for some boring gala that Oscar didn't want to sit through, and neither did you. Though nevertheless you went as the dutiful sister you were and made polite conversation with the gross old dudes who wouldn't leave you alone, and Oscar (he hoped he wasn't grouped in with them).

"Do you want to get some air?" he offered as you finished up a conversation with Christian Horner.

"I'd love to," you nodded, somehow keeping the soft smile on your face.

You burst out of the hall laughing, having run away from Lando. You got on well with Oscar. He was lovely, honestly. "He's going to kill us," you laughed, grabbing ahold of his shoulder to steady yourself.

"Worth it," he smirked.

You two spent some time outside, eventually ending up outside in the cold French air. You two somehow ended up intertwined on a bench outside the venue.

"I really enjoyed sneaking off with you," you beamed at him.

"I really enjoyed it too," he blushed. "We should do it again some time."

You laughed. "I think Lando will kill us if we pull that again-"

You stopped talking because he'd started kissing you, and you didn't want him to stop.

"I like you," he pulled back. "A lot."

It was so juvenile you almost laughed. Yet, you found yourself answering with; "I like you too."

And thus began your year-long love.

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To be honest, Oscar hated clubs. He hated the sweaty air, the suffocating closeness of everyone, and the heavy drinking. Oscar didn’t drink much, mainly a glass of wine with dinner every now and then, or a celebration drink when there was something to celebrate. He wasn’t a huge fan of feeling out of control.

Despite all of that, he’d somehow been convinced by Lando to go ‘out on the town’. He didn’t want to go out on the town. He wanted to stay home, or bump into you in the cinema near your shared apartment building. You two had been doing that a lot lately, bumping into each other there. You’d sit together, or a few chairs apart, but it’d feel a bit like before you’d broken up. It felt good.

You missed him dearly, as he did you. He knew you were going to see a special midnight showing of Psycho, yet he couldn’t even go because Lando dragged him out. 

“Mate!” Lando shouted from the other side of the VIP booth. 

“What?” Oscar asked, walking up to him. 

“I have someone I want you to meet,” Lando, being the prick he is, signalled to a girl in the middle of the dance floor that looked nothing like you. “Look, she’s nothing like Y/n! It’s perfect!” 

Oscar felt his blood boil, and finally spill over. “Fuck off Lando. That’s not fair-”

“What’s not fair was the fact that you dated my little sister behind my back!” He shot back. 

Oscar grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him out of the club, into the humid Monaco air. This back alley was usually used for a smoke break, but tonight it would be used as a fucking ring. 

“I’m not expecting you to understand anything I'm going to say, but fuck you Lando. I loved Y/n- I love Y/n, and you took that all away from me because of what?! You felt betrayed? You felt bad? It was overwhelming? We’ve proven that we’re not awkward if we break up, we’re actually ridiculously civil, all for your sake! You’re the one being unfair here. Yes, maybe we should’ve told you earlier. Yes, maybe it was wrong to keep it from you, but for fuck’s sake man! She’s your little sister, I’m your friend, it’s not like you don’t know us! I’d never do anything to hurt her, and she’d never use me, or whatever bullshit excuse you gave me. Now, I know you don’t fucking understand this, but I love her. More than anything in the entire fucking world. More than racing, more than anything. She’s what gets me through the shitty days and even shittier races. Knowing that, once I get out of the car, she’ll be standing there with a smile, or a hug on the occasions where you don’t watch us like a fucking hawk, makes it all fucking worth it for me. You took that away from me, and you took it away from her. It ate at her the entire year we were together that she couldn’t tell you, because well, of course it would! You are her older brother, her best friend. She should’ve been able to tell you about her boyfriend. She questioned herself after every day we spent together, every date we went on, about whether or not what we were doing was right. She felt so guilty. I felt so guilty. But at the end of the day when I saw her waiting for me in my driver’s room, or my apartment, or at the foot of the podium, I knew that what I felt was right. And it wasn’t just me feeling it Lan, she loved me back,” he sniffled, trying to hold back tears. “So no, I don’t want to meet someone at a club, I want Y/n. My Y/n. And I don’t give a fuck if you’re upset by that, because I’ve given you every reason to trust me Lando, and I promise you, I’ll never try to hurt her. I’ll keep her safe, and above all, I’ll love her.” 

Lando was taken aback. He was a lot more sober now. He’d never seen Oscar show so much emotion. He’d never seen Oscar show much emotion, point blank. Yet here he was, standing in front of him, crying over his little sister. “Mate, what do you mean?”

“I means you’re a fucking asshole Lando, and I don’t give a shit if you don’t want me to date Y/n. It means I’m going to ask her out again, and if she says yes I won’t stop just because you’re a dickhead who can’t stomach the fact that she loves me, and I love her.” 

Lando was again, taken aback. He’d never really had a reason as to why he didn’t like you and Oscar dating, it just felt… weird to him. Then, with about a moment's worth of self-reflection, he realised. He didn’t want to be second to Oscar. All his life, you’d been his biggest supporter, you two were always together, always there for each other, always his little sister. From cradle, to karting, coffin, he thought he’d be the only driver you supported and cared about. Then, in came Oscar, being everything he wanted to be; cool, calm, collected, talented, unprideful, gracious, and kind. Everything he worked to be. It had taken Lando 6 years to get a win, Oscar did it in his first year. It took Lando 2 years to get a podium, Oscar did it in his debut season.  “Well it’s just not right,” Lando shot back. “She’s my little sister, and I’m not being second to you with her! That’s not fair. She doesn’t get to choose you over me!” 

“She chose you! She broke up with me because you asked her to! I don’t know what the fuck you think is going to happen if we start dating again, but it’s not like we’ll just abandon you Lando! She’s your sister, and she loves you more than life itself! For fuck’s sake, if this was all about being scared that she’d pick me over you, we could’ve sorted this out weeks ago!” 

“I have to be second place to a fucking rookie! Do you know how that feels? Bad, Oscar, it feels bad. And now you want to come here and tell me that I’m second place to that same rookie, in my sister’s opinion? Y’know how that feels? Worse!” Lando was crying now, unable to control it. “I’ve been second to someone my whole fucking life, and Y/n was the one person who understood me! And now you want to take her away!” 

“I’m not taking her away, Lando! We’re both still going to be here for you!” Oscar took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t take your frustrations on the track out on her, she’s the one suffering for it. You’re suffering for it too, and so am I. Lando, she loves you no matter what, you know that.” “I’m scared alright?” He groaned. “I’m scared that one day I’ll turn around after an interview and see her celebrating you winning over me! I’m scared that she’ll see I’m not as good as you! I’m scared.” 

“You can be scared all you want, but she isn’t like that, Lando. Talk to her about this, she’ll reassure you-”

“And how the fuck would you know? You barely know her-”

“I know her a lot better than you do if this is what you think of her,” Oscar’s words cut through the tension in the warm air. Lando flinched like he’d been hit. “Now, if you’ll excuse me from this shitty night out, I’m going to go find your sister and tell her how I feel. Goodbye Lando.”

Oscar didn’t even bother going back inside to grab his coat, he just started walking. Jimmy’s was a 30 minute walk from your regular cinema, and if his calculations were correct, you’d be getting out of the screening just then. 

As he walked he thought about everything Lando had said. It was pathetic, honestly, why couldn’t Lando have just told you how he felt instead of ruining the incredible thing you and Oscar had going with his own insecurities. Maybe he didn’t understand it, maybe Lando just hadn’t experienced what you two had. 

“Oscar?” you walked up to him, smiling. 

“Hi,” he answered, stopping in his tracks.

“How are you?” you asked, awkward tension filling the air.

“I’m… I’m alright. I wanted to talk to you,” he explained. 

“Talk away,” you smiled. 

“Well… Lando and I had this big blow up argument, and I made a choice. I don’t care what he wants anymore, and if he has a problem with me loving you, then it’s his problem, not ours. I want you back Y/n, more than anything. I miss you every fucking day. And if the only reason we’re not together is because of him, then I’m forgetting how he feels. I want you back if you’ll have me.”

You stood there, shocked. It had been 4 months since you and Oscar had broken up. You loved him, but you loved your brother too. You couldn’t put your relationship with your brother at risk for Oscar, could you? Lando had been for you throughout your childhood, a constant. You wouldn’t be able to handle him not being there, would you? “Oscar, when did you two argue-?” “30 minutes ago?” he shrugged, a soft smile on his lips. 

“I-oh wow. Osc, you know I love you, but Lando’s my brother and… I can’t betray him, can I?”

“Is it betrayal?” Oscar questioned. 

You’d been trying to figure out for the past 4 months why it was betrayal, yet you came up blank every time. Lando had dated friends of yours, and broken their hearts, why shouldn’t you return the favour? “But he said it was. He’s my brother Osc… I can’t just… ruin our relationship-”

“He ruined ours!” he sighed, exasperated. “All because he’s a insecure prick, no offence-” “None taken-” “And he was scared you’d stop picking him over me, which I understand but like, for fuck’s sake, he could’ve just spoken to you about it!” 

You thought for a moment. What did you want? Oscar. Always. You woke up thinking about him, fell asleep thinking about him, dreamt of him. He was everything you’d ever wanted.  “Are we really going to do this Osc?” you whispered into the darkness of the night. 

His lips turned into a smile, and then they were on yours. He’d gotten the girl, he’d gotten the win, and he didn’t care what anyone else said.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[monserelates]

Collateral Damage; James Potter

f!reader x james potter

summary: When someone makes a sexist comment during Quidditch practice and James doesn't react, how will it go down?

warnings/notes: james is kind of an idiot in this (he makes up for it I swear), angst, reader is a quidditch player (its relevant to the plot), use of y/n, platonic!sirius x reader banter, not proofread, light sexist comment, big argument, curse words, happy ending (?)

word count:1.6k

It started like any other Gryffindor Quidditch practice.

Late autumn sun low in the sky, golden light spilling like spilled ink over the pitch. You were already irritated — Kendrick had been pushing your buttons all week, and James had rescheduled this practice twice. Now you were all out here, winds whipping across the field, and Kendrick was smirking like he’d already won something you didn’t know was up for grabs.

You were Keeper. You knew your job. You didn’t need James yelling plays every five seconds like you were a first-year.

“Move left faster next time!” James barked, flying alongside you, too close, too sharp.

“I did move,” you snapped. “If you wanted a puppet, maybe train one.”

His jaw clenched. “I’m just trying to win us the Cup.”

“And I’m trying not to murder you midair, so we all have our battles.”

That got a low chuckle from Henry Wood, who hovered nearby, eyebrows lifted in mild amusement. “Might let her win that one, James.”

James didn’t answer. Just blew the whistle and shouted another drill.

You tightened your gloves, seething.

Then Kendrick happened.

He caught a Quaffle with a dramatic flourish, zoomed past you, and crowed, loud enough for half the school to hear: “Don’t worry, Potter — she’s not here for skill. Just here to look pretty while she misses every shot.”

The world snapped sideways.

You felt your stomach bottom out. Your face went hot with rage and shame.

You looked at James. Straight at him. Waiting.

Do something.

Say something.

Anything.

But he just hovered there, like an idiot, mouth slightly open, like he was stunned. Like maybe he agreed.

Sirius was the one who snapped.

“Oi, what the fuck did you just say?” Sirius growled, flying toward Kendrick like a storm cloud. “Wanna say it again with a mouthful of teeth missing?”

Y/N’s blood boiled. She waited — waited — for James to speak up. To say something. To tell the boy off. To take her side. But instead, James just stared at her, expression unreadable, jaw locked.

The silence screamed.

Y/N turned sharply on her broom, face burning hotter than any firewhisky. “Nice, James. Real leadership. Keeping the team united and all that.”

You flew hard toward the ground, ripped your gloves off, and stormed off the pitch.

“Oi! Y/N!” James shouted after you.

You turned sharply, fists clenched. “Don’t you dare.”

He landed, brows drawn. “It was just a stupid joke. I didn’t say it—”

“No. You just let it hang in the air like it was okay.” Your voice was shaking now, hands trembling. “You let him undermine me, and you—God, James—you didn’t even flinch.”

He flinched now.

“Y/N—”

“We’re supposed to be a team. You’re supposed to be my friend—and you let that little coward humiliate me in front of everyone.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t do anything. And that’s worse.”

The rest of the team hovered awkwardly above, pretending not to watch. They were watching.

You turned, boots crunching against the grass, heart pounding against the ribcage of something that had already shattered.

..

You didn’t show up to dinner.

Didn’t go to class the next morning.

You lay facedown on your bed, ignoring Marlene’s muttered curses about Kendrick, Dorcas’s offers to hex him into oblivion, and Lily’s gentle hand rubbing your back.

You didn’t cry. Not then.

Maybe you were being dramatic. You can't help the fact you like to be alone. It may sound kind of sad, but that's just what you seem to know.

Not until everyone was asleep. When the candles were low. When the ache behind your ribs bloomed into something hollow and hot and silent.

You curled into yourself and whispered, “I thought he was different.”

No one heard it. But you felt it. And it felt like mourning something no one else could see.

..

Somewhere down the hallway, in the staff room,

McGonagall sipped her tea, eyes sharp over her glasses.

Flitwick looked up from his notes. “You heard?”

“Everyone heard, Filius. Half the pitch did.” She sighed. “I had twenty Galleons on them confessing by winter break.”

“Potter just set the bet back three years,” Hooch muttered, slamming her broom catalog shut.

“I’m raising it to five,” Sprout said darkly.

Slughorn just sniffed. “They’ll come around. Youth and heartbreak are so poetically intertwined.”

“She nearly punched him.”

“Poetry!” Slughorn said, grinning.

..

James tried everything.

Flowers charmed to float outside your dorm window.

Notes spelled into the condensation on your bathroom mirror.

He asked Sirius to talk to you — Sirius told him to shove it. “You blew it, mate.”

He asked Lily to help — she didn’t even blink. “You don’t deserve her silence. You deserve her rage.”

He cornered Dorcas outside Potions.

“She doesn’t want your excuses,” she said flatly. “She wants her best friend back. Too bad he forgot how to be one.”

He stopped going to Quidditch practice.

He barely slept.

He’d lie awake whispering, “I’m sorry,” to the cracks in the ceiling.

But nothing worked.

You didn’t speak to him.

Not once.

..

It happened at breakfast.

The Great Hall buzzing, laughter rising like steam.

You were sitting with Lily and Dorcas, quietly spooning porridge, when a loud bang echoed through the room.

A chair scraped back.

A foot on a bench.

Then a foot on the table.

Your head snapped up.

James Potter was standing on the Gryffindor table, toast in one hand, wand in the other, looking deranged.

Oh hell-to-the-no.

“Excuse me!” he shouted.

The Hall went silent.

James turned, slowly, facing the end of the table. “Oi, Kendrick.”

Kendrick looked up, confused. “What?”

“You insulted one of the best Keepers this school has ever seen. You made a disgusting, sexist remark in front of her entire team, and I, being a bloody coward, said nothing.”

Students gasped. Someone dropped their fork.

James turned, facing you now.

“I didn’t defend you. And I should have. Not because I’m your captain. Not even because I’m your best friend.”

His voice cracked.

“But because I love you.”

The air went still.

“I love you,” he said again, softer. “And not in the way that fades when we graduate or when Quidditch ends or when you find someone smarter or funnier or less of a prat. I love you like I can’t breathe right without you.”

You stared at him, pulse pounding in your ears.

What in Merlin's ear wax is happening right now.

“I know I messed up. I’ll spend the rest of the year earning your trust back. Or the rest of my life. Just… say something. Please.”

Kendrick stood, starting to protest.

James rounded on him.

“And you—I don’t want you on the team. You don’t get to wear our colors if you can’t respect the people on it.”

Hooch stood from the staff table, clearly impressed. “He’s finally learning.”

McGonagall muttered, “Took long enough.”

Sirius leaned into Remus. “Do I owe you five Galleons or do I still win if they snog in the next ten minutes?”

Remus just shook his head, smiling.

You stood slowly.

Walked down the aisle of the hall, every eye on you.

James looked terrified.

You walked right up to him.

Stared.

Then said, “You better mean every word of that.”

“I do.”

You smirked.

And punched him in the arm. Hard.

“Good.”

James was willing to wait this and 3 more lifetimes waiting for a taste of your lips.

..

The next morning was crisp and bright, with clouds like ripped cotton and the scent of cut grass thick in the air.

James was already waiting on the pitch when you arrived, broom slung over his shoulder, a sheepish sort of energy radiating off him in waves. The rest of the team trickled in slowly—clearly curious, clearly eavesdropping, pretending to stretch while absolutely not stretching.

You walked past them without a word.

James straightened up.

You raised your chin. “You’re on goalkeeping today. I want a challenge.”

He blinked. “You… want me to—”

“Let’s go, Potter,” you called, already kicking off.

It was easy, natural, the way flying always was. But the air between you buzzed. You hurled a Quaffle at him with more force than necessary. He barely caught it, laughing under his breath.

“Still angry?”

You smirked. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Another Quaffle. Another dive. He missed this one—on purpose, you were sure.

“Oi, don’t go easy on me,” you snapped.

He swooped beside you, hovering a little too close. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You’re dreaming something,” you muttered.

“Mostly about you.” he grinned.

You snorted, the sound catching you off guard. The wind rushed past your ears. His eyes were warm—so warm you had to look away.

For a few minutes, you played without words.

Until James broke the silence.

“I meant it, you know. Every word I said yesterday. I—” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was a coward. And I know one speech doesn’t fix it.”

You hovered in the air, just a little above him. “It doesn’t. But showing up helps.”

He smiled—wide and crooked and boyish.

The team was still watching. Pretending not to, but watching all the same.

James shifted closer. His eyes flicked to your mouth, then back up to your eyes.

“I, uh…” He licked his lips, then leaned in—hesitantly, unsure.

You didn’t move. Just watched him.

But instead of kissing you, his lips brushed your cheek—light as a sigh.

He pulled back instantly, eyes wide like he hadn’t meant to.

You blinked.

James looked like he might combust.

“Sorry, I—I didn’t want to assume, I mean—not yet, but—unless you want to, which, I—”

You raised an eyebrow. “You always ramble this much?”

He flushed. “Only when I like someone enough to completely embarrass myself.”

You turned back toward the goalposts, heart thudding.

“Try not to let that Quaffle in this time, Potter.”

He grinned, dazed. “Yes, ma’am.”

[ramp-it-up]

Captain. My Captain.

Mood

Summary: Steve has a kink. And you have the key.

Word count: 3.3 K

Pairing: Early CATWS era Captain Steve Rogers x SHEILD Reader

A/N: This is a fic related to Call Me Captain When I... and comes right after Mood. It is also for @avengers-assemble-bingo. #KinkyBingo. This fulfills the square: Sir/Daddy Kink This is also part of @yenzys-lucky-charm Cranky, Grabby, Stabby, Oh My Challenge. Prompt: “just the tip I promise" *holds me down and fucks me full of cum.*” I'm deep in love with Steve and Libby. Please reblog, comment, and like!

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All mistakes my own. Smut! This Steve curses, and he is also grumpy. Steve is weak for you but a bit of a control freak. Dominate Steve, Semi-public sex act, fingering, lots of dirty talk and verbal edging, literal edging, orgasm denial, Captain and Sir kink, size kink, praise oral (m receiving), raw p in v, creampie, aftercare, soft Steve after he cums. 😜

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

--------

It started at the briefing.

Steve sat at the head of the table, full Captain mode. The stealth suit fit him like a second skin and you’d had to will your eyes forward more than once. His jaw was set, his focus sharp. Everyone else, Sam and a few others, listened while he laid out the plan to hunt the organization behind the ambush on your training op.

The bastards who hit you were already “neutralized,” though you had yet to learn what Steve meant by that. This mission was about the ones who’d sent them. 

The ones who thought they could touch you.

It was the first time you’d worked directly with him in the field.

You were paying attention. To the plan. To him. To the way his fingers curled tight around the table’s edge. The sharp crease between his brows. The way he looked at everyone else like their Captain, and looked at you like a man who’d memorized the sound you made when you broke.

Steve’s reactions to you had always been inconvenient, but they were especially volatile now, on a mission, in uniform, with your professionalism at risk. Hundreds of people called him Captain and Sir every day, but when you said them, it short-circuited something primal inside him.

You weren’t supposed to be under his command outside of the bedroom. But this time, you were. And he was doing everything in his power to keep his shit together.

That meant no time alone. No slipping. No touching. No relief. He even insisted that you get yourself off every night to counter the maddening effects of no contact between you, but you defied him.

“Respectfully, Sir, I don’t want to.”

He’d nearly broken then, but understood. Nothing felt better than you two together. He’d decided the same. Two weeks of self-control would be hell. But he’d endured worse.

You weren’t so sure you would last.

When he asked the room, “Any questions before we move?” his gaze locked on you, unflinching.

You tilted your head innocently.

“No, Sir.”

His breath hitched. Just enough that you noticed.

Sam started talking, but you didn’t hear a word. You were too busy watching Steve’s knuckles strain, his jaw tick, and the storm brewing behind his ice-blue eyes.

He was daring you to say it again.

You straightened, hands folded neatly, waiting for him to look away.

He didn’t.

After the briefing, you didn’t even make it three steps down the hall before his hand circled your arm, pulling you into the breakroom. Not rough, but firm enough that your heart stuttered.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, voice low.

You blinked up at him, all wide-eyed sweetness.

“What was what?”

“You know damn well.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Sir.” You leaned in, breath warm against his ear. 

“Didn’t mean to distract you, Captain.”

The growl that rumbled from his chest was the sound of a man fraying at the seams.

“Keep talking like that and I’ll bend you over the nearest tactical table.”

Your pulse fluttered. “Is that a threat or a promise, Sir?”

His hand drifted, barely brushing the curve of your ass and it was subtle, calculated, and electric enough to buckle your knees.

“You’re walking the line, Lieutenant.”

You lowered your gaze, fighting for control you didn’t want. 

“Apologies…”

He nodded, sharp and curt. Turned to go and you watched America’s Ass. You waited just long enough, then let the last word fall like a stone in water.

“…Captain.”

He froze. Just for a second. Shook his head and walked away.

But it didn’t end there.

On the jet, the tension only sharpened. You sat across from him, knees brushing, the hum of the engines a thin veil over the silence between you. The rest of the team prepped and chatted, oblivious.

Steve didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just watched you watch him. Your eyes dropped to his lap, tracing the outline of his cock beneath the suit. You licked your lips deliberately, remembering the weight and stretch of him.

You leaned forward, passing him a file, fingers brushing his on purpose.

“Here you go, Sir.”

Your voice was husky and he knew you were wet, and probably desperate for any contact with him. So he didn’t take the file from you.

Didn’t move.

Just stared at you, like he was one slip away from throwing you over his knee in front of God, country, and S.H.I.E.L.D.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice dark and tight.

You smiled, all sugar. “Yes, Sir.”

Steve’s jaw flexed as he turned to Sam, locking the need away with brutal discipline. You swallowed, steadying yourself. The mission came first.

It always did.

The mission’s success only sharpened the edge. By the time the gala rolled around, neither of you had cooled off, not even close. You’d basically begged him before the event. Your hands tangled in his shirt, your lips bruising his, your body pressed tight against his in the darkened corner of your quarters.

“Please,” you whispered. “Just the tip.”

Steve laughed against your mouth, but he’d pulled back, steady even with his pulse racing wild beneath your fingers. His hands cupped your face, thumbs sweeping over your swollen lips.

“We both know that just the tip would end up with me holding you down and fucking you full of cum, Libby.”

Your eyes rolled. “Please…”

Your wanton moan had him a hair’s breath from giving in. But you both still had a job to do.

“I want to take my time with you.” His voice was all gravel, thick with promise. “You’ll get all of me. But not now. Not like this.”

So you dressed for the gala, the ache between your thighs a constant reminder that Captain Rogers was still calling the shots. And you let him think he’d won right up until the Senator asked that question.

The man had the nerve to sidle up to you, drink in hand, charm dripping off him like oil, and ask what it was like to serve under Captain Rogers.

You didn’t miss a beat.

“Oh, I always follow orders,” you said, slow and sweet. “Isn’t that right, Sir?”

You saw it, the way Steve’s glass froze halfway to his lips, the flicker of fire in his eyes, the sharp clench of his jaw as he forced down a cough to cover the sound of his own restraint breaking.

Five minutes later, he excused himself. You followed.

The hallway was empty. His hand caught your wrist the second you were close enough, pulling you flush against him, pressing your back to the wall. You were so wet.

“Are you trying to fucking kill me?”

You blinked up at him, lashes fluttering. 

“Whatever do you mean, Sir?”

His breath ghosted your lips. 

“You think it’s funny? Teasing me like that. In front of him.”

You smiled angelically. 

“I think it’s hot. Watching you try to keep control when all you want to do is take me apart.”

His hands tightened against the wall.

“You know what happens when I lose control, Libby.”

You smirked. “I’m counting on it.”

His hand slid down your arm, fingers curling tight around your wrist as he dragged you into the nearest supply closet. The door clicked shut, the air was charged, and you could barely breathe.

“You wanted this,” he growled pinning you back against the shelves. His hands roamed, hiking your dress higher and higher until his fingers brushed bare skin. 

“You’ve been begging for it since the damn briefing.”

Your breath hitched, but your voice stayed steady. 

“Still am.”

The second the word Captain left your mouth, his control shattered and he was on you.

His hand covered your mouth to muffle the sounds, the other sliding between your thighs, fingers slipping deep, parting your folds roughly, desperate to feel you. He swallowed every broken noise you couldn’t hold back, his mouth finding your neck, your shoulder, your breast. His teeth grazing, his tongue soothing, and his lips branding you.

“You don’t even realize what you do to me,” he whispered against your skin, voice cracking open at the edges.

You moaned, helpless against the waves of pleasure.

His fingers pumped harder, faster. His control slipping with every stroke. His fingers worked you harder, faster, until your legs trembled and your world seemed to bend around you.

Then, right before you came, he stopped.

“You wanna play games, Sweetheart?” His voice was velvet-wrapped steel. “You better be ready for the consequences.”

When he pulled back, he held you steady, smoothing your dress back down with those same hands that had almost wrecked you. His lips ghosted over your temple, while what he did still vibrated through both of you.

“You okay?” 

You swallowed. You couldn’t even be mad at him because you knew how much you’d teased him.

“Yeah, I….you. That was…” your voice trailed off. “...Are you?”

His smirk was pure sin. “Nope.”

You laughed, breathless and wrecked. 

“You know it would help if you didn’t look so damn smug.”

“Oh, Sweetheart, you haven’t seen smug yet. Wait until I give you at least three orgasms.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

“So you keep telling me.”

—----

The second the gala ended, you’d expected him to break. To drag you into the nearest car, or corner you in some dark hallway before the flashbulbs had even cooled.

But no.

Steve kept his distance.  

All night, you’d felt his eyes track you across the room, the heat of it searing through the silk of your dress, the weight of his control stretched so tight it was a wonder he hadn’t snapped.

But he never touched you again. Never slipped. Not once.

He even sent you home in a separate car. Your heart couldn’t take it, but you knew there was more to come. And it was long past midnight when the knock came. You opened your door, heart already pounding, and there he stood.

His shirt sleeves were rolled, the tie hanging loose around his neck, his jacket nowhere to be seen. His restraint had finally cracked, written all over his face. But his voice stayed low, even.

“Pack your bag,” he said. “Now.”

You didn’t ask where. You didn’t need to. You just obeyed.

Ten minutes later, you were in his car, the city lights blurring past the windows, your thighs pressed tightly together. He didn’t speak, didn’t look at you, hands flexing on the wheel like he was holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

By the time the car stopped,  a quiet, private safehouse on the edge of the city, your skin was flushed, your pulse wild.

The door had barely shut behind you when you felt it.

His hands.

One gripping your jaw, tilting your face up, the other on your waist.

“You think you can tease me like that,” he murmured, voice like gravel, “and I’ll just sit back and let it slide?”

Your breath hitched. “I wasn’t teasing, Sir.”

His eyes darkened, and the corner of his mouth lifted. not a smile, more like a warning.

“You don’t get to play innocent. Not after two weeks of ‘Yes, Sir’ and that sweet little tilt of your head. You’ve been testing me since the briefing.” 

His thumb brushed your bottom lip.

“And you knew exactly what you were doing.”

You felt the heat pool low in your belly, your legs weak beneath the weight of his words, the sharpness of his stare.

“On your knees.”

The order sent a shiver through you and you dropped without hesitation, hands resting on your thighs, head tilted back to look at him, waiting.

Wanting.

He watched you for a long, heavy moment, jaw tight, chest rising slowly.

“Look at you,” he muttered, shaking his head, more to himself than to you. 

“So damn pretty when you’re obedient.”

When he undid his belt, his fly, and freed his cock, you swallowed hard. The size of him, the sheer weight and length, was always a shock to your system no matter how many times you’d seen him.

You glanced up through your lashes, the shape of a question lingering in your throat.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. 

“You’ve been begging for this with every word you’ve said for the last two weeks. Work for it.”

You wrapped your hand around him, feeling the heat, the heft, the impossible stretch of him. Your lips parted, and when you took him in, his breath hissed through his teeth, one hand threading to your scalp.

“Good girl,” he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek, the barest encouragement as you started to bob on his cock, lips stretched wide and drool pooling at the corners of your mouth.

“Look at you. Captain’s perfect little mouth.”

You worked him slow at first, savoring the low growl of his approval, the way his hips flexed, controlled even now. But when you hollowed your cheeks and looked up at him, wide-eyed, his control cracked.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His hand tightened on your head, hips pressing forward until you took him deeper, until tears dropped from your eyes. But you didn’t pull back. You wanted this, you wanted to watch him fall apart.

When he finally eased out of your mouth, his thumb wiped your lips, tracing the slick curve.

“Up,” he ordered softly, and you obeyed, rising to your feet. His hands were on you the second you stood, spinning you, pressing you against the nearest wall, his large body caging you in completely.

“You like making me lose control, don’t you?” he rasped against your ear, his hard length grinding against your ass through the thin fabric of your panties. 

“You like knowing no one else gets to see me like this.”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes, Sir.”

His hand slid between your thighs, fingers finding you soaked and ready.

“Of course you do. You’ve been dripping for me all damn night.” 

His mouth brushed the shell of your ear, voice dark and ragged. 

“And I’ve been thinking about bending you over every flat surface I could find. About splitting you open on my cock until you forget your own name.”

You whimpered, grinding back against him, desperate.

“You wanted me to break, sweetheart?” 

His hand gripped your hip, his other one sliding between your legs again, fingers skating through your slick. 

“You’ve got me. But you’re going to pay for every second you spent torturing me.”

He didn’t take you to bed. Not yet.

Instead, he lifted you, like you weighed nothing at all,  and carried you to the couch, settling you onto his lap, your knees bracketing his hips, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

You did, your gaze locking with his as he guided you down onto him, slowly, filling you inch by impossible inch until you were gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck, Sweetheart,” he groaned, holding you still once you’d taken all of him. 

“You feel so fucking tight. So goddamn perfect around me.”

You clung to him, barely able to breathe, stretched to the limit. It hurt so good.

“You wanted your Captain,” he whispered against your lips. “Now you’ve got him.”

And then he moved with slow, deliberate thrusts that pushed you to the edge of madness, his mouth capturing every moan, every broken plea you couldn’t hold back. And you knew, right then, there’d be no walking straight tomorrow.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

—---

You lost track of how many times he made you cum. His mouth, his hands, the punishing rhythm of his hips. Every part of him wrecked you with single-minded precision.

But it wasn’t until long after your voice was hoarse from moaning his name, long after your body trembled from overstimulation, that Steve softened.

He shifted beneath you, easing out of your body with care, murmuring something low and tender against your skin. You couldn’t make out the words because your brain was a fog of pleasure and endorphins. But the gentle tone was enough to settle you.

Strong arms gathered you close, one hand cradling the back of your head as he carried you to the bed like you were precious. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the salt of his skin, the faintest scent of sweat and his cologne.

He laid you down carefully and climbed in beside you. His big hands smoothed over your hips, your thighs, his thumbs catching on the marks he’d left behind.

You didn’t mind them. You liked that you’d wear the shape of him tomorrow. On your skin. Between your legs. In the slight limp no one would question, but he would know.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You nodded, still dazed, sated and warm. “Yes, Sir.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pulled the blanket up over both of you.  

“Didn’t mean to go so hard,” he murmured, brushing your curls back from your forehead. 

“Just… you get under my skin, Libby. Make me forget how to think.”

“You didn’t forget how to think,” you whispered, tracing the curve of his bicep, the hard line of his chest. “You planned that.”

His answering grin pressed against your shoulder. 

“Maybe a little.”

There was a beat of silence. Then he asked, “And you knew what you were doing at the gala.”

You smirked against his throat. 

“You liked it.”

Steve groaned and pulled you tighter. 

“Liked it too much. Nearly lost it when you said Sir like that in front of the Senator.”

You laughed softly. 

“You like it when I say it in private more?”

His hand slid to the base of your spine. His grip was warm. 

“I like it when you say it when you're wrecked. When you’re trying not to come and you whisper it like a prayer. That’s when it ruins me.”

The silence that followed was full of heat, but not urgency. The hunger had been sated. What remained was the closeness. The wanting still there, but quiet now. Like embers under ash.

You moved and winced, the soreness sparking up.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“It’s just that you’re huge,” the words tumbled out unfiltered.

Steve stilled. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you said quickly. “No. Not even close. Just… I’m still adjusting. In my soul.”

He laughed then, head falling back, the sound full and rich and happy. It shook the bed, and you smiled against his chest, eyes fluttering closed.

His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up so he could look at you. 

“Who knew you were this much of a brat?”

You gave him a sleepy, satisfied smile.

“Only for you, Captain. My Captain.”

His expression softened completely. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and for a second, there was something deeper than heat in the space between you.

Something like devotion.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “Every time. Before, during, after. I love you Libby.”

You leaned into the touch. 

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

“I know, Steve. I love you too.”

And with that, he kissed you, slow and lingering, nothing like the bruising hunger from earlier. This was patient. Tender. The kind of kiss that promised more.

Not just in bed, but in the quiet spaces between missions and chaos. In the in-between moments where your heartbeat slowed and the world finally held still.

Eventually, you drifted off, curled against him, your leg thrown over his thigh, his hand resting on the curve of your hip.

And even in sleep, you felt it, his presence wrapped around you like a shield. Steady. Unshakable. Yours.

Captain. Sir. Steve.

All of him.

——

Read Payback

[leclerc-hs]

tides of us pt. 2 - ln4

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader summary: in which you and lando are stuck in a swell of unknown territory and feelings. warnings: language, NOT PROOFREAD, smut under the cut!!!!, kinda toxic but really they just don't know how to handle emotions. ANGST word count: 12.1k... author's note: SURPRISE!! she's a long one. PLEASE let me know what you think as I love to hear from you all. hearing your thoughts is what keeps me going!!

part 1

“Oh my fucking god…Don’t stop.”

You couldn’t remember the last time a one-night stand had felt this intense…or more accurately, the last time a fleeting, ‘one-off’ encounter had inexplicably morphed into something far more complex, something that seemed to repeat itself, each meeting even more consuming than the last.

A recurring one-night stand, if you even dared to label it that.

Since that morning on the yacht, weeks ago, everything had shifted. Kind of. You still fought like fucking hell. With the new addition of an unrelenting cycle of burning, sensual fucking. Each time more addictive than the last. You couldn’t stop, no matter how often you told yourself you hated each other.

His fingers would graze your skin like flames licking at dry wood, igniting a trail of heat that spread through every godforsaken inch of you.

It made no sense. None of it did. It was supposed to be nothing. Just a one-time thing. In fact, it wasn’t supposed to be anything at all.

You hated each other. You should still hate each other. 

Yet, here you are. With your face pressed hard against the cold, smooth surface of the wooden dresser, and his arm a relentless, possessive presence against the small of your back, locking you in place. The weight of his touch had you pinned, forcing your eyes to meet the reflection of the two of you in the mirror, as he  buries his cock so deep in you that he manages to hit that spot in your tummy just right.

Lando’s usual blue-green eyes, so often bright and full of life, were now a dark, smoldering shade that seemed almost unnatural, like a storm gathering on the horizon. 

They no longer sparkled with mischief but instead had deepened into pools of liquid steel, so intense that they appeared to consume the very light around them. His heavy-lidded gaze pierced through the reflection, burning you with an unsettling heat, as though he could see straight through your skin.

The smirk curling at the edges of his lips was effortlessly wicked, a sly, knowing expression that held a thousand secrets. It was enough to make your breath hitch and your eyes narrow, instinctively wanting to do nothing but smack that fucking smirk right off of his beautiful face. Wait what?

Lando, like you, is wrecked. A complete mess of desire and restraint as he feels his body on the verge of trembling with each stroke of his cock into your tight cunt. His body was aching with an intensity he hadn’t expected, a hunger he couldn’t suppress, no matter how hard he tried.

“M’fucking god,” You outright moan.

Lando groans, dragging his fingers upwards to the back of your neck, digging into the skin of it hard enough to bruise. His cock throbs inside of you, and fuck…he’s obsessed. 

“Yeah?” His teeth graze his bottom lip as he angles his hips to somehow hit you deeper, and you swear you might just come on the spot.

“I’m gonna-“

The sudden shift in motion takes you by surprise, a fleeting moment where you feel weightless, suspended between his raw strength and the gravity of the world around you. His presence is consuming, an irresistible force as he lifts your head from the dresser, his touch firm and sure. Your back presses against the solid warmth of his chest, the heat of his body radiating through you, grounding you in his unyielding embrace. His grip tightens, pulling you even closer, and before you can fully process it, you’re falling, swept toward the bed that had once seemed so distant.

The soft sheets welcome you, cushioning your fall, but his hold remains steadfast, his arms wrapped around you with an unrelenting force as he hovers. There’s no escape, only the sensation of being claimed.

He glides the head of his cock between your slick folds, teasing you, and you swear you might punch him if he doesn’t do something soon.

“Lando, if you don’t-“

“If I don’t what?” He interrupts, his voice a smooth, teasing drawl. His lips curl into a smirk, the flicker of mischief in his eyes dark and mocking, as if daring you to finish your thought. The weight of his gaze lingers, intense and unreadable, leaving you caught between the sharp edge of his challenge and the magnetic pull of his presence. He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin, as if savoring the moment, waiting for you to make your move. “Beg.”

The frustration in your eyes is undeniable, a flickering fire that burns with defiance. Lando notices it instantly, the way it sharpens your features and tightens your jaw. And despite the teasing edge in his tone, despite the challenge he laid out before you, something stirs in him.

He feels a familiar ache deep within him, a pull that tightens his chest in a way he hadn’t expected. It’s not just the defiance in your eyes, but the way your flushed cheeks betray the heat of the moment, the wild strands of your messy hair that fall across your face, adding to your raw, untamed beauty.

For a split second, the teasing smirk fades from his lips, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. His eyes linger on you.

“You’re such an ass,” You groan, grinding your hips in hopes the friction of his cock against your folds would be enough. But it isn’t.

The smirk on Lando’s lips is back almost instantly.

“Just beg, baby.” Lando’s voice rumbles, low and commanding, the words slipping from his lips with an effortless authority. He trails one hand to your breast, his thumb rubbing smooth circles around your nipple in the meantime.

The nickname hits you like a wave. Your stomach flutters almost instantly, a flutter of warmth spreading through you, as if his voice alone has the power to unsettle every nerve.

“Please,” Your voice is low, sounds so small.

“What?” Lando pinches your nipple. “Could you repeat that? My hearing’s quite shit.”

“Lan, are you fuckin-“

You don’t get to finish your sentence as Lando stuffs his cock back into you with a harsh slam of his hips.

“No. I’m not fucking kidding.” He grunts into your ear, his voice dropping an octave. “Say my name again.”

It’s not until he lifts your hips a fraction of an inch off the bed, his cock hitting that spot just right all over again, that had you nearly shouting.

“Lan, I’m gonna-“ Your voice falters, trembling with the weight of him. Your fingers dig deep into the hard muscles of his biceps, nails trailing harshly against his skin, leaving faint red marks in their wake. The sensation is sharp, almost painful, but he doesn’t flinch. In fact, he smiles.

His breath quickens, but there’s no sign of retreat. If anything, he leans into it, relishing the pressure, the intensity. He doesn’t care if it hurts; the marks you leave are a reminder. A brand, of sorts. And in these moments, he finds comfort in the sting.

“Yeah, c’mon.” He urges, his voice a low, rough growl that sends a shiver down your spine. His breath is warm, brushing against the curve of your neck, stirring the hairs there to life. You can feel the heat of him close, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The proximity, the tension, it’s intoxicating.

He know’s exactly what he’s doing. Pushing, coaxing, his presence a magnetic pull that constantly threatens to unravel you.

He knew, without a doubt, that the moment his lips met yours, it would be the tipping point— the one thing that always sent you spiraling, completely undone. It was a delicate, powerful thing.

But this time, as he barely brushed his lips against yours, lingering just long enough to make you ache for more, and then pulled away, he caught it. The flicker of pain in your eyes. It was subtle, but undeniable. 

“You like it when I fuck you like this?” Lando groans as your walls tighten around him from his words. “Yeah?”

You nod, your pupils dilated and cheeks flushed red.

“You just wanna come all over m’cock, hm?”

The words claw at your throat, the struggle of needing to come becoming almost too powerful. 

“Please.”

He presses a kiss to your jaw, right by your ear, and it has you groaning out. “You’re so fuckin’ hot when you get like this.”

“Please, please, please.” You begin repeating, not caring how pathetic you sound. “Need t’come.”

“So needy and pliable.” He groans hotly into your ear. “My own personal fuck toy, yeah.” He begins to laugh, and it has goosebumps rising on your skin almost instantly.

“Shut up and make me come.” You’re so close. Right at the tipping point.

He drags his fingers up your neck, curling around your chin with a grip just firm enough to assert his dominance. His touch glides along your jaw, and he presses the pad of his thumb against your lips, before gently slipping it into your mouth.

“This pretty, filthy fucking mouth…” he groans, his voice hushed with desire as he pushes down against your tongue, feeling you suck in response.

He wastes no time, pulling his finger from your mouth, dragging it down and pressing roughly against your clit. Without warning, his mouth crashes against yours, hot and demanding. His tongue forces its way inside, urgent and unrelenting. The kiss is frantic, messy, as if he can’t get enough, the raw need palpable in every movement.

His cock throbs inside of you and he swears he never wants this to stop. Wants you wrapped around his cock with every waking second for the rest of his life.

The white hot-sticky pleasure consumes you, as your groan vibrates right against his tongue. The sound you make is guttural, as you arch into him as much as you can in this position with your legs twisted so tightly around his hips as he continues to fuck you through it.The mixture of his cock fucking into you, and the pad of his thumb circling right against your clit had you on sensory fucking overload.

No matter how much you squealed and groaned against his tongue, he didn’t let up. Didn’t stop. He swallowed every moan, every squeal, every push of your tongue as it lapped against his. 

His other hand loops into your hair, holding it tightly as you continue to arch off the bed, keeping your head against the mattress until he has to pull out, frantically pulling his tongue from your mouth with a loud ‘pop’ and fisting his cock until hot spurts of his white come cover your belly. The sight of you covered in him had his head falling back with a loud groan.

His skin is flushed red, down his neck to his collarbone. And you can’t help but admire hot fucking hot he looks with his lips parted open and eyes squeezed shut. There’s so much of it, oozing and pooling over your skin that you feel your cunt clench and ache at the sight.

He collapses on top of you, no care in the world as his come smears against his own skin in between the both of you. He pulls you in for one last kiss, his tongue hot against yours, pushing against yours in slow, languid motions before pulling off. His hands trail your face, pushing your hair back as you give him a soft sleep smile that makes his heart clench.

And he smiles right back.

-

“Y’know, I probably could’ve done that faster if you let me help.”

Lando leans over your shoulder, peering at what you’re doing, his breath warm against the side of your neck. The heat of him is impossible to ignore. So close that you can feel the faint press of his chest against your back.

Without missing a beat, you keep chopping, casting him a sideways glance. “You? With a knife? Yeah, I’ll pass.”

Lando’s eyes widen in mock offense, his lips curling into a smirk. Before you can react, his hands settle lightly on your hips, fingers grazing just enough to send a shiver rippling through you. The touch is effortless, familiar. Like he belongs there.

“I can cook, y’know.” He murmurs, leaning in closer, his voice dipping just enough to make your pulse stutter.

His chest brushes against your back, and despite yourself, you falter for half a second, the rhythm of your chopping momentarily thrown off. You force yourself to focus, but it’s getting harder when every slight movement of his sends a spark of warmth through you.

“Oh, yeah?” You challenge, a teasing edge to your voice. “And when was the last time you actually cooked something?”

Lando’s fingers flex at your waist, his grip tightening just slightly in a silent dare. When you glance up, you catch the glint in his eyes. Mischievous, knowing, and suddenly the kitchen feels much, much smaller.

“That pasta the other night,” he quips, far too quick with his answer.

A laugh bubbles up before you can stop it. “I said cooked, Lando. Not burned.”

He gasps, scandalized, but the grin tugging his lips gives him away. 

“Wow. No faith in me whatsoever.”

You smirk, setting the knife down and finally turn in his hold. His hands don’t leave your hips. In fact, if anything, they tighten just slightly, as if anchoring you in place. His face is close, impossibly so, and the teasing glint in his eyes is shadowed by something softer, something warmer.

“I have faith,” you admit, tilting your head “Just…not in your cooking.”

His lips part in mock outrage, but you catch the way his gaze flickers, tracing the curve of your mouth before meeting your eyes again. “Alright, now you’re just rude.” He murmurs, voice lower than before.

You roll your eyes, but the way your breath catches betrays you. “It’s honesty.”

Lando hums, fingers soothing slow, absentminded circles over your hips. “Mmm. I think you just like making fun of me.”

You grin. “That’s a given.”

His fingers twitch, his grip shifting just enough to pull you the slightest bit closer. Your hands instinctively lift, catching at the front of his hoodie, and his smirk deepens like he just won some kind of silent challenge.

“Y’know,” he muses, voice ripping into something dangerous, “if you don’t trust me in the kitchen, I could always just…” He leans in, lips barely brushing your jaw, slipping his hands up your skirt as he whispers, “…stay right here. Supervise.”

The warmth of his breath sends a shiver racing down your spine as a small moan slips past your lips when his fingers rub gently against your covered core. And you can practically hear the smirk in his voice when he adds, “For safety reasons.”

You swallow hard, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his hoodie. “For safety reasons,” you echo, pretending to consider it as his fingers push past the thin fabric, finding your clit with ease where he rubs gentle tiny circles that has you careening forward into his hold.

“Always fuckin’ soaked.” He groans, pushing two fingers into you and scissoring them. 

Lando grins, tilting his head as you fumble slightly from the pleasure. “Can’t have you getting distracted, can we?”

Safe to say, you were very distracted. And dinner was not cooked, but burned.

-

It was one of those rare, peaceful weekday afternoons where Lando was home between races, sunlight streaming through the windows of the grocery store, the air cool and crisp with the faint hum of background music. You hadn’t planned on going shopping with Lando, but somehow, here you were, pushing a half-filled cart together down the aisles.

Lando was usually a whirlwind of energy, but today, he was relaxed, strolling beside you with a lazy grin as you both debated over which brand of cereal was the best.

“No way,” you said, holding up the box of Honey Nut Cheerios. “This one is clearly superior. It’s simple, timeless.”

Lando shot you a look, his eyebrow arching with playful disbelief. “Timeless? It’s just Cheerios.” He grabbed another box from the shelf, one that was all brightly colored with pictures of fruit and some kind of sugar dusting. “This is the one to go for.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You just wait,” he reaches to grab another item of the shelf. “You’re gonna try it and you’ll be converted. I’ll even let you have the first bowl.”

“Oh, really? Your Highness is willing to share his precious cereal?” You say sarcastically, but the playful tone gave it away—you were just as amused as he was.

“Of course,” Lando replied, completely deadpan.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m honestly kind of impressed by your cart,” Lando says, peering into the basket with a playful smirk. “You’ve got, like, actual food in there. What happened to the usual ‘chocolate and chips for every meal’ routine?”

You made a face, swatting him lightly with a bag of coffee beans you’d picked up. “Excuse me, I am a grown up. I have vegetables in there.”

“Sure, sure. I’m here for the snacks. You know, real food.”

You rolled your eyes but the smile never left your face. “Yeah, whatever.”

-

The restaurant was alive with energy, a steady hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air. Your group had been seated at a long table near the windows, overlooking the city skyline, the kind of view that made for a perfect, relaxed evening.

Except for the fact that Max and Pietra had made it their mission to set you up with someone tonight.

You should have seen it coming. The way Pietra had been watching you all evening, the knowing glances exchanged, the hushed whispers right before dinner was served. Now, as Pietra leaned in across the table, her eyes twinkling with mischief, you braced yourself for whatever was coming.

“Okay, hear me out,” she began, swirling her wine glass between her fingers. “Alex—tall, handsome, and completely into you. You should at least talk to him.”

You let out a slow breath, pushing your fork against the edge of your plate. “I’m good, Piet.”

Max, ever the instigator, smirked as he cut into his steak. “C’mon, he’s a great guy. And single.”

Across from you, Lando let out a soft scoff, barely audible over the clinking of plates and low chatter. You glanced up at him, catching the quick flicker of irritation in his expression before he masked it with practiced indifference, taking a slow sip of his drink.

It was dangerous, this game you were playing, pretending there was nothing between you when, in reality, there was everything.

Because no one knew.

No one knew how hard Lando kissed you breathless against his front door, hands gripping you with bruising intensity. No one knew that less than twenty four hours ago, his mouth had been on your skin, his voice rough and desperate as her murmured your name. No one knew that after weeks of sneaking around, you still hadn’t figured out how to stop yourself from wanting him.

And Lando was pretending right along with you.

But right now, as he sat there, his fingers drumming against the base of his wine glass, jaw set a little too tightly, you could tell it was wearing thin.

“Oh, and you know who else would be perfect for you?” Pietra continued, completely unaware. “Nick. He was asking about you the other day.”

Lando’s grip on his glass tightened slightly. “Right,” he muttered, his voice neutral but edged with something sharp. “Because that’s exactly what she needs.”

You shot him a quick look, wondering why he was behaving this way. You weren’t dating.

This wasn’t supposed to be anything more than what it was—just late nights, whispered moans, the heat of his body pressing into yours when the rest of the world wasn’t looking. It wasn’t supposed to spill over into moments like this, where his voice took on an edge at the mere mention of someone else being interested in you.

But here he was, jaw tight, shoulders tense, barely touching his food as Pietra and Max continued.

“She needs someone good for her. Someone who actually wants to be with her.” Pietra chimed in, not picking up on the energy of the table.

You felt your stomach tighten.

Lando huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly as he swirled the wine in his glass. His lips pressed into a thin line, his expression unreadable.

“Maybe she doesn’t want that,” he murmured, eyes flicking up to meet yours. There was something unspoken there, something only you could decipher.

Your throat went dry.

“Well, maybe she should.” Max cut in, oblivious to the silent storm brewing across the table. “I hate what he did to you. I don’t want to see you closed off.” Max looks at you with a soft smile, sincerely.

Pietra nodded in agreement. “Exactly! So, Alex or Nick? your pick. Both are great options.”

Lando exhaled sharply through his nose, leaning back in his chair as if distancing himself from the conversation entirely. His hand ran along his jaw, irritation flickering across his face before he smoothed it over with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, voice light but forced. “She should definitely go for it.”

You hated the way that sentence made you feel.

It shouldn’t have mattered. It shouldn’t have felt like a challenge, like a dare, like a knife pressed just below the surface of your skin. It shouldn’t have sent that ugly twist of frustration curling deep in your stomach, because this is exactly what you wanted…right?

Lando meant nothing.

That was what you had been telling yourself for weeks. That was what you reminded yourself every time you left his bed before the sun came up, every time you pulled your clothes back on in the dark while he watched you from half-lidded eyes. Every time you walked past him the next morning and pretended like your body didn’t still remember the way his hands had pressed into your skin.

So you swallowed, forcing a smile, forcing yourself to meet his gaze with something sharp and detached, as if this didn’t affect you at all. As if his words hadn’t just buried themselves under your skin like a splinter you couldn’t dig out.

You lifted your glass, took a slow sip, and shrugged.

“Maybe I will.”

The words left your lips smoothly, but they tasted bitter. You weren’t sure why you said it—maybe to push him, to see if he would finally break that carefully crafted mask he always wore. Maybe you wanted to see him react the way you always did when he threw careless words in your direction, pretending this was nothing, pretending you were nothing.

Or maybe you just wanted to hurt him the way he was hurting you.

“Good for you, then,” he murmured, his voice light but laced with something sharp. “Hope he can keep up.”

It was the kind of sentence that said so little, and yet everything. 

Before you could even muster a retort, Pietra clapped her hands together, full of chaotic energy and romantic optimism.

“Oh! A triple date!” She beamed, eyes darting with excitement. “Max and I, you and Nick, Lando and..well, we’ll find someone for him.”

You blinked.

The shift in your stomach was instant and brutal, like someone had reached inside and twisted. A slow, churning weight settled deep in your gut, spreading tendrils of cold through your limbs. Your grip on your glass tightened, fingers suddenly clammy against the delicate stem.

No way.

Your brain was scrambling to keep up, but your body had already gone tense, like it was bracing for impact.

Then Lando spoke.

His voice was smooth, measure. Calm. But there was a tautness underneath, something too rehearsed, too clean.

“I already have someone in mind.”

The words dropped like stone in the center of the table, sinking into the middle of everything and pulling it down.

Pietra, sitting across from you, blinked. You watched her process the words like they hadn’t quite made sense at first. Her eyes brightened with interest as she leaned forward.

“Oh?” She said, her voice lifting with genuine curiosity, her wine glass cradled between both hands.

You barely registered her.

You could feel Lando’s gaze before you even looked. Heavy. Steady. Deliberate. It was the kind of look you felt on your skin before you even met it with your own.

He wasn’t lying. Not exactly. But he wasn’t telling the whole truth either. He was saying it without saying it.

Pietra was still smiling. “You didn’t tell us you were seeing someone!” She said, laughing lightly. “Who is she?”

Max raised his brows beside you, clearly intrigued. “Since when?”

Lando glanced back to them slowly, taking his time, like he was weighing each word like it might explode if he said too much. His posture was relaxed, almost bored, but his eyes. God, his eyes were sharp. Watching. Waiting. Calculated.

“It’s…new,” he says, his voice light. Too light. The kind of casual that didn’t sound casual at all. “We’ve been keeping it quiet.”

Quiet.

New.

Not real.

Your throat tightened.

You dropped your gaze, locking it on the soft white tablecloth like it was the only thing anchoring you to the moment. There was a tiny crease in the fabric, a barely-there fold near your fork, and you fixated on it, traced it with your eyes, anything to avoid looking up. Anything to avoid him.

Because if you did—if you met his gaze— you knew you’d say something you didn’t mean. Or worse: something you did.

Quiet.

Like the stolen moments at his flat.

Like the way he’d kiss you and pull you in when no one else was looking.

Like the way he’d pull you close and whisper things into your ear that he never said in daylight.

New.

Like he hadn’t already carved himself into you.

Like this hadn’t been happening for weeks. 

Like he hadn’t looked at you last night like you were something exquisite.

Not real.

It was supposed to be pretend. Supposed to be physical. Easy.

But you knew the truth. And so did he.

“Anyone we know?” Pietra asks brightly, laughing a little as she sips her wine, unaware of the way your entire world was caving in, breath by breath.

Lando didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch.

Thick. Heavy. Measured.

You didn’t need to look to feel him watching you again. It prickled down your spine. Crawled under your skin. Sat between your ribs like heat.

“Maybe,” he says, voice dropping a notch lower. Smooth. Controlled. Dangerous. “Maybe not.”

A faint shrug followed. The ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth…just enough to make it hurt. And then, he looked away.

The conversation moved on, but you didn’t.

You didn’t remember dessert. You didn’t taste the wine. The jokes around you blurred, distant and hollow, like they were happening underwater.

-

He didn’t know when it stopped being casual. Only that it had.

The second you walked into the restaurant—dressed in that effortlessly unfair way, that dressing hugging you in all the places his hand did. Lando knew he was completely, utterly fucked.

He watched you walk in beside Nick, your laugh soft, your eyes flicking up toward the warm lighting overhead as you took in the space. You looked calm. Gorgeous. Untouchable.

You didn’t even glance at him.

That was the first hit.

You took your seat at the far side of the table, next to Pietra, and right across from him. And beside you…Nick, all easy smiles and buttoned up charm. The guy had clearly tried tonight. Collared shirt. Fresh shave. Perfect posture.

Lando didn’t care.

What he cared about was how close Nick was sitting to you. How he leaned in when he talked to you, how he looked at you like he thought he had a chance. Like he deserved one.

And Lando couldn’t say anything.

Because next to him sat Sofia. Sweet. Funny. Stunning. The kind of girl everyone expected someone like him to be with. She laughed too loud at things he didn’t find funny and touched his arm too often like she was already claiming him.

He smiled at all the right moments. Said all the right things. Played the part.

But the entire time, his attention kept drifting back to you.

You, sipping your wine slowly.

You, pretending you didn’t feel his eyes burning holes into you across the table.

You, biting your lip to hide a smirk when Nick whispered something in your ear.

He fucking hated it.

He hated how he could still feel the weight of your legs around his waist from the week before.

Hated that his mouth still ached with the memory of your name breaking in his throat.

Hated that while everyone else saw this dinner as casual, he was sitting there fighting not to drag you out of the restaurant just to remind you that he was still the one who knew your body better than anyone else ever would.

At one point, Nick reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Lando’s jaw clenched. Hard.

He reached for his wine, a little too quickly, the glass nearly tipping as he took a long, slow sip. Sofia turned toward him, asking about the last race. He answered, but his voice sounded distant even to himself. His eyes had drifted again.

Right back to you.

Because you were glowing in the candlelight.

That was the worst part.

The soft, amber glow danced across your skin, catching the high points of your cheekbones, curling like warmth around your collarbone, and flickering in the shine of your eyes. You looked soft. Beautiful. Untouchable.

Radiant.

Like nothing was wrong. Like none of this was hard for you.

Like you weren’t unraveling from the inside the way he was.

You laughed at something Nick said, threw your head back, eyes crinkling, your fingertips brushed against Nick’s hand, and Lando swore he felt it in his fucking chest.

A clean hit. Center mass.

It wasn’t even about Nick. Not really. It was about you. About the way you smiled like someone hadn’t just lit a fire under the table. About the way you looked at Nick with polite interest instead of the burning heat Lando had seen in your eyes a hundred times when you looked at him.

He didn’t want to do this anymore.

He didn’t want to sit there with Sofia’s fingers trailing slowly up his thigh like she thought she had any idea what he needed. Like she hadn’t been talking for ten straight minutes while his pulse thudded beneath her touch, not from desire but from restraint.

He didn’t want to smile and nod while she laughed at stories he barely remembered telling, all the while watching you lean in closer to another man.

He didn’t want to play pretend anymore.

Not when his hands still ached with the memory of your body.

Not when your voice was still stuck in his head from the other night, low and wrecked and saying his name like it meant something.

Because it had meant something.

He didn’t know when it stopped being casual. Only that it had.

Somewhere between the first kiss and the first time you said just sex.

Somewhere between the time you stole his hoodies and didn’t give them back and the time he kissed your forehead when he thought you were asleep.

Somewhere between all the things he wasn’t supposed to feel— but did.

And now, watching you lean into Nick’s shoulder, your lips parted like you were about to say something else clever and teasing and not for him.

He felt sick. 

Angry.

A quiet, simmering kind of rage that sat just beneath the surface, coiled tight in his chest like a spring ready to snap. Not the kind of anger that you yell with. The kind that burns through your bone.

Because Nick was sitting there like he belonged next to you. Like he deserved your attention, your laughter, the soft little smile you gave him when he held the chair our for you. Nick, who didn’t know the first fucking thing about you. Who hadn’t memorized the exact sound your breath made when you were trying not to moan, or the way your fingertips trembled when you let your guard down. 

And you were letting it happen.

Worse—you were playing along.

Lando wanted to leave. Wanted to drag you with him.

Wanted to take you outside, press you against the car, and say everything he’d been choking on…

Don’t look at him like that

You’re mine.

I hate this.

But he didn’t.

Because it was casual. Right?

-

This wasn’t silence. This was screaming without sound.

The ride back to Lando’s felt endless. A tension wound so tight it made the air between you brittle. The kind of silence that made your skin itch. That pressed against your chest and made it hard to breathe.

Lando hadn’t even given you a choice.

“I’ll take you home,” he’d said, sharp and possessive and final.

And you didn’t argue. Because technically, he was right. You were staying with him.

Your things were still scattered in his guest room, your toothbrush still sat next to his like none of this was falling apart.

Lando didn’t look at you once during the drive. His fingers gripped the wheel so tightly you could see the tendons flexing beneath his skin, his jaw clenched like he was holding his entire body together by force.

The lights of the city washed over him in streaks…cool and gold and flickering, softening the hard line of his profile.

You stared out the window, eyes burning, refusing to let anything fall. Not with him next to you, pretending like he hadn’t gutted you.

You hated him.

You hated the way he looked you across the dinner table like he owned you.

You hated how he let Sofia touch his arm, laugh at his jokes, smile like she had any idea what it felt like to really be looked at by him.

You hated that he sat beside someone else and still had the audacity to act like you were the one who crossed a line.

And worst of all, you hated that it worked.

That his gaze still made your stomach twist.

That your hands still ached with the need to reach for him.

That even now, even after this, a part of you still wanted him.

By the time the car slid into the garage, your blood felt like fire in your veins.

You stepped out before he could say anything, storming past him and into the apartment, heels sharp on tile. The door slammed behind you.

You didn’t even make it halfway down the hall before his voice followed you—low, cold, frayed at the edges.

“You really couldn’t wait to laugh at everything he said, huh?”

You stopped. Slowly turned.

Your voice came out too calm. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He stood there in the entryway, eyes dark, fists clenched at his sides. “Pretend it didn’t drive me insane?”

You scoffed. “You don’t get to do that, Lando. Not when you had her clinging to you all night. Not when you chose to bring her and do this.”

“She means nothing.”

“Then why bring her?”

“Why bring him?”

You stared at each other, chest heaving, the pain stretching taut between you like wire.

He steps forward, slow but dangerous, like something barely caged. “I brought her because I couldn’t stand the thought of being there and watching you with someone else.” His voice cracks, raw and ragged. “Because I thought maybe if I saw it for myself, I’d feel nothing.”

You swallowed hard. “And?”

His eyes locked with yours. “I felt everything.”

That was all it took.

You were on him in a second, fingers tangled in his shirt, mouths crashing like a car wreck. It wasn’t a kiss—it was a breaking point. Desperate. Vicious. Full of fury and need and heartbreak.

He backed you into the wall with a grunt, your hands fumbling at his buttons, his teeth dragging along your jaw like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you or devour you.

Your breath hitches as he presses his forehead to yours.

“I hate this,” you whisper, “I hate you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, voice gutted. “I hate you too.”

And then you were kissing again—angry, breathless, clinging like you were trying to hurt each other with how badly you still wanted this.

You didn’t make it to the bed. You didn’t need to. Because this wasn’t about comfort. It wasn’t about love.

It was punishment. It was grief in the shape of bodies.

He fucks you hard against the wall of the hallway, your lace panties pushed to the side, his belt barely unbuckled as his pants are shoved down just enough so that he can stuff his cock into you.

It was every unspoken thing you said through bitten lips and bruised skin.

And afterward, as you lay tangled in the mess of it—neither of you moved.

You didn’t look at him. And he didn’t touch you. 

But in the silence, you felt everything. 

And it hurt more than it ever had.

-

The tension in the room was suffocating, thick enough to choke on. Conversation that had once flowed easily now hovered in awkward limbo as every pair of eyes flickered between you and Lando, watching the sparks ignite into something dangerously close to an explosion.

You sat on one side of the couch, arms crossed so tightly it felt like it was the only thing holding you together. Across from you, Lando lounged back like he had all the time in the world, legs stretched out, fingers drumming idly against his knee. The picture of nonchalance, except for the telltale clench of his jaw. 

“I swear to God, you are the most self-absorbed, arrogant asshole I’ve ever met,” you bit out, your voice dripping with irritation.

Lando scoffed, eyes flinging under the warm light. “Oh, I’m arrogant? That’s rich, coming from you.” He leans forward slightly, head tilting, tone mocking. “Do you even hear yourself when you talk? It’s exhausting.”

A sharp laugh escapes you, humorless. “Sorry I don’t let your little asshole comments slip by.” You leaned forward, heat rising to your face. “God forbid, someone doesn’t worship the ground you walk on for five fucking seconds.”

Across the room, Max raises an eyebrow, shifting uncomfortably. “C’mon guys, seriously? This again?”

Neither of you acknowledge him.

Your ands clench into fists against your thighs. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Lando shot back, grin widening, “you’re always right fucking here.”

The room went still. You make a move to stand up, no longer wanting to be near him.

“Nothing about this is funny, Lando,” you seethe. “But I guess that’s all you ever do, right? Crack a joke, act like nothing fucking matters—“

“Yeah?” Lando cut in sharply, eyes narrowing. “And you act like you don’t care when you obviously fucking do. No wonder your ex left you.”

The words slice through the air like a blade, cutting through the noise, through the tension, through you.

A suffocating silence falls over the room, pressing against your chest like a vice. Your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out the quiet gasps and awkward shuffling around you. Max shifts uncomfortably, eyes darting between you and Lando. Pietra sucks in a sharp breath but doesn’t dare say anything. Keegan leans back, his drink momentarily forgotten in his hand.

But you don’t register any of them.

Your entire world has narrowed down to Lando, sitting across from you, shoulders squared, chin tilted up in defiance, that sharp, reckless fire still burning in his gaze. He knows exactly what he just did. He threw a dagger straight to the heart and hit his mark. And he’s daring you to react.

You swallow hard, the initial sting of his words curdling into something darker, something lethal. Your hands tremble at your sides, but not with hurt. No. This is rage, white-hot and searing, clawing up your throat.

Then, Lando sees it. The barely-there quiver of your lip. The way your breath catches for just a second too long.

And in that instant, it hits him.

His expression falters. His cocky smirk flickers, like a candle struggling against the wind. Realization slams into him like a freight train, knocking the air from his lungs. His posture stiffens, and for the first time tonight, he looks uneasy.

“Wait,” he blurts out, moving to sit up. His voice softer now, tinged with something close to regret. “I’m sor—“

But you don’t wait to hear it.

You’re already on your feet, already walking away, your movements sharp and deliberate. You refuse to let them see your face, refuse to give Lando the satisfaction of seeing just how deep his words had cut.

The air feels too thick, too heavy, pressing in on you from all sides. You need to get out. Now.

“Wait,” Lando tries again, his voice more urgent this time, but you don’t slow down,

You make it to the front door in four strides, wrenching it open without hesitation. Cold air from the hallway rushes in, biting at your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the burn in your chest.

And then—

“Fuck,” Lando mutters.

The sound of your name leaving his lips is the last thing you hear before the door slams shut behind you.

-

The apartment felt suffocating, the air thick with unspoken words and a tension that had been building for days.

You stood in the doorway of the living room, watching Lando as he sat on the couch, his body sprawled lazily, but his eyes not quite focused on the screen of his phone. The silence between you two felt heavier than it had in days, thick like the humidity before a storm.

You took a deep breath, the weight of your decision settling like lead in your chest. You’d been avoiding this moment, dancing around it with every silent exchange and every time you deliberately didn’t look him in the eye.

You needed to leave.

“Lando,” you said, voice steady but quieter than you wanted it to be.

He didn’t immediately look up. He just shifted on the couch, adjusting his position, still fixated on the phone in his hands. The faintest sigh escaped your lips.

“Lando,” you repeated, this time a little louder.

At your tone, he finally glanced up, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of curiosity and that same old guardedness you’d gotten used to over the past few days. His lips parted, like he was about to say something, but then his expression faltered.

Your throat tightened, but you forced the words out. “I’m moving out,” you said, the words tumbling out faster than you could stop them.

There was a beat of silence, a long, drawn-out moment where neither of you spoke. Lando’s gaze flickered, searching your face, but he didn’t seem to fully understand.

“What?” He asked, his voice flat, as if the words were foreign to him. “What do you mean, moving out?”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your chest ached as you looked at him, trying to stay calm. “I’m moving out.”

Lando blinked, but his eyes never left you. There was no anger, no defensiveness—not yet. Instead, there was this cold detachment, like he was trying to keep himself from feeling anything at all. His jaw clenched, but the words didn’t come right away.

“Right.” His voice was quieter now, like he was speaking to himself. “I see.” He leans back against the couch, his posture casual, but there was a strain in the way his arms crossed over his chest. His lips pressed together in a thin line, and for the first time in a long while, you saw the cracks in his usual cool demeanor.

It was as if he was trying to shrug off what you’d just said, to act like it didn’t matter. But you saw through him. 

“You’re acting like you don’t care,” you said, the words cursing through the room.

His eyes flickered for a second, the mask slipping, but then he quickly recovers. He gives you a hollow smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes, and then shrugs. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” He said it flatly, like it was something he’d rehearsed, something he thought he should say. “But if that’s what you want, then fine. Whatever.”

You tried to ignore the sting that spread through you. It’s not like you were dating, you told yourself. You weren’t together. But that didn’t make the hurt go away. 

“Right.” Your voice cracked, and you quickly swallowed down the bitterness that was threatening to break free. “I’ll be out by the end of the week.”

-

The weeks had passed in a blur. The days filled with endless work, deadlines, and a weight of responsibilities that distracted you enough to almost forget about him. Lando. The sting of that last conversation with him had faded, but it was still there, lingering in the back of your mind like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

Things didn’t go back to how they were, but they didn’t stay as tense either. It was like a slow, reluctant return to some kind of normal, where the pain of the past still lingered, but you were both too stubborn to let it completely define everything.

You existed in this weird limbo, where you’d exchanged a few awkward words here and there for the sake of your friends, but never anything that went deeper than the surface. You spoke in the way that people who once had some sort of bond but now tip toe around each there did. Casual, clipped, and a little too guarded.

It wasn’t fun. Hell, it wasn’t even close, but it was manageable. And sometimes, that was all you could ask for.

One night, your group of friends were hanging out at a local bar, the usual crowd. You were sitting on a bar stool, nursing a drink that wasn’t quite strong as you’d like it to be, but it would do. Across the room, Lando was in the middle of an animated conversation with Max, his hands flying through the air as he gestured with the same over-the-top energy he always has when he’s passionate about something.

The laughter in the room was warm, but it felt distant. 

Later, as the night wore on, you found yourself standing near the pool table, watching the others play. Lando came over, tossing his jacket on the back of the nearby chair. The energy between you was familiar enough that you didn’t hesitate to speak to him, but also it felt strained.

“You still suck at pool,” you said, your tone more playful than it should’ve been, but it was the kind of jab you used to throw without second thought.

Lando smirked, leaning agains the table with an exaggerated cocky posture.”You wish,” he replied, his voice laced with that same arrogance you knew all too well.

You chuckled, but there was no real warmth behind it. Just the act of getting through the conversation without letting things get too weird.

And yet, there was still something in the way he looked at you. A flicker of something that wasn’t quite indifference. Maybe a hint of regret. Maybe it was something else.

-

It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t some big, dramatic moment where everything was fine again. Instead, it happened gradually, in the quiet in-between moments, in the casual interactions that didn’t feel like landmines anymore.

At first, it was just existing in the same space without tension suffocating the room. Group hangouts weren’t as unbearable, and the awkwardness that once weighed down every conversation started to fade. You could talk again without it feeling forced, without the sharp edge of unresolved anger lingering between you two.

Then, one day, Max invited everyone over for a movie night, and you barely hesitated before showing up. A few weeks ago, you might’ve thought twice, might’ve made up some excuses to avoid another night of dodging Lando’s presence. But this time, it felt…easier.

Lando was already there when you arrived, sprawled across the couch in the way he always was, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, his legs taking up more space than necessary. He barely looked up when you walked in, just gave a quick nod and a muttered, “Hey,” like it was the most normal thing in the world.

And maybe it was.

Weeks later, you were at a dinner with friends, and without thinking, you slid into the seat next to him. It wasn’t a conscious decision—you weren’t trying to prove anything, weren’t trying to reclaim something lost. It just…happened. And he didn’t tense up. Didn’t shift away. He just leaned back, tapping his fingers on the table absentmindedly as he listened to the conversation.

At some point, you made a comment that had the table laughing, and Lando snorted, shaking his head before muttering, “Still annoying as ever.”

It was teasing, lighthearted. The kind of jab he used to throw away all the time. 

“Yeah, well,” you shot back easily, stealing a fry form his plate like it was second nature, “you’re still an asshole.

-

Lando Norris had finally done it. After 110 race starts and 15 podiums, he clinched his first Formula 1 victory ever. The McLaren team erupted in celebration, the garage a blur of orange and blue as the mechanics and engineers reveled in the long-awaited triumph.

You watched from the sidelines with Pietra and Max, the roar of the crowd vibrating through your chest as champagne sprayed across the podium. Lando stood at the top step, his grin so wide it could have split his face in two. You should have looked away, should have focused on the bigger moment at hand, but you couldn’t tear your eyes off him.

Not when his eyes flickered toward you, just for a second.

The after party was chaos. A whirlwind of lights, music, and expensive champagne flowing as if the entire world had been waiting for this night. Everyone was drunk on victory…especially Lando, who was making his way through the club, grinning as he accepted every congratulatory slap on the back, every cheer raised in his name.

You stayed back, nursing a drink, watching from the shadows. It had been weeks, months, since you’d really talked. Since things between you shattered into something so complicated, neither of you had really figured out how to fix.

But tonight, the past felt different.

“Didn’t think I’d see you hiding in a corner,” Lando drawls, dropping into the seat beside you, eyes bright from alcohol and adrenaline.

You raise a brow. “Didn’t think you’d come looking.”

He scoffs, running a hand through his messy curls. “You’re acting like I haven’t been waiting for you to come congratulate me properly.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitches. “Fine. Congratulations, Norris. You finally did it.”

He smirk softens into something more genuine, something real. “Yeah. I did.” He pauses, watching you, his knee knocking against yours. “You proud of me?”

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated, then let out a breath. “Yeah, Lando. I’m proud of you.”

The words settled between you, something shifting in the air. You should’ve walked away then, should have left it at that. But instead, you stayed.

And later, when the party started winding down, when the night had blurred into warm laughter and lingering touches in secrecy, when Lando leaned in, breath ghosting over your cheek as he murmured, “Come with me,”— you didn’t say no.

You should have.

But instead, you let him take your hand, let him lead you through the dimly lit corridors of the hotel, the air thick with something heavy, something inevitable.

The door barely clicked shut before Lando was on you.

His hands found your waist, rough and desperate, pulling you against him in one swift motion. His mouth crashed onto yours, all heat and hunger, like he had been waiting for this for far too long.

It was messy, rushed, pure heat and desperation. He tastes like whiskey and something inherently him, something you had no business still craving. 

You gasped against his lips, fingers tangling in his curls, tugging just hard enough to make him ground. He presses you back against the wall, his body slotting perfectly against yours, the hard planes of his chest rising and falling with every ragged breath.

“Tell me to stop.” He mutters against your lips.

You could have.

You should have.

But instead, you pulled him back in, whispering against his skin, “No.”

“Fuck,” he mutters against your mouth, his voice low, strained, as his lips moved to your jaw, then your neck, leaving a trail in their wake. “Missed this.”

Your nails scrape down his back, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch. “Shut up,” you whispered, voice just as wrecked as his.

His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, and you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling the way he groans at the contact. He stumbles backwards until you hit the bed, the mattress dipping as he hovers over you, his breath heavy, eyes dark and hooded.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” He admits, voice thick with want, his fingers tracing along your skin as he leans down, capturing your lips again.

His forehead rests against yours for half a second, his breath uneven, before he pulls back just enough to really look at you.

“This is just sex,” you said first, voice barely above a whisper, but firm. A boundary. A reminder.

Lando’s lips twitched, like he wanted to say something. Instead, his grip tightens slightly, fingers pressing into your skin like he needed the anchor. The reminder that you’re really here. Under him. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice rough. “Whatever you say.”

And yet, the way he kisses you after—slow, deep, like he was memorizing every inch of you—made it feel like a lie.

-

It had been weeks. Weeks of avoidance, of pretending that last time had been a lapse in judgment rather than the inevitable. Weeks of stolen glances across rooms, of brushing past each other like it didn’t mean anything. Like you hadn’t memorized the feeling of his hands on your skin, the way he groaned hotly in your ear as he whispered your name in the dark.

And yet, here you were again. 

The door had barely closed behind you and already the air felt different. Dense. Loaded.

You were only supposed to drop off a hoodie. That was the plan. A thin, pathetic excuse, but you told yourself it was fine. It had found its way into your suitcase after that night—the one that bled into morning, where you left his bed before the sun rose, skin still warm, mouth still tasting like him.

Now you stood in his living room, holding that hoodie too tightly. Your knuckles white around soft, worn fabric.

You hadn’t planned on staying. But neither of you were moving.

Lando stood just a few feet away, barefoot, fresh from the shower. Damp curls hung over his forehead in messy, lazy waves. The soft black t-shirt clung to his chest, still damp at the collar, and his grey sweatpants sat low on his lips like a careless invitation.

He looked effortlessly undone. And completely unreadable.

He wasn’t relaxed. Not really.

Your pulse fluttered.

The silence between you stretched long and thin, tight like a pulled wire. One wrong word, one wrong breath, and it would snap.

You swallowed. The words in your throat tasted like regret.

“I just—“ you started, holding the hoodie out like it was a peace offering. “This was yours.”

Lando didn’t move to take it.

His eyes flicked down to it, then back to you. “You came all the way here for that?”

There it was. The challenge. Quiet. Sharp.

Your fingers curled tighter into the fabric. “It was in my bag.”

“Right.” A beat passed. “You could’ve just texted.”

You swallowed hard, throat dry. “I know.”

Another silence. Longer this time.

He took a slow step toward you, not enough to close the space, but enough to make your heart stutter.

You hated how his presence still made your skin feel electric.

Lando’s voice dropped, softer now. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

His eyes search yours like he was trying to solve you, like he already knew the answer and was waiting for you to admit it.

You let the hoodie fall from your hands. It hits the floor soundlessly and he wastes no time.

He crosses the rest of the distance in a single stride, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist.

It wasn’t sweet. It was desperate. Like he was punishing you for staying away. Like you were punishing him for letting you.

You melted into it anyway. Because you didn’t come for the hoodie.

You came for this.

-

It didn’t change.

Even after all this time: weeks of distance, of pretending it never happened, of triple dates and fake smiles and sleeping in separate beds…it still hadn’t changed.

You and Lando were right back where you started.

Back to silence thick with want.

Back to tension disguised as indifference.

Back to hooking up in secret like it didn’t mean anything.

But it did. God, it did.

You had told yourself it would be different this time. That avoiding each other meant you were finally doing the right thing. That letting him go would mean letting this go, the late nights, the whispering moans muffled into his mattress, the lingering touches that felt too much like wanting.

But here you were.

Back in his bed.

Back in the dark

Back in his arms.

Hooking up in secret like it didn’t matter.

Like your hands didn't shake when they touched him.

Like his mouth on your skin didn’t ruin you every time.

His mouth hot against your neck, your fingers fisting the sheets like they were the only thing tethering you to sanity.

You had tried to stay away. You had tried to be good. But when his hands found your waist and he kissed you like he needed you, every reason, every rule, every line blurred until it vanished.

“Fucking christ,” he whispers against your skin, voice low, like he even hated that this felt so right.

Your nails dug into his shoulder. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know,” He murmurs, breathless, forehead pressed against yours. 

“Tell me you missed it,” he rasped, lips dragging down your throat, his voice already wrecked. “Tell me you still fucking want me.”

You gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “You already know I do.”

He groans, low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. His hands were everywhere. Your thighs, your ass, the back of your neck…gripping, pulling, desperate like he was trying to commit you to memory.

Clothes came off in frantic, uneven tugs. His mouth found yours again and again, each kiss dirtier, deeper, messier than the last.

“This means nothing,” you whisper between kisses, your voice shaking as his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties.

“Bullshit,” he breathes against your mouth. “You feel like mine.”

And you did.

Right then, you did.

Because Lando touched you like he owned you.

Fucked you like he was trying to erase every other man from your body.

Kissed you like he was starving for something he’d been denying himself for too long.

And when it was over, when your bodies were tangled in the sheets, skin flushed, and slick with sweat, chests rising and falling in sync. You didn’t say a word.

-

The door doesn’t just click shut behind him, it slams, rattling the walls and sending a violent tremor through your chest. The sound rings in your ears, sharp and final, like the crack of a gunshot.

The silence afterward is deafening.

Your breath comes in short, jagged bursts, chest heaving like you’ve just sprinted a mile. Your fists are balled at your sides, nails digging so deep into your palms you’re almost positive you’ve broken skin. But the sting doesn’t register. You’re too far gone.

The anger is molten in your veins. It scorches. It consumes.

How dare he?

How dare he look at you like that? Say that to you? Act like you’re the one who’s done something unforgivable. Like you betrayed him. Like you stabbed him in the back just for having a fucking conversation with another guy at an event you didn't even want to go to in the first place.

“If you want to whore yourself out to the world, be my guest. It’s not like we’re together anyway.”

The words slam into your skull like they’re on repeat, looping endlessly, cruel and cutting and so beneath him.

The inside of your mouth tastes like blood from biting your tongue too hard. Trying not to scream when he said it, trying not to cry.

But now?

You want to throw everything in sight. Smash every glass, every plate, everything that he’s touched. You want to tear apart the sofa where he kissed you last week like it meant something. You want to rip your own skin open just to let the fury out. 

Instead, you reach for the closest thing.

A glass on the counter.

Heavy. Clear. Innocent.

You barely register your arm moving before you hurl it at the wall with everything you’ve got.

The sound is instant. Shattering. Violent.

Glass explodes across the hardwood like a thousand tiny pieces of your own rage, catching the light as they scatter, beautiful and broken.

But it’s not enough.

The ache in your chest is too deep. The burn in your throat too raw.

You move. Fast. Pacing the kitchen like a wild animal, hands raking through your hair, pulling, scratching at your scalp as if you could dig the fury out from under your skin. But it lingers. It festers. 

It builds

Because how fucking dare he?

He just wanted to be the victim. Wanted to twist it into something that made you the villain. As if he hadn’t been the one who pulled away the second things started feeling too real.

Your eyes sting—but no tears come. You won’t let them.

You face faster, chest tight, heart racing. The apartment feels too small, too suffocating. And underneath all the rage, all the fire—beneath the storm you’ve become—there’s something else.

Buried deep. Almost too deep to recognize.

A sliver of something raw. Something real.

Hurt.

Because for all his flaws—all the fights, the secrecy, the push and pull—you wanted him. You still do.

And now, all you can think is:

If he wants to believe you’re some villain in his story—

Maybe it’s time you start acting like one.

-

The club is a mistake.

But right now, you want to make mistakes.

You want to be reckless. You want to be wild. You want to be seen.

The bass pounds like a heartbeat, steady and hard, syncing with the blood roaring in your ears. The room is alive—neon flashes streak across sweat-slicked skin, strangers press against each other like they’re starving, and the air smells like spilled drinks and something sweet and desperate.

Its the perfect place to forget.

Or pretend to.

Your dress clings to you like it was sewn on, your make up still flawless despite the storm you barely survived earlier, and your glass is already half-empty, liquid courage numbing the parts of you that ache too much to name.

You don’t think. You just move.

The guy with a sharp jawline and the too-easy smile finds you on the dance floor, and you let him. His hands slide down your waist, anchor you to the rhythm, and you let yourself fall into it. Not because you want him. Not really.

But because you know exactly who is watching.

Leaned against the bar like he owned the night. Curls a little messy, sleeves pushed to his elbows, his shirt carelessly unbuttoned just enough to make you burn.

Sofia tucked into his side like she belonged there.

Her hand on his chest. His smirk. His laugh.

You nearly choked on it.

Because it wasn’t just a random girl. It was her.

And he looked like he was enjoying it. Like he hadn’t just stormed out of your apartment, like he hadn’t called you something cruel and cold and unforgivable.

Like you hadn’t spent the last two weeks trying not to cry every time someone mentioned his name

Fine.

You can play that game too.

You turn toward the stranger, lips brushing the shell of his ear, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt like a scene pulled straight from a revenge fantasy. His hands skate lower. His mouth finds your jaw.

But your eyes stay locked on Lando.

And he’s watching.

You can see it from across the room. The way his jaw clenches. The way his drink stills in his hand. The way Sofia keeps talking, oblivious, while his eyes are glued to you like you’re gravity itself.

You lean into the stranger’s mouth, laugh at something he says even though you don’t hear a word. You press your body closer, let his hands wander.

And Lando snaps.

You see it in the twitch of his brow. The way he straightens. His drink hits the bar a little too hard, liquid sloshing over the edge. He says something to Sofia…quick, dismissive. She frowns. He doesn’t explain

He’s already walking.

Straight toward you.

Your breath catches, but you don’t back down.

Lando’s chest collides with yours before he even says a word, a hand curling around your wrist as he yanks you, gently, but firmly, away from the guy, who looks like he’s about to protest until he sees Lando’s face.

“Don’t,” Lando mutters over his shoulder, eyes never leaving yours. “She’s not interested.”

-

This wasn’t forgiveness. This was combustion.

The bass of the club still pounded behind you like a heartbeat, muffled now by the thick walls of the dim hallway Lando had all but dragged you down before pushing you into the private lounge. Your back hit the wall hard enough to rattle the frame of the private lounge door, but you didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe.

He stood in front of you, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile, his hands braced on either side of your head, trapping you in. Not physically. Emotionally. Because it was always like this with him. His presence bigger than his body, his silence louder than any scream.

He was staring at you like he didn’t know whether to kiss you or tear you apart.

And you felt just the same.

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” you hissed, voice shaking with the fury that had been burning in you since the moment he’d walked into the club like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t ghosted you for two weeks, like he hadn’t looked you in the eye and accused you of being disposable.

Lando’s jaw clenched, his eyes dark and dangerous in the low light. “Don’t.”

“No. You don’t get to stand here and act like I’m the one who crossed a line,” you spat. “You left. You disappeared. You brought her like I meant nothing. And now you’re pissed that I danced with someone else?”

His breath came faster. You saw it. The flicker of guilt, of pain, of jealousy he didn’t know how to hide.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he said, voice rough, almost hoarse. “I was angry. I said it because I knew it would hurt.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well. Mission accomplished.”

His hands slammed against the wall, framing your face but never touching you, and you hated how it made your heart stutter. Hated that even now, even when you wanted to slap him across the face, your body still leaned into him like muscle memory.

“You think it didn’t kill me?” he growled, his voice low and guttural. “Watching him touch you? Watching you pretend like I didn’t exist?”

“You don’t get to say that,” you snapped, eyes burning. “Not after what you said. Not after two weeks of silence. You can’t just show up and expect me to—”

“I didn’t know how to talk to you,” he cut in. “I didn’t know how to look at you and not fucking want you.”

The confession hit like a thunderclap.

Your breath caught, and the weight of everything unsaid; every word buried under bitterness and pride—rose to the surface, choking the air between you.

Your voice cracked. “You think this is just wanting?”

Lando didn’t answer.

He stepped forward instead, one hand curling around your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he couldn’t help himself. His forehead dropped to yours, breath hot against your mouth.

“I hate this,” he whispered. “I hate how much I still want you. I hate that I can’t get you out of my head.”

“Then walk away,” you whispered back.

But he didn’t.

He kissed you.

It was fire. All teeth and desperation, mouths crashing together like neither of you cared who got hurt in the process. His hands were on your waist, sliding under your dress, gripping your hips like they were familiar territory…because they were.

Your fingers tangled in his curls, tugging hard, earning a low growl from his throat as he pressed his body into yours.

Clothes were tugged aside, not removed. This wasn’t soft. This was reckless. This was months of frustration and fury and ache pouring out in frantic touches and bruising kisses.

He hoisted you up against the wall, your legs wrapping around his waist, your back arching into him as his mouth moved to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he murmured, voice ragged and low, the words slipping from his lips like a dare, like he already knew you wouldn’t.

His breath was hot against your cheek, his hands trembling slightly where they held you like you were something breakable. And for the first time in weeks, you saw it.

The fear. The want.

The truth he had tried so hard to bury under anger and distance and pride.

You didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

Because you did feel it.

You always had.

Instead, you reached for him, fingers curling around the back of his neck as you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. The space between you vanished, not just physically but completely, like there had never been a single inch there to begin with.

Your voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper. “I never stopped feeling it.”

Lando exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months. His eyes fluttered shut, and you felt the tension in him loosen, melt, unravel. His hand slid up your back, holding you tighter, anchoring himself to you like he didn’t trust this to be real.

“You scare the shit out of me,” he said quietly. “You make me want things I told myself I wasn’t allowed to want.”

You smiled, small and soft, but real. “Then stop pretending you don’t want them.”

That was all it took.

He kissed you again, but this time it wasn’t desperate or punishing. It wasn’t angry or messy or anything born from frustration. It was slow. Careful. Like he was learning you all over again. Like he finally understood what it meant to have you in his arms.

Like he didn’t want to lose it this time.

And you let yourself fall into it.

Because for the first time, it didn’t feel like running.

Or hiding.

Or a mistake waiting to happen.

It felt like home.

[bucketbueckers]

HIIIII SEXY

if ur taking requests can i request smth angsty for paige ? i was thinking maybe if you could do something based on ilyis by gracie abrams where reader is in love w paige but doesnt think paige will ever like her back cause paige is always flirting w azzi and then paige comes over and acts all flirty with reader and reader blows up at her and is storms out and paige forces her to admit her feelings cause all along paige liked her but she didn’t know if reader liked gworls 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

and it ends happily PLEASEEEE I BEG

I LOVE YOU, I’M SORRY

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: language, teensy bit of angst, girls who hate communicating, reader might be a lil mean but we ball

wc: 2.4k

synopsis: You’ve been in love with Paige Bueckers for years, just another one of the countless moths drawn to her flame. You’d made your peace with only being her friend long ago, but it’s not until a well-timed blow up at Ted’s makes you realize it was mutual all along.

notes: as requested and in honor of finishing my last fuck ass exam 🫶 thank you sm for the request and im hoping i did this justice for you anon!! im sorry its a lil short 😓 but as always i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

Ted’s was supposed to be a welcome distraction to cap off a hectic week. Between two back-to-back away games, constant traveling, terrible naps on bumpy bus rides home, and homework that just seemed to keep piling up, you were ready to unwind and tackle the next week with a clearer mind. However, you couldn’t seem to relax, and the jealousy blooming in your chest like hemlock as you stared at Paige and Azzi whispering to each other wasn’t doing you any favors, either.

The team had invited you out with them, intent on celebrating another regular season conference win. You’re one of their graduate assistants, having served as the team manager for a few years before the position opened up, although you’d built incredible friendships with the girls over the years. Well – most of them, seeing as your brain and your heart couldn’t quite agree on how you felt for Paige. Her freshman year was your first year as team manager and she went out of her way to make you feel welcomed, greeting you every day at practice and inviting you out to team get-togethers.

At first, you’d kept it together. You were strictly friends, not even considering anything else. By Paige’s sophomore year – your junior year – you’d realized that she was beautiful. Like, a dangerous beautiful where you’d find yourself staring at her, even when she wasn’t doing anything more than watching film on her iPad. During her junior year, you were finally able to put a name to your confusing feelings and discovered that you were falling for her – hard – somewhere in between ACL recovery and her corny jokes. You realized it was love at the end of her junior year when you told her that Coach agreed to bring you on as a graduate assistant and she almost broke your spine hugging you. Now, nearly a year and a half into your Master’s program, you’re still hopelessly in love with Paige Bueckers and dreading the day the NCAA tournament begins – because the end of the season means the end of you and her. Because she’ll be on the first plane to Dallas and you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to find your courage and confess to her.

Ted’s was supposed to be a distraction. But it’s not, because the drink you’re sipping on makes your throat burn every time you swallow, and all you can think about is how you and Paige are a ticking time bomb that’s set to explode in April, and all you see is Paige looking at another girl that’s not you, and all you feel is the sickening mix of jealousy and shame that courses through your veins – jealous because all you want is Paige; shame because she’s your friend and you hate the way she makes you feel. You hate that your love makes you a little insecure and you hate that it feels like she’s choosing someone else over you.

Jana, who’s sitting next to you, throws an almost absentminded arm over your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into whatever conversation they’re having at the table. KK is yapping and you barely catch the gist of it – something about Coach making them run suicides and how the new protein powder she’s trying gave her a tummy ache, but the heat of Paige’s gaze on you makes you glance over at her. Her brows are furrowed, eyes hardened as she stares at Jana’s arm around your shoulders like it’s personally offended her.

What confuses you even more is how Azzi notices. She sighs, an exasperated sort of noise, and stands – not without flicking Paige harshly on her forehead and muttering something about “Talk to her” as she slides her way out of the booth and towards the bathroom. Paige’s cheeks are a little red as she rubs her head forlornly. You’d probably laugh if you weren’t feeling so green.

You go to take another sip of your drink, needing to occupy your hands and your mouth if you wanted to appear somewhat put together tonight, but you frown when you realize you’re empty. Catching Jana’s attention, you motion to your cup and she nods, removing her arm and allowing you to make your way to the bar.

You don’t think too hard about your drink order as you rifle through your clutch for your card. What you do think hard about is the all too familiar voice saying, “I got you. Can I get another Shirley, please?” as Paige slides her card across the bar, her free hand finding your wrist like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Paige,” you deadpan, an amused annoyance lacing your tone. “I can get my own drink.”

She grins ineffably at you, but there’s an uncharacteristic hesitation in her eyes. It’s almost enough to make you forget why you’ve been so off all night. “Doesn’t mean you should,” she retorts.

“Oh?” you ask. “You making decisions for me now?”

Paige shrugs coyly. Her hand trails from your wrist to your waist, tangling in your belt loops – not pushing or pulling. Just holding. The touch makes you freeze. You and Paige had always been close. She was a touchy person, but never in public like this. “Just the important ones,” she murmurs. “So I know you’re taken care of.”

You blink at her, mouth suddenly dry. The sound of glasses scraping against the hardwood counter startles you. Paige thanks the bartender as she retreats, leaving the both of you alone at the edge of the bar, and you reach for your drink to occupy your hands as your mind spins. As unsure as you are about Paige returning your feelings, you’re not dumb. You’ve been flirted with before, been around Paige enough to know what her flirting looks like. The gentle confidence in her voice, the way her eye contact is so intense that strangely, it forces you to focus on her because otherwise, you’re sure that she’d find something she didn’t like if you couldn’t face her. The physical contact and the way she’s leaning into you. She’s flirting with you. Under any other circumstance, you’d probably be jumping for joy, but not now.

From the corner of your eye, you spot Azzi making her way back to the table. You make direct eye contact with her. She glances down, taking in your proximity, and she smiles at you. It sobers you up instantly.

“What the fuck are we doing?” you ask Paige, setting your drink back down on the bar and yanking her hand off of you. She blinks, her jaw falling slightly and confusion twisting her brows. “What are you doing? What, Azzi walks away, so you go and find someone else to keep you entertained? The one person who would run back to you anyway?”

“I – what?” Paige asks, hurt lacing her tone. She reaches out for you again but you take a step back, your thighs hitting the stool behind you. “I don’t understand what you mean. What does Azzi–”

You don’t realize you’re tearing up until you register the burn in your throat and the way your eyes sting. “You flirt with Azzi in front of my face all night. She leaves, and you wanna follow me up here, talking about taking care of me? You wanna touch me and buy my drink, ignore this weird push and pull thing we have, and then walk away like it means nothing to you?”

When she doesn’t say anything, you laugh despite the hurt swelling in your chest. “Sometimes you can be such a dick.” You wipe your eyes, trying not to lose your mind when your thumb comes back smudged with mascara. At the heart of it, sure, you’re sad, but the most pressing emotion is anger. You’d rather not be a choice at all than be a second choice.

The both of you pause, just staring at each other, until guilt and realization blooms simultaneously on Paige’s face. She murmurs your name, her voice cracking a little like what you’ve just said has changed her life, but you don’t let her reach out for you as you turn on your heel and walk out.

You know you can’t leave – Aubrey drove you and you’re not built for walking home at midnight. You lean against the railing, your head in your hands, knowing that Paige will likely be on her way. The two of you weren’t one for arguments. On the rare occasions you got carried away, apologies were swift. Guilt of your own bubbles in your stomach – you blew up for no reason, allowing your emotions to get out of hand. Now, you know that you and Paige will have to have another difficult conversation, and you’re not even sure if she’ll still want to be your friend afterwards. This is something you might not be able to come back from.

You feel her next to you before you see her. She leans against the railing, giving you space, and it’s in this devastating little moment that your anger comes back. It’s muted, not directed at her, but at yourself. You’re angry because as much as you want to be angry with her, you’re not, and all you really want is her. It’s selfish – you’d hurt her feelings in the bar, barely thirty feet away from your friends, but your body doesn’t care about that.

She breaks the silence to ask you, unsurprisingly, “Do you like me?”

There’s a million responses on the tip of your tongue. You consider sarcasm, but you feel as though the weight of this conversation needs something a little more genuine. Maybe genuine communication could have saved the both of you from feeling like this. No more cop outs, is what you tell yourself, so you exhale and admit, “I love you.”

You’re not sure what you’re holding your breath for. Maybe rejection. A small part of you holds out for Paige’s agreement. You’re unprepared for the way her arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into her body, and despite the shock, you sink into her anyways, your head falling onto her chest. It feels like acceptance, like forgiveness. “I didn’t know you liked girls,” Paige confesses, sounding a little sheepish.

At that, you groan, resisting an eye roll. “I literally have a pride flag in my Instagram bio,” you mumble. “You want my coming out in writing too? ‘Dear Paige, I’m gay. I’d apologize but you probably should have known anyway. Love, me.’”

“You’re annoying,” she huffs, but you can hear the amusement in her voice anyway. She tightens her hold on you. “I probably…should have done that a little better. At the bar. Don’t want you thinking it meant nothing to me. It does. And I just–” Paige trails off a little, looking for the right words. “I was really scared. I’ve always been worried about doing too much, scaring you off, and losing you forever. I thought…maybe I could drop hints and let you figure out what you wanted, but I never stopped to think about how that would feel from your end. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you say. “For calling you a dick and making those accusations. I was scared and I let it consume me.”

You can feel the tentative smile Paige presses to your temple. “Truce?” she asks, and you nod, your fingers tangling in her shirt as you finally let the tension in your body dissolve. “For the record…there’s nothin’ going on with me and Azzi. She’s been telling me to ask you out for years. She was the first person I told when I thought I was in love with you.”

You pull back a little, meeting her eyes. The earnestness and honesty is clear as day, but you refuse to get your hopes up. “You love me?” you ask, not only to clarify, but also because this is something you’ve spent countless hours thinking about, wondering if it was even possible. To have it so close within reach…you need to be sure.

Paige, in typical Paige fashion, smiles crookedly at you and says, “You want that in writing, too?” She clears her throat dramatically. ‘To my favorite grad assistant, I’m in love with you. I’d apologize, but–”

“You are so fucking annoying,” you seethe, but there’s no real malice in your voice, your smile far too wide to be anything but over the moon. You’d thought about this moment a hundred times – how you’d respond to Paige confessing, or even how your own confession would sound. You’d never planned for it to happen this way. Maybe it was something that was supposed to be a spur of the moment thing. Maybe something out of a rom-com involving rain. Never an argument like this. The realization was never something dramatic with some cinematic soundtrack in the background. It was simple, almost like something clicks into place quietly. It’s messy, but it’s yours. And that’s enough for you. “So what happens now?”

Paige hums, leaning against the railing as her thumb brushes against your jaw gently. “Well…you can let me buy you another drink. Maybe split some fries. And, I don’t know if this is something you’d be interested in…but maybe you could be mine, too?”

You raise a brow, resting your hands over her shoulders. “Oh, really? Is that everything you want?”

Paige grins at you, her eyes flicking down momentarily before finding yours again. Her expression softens. “Not everything,” she admits. “But I’m trying to do this right. I wouldn’t want to assume.”

You roll your eyes, not missing the subtle tease in her words. When her hands drop to your waist, finding your belt loops again, you don’t freeze up. If anything, you melt into her. “Whatever you’re thinking…I don’t think it’s that much of an assumption.”

“Yeah?” she echoes. “‘Cause I’m still thinking about the fries.”

Huffing, you cup her cheeks in your hands, her skin warm against your palms, and you stand on the tips of your toes as you lean in to kiss her. She laughs, although she responds with a mix of softness and eagerness that makes you want more. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more, but you pace yourselves, taking it slow and sinking into the feeling.

When you part, Paige brushes her lips across your temple, her arms tightening around you like she can’t believe she has you. And, maybe, the truth is you’ve always been a little bit of hers, just like she’s always been a little bit of yours. That is all you could ever need.

[smileysuh]

penance

🌙 staring. Cheol & Jeonghan & Joshua & Wonwoo & Mingyu x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You’re hyper-aware of the fact that all four of your lovers are just outside the confessional, that they’re listening in- it’s making your mouth dry, your palms becoming sweaty as you rub them against your dress. “When you last confessed, you mentioned greed and lust as your sins. Would you care to elaborate more on that?” The priest asks. “Maybe it will be easier, now that you’re amongst… friends.”

tw/cw. unprotected sex, orgies, 3some, 4some, 6some, creampies/filling kink, cum play, dirty talk, praise, degradation, fucking in weird places (a tank & church & outside & bathrooms), multiple sex scenes, choking, rough handling, manhandling, blow jobs, deep throating, oral, squirting, anal, double penetration, triple penetration, masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, multiple orgasms, dacryphilia, overstimulation, possessiveness, sir kink, powerplay, free use subthemes, getting horny during confession, sins: lust/greed, fingering, sex as punishment/penance, jealousy, dubious consent/inclusion of a new person, spit-roasting/Eiffel tower, finger sucking, spanking, spitting, etc... I pet names: (hers) baby, beautiful princess, kitten, whore/slut, good girl, dirty girl, etc. (cheol's) sir. (gyu's) puppy. (others) etc...

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 21.2k

🍭 aus. zombie apocalypse au, poly au, military!cheol/hannie/gyu/wonwoo, priest!Joshua, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. so... uh. I watched Sweet Home season 2 and the military men had me hornier than usual.

Prologue:

It’s been one week since you arrived at the prison compound. One week since you almost died, only to be saved by a group of four of the sexiest men you’d ever seen. They’d stormed into the grocery store you’d been cornered in, killed the three zombies who’d been attacking you, and offered you refuge at one of the few fortified locations for survivors in the area. 

You’d heard about a prison with militiamen protecting it, but you’d never thought it was real. Since the supposed ‘apocalypse,’ lies have become much too common, and part of you had always been scared to hope for something like normalcy ever again. 

Sure, the prison isn’t exactly normal. Sleeping in a cell and carrying out daily tasks like tending to the garden outside or helping with food ration prep isn’t how you’d pictured your life turning out, but to be fair, when zombies began terrorizing the globe, you hadn’t envisioned much of a future for yourself.

Every day you spend surviving is a day past your expiration date, so you take it as it comes. 

To top it all off, the hierarchy of this new place is something you’re getting used to. 

The militiamen generally keep to themselves in the barracks section, but you catch glimpses of them heading out every few days in their trucks while you do menial tasks around the prison yard. 

For the most part, the surviving citizens have formed a mock democracy, a counsel that determines tasks and deals with small-time disputes between survivors. Everyone is pulling their weight in one way or another, but people are kind to each other, and it’s taken some getting used to. 

Your job today involves handing out rations for dinner. The militia had found a warehouse somewhere in the vicinity with a large amount of instant ramen, so morale is quite high as you serve survivors a hot meal. 

You’re still getting the hang of faces and names, but one person stands out as he patiently waits in line. His dark outfit - complete with the white ��Roman collar’ around his neck - distinguishes him as the priest who tends to the on-grounds chapel. You’ve heard good things about his services, about the way he uplifts spirits and keeps people’s faith, but you’ve yet to go to any of his speaking engagements. 

He’s a handsome man, and you offer him a small smile when he’s finally standing in front of you. “Hello, Father.”

“It’s Joshua,” he corrects you, with a soft grin of his own. “You must be new here.”

You tell him your name, and explain that you arrived last week. He listens with an expression filled with understanding, and you realize his easy countenance must be one of the reasons people like this priest so much. Although he’s a spiritual advisor to the democracy counsel, he doesn’t act like a few of the more entitled circle members do. 

“Thank God we were able to find you,” Joshua muses, when you reveal that you’d been near death at the time of your saving. “I’ve found that, in a situation like this, it’s always the innocent who are first to be trampled over.”

You’re not sure how spiritually innocent you are, but you understand that he might be coming from an angle of women and children being those who are pure. The ratio of male survivors to women and children is four to one in the prison, and it’s definitely been something that made you uneasy about this place when you first arrived.

“Thank God,” you repeat respectfully. 

Joshua’s smile widens for a moment, then he nods. “Please know that the church on the northeast part of the grounds is open to everyone. If you ever need to talk, I’ll be here for you.”

“Thank you, Father.” 

This time, he doesn’t correct you on his name, he simply nods, continuing down the food line. 

You’re doing your best to keep yourself in check. You’ve not been around this many handsome men since the initial outbreak, and you feel like a starving dog who’s finally seen an abundance of food. Not only is the priest hot, and the militiamen as well, but many of the survivors here are quite attractive in their own unique way.

Hansol is the quiet man who’d been assigned to show you around. He tends the garden outside with you, and you’ve come to enjoy the way the sunlight hits his striking features. 

Seokmin works in the kitchen, and you’ve spent hours organizing boxes of food with him. You enjoy the smiles he always sends your way, he makes you forget that you’re in a prison with a zombie infestation just outside the compound's high walls. 

Then there’s Soonyoung, a rambunctious survivor who is always vocalizing the needs of others at circle meetings, much to the dismay of counselman Seungkwan, who fancies himself a clear mouthpiece of the people. 

It’s the end of the dinner rush and you’re lost in thought about your new life in the prison when you notice a familiar person standing in front of you. Jeonghan had been amongst the unit that saved you, and he offers you a large grin. “Hi, new girl.”

“Hi,” you say, feeling a little stupid with yourself as the word slips out. It’s hard to focus on speaking with the beautiful man standing in front of you. He’s dressed in his camo pants and a white tanktop, dog tags dangling from his neck. 

“How are you liking this place?” Jeonghan asks. 

“I’m very happy to be here,” you respond quickly. You’re not sure you trust the prison or its inhabitants yet, but, you are grateful to have a safe place to rest at night. 

“Good, it looks like you’re settling in.” The militiaman’s eyes scan you up and down. “We haven’t had a chance to talk to you since we brought you here, the Z1 unit was wondering if you were okay.”

There are a handful of units that protect the prison. As far as you can tell, the Z in front of their unit numbers stands for Zombie, but it’s not something you’ve been able to confirm. 

“Anyways,” Jeonghan continues, “it’s the end of the rush, how about you clock out and come eat with me?”

You notice Seokmin shifting on the food line next to you, and he casts you a weary look. 

“I’m not sure I can clock out,” you admit.

“It will be fine,” Jeonghan assures you, waving his hand. “Actually, now that I think about it, I should grab food for the others too, and you can’t expect me to hold all the trays, right?” 

You look to Seokmin for guidance, and he lets out a small sigh, nodding. “You can help him bring the food to the barracks.” 

A few minutes later, you’re standing in the food line with Jeonghan.  “I didn’t realize the units eat the same stuff as the rest of us,” you muse, watching Seokmin pile a larger-than-normal ration of instant ramen onto each of Jeonghan’s four trays.

“We normally don’t,” Jeonghan admits. “The barracks have a stash of military-grade food, but Z1 has a taste for this type of shit.” 

“Lucky that you found a whole stash of it.”

“We’ve been very lucky lately,” the militiaman grins. “Found you too.”

“I wanted to thank you again-”

“There’s no need,” Jeonghan waves his hand. “Duty this, and duty that, and all that jazz.”

“Still, I appreciate it.”

“And I appreciate you helping me with the trays. There, we’re even.”

He’d been quite easygoing when he’d first rescued you- well, as easygoing as you suppose a military man could be during a zombie apocalypse, and you’re pleasantly surprised that his carefree countenance has continued.  

As you finish getting your plates full, Seokmin comes out from the line, looking at Jeonghan, then at you. “I’ll see you soon, right?”

“Don’t be so jumpy, Seokmin,” Jeonghan laughs. “She can’t bring the food all the way to the barracks and then not eat anything. I’ll make sure she’s well fed, and I’ll send her back when we’re done with her.”

There’s something slightly ominous about his choice of words, and your skin heats at the idea of eating with the entire Z1 unit. 

You? In a room with your four hot saviors? 

Your stomach twists at the mere thought.

“Are you sure I can’t help you with the trays?” Seokmin suggests, his eyes finding you.

“Nah, she’s got it,” Jeonghan brushes your friend off. “Besides, you know that Cheol likes to talk to all the new survivors that show up on base. We gotta fill out a little detail sheet and give it to the head councilman so that everyone is accounted for, or did you forget that that’s one of our duties?”

Seokmin lets out a small sigh, and with one final nod, he allows Jeonghan to lead you from the cafeteria. 

The prison is like a maze, even though you’ve seen a map, you still find yourself getting lost with some frequency. Jeonghan, in contrast, has no problems navigating the dull, dimly lit halls.

“How long have you been here?” you ask.

“Since near the start of the outbreak,” Jeonghan responds casually. “Before all the cell phone towers went down, the government started sending teams into prisons to clear them out. I guess the thought was that compounds like this one would be good bases to survive the apocalypse. Communications between us and the big bosses got cut, the group of officials that were supposed to arrive for sanctuary never did- then survivors started popping up, so now here we are.”

You stay quiet, and Jeonghan looks over at you.

“Where were you before this place?” he asks.

“Never in one place for very long,” you admit. “There was a group of survivors at a large shopping center, but it wasn’t fortified like this place. Was only there a month before things got bad.” 

Jeonghan nods sympathetically. “Well, the prison isn’t gonna be breached anytime soon. You can rest easy now.”

You continue walking, with Jeonghan asking you surface-level questions about what jobs you’re being assigned to, what friends you’ve made. It feels nice to be talking to someone casually again, and if the conversation wasn’t so based on the situation at hand, you think you might actually be able to forget about the apocalypse entirely while with Jeonghan. 

As you arrive at the barracks wing, you have to walk past a few militiamen rooms before making it to the Z1 section at the end of the hall. As you pass, holding trays of instant ramen, you notice members of Z2 watching you. 

Seokmin had explained to you a few details about Z2, more specifically its unit leader, a short but beefy man they call Woozi, who had been the head of the prison’s guard system before the outbreak. He watches you quite intensely as you walk past, but you also get looks from men you can identify as the Chinese members of the unit.

“What’s that?” the youngest Z2 man asks, stepping out of his room to look at you and Jeonghan.

“This, Chan, is instant ramen,” Jeonghan says, waving one of his trays in front of the soldier. “If you run, you might be able to get some for yourself before they close up the kitchen.”

Chan practically takes off, and a moment later, you notice the rest of Z2 standing to join as well.

“Looks like you’re not the only unit who likes ramen,” you grin.

“Everyone likes ramen,” Jeonghan insists. 

You finally make it to the Z1 section and Jeonghan kicks open the door. It’s clear that unlike the other unit rooms which consist of bunk beds, the Z1 unit has the best quarters. With a middle lounging/dining area, and four off-shooting bedrooms, this is clearly the most lavish place to be in the prison. There are weights and other workout contraptions strewn about, and more guns than you can count- 

Sitting on the couches in the middle of the common space are your three other saviors. They appear to be playing some sort of card game, and when you enter, they all look up.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest to be under the gaze of three of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen. 

Seungcheol’s the first to speak, his eyes moving from you to Jeonghan. “What’s this?”

“This is dinner,” Jeonghan says simply, walking around the couch to set a tray down for Cheol before taking his own seat next to the unit leader. “And you guys all remember the girl we saved last week. I needed an extra set of hands.”

You step forward, leaning over to put down the two trays you’re holding in front of Mingyu and Wonwoo.

“Make some room for the girl, Jesus, she’s eating with us,” Jeonghan chastizes the two large men staring at you.

Mingyu and Wonwoo are quick to move over, creating a space for you in the middle of the couch. 

“Maybe I should get going,” you suggest, skin tingling at the idea of being sandwiched between Wonwoo and Mingyu. All four men are in their camo pants and tank tops, muscles all on display- 

“Don’t be crazy,” Jeonghan scoffs. “I told Seokmin I’d feed you, so we’re feeding you. These two don’t mind sharing, do you guys?”

Mingyu lifts his jaw off the floor, swallowing thickly and shaking his head. “We don’t mind sharing.”

Wonwoo, in contrast, stays dead silent, his dark eyes watching you as you slowly move to sit in the middle. 

“I uh…” you clear your throat. “I wanted to thank all of you again for saving me last week.”

“Don’t,” Seungcheol says. You stare at him, and he leans forward cocking his head to the side. His next question catches you off guard, “Do you like it here?”

You swallow thickly, nodding. “Yes, sir.”

Jeonghan chuckles, and Mingyu squirms in his seat next to you. Seungcheol, to your shock, actually grins, and you’re amazed at how the smile lights up his handsome face. “No one’s called me that in a long time,” he admits. “I like the sound of it.”

“She’s quite respectful, isn’t she?” Jeonghan notes, winking at you.

“Why’d you bring her here?” Wonwoo asks, addressing the man across from him. 

You’ve kind of been wondering the same thing.

“You know why I brought her here,” Jeonghan shoots back. 

“Have you discussed it with her yet?” Seungcheol questions, his eyes still fixed on you.

Jeonghan gives his head a quick shake. “Of course not, that’s your job… sir.”

Mingyu shifts again next to you, his thigh gently bumping up against your own. You’re hyper-aware of everything taking place, and you stay still like prey caught under the piercing gaze of four predators, holding your breath while you wait for this to play out. 

“You should eat,” Seungcheol tells you, nodding to the tray on your right, which belongs to Wonwoo. “Have a bite.”

When you don’t move, Wonwoo leans forward picking up the tray and setting it in your lap. “Eat,” he echos his superior’s command.

You tentatively pick up the chopsticks, and on your left, Mingyu does the same with his food. You wait for him to shovel a large amount of noodles into his mouth before you follow suit. Across from you, Jeonghan begins eating too, and then Seungcheol picks up his tray to join. 

Wonwoo sits silently next to you, and after two bites, you shift the food toward him, offering the chopsticks. He shakes his head. “You must be hungry,” he insists. “Have some more.”

“Is anyone going to tell me what this is about?” you ask. “Jeonghan mentioned a survey to complete-”

“Let's finish eating, then we can talk,” Seungcheol states.

“I’m not really that hungry today,” you admit, not when your stomach is filled with butterflies from being so close to these men. You shift the tray toward Wonwoo again, and this time, he accepts it.

The four men eat in silence, and each passing moment feels like forever. Mingyu is done first, he’d practically inhaled his food, and he sets his tray down on the center coffee table, letting out a loud groan and leaning back against the couch. His thigh presses harder against your own, and you shift closer to Wonwoo, who blocks you in.

Both men now have their legs touching yours, and you can feel the warmth of their bodies. God, you haven’t been properly touched in months. The chaste closeness of this is driving you insane, and your heart continues to thunder heavily in your chest.

Soon, all four trays are stacked neatly on the coffee table, and Seungcheol lets out a sigh. He relaxes against the cushions, eyes on you. “Do you think you’ll stay at the prison for long?”

“Hmm?” you blink, confused by the question.

“Some people leave,” Jeonghan explains. “They think they’ll find somewhere better, for some stupid reason.”

“I uh… I think I’d like to stay here, for now at least… I’m taking each day as it comes.”

Seungcheol cocks his head to the side. It’s clear he’s trying to read you, and his silence makes you eager to hear more from him. “We have a… unconventional proposition for you,” the leader of the unit says finally.

“A proposition,” you repeat.

“And if you’re not into it, you can say no. No pressure, no questions asked,” Jeonghan quips.

“You’re allowed to say no,” Wonwoo says quietly next to you. 

“We won’t kick you out or anything,” Mingyu adds. 

“But I do ask that, no matter what your response, you keep this to yourself,” Seungcheol states. 

“Okay, sir.” You nod.

Seungcheol takes a breath. “Life is short-”

Jeonghan scoffs loudly, which earns him a harsh glare from the unit leader. “Come on, you can’t start this off by saying life is short.”

“If you think you can do better, then go for it,” Seungcheol retorts.

“Fine, I will,” Jeonghan fires back. He looks at you. “Life is short-”

“Jesus Christ,” Wonwoo cusses next to you.

“Okay, fine, I’m kidding-” Jeonghan laughs. “Look, I’ll make this simple. There aren’t many pretty girls kicking around these days, and I think it’s safe to say everyone is pent-up from killing zombies and surviving an apocalypse. We all deserve a little release.”

You blink at him, shocked at the direction this has taken.

“As a unit, we’re used to sharing everything,” Jeonghan continues. “And if you’re up for it, we’d love to share you.”

Mingyu shifts next to you. “You don’t have to decide right now-”

“Yes,” you cut him off. “Yes. Please. Uh- yes.”

“Well that was easy,” Jeonghan laughs, leaning back. 

“Sounds like she’s as pent-up as the rest of us,” Wonwoo muses next to you. His voice has lowered an octave, and the sound of him makes your pussy tingle. 

“Looks that way,” Seungcheol agrees.

“So… so how do we do this?” you ask.

“Whatever way you want. Whatever combination you want. Whenever we’re here and you want us-” Jeonghan begins to list. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Mingyu says, his large hand finding your thigh. 

Something inside of you snaps. You turn to the gorgeous man next to you and simply grab his face, smashing your lips to his. Mingyu is surprised for a moment, but then he wraps his arms around you, easily lifting you onto his lap while his tongue begins to clash with your own, a deep groan escaping from him.

“I guess she’s comfortable with now,” you hear Jeonghan muse.

“Gyu, settle down, we still have questions,” Seungcheol says.

With a moan of annoyance, Mingyu pulls away from your lips, then he turns you in his arms, making you face the unit leader. But he doesn’t stop entirely, his mouth finds your throat, and one of his hands grabs at your breast, kneading you through your shirt. 

You’re breathing hard already- Mingyu’s so warm and big and sexy- even so, you do your best to meet Seungcheol’s gaze, your lips parted unconsciously, body wiggling under Mingyu’s touch.

“Are you on any birth control, princess?” Seungcheol asks, leaning forward to watch the way his friend’s other hand slips down to your core, cupping you through your jeans.

“I got an IUD,” you admit, “right before the outbreak-”

Seungcheol’s eyes darken with lust. “Lucky us.” 

“Does this mean we can fuck you raw?” Mingyu groans in your ear, hips rutting up against your ass. 

“Please-” you whimper, practically drooling at the feeling of his hard cock pressing up by your bum.

“Gonna let us fill you up, baby?” he continues, undoing the button of your jeans.

“Yes-”

Seungcheol stands up abruptly, and he kicks the coffee table to the side, sending cards and trays clattering to the floor. He grabs you off of Mingyu’s lap, tossing you over his shoulder and turning toward one of the connected bedrooms. “You’re in for it tonight, dirty girl.”

The three other men stand to follow, and your entire body tingles with delight.

The rest of the world might be dealing with an apocalypse, but you’re pretty sure you’ve just found heaven.

One

When Seungcheol had first shown you the tank in the prison garage, you’d been apprehensive about it. He’d explained that they don’t have the gas for it, so it’s never in use, and is more of a fun toy he goes and sits in sometimes to clear his head. The unit leader had helped you inside and taken the main seat, watching you cautiously move around the enclosed space. He’d explained the mechanics and buttons, dragging you to his lap so you could feel the tickle of his breath by your ear.

In the six months you’ve been fucking his unit, it’s become clear to Seungcheol that you like each man for very different reasons. He’s found that you become particularly baby girl with him when he’s explaining things to you, dominating you intellectually and teaching you new information. 

That first time in the tank, he’d begun stroking you, teasing you until he slipped his hand in your pants. You’d been as wet as you always are for him, and you’d eventually gotten the courage to fuck him in his tank chair, after he assured you over and over again that the armored vehicle is pretty soundproof.

He’s proud of how far you’ve come. It’s the same you, the same tank, but you’re much more daring than you were the first time. He’d thought you were pretty wild when he’d first met you, but that insatiable need you have has only grown, and he loves to see it.

The tank has become his favorite place to fuck you, away from everyone else. As fun as the orgies and threesomes are, sometimes, the unit leader just wants you for himself. 

He loves sitting back and watching you ride him, watching the way your ass bounces while your pussy squeezes his aching cock. 

“You’ve gotten so good at this, princess,” he groans, hands finding your hips to help you move up and down. It’s clear that you’re getting tired, but you won’t stop- you never stop until he tells you to, and he fucking loves you for it.

“Thank you, sir-” you whimper, opting for a slower pace but one that sinks you deeper- he can feel himself stretching out your walls near their breaking point, and he notes the way your legs quake.

Seungcheol lets out a deep sigh, inhaling the stuffy scent of sex that’s already perfumed the small enclosed space. He wraps one hand around your front, finding your clit. Your shaky legs try to close around him, a squeal of delight escaping you.

“Don’t be like that,” Seungcheol says gently, while roughly pulling your thighs apart. “Let sir help you cum, you’ve been such a good little cock whore, riding me so good- now it’s your turn.”

“I’m sensitive-” you whimper.

“Well, that’s what happens when you let Mingyu eat you for breakfast, isn’t that right, pretty girl?” Seungcheol chuckles. This morning he’d walked in on you sprawled out on the coffee table, a moaning crying mess with Mingyu’s face buried between your thighs. 

He’d watched Mingyu make you cum three times while Seungcheol had sipped his morning coffee, and he’d been hard all day thinking about it, waiting for an opportunity to get you to himself. 

Now here you are, pussy clamped around his cock, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make you cum three times too.

You can take it, he knows you can.

They’d tested your tolerance one day, taking turns making you cum until you physically couldn’t take anymore. 

Your high score had been ten, so six today is nothing… although, Wonwoo had walked in at the end of Mingyu’s meal, and Seungcheol’s pretty sure he has a bone to pick with you over it too, once Cheol is done with his own revenge, that is.

“Sir-” you whimper again, reaching behind yourself to tangle your fingers through Seungcheol’s hair.

“I can feel you tensing, princess,” he groans, rutting his hips up to meet you. “Be a good girl and let go for me.” He rubs your clit harder and you cry out, which only eggs him on more. “You’ve always been such a good little slut for me, ever since that first night. Don’t start being bad now. You can do it. Follow my order, and cum.”

You take a strangled breath, and Seungcheol can feel your pussy clenching desperately around him- he almost has half a mind to cum too, but he holds back, rubbing your pussy and letting you sink completely on his cock, warming him while your walls throb around his sensitive length. 

“That’s it,” he says in your ear. “Good girl.”

You twitch in his embrace, sounds of pleasure escaping you and filling the tank. He gives you everything you can handle, and when you finally slump back against his chest, he relents. His hand leaves your clit and he presses soft kisses to your throat.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he tells you. 

“Please-”

He loves how needy you are, even after you’ve just cum.

It takes no effort at all for him to stand up, forcing you onto shaky legs. Two crude benches line the tank's inner walls, and he’s set up some cushioning on one. He lays you down, adjusting you on your back while you blink up at him. 

He’ll never get tired of that look in your eye. No matter how respectful and good you are verbally, there’s always something like a challenge lurking behind those pretty irises of yours. Seungcheol can’t help the way his hand reaches out to encircle your throat as he gets on top of you, one knee digging into the cushioning while he sinks his cock into your dripping hole.

“Fuck,” you whimper, throwing your head back while he squeezes your neck tighter.

He loves the way you grab at his wrist, applying even more pressure- it’s as if you want him to choke you out, and it’s one of the sexiest things he ever experiences with you. 

You trust him, completely. He has your life in his hands, and you’re more than willing to give up everything for him. 

The pressure on your throat has your whimpers turning squeaky as he begins to fuck you roughly. He loves watching your face, the way your eyes close, your body completely consumed by what he’s giving you.

“Sir-” you gasp, your pussy clenching tight around his cock.

“Are you going to cum again? That fast?” Seungcheol laughs. “And just from a little choking- you’re such a naughty girl, princess. Tell me you love it when I choke you like this.”

“I love it-” you cry out, taking a raspy breath when he lets up for a moment, just to tighten his grip on you again. 

He can see tears welling in the corners of your eyes, and it makes him fuck you harder, his cock sinking in completely with each thrust.

“If you want to cum again, you should cum,” he tells you. “In fact, I want you to cum again. Reach down and rub your clit for me. Get yourself there one more time before I give you what you really want.” 

You moan like a whore but you don’t argue. You never argue with Cheol. Shaky fingers find your clit and you squeal, shivering from the stimulus. 

You feel like absolute heaven, and Seungcheol would fuck you in this tank for hours if he had the time. 

“Sir-” you whimper, a warning of your impending high.

“Cum on my cock,” he tells you, another command that you won’t argue with.

Even if you wanted to, Seungcheol doubts you could control yourself. Your body beats to the sound of its own drum, your brain be damned, and right now, Seungcheol is the one controlling the tempo.

For the second time, your pussy clamps down on his cock, and Seungcheol has to focus really hard on not busting with you. Your pussy feels like magic, warm wet walls wrapped around his length like you were made for him. 

“Look at you,” Seungcheol groans, hips continuing their brutal pace. “Cumming two times in a row- who’s my good little whore?”

“I am!”

“Who makes you cum this good?”

“You do, sir!”

“And what do you want now, my greedy little princess?”

“Your cum- Fuck! I want your cum in me-” 

He loves that you have a thing about being filled up. One time he’d been tempted to finish on your ass, and you’d cried at the thought of not having him inside you. Your favorite thing is when all four of them take turns filling you to the brink- he’s never seen someone as submissive and breedable as you after having four loads in your pussy. 

And the way you thank him every time he fills you up- it’s an experience that will never get old.

“I’m close, princess, but you know sir doesn’t cum unless his pretty girl does,” Seungcheol muses. “You have one more for me, right?”

“Fuck, yes, sir-” He notes the way you rub your clit harder, and you immediately let out a groan- Seungcheol lets go of your neck, pinching your nipple roughly, which earns another strangled sound from your lips.

“Tell me when, princess, then sir will fill you up.”

“Almost there, almost there-” you assure him, brows knitted together in concentration as you work your already oversensitive clit. 

Seungcheol and his unit have spent six months overstimulating you. Six months teaching your body to test the limits and cum over and over and over again- and this is the reward.

Your main dominant leans over you, massaging your breast while his lips meet your throat. He knows your sweet spots like the back of his hand, and you immediately shiver below him, a gasp escaping you.

“Cumming-” you whisper, as your walls clench like a vice on his cock.

The feeling triggers Seungcheol’s orgasm, the tight cord finally releasing.

Seungcheol had thought his sex life before the outbreak was good, but he’s never cum the way he does when he’s with you. His whole body is alight with pleasure, groans leaving him without a care in the world. His hips move to their own pace, twitching as he shoots ropes of his cum deep in your pussy, creaming your pulsing walls and marking you - if even for this moment - as his. 

“Sir-” you whimper, grabbing his face and searching for his lips.

You kiss him deeply, tongue gliding against his own while you moan into each other's mouths, riding out the orgasms. 

As Seungcheol finishes and his hips come to a stop, there’s a knocking on the tank hatch. A moment later, Wonwoo is poking his head through the hole. “These tanks aren’t as soundproof as you think, Cheol.”

“Well, no one comes down here except Z1,” the unit leader points out.

“True.” Wonwoo’s eyes shift past Seungcheol to you. Your body is still mostly covered, but the moment Seungcheol gets off of you, you’re completely exposed. Seungcheol tosses you a handcloth to take care of the cum that begins to drip out of your pussy, and you blink up at the team’s sniper, who flashes you a wink. “Hi, beautiful.”

“Hi, Wonwoo,” you grin.

“Looks like Gyu and Cheol have made a mess of you today.”

“If you give me a little, I can take more,” you assure him, which makes Seungcheol laugh.

How’d they ever luck out and find a nymphomaniac able to take all four men and keep up with their appetites? 

Wonwoo cocks his head to the side thoughtfully. “I know you like being fucked in a tank, but how would you feel about being fucked on top of one?” 

“What if someone sees?”

Seungcheol laughs again. “Like I said, the only people who come down here are the Z1 unit. If anyone is going to show up, it’s Jeonghan. But we all know you’d like that, wouldn’t you, princess?”

The way your eyes light up is answer enough and Seungcheol pulls on his pants, shaking his head at your insatiable appetite. “Her number is already at six,” he warns Wonwoo, helping you onto your feet and pulling your easy-access dress over your head. “Give her ten minutes to calm down, and when you finally do fuck her, don’t be mean.”

“I’m never mean,” Wonwoo insists, reaching a hand down through the tank hatch hole to help pull you up and out.

Seungcheol follows you on the ladder, making sure your shaky legs don’t lead to any accidents. “Liar.” 

Two

Jeonghan loves everything about you, but he’s grown particularly fond of your mouth in recent months. When he has to share you with three other men who all fight for your pussy, it’s not unusual for Jeonghan to be perfectly content with getting a blow job while he waits.

He likes the lack of effort he has to put into it, but the reward is quite similar to what he experiences between your thighs. It also opens him up to be able to praise you, or degrade you, in any way he sees fit. Out of all four of your military fuck buddies, Jeonghan is the biggest talker. Mingyu has his moments, but when he’s close to cumming, he opts for moaning instead of chatting, which is Jeonghan’s specialty.

When he gets you alone, Jeonghan still likes a good blow job as an appetizer before the main course, and there’s nothing more fitting than having you on your knees for him in the prison chapel. 

“You look good like this,” Jeonghan muses, threading his fingers through your hair to help you find a good pace on his cock. “My perfect little kitten.”

You moan around his length, looking up at him with those pretty eyes he loves so much. 

You’re naked. He’d stripped you the moment you entered the church, and now, as per his direction, your hand is between your thighs, fingers stroking your clit while you suck him off.

“Always so dirty for me in a place of worship-” Jeonghan muses. “But that’s what you’re doing, right? Worshipping? You’re even on your knees and everything.”

When he’d first started fucking you here, you’d made him check the confession booth every time, just to be sure Joshua wasn’t around. Jeonghan knows you don’t have problems with being watched - or listened to - but it had been clear you felt ashamed of the idea of the priest hearing Jeonghan fuck you in the House of God. 

The first time Jeonghan had pulled open the door of the confession booth to find the priest sitting there, he’d allowed the man to be a quiet vouyer without telling you. It had added to his own enjoyment, and it had been clear from the look in the priest’s eye that he was content with listening too. 

It’s been a few months since you’ve asked Jeonghan to check the confession booths- you’ve become much too used to being railed in the chapel, and now, everytime he fucks you here, Jeonghan wonders if the priest is listening in. 

Jeonghan enjoys the almost performative nature that his dirty talk takes on at the idea of another man being in the vicinity. It makes his skin tingle, and his cock ache, to think that the ‘innocent priest’ is hearing every filthy word- every gagging sound you make when Jeonghan’s cock hits the back of your throat.

It’s become clear to Jeonghan that Joshua is anything but innocent, and the two have an unacknowledged agreement of secrecy. What takes place in the House of God, stays in the House of God, especially the sin that’s being committed here weekly.

“There you go, kitten,” Jeonghan groans loudly. “Take all of me, that’s it.”

His hips push forward, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. Your eyes start to water as you stare up at him, and Jeonghan brushes them away, enjoying the wetness on his fingers way too much.

“So good,” he coos. “So fucking good.”

You whimper around his cock and he grabs the back of your head, forcing you to still on his length so he can begin fucking your face. 

“Such a perfect hole for me, kitten.” Jeonghan can feel his muscles tensing, can feel an orgasm building in his balls. “How's your pussy feel? Are you getting close too?”

You let out a moan of affirmation, closing your eyes and relaxing your throat while he ruts into your mouth. He’s spent months teaching you how to take cock like this, how to ignore your gagging instinct- and he’s so proud of the progress you’ve made for him.

“Don’t cum on your fingers, you only get to cum on my cock,” he warns you, using you toward his own end.

As much as he loves your mouth, nothing beats the feeling of your warm walls wrapped around his length- and he knows you love his cum, knows you love nothing more than feeling him dripping out of your used pussy as you stagger back toward the prison, clutched to his arm.

He’ll give you everything you want. He always does.

“Just a little more, kitten,” Jeonghan groans, enjoying the way your mouth sucks him in with each thrust.

He hopes you’re dripping already. The wooden floor had been less than ideal to fuck on the first two times you’d used the church as a hookup spot, and since then, Jeonghan’s taken to letting you kneel on his military jacket.

He loves the way it smells like you after, but Jeonghan’s always been a bit of a pervert. Sometimes you grace him by slipping your panties into his jacket pocket, and on supply runs, he can play with them when he’s not occupied.

As you bring him closer and closer to his peak, Jeonghan decides he’s had enough of your mouth. He pulls out, and you take a shuddered breath, drool still connecting you to his cock. Jeonghan can’t help himself, he taps his length against your cheek, grinning down at you.

“Ready for me?”

“Yes, Hannie,” you nod, wiping your face with the back of your hand before adjusting on his jacket. You lay down, spreading your legs so he can see your pretty pussy, all wet and needy for him. “Please-”

Jeonghan gets down onto his knees, grabbing and teasing your breast, thumb rubbing over your pebbled nipple. “Beg for it.”

“I want your cock,” you whimper. “Please, I need it inside- I need it so bad, Hannie, please-”

He groans at your words, adjusting so he’s hovering over you. He grabs the base of his throbbing cock, rubbing it through your folds and teasing your clit. You wiggle below him at the stimulus, grabbing at his shoulders. 

Jeonghan can’t help but kiss you as he pushes his length into your pussy, going as deep as he can while you both groan into each other’s mouths. 

Your legs wrap around his hips, keeping him close even as he begins to thrust. 

His free hand finds your clit, drawing circular motions that have you shaking beneath him. “Aw, kitten, are you close too?”

“So close-” you confirm, digging your nails into his shoulder blades. 

He fucks you harder, enjoying the squeaky sounds that escape you and fill the chapel. Jeonghan watches the way your face contorts with pleasure, your body wiggling beneath him while he fills you over and over again with his cock.

“Hannie-” you gasp, walls clenching tighter and tighter around him.

“Come on, kitten. Cum on this cock and beg for me to fill you up like the dirty girl you are.”

“I need your cum,” you cry out, “I need it- please, Hannie, please give it to me-”

He rubs your clit harder and you let out a choked sound, back arching so your tits are pressed to his bare chest. 

“Hannie-” You gasp loudly, your orgasm slamming into you. Your walls contract around Jeonghan’s aching cock, triggering his own high. He lets out a groan, continuing on your clit while he fucks you through it.

There’s no prettier sound in the world than a woman cumming in a church, your moans echoing through the enclosed space like angels singing.

Jeonghan fucks you until he physically can’t fuck you anymore, and then he half collapses on top of you, dragging your lips to his own.

You kiss him desperately, tangling your fingers in his hair so he can’t get away, your legs wrapped tight around him. You’re still whimpering, trying to overcome the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You’re beautiful.

So, so beautiful. 

Three

Wonwoo might actually be obsessed with watching you cum- and if he’s obsessed with watching you cum, then Mingyu’s obsessed with making you cum. Even though they’ve both already filled you with their loads, Mingyu’s back between your thighs again. His large hand is pressed over your abdomen, keeping you from thrashing around while he sucks on your clit and finger fucks the cum back into your abused hole.

Wonwoo is sitting in a chair next to the bed, eyes fixed on your body. If he hadn’t already cum twice, he’d be tempted to pull his cock out again.

“Please- Gyu, I can’t- I can’t-”

“One more,” Wonwoo encourages you. “You can take one more, beautiful.” 

You grab at the sheets, twisting them as Mingyu continues his unrelenting pace between your shaking thighs.

“Fuck-” you whimper, sounds becoming more desperate.

Wonwoo can hear how slick your pussy is, each thrust of Mingyu’s fingers has you squelching-

“She’s gonna cum,” Wonwoo announces, knowing your body almost as well as you do.

Mingyu groans lewdly against your clit, and the vibrations must trigger your orgasm, because you wrap your thighs completely around his head, back arching. Your gasps fill Wonwoo’s room, your grip on his bed released in favour of grabbing Mingyu’s hair.

It’s clear you’re trying to push the man away, but Mingyu doesn’t budge, helping you through your high until tears of pleasure are rolling down your cheeks.

“That’s enough,” Wonwoo says when it becomes clear that you’re bordering on overstimulation. The sniper stands from his chair, gaze lingering on your body. “We asked for one more, and she gave it to us. Give the girl a break.”

Mingyu sighs, but pulls away from your pussy, dragging his fingertips along your throbbing inner walls a few more times before he relents there too. He presents his wet digits to your mouth, and you greedily suck them clean, grabbing his wrist and closing your eyes while you lick up every drop of cum.

“I’ll go grab us food,” Wonwoo sighs. It’s past dinnertime, and as far as Mingyu had been concerned, you’d been his meal, but if Wonwoo is fast, he can make it in time to grab something from the cafeteria.

The barracks have a food stash, but Wonwoo doesn’t have the energy to cook, not after fucking you for two hours. 

“Don’t go anywhere,” he warns as he heads to the door.

“As if she can even walk,” Mingyu laughs, pulling his fingers from your mouth in favour of spooning you on the bed, dragging you close to his chest.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything else as he leaves. Seungcheol and Jeonghan aren’t around, something about a meeting with Woozi to look over maps of surrounding locations with potential food stores. 

When Wonwoo passes the Z2 rooms, he finds them also empty. Z2 generally frequent the compound’s survivor zones before bed, doing final checks for the night.

Wonwoo thinks about you the entire walk to the cellblock. He hasn’t been able to get you out of his head lately. There are the physical things- like the look in your eyes when you’re about to cum, the way sweat glistens on your skin, your nipples pebbling under his touch. But there’s the non-physical side too, the way you make him feel at night when you’re curled against his side, neither of you speaking, hands stroking each other gently-

When Wonwoo makes it to the cafeteria, he finds it nearly deserted. Dino is standing to the side of the room with the priest, and Seokmin has just started putting away the last of the food.

Grabbing two trays, Wonwoo immediately heads for Seokmin, who sighs at his lateness but begins serving him anyways. 

The two are silent as Seokmin shovels food for Wonwoo. He doesn’t say anything, but Seokmin serves three portions. As your friend, Wonwoo thinks Seokmin must know about the arrangement you have with Z1, although he’s never mentioned anything about it. 

Wonwoo’s not entirely sure who knows about what’s going on with you and the four men who have solidified themselves as your constant companions. He’d guess that a number of people have figured out there’s some type of arrangement, especially after Seungcheol had insisted you get less work tasks last month when your duties had interfered with his fuck schedule.

Wonwoo can feel eyes on him, and when his trays are full, he turns to look at Dino and the priest. The Z2 member waves him over, and despite every fiber of his being telling Wonwoo to ignore his friend and find his way back to you, Wonwoo approaches the two men.

“That’s a lot of food,” Dino notes.

“Mingyu’s hungry,” Wonwoo says, his gaze shifting to the priest who has a watchful eye that’s always gotten under his skin. “I didn’t know you were friends.”

“I’m friend to anyone who needs an attentive ear,” the priest says smoothly. 

“He’s a really good listener,” Dino confirms.

Joshua cocks his head, staring Wonwoo up and down. “If you ever need-”

“I don’t,” Wonwoo interjects. “Goodnight.”

As he leaves the cafeteria, Wonwoo can hear Dino trying to explain his behaviour. “Wonwoo’s not a big talker,” the Z2 unit member says in a hushed tone.

And even if he was, Wonwoo certainly wouldn’t be talking to Joshua of all people. While many of the survivors clearly like the man, something is off about the priest, and Wonwoo can feel it in his bones.

Four

Mingyu’s knee had been bobbing the entire jeep ride back to the prison. Missions always make him giddy- any day could be his last, and there’s nothing quite like celebrating another day of life with you when the unit gets back to the compound.

He’s not the only one who’s feeling it. Missions often end with a return to the prison and all four men setting off to find you, eager to see who will be successful in their weekly guessing game of ‘where’s baby?’

“I’m checking the chapel,” Jeonghan announces as soon as the car has come to a stop.

“Jeonghan and his church sex obsession,” Cheol sighs, watching his friend dart off.

“She might be in the garden with Hansol,” Wonwoo says thoughtfully. “It’s a nice day out, that always gets her mind off of shit.”

Adjusting the gun over his back, Wonwoo follows Jeonghan out of the parking garage, which leaves Mingyu with the unit leader.

“They’re both going to be wrong,” Seungcheol grins.

“Yeah?”

“Our little princess gets anxious when we’re gone, especially these days,” Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair. “My money is she’s waiting in one of our beds, napping to pass the time for us to come back.”

“That does sound like her,” Mingyu admits, and the two of them head to the door that will give them the easiest access to the barracks.

“Jeonghan probably could have figured it out, but you know how he gets about his church blowjobs,” Cheol grins. 

“And Wonwoo?” Mingyu asks, wondering about his friend’s motives. 

Seungcheol takes a moment before he responds. “I think he likes it when he gets to see her out in the sun.”

Before the outbreak, when Mingyu and Wonwoo had known each other through the military, Mingyu was the designated lover boy. Wonwoo’s never been the type to even look at girls, and the past few months have been a shock for everyone to see what the stoic sniper looks like when he’s falling for someone.

You and Wonwoo had been a slow burn, due to Wonwoo’s generally quiet nature, but in those first months, Wonwoo had probably spent the most time shadowing you. In that time period, Mingyu would go up to the lookout tower and spot you in the garden, Wonwoo a few feet behind, his hand always on his gun despite Hansol being the only other person with you.

When Seungcheol had broached the idea of your only job being their plaything, it had been the first time you’d ever pushed back, insisting that you liked gardening and helping with the plants. Wonwoo had been right there to back you up, and Seungcheol had begrudgingly agreed to let you keep your ‘little hobby.’

In the back corners of Mingyu’s mind, he kind of hopes you are in the garden right now. Wonwoo had almost died on their mission today- zombie jaws had come within an inch of his arm, and if anyone deserves some ‘you time’ after all of that, it’s Wonwoo.

When Seungcheol and Mingyu make it back to the barracks, Mingyu’s small hopes are dashed. The unit leader is the best at guessing moves, in card games and life, and he’d been spot on about you sleeping in someone’s bed. 

You’re in Jeonghan’s room of all places, and you sit up as the two men enter the common space, watching them set down their guns from the messy tangle of sheets. 

You hop onto your feet at the same time that Mingyu begins to run to you. When you jump into his arms, he lifts you off the floor, spinning you around and burying his face against your throat. 

Hugs are never as tight as they are after missions.

“Are you guys all okay?” you ask when Mingyu sets you down, only for Seungcheol to engulf you in an embrace of his own. 

“We’re all good,” the unit leader responds. “A little banged up, but nothing we can’t handle.”

You pull away from Seungcheol to look at his face, and Mingyu watches the way you brush your thumb across the unit leader’s cheek. “Looks like you need a shower,” you muse, having just wiped away some dirt.

“Looks like we all need a shower,” Seungcheol agreed with a groan. He tosses you over his shoulder and Mingyu grins at the sight. Out of all of them, Cheol’s the biggest man handler, but you clearly don’t mind.

One of the nicest things about their little Z1 master unit is that it comes with it’s own bathroom. The other units have small double occupancy rooms, a common area, and a common shower/toilet space. Mingyu feels bad for the other units sometimes, but rank in military means something; Seungcheol is the highest ranking person at the prison, so he gets to call the shots, and his unit reaps the rewards. 

Z1 has taken advantage of the large shower in their bathroom more times than Mingyu can count. There’s nothing like getting steamy in a room full of steam. 

Seungcheol strips you naked, turning on the shower while Mingyu takes off his clothes too. Mingyu can’t wait anymore, and he tugs your nude form against his own, kissing you stupid.

You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, your beautiful tits pressing up against his bare chest. Mingyu’s cock is already getting hard, pushing up between your bodies. You wiggle your hips, providing stimulus that has him groaning loudly, his hands reaching down to grab your ass.

It’s all too easy for Mingyu to lift you up, your legs wrapping around his body while he carries you into the shower, your lips still locked in a desperate battle. 

Instead of putting you under the stream of water, Mingyu presses you against the wall, slowly allowing you back onto your feet. As much as he’d love to rail you right now, he knows that he’s just as dirty as Seungcheol is at the moment- which means you’ll wash his body for him. God, he loves teasing foreplay like this- the way you immediately grab at the prized bottle of body wash to lather it up in your hands. 

Mingyu watches, holding his breath as you bring your palms to his shoulders, beginning to wash his large frame.

“Dirty boy,” you muse, grinning while you rub away the dirt and grime.

“Dirty girl,” he counters, lifting his hands so he can box you in against the wall.

He sees the way your breath hitches- you like to feel small, and Mingyu loves to deliver on it. He might not be as outwardly dominant as Seungcheol or Wonwoo, but Mingyu knows that his height does something to you- the way he has to tip his head to look down and meet your eyes.

Your hands trail down to his abdomen, nails teasing his skin there while he shivers. He wishes you’d just sink to your knees and wrap your mouth around his cock-

“Turn around for me, big guy,” you grin, pulling your touch away from where he needs you most. 

With a groan, Mingyu does as he’s told, and you begin to wash his back. When you reach up to do his shoulders, he feels your bare tits press against his spine. He closes his eyes, grabbing at his cock to begin stroking himself.

“Hey,” you chastise, immediately seeing what he’s doing and wrapping an arm around his front to grab at his hand. “That’s my job.”

“He’s needy today,” Seungcheol grins, watching from just outside the shower.

“I’m needy every day,” Mingyu corrects, releasing his length only to replace his hand with your own- you’re so much smaller than him, and when he looks down, he loves the way you make his cock look massive with your tiny hand wrapped around the girth. 

You begin to stroke him, and Mingyu lets out a loud groan. 

“Does it feel good, big guy?” you ask, squeezing tighter to his back.

“Feels amazing,” he breathes, closing his eyes to enjoy you. 

“I hate to be the one to say it,” Seungchol laughs, “but water stores have been low lately. As much as I’d love to watch this, we’re supposed to be saving supply by showering together, not taking our sweet time.”

“Then come join, sir, I’m sure you need a good rub down too,” you grin.

Seungcheol takes a step forward- just as the door to the bathroom opens, Wonwoo sliding in. He takes one look at the scene in front of him, and begins stripping down.

The unit leader stops his advances, and it’s clear to Mingyu that Seungcheol knows as well as he does that if one person needs you right now, it’s Wonwoo.

“I’ll wait,” Seungcheol sighs, making room for Wonwoo to slip past him into the shower now that he’s removed his clothes. 

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything, he simply pushes Gyu to the side and grabs your face, pressing his lips to yours. Your soapy hands find Wonwoo’s toned chest, and you begin to wash him even as he kisses you, pressing you back against the wall. 

Mingyu turns to watch, rinsing the bubbles off his skin while you lather up his best friend. Then, his grip returns to his cock. Your cute little hands have always turned him on, and watching you rub Wonwoo’s shoulders, attacking the specks of dirt there like it’s your job- fuck, everything you do just makes Mingyu horny.

Wonwoo pulls you away from the wall suddenly, spinning you around so your back is now pressed to Mingyu’s chest while the three of you are submerged in water. Mingyu can’t help but lean down and begin to kiss your throat, finding your sweet spot and sucking on it while you whimper and wriggle between their bodies. 

From this vantage point, Mingyu can see your hand slip from Wonwoo’s shoulders and down his chest. You grab at the sniper’s cock, pumping it slowly while Wonwoo continues to kiss you.

The soap washes away quickly, and as soon as you’re all clean, Wonwoo pushes you and Mingyu backward, prompting you to all leave the shower. “Your turn,” Wonwoo tells Cheol as your trio passes him.

“Princess isn’t going to wash me off too?” Cheol’s tone is teasing, but Mingyu can sense the hurt there.

“Not today,” Wonwoo responds gruffy, reaching for one of the towels. He wraps it around your body first, drying you off with efficient motions.

Mingyu grabs his own towel, eager to get rid of the water on his body. He knows what comes next, and he’s not going to waste a second.

When Wonwoo is done with you, you begin to dry him, your lips still tangled together. Mingyu stifles a laugh at the vision in front of him, the way the two of you can be so focused on each other and the task at hand. 

Wonwoo breaks the kiss to look at Mingyu over your shoulder. “If you’re joining, you better go grab some lube.”

“Right-” Mingyu swallows thickly, wrapping a towel around his hips as he exits the bathroom. 

He nearly runs straight into Jeonghan, and the older man grins. “Orgy time?”

“I don’t think so,” Mingyu says, hurrying to his room to grab the bottle of lube he keeps there. “I think it’s me and Wonwoo right now.”

“Cheol must have loved that,” Jeonghan scoffs.

“You two can have her after,” Mingyu promises.

“We will,” Jeonghan laughs, following Mingyu back into the bathroom. 

Wonwoo’s already inside of you, your feet off the ground while the muscular man presses you against the wall, your legs wrapped around his hips. You’re moaning loudly, Wonwoo’s face buried in the crook of your throat. Your eyes open as Jeonghan and Mingyu enter the bathroom, and the look of lust in your expression is enough to have Mingyu throbbing.

“I’ve got the lube,” he announces. 

Keeping up with four men means you’ve gotten adept at anal. Even so, it had taken you two months before you could properly handle Mingyu’s large cock, but the pay off has been… more than fulfilling, to say the least.

Wonwoo pulls you off the wall, and Mingyu slots behind you, squirting some lube on his fingers. The sniper adjusts his hands on your ass, spreading you open for Mingyu so he can press a finger into your tight hole.

You whimper loudly, and Mingyu does his best to soothe you by speckling your shoulders with kisses. “So good for us,” he murmurs.

You’re taking his finger so well, and it prompts him to add a second, stretching you open while you cling to Wonwoo. 

“Hurry up,” the sniper groans, holding still inside of you while Mingyu preps your ass.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Mingyu admits; none of them do.

“I can take it,” you moan. “Please, Gyu-”

“Fuck,” Mingyu breathes, slathering his cock with lube before tossing the bottle into the sink. He grabs his base, rubbing his tip through your cheeks and prodding your hole. “If you need me to stop, just say something.”

He tries his best to be gentle, slowly sinking inch after inch of his long cock into your ass. You cry out loudly, burying your face against Wonwoo’s neck. 

Mingyu doesn’t try to make you take him all in one go, he starts with four inches, thrusting shallowly into your ass. Wonwoo takes the motion as a prompt to continue fucking you too, and the men begin to manhandle you between them, a push-pull.

Behind Wonwoo, Seungcheol and Jeonghan have switched places in the shower. The unit leader is now standing half dried off, water droplets sinking down his toned chest while his hand works his own cock.

They’ve all gotten used to watching each other like this, but the knowledge that Cheol is fixated on the act has Mingyu wanting to prove himself even more. He sinks another inch of his cock into your ass, and you moan lewdly in Wonwoo’s ear, wriggling in their grasp.

“Feels good?” Mingyu asks.

“Feels amazing,” you whimper, nails digging into Wonwoo’s shoulders. “I want more.”

“More?” Mingyu laughs.

“Don’t hold back,” you tell him.

This time, when Mingyu thrusts, he allows his front to hit your ass, his cock fully buried in your tight hole.

You let out a strangled cry.

“Our little cock whore,” Cheol muses, “loves being full to the fucking brim.”

“Sir-” you whimper, your walls tightening around Mingyu.

“Fuck, I’m close-” Mingyu groans at the sensation. “Baby, you’re close too, right? Fuck, you’re squeezing us so fucking tight-”

“I’m close, I’m close-” you nod desperately.

“Gonna let us cum and fill you up the way you like-”

“Gyu, please-” you whimper, reaching behind yourself to tangle your fingers in his hair, drawing his lips to your throat.

“We’ll fill you up,” Mingyu promises.

Wonwoo’s not much of a talker in bed, especially under the watchful gaze of Jeonghan and Seungcheol. But when it’s just Wonwoo, Gyu and you, Wonwoo gets out of his shell more. Mingyu’s become an expert at listening to his older friend’s sounds, of anticipating when he’s on the brink-

The soft grunts escaping the sniper’s lips are a clear indicator that he’s as close to the edge as you and Gyu are. Mingyu knows better than anyone that the moment you cum, it’s over for them both. They don’t have the control Seungcheol does to hold off an orgasm while your walls throb around them, and they don’t have the vindictive side to edge you.

No, Wonwoo and Mingyu understand each other. What you see is what you get, and when you begin to beg, they’ll give you anything and everything you could ever ask them for.

“Please, fuck, I’m gonna cum-” you cry as they both fuck you even rougher.

“Cum for us, beautiful,” Wonwoo groans. “Cum on our cocks.”

You let out a pitchy scream, and your walls clamp down on Mingyu’s length, driving him into a frenzy as you throw him over the edge with you. His fingers dig into your hips, his cock pistoning in and out of your ass while Wonwoo matches the fevered pace. The two men moan deeply while your body milks them for all they’re worth, drawing their cum deep inside of you.

“Holy shit-” Mingyu moans. He’s not one to cry from sex like you are, not the type to get so overstimulated that tears fall, but fuck, he feels like he’s on the verge of it tonight.

His body takes over, his animalistic instincts driving him to fuck you through your high even though his muscles are screaming at him to stop. His cock is throbbing endlessly, pleasure surging along his skin hotter than any shower water ever could be.

It’s Wonwoo who stops first, pressing his lips to yours while you grab his face, moaning like their perfect little whore. Mingyu’s thrusts end shortly after, his cock buried deep in your hole, his chest pressed to your back while he kisses your neck.

The sound of the shower has stopped. Mingyu’s not sure when that happened, but when he opens his eyes to inspect what’s going on, he finds Cheol wiping his own cum off his chest.

“What about round two?” Jeonghan asks, cock in hand as he stands in the shower.

“No round two,” Wonwoo says flatly. 

“No round two?” Jeonghan looks shocked, and his gaze shifts to Seungcheol. “Is he allowed to declare that?”

“They fucked her stupid, Hannie,” Seungcheol laughs. “You should have had the brains to make yourself cum while you had a show.”

Mingyu pulls out of your ass, and the two of you groan at the loss. Grabbing some tissues, Mingyu immediately cleans up the cum leaking from your hole. When he’s done, Wonwoo heads to the door with you still embraced against his chest. Mingyu follows like a helpless puppy as the sniper takes you to his room. 

It’s evident that Wonwoo is intent on cuddling you now, and it’s clear from your expression that you’re on the verge of passing out. To make things easier on everyone, Mingyu puts his towel onto the bed, hoping to catch any more cum that’s going to drip out of your used holes.

As the three of you settle onto the bed, Wonwoo’s the one who holds you close to his chest, and Mingyu’s more than happy to be the big spoon behind you.

“You’re in a mood,” you whisper, clearly speaking to Wonwoo. Your finger traces his collarbone, and you lean forward to press a kiss to his throat. “Are you alright?”

“I’m alive,” Wonwoo says simply.

Mingyu knows it’s not his place to join this conversation. He feels lucky that he can even witness it, that the two of you feel comfortable enough being even slightly vulnerable together in front of him. 

If Wonwoo’s not going to go into details about his near zombification bite today, Mingyu’s not going to bring it up either, although the sentiment of the words ‘I’m alive’ weigh heavily on his heart.

When this whole thing had started, Mingyu thinks you were all taking each day like it was your last. But now, six months in, it’s clear you all have something important to live for.

Call it love, call it attraction, call it lust- whatever it is, it’s the glue holding you and the unit together, the thing that’s become worth fighting for.

“I’m happy you’re okay,” you tell Wonwoo, but when you place your hand over Mingyu’s, it’s clear you’re talking to them both.

Mingyu squeezes your fingers gently, a silent agreement that he’s happy you’re all living another day. 

If anything ever happened to any of you at this point in your unconventional relationship, he’s not sure he could continue going on.

Five

Joshua has been distracted his entire sermon. It’s getting hard to read the holy words while his brain is preoccupied with the most unholy of thoughts.

He’s known for a while that the Z1 unit tosses you amongst themselves. He’s heard Jeonghan fucking you more times than he can count. But he’s never witnessed any of these… indiscretions with his own eyes. 

Until now.

He’d been out for a walk in the morning, touring the prison garden with the hopes of bumping into you. What he’d stumbled upon, however, was the sight of you pressed against a wall, the Z1 sniper’s pants hung low on his hips, your legs wrapped around his body while he fucked you stupid, his hand clamped over your mouth.

Joshua had been frozen- or maybe he’d chosen to stay, although it’s hard to admit that to himself. Despite the palm over your lips, your muffled whimpers had still been music to the priest’s ears, and he can’t get the song of you out of his head.

And then you’d opened your eyes, looking directly at him.

Joshua’s voice hitches, and he mentally smacks himself, clearing his throat as he continues the passage he’s reading to the group of adoring survivors. They have no clue that the podium he’s standing behind is hiding the half-chub growing in his pants, and Joshua almost revels at the secret knowledge, the secret sin. 

If only they knew what the dirty priest thinks about when no one else was around.

The chapel door opens, and Joshua pauses to watch you slip into a seat in the very back.

You’ve never come to one of these before, and it can’t be a coincidence that today of all days, you’re here to listen to him speak.

Your presence is a distraction, but it also pushes Joshua to do better. He wants to perform for you, wants to show you how good his sermons can be.

It almost feels as if the passages end too quickly for Joshua’s liking, and with a closing statement, survivors begin to dispurse. By now, his half chub has died down, and Joshua stands in front of the church, bidding goodnight to the parishioners who come to thank him for service. 

Even as he chats briefly with people, his eyes keep finding you.

You haven’t moved from your seat, and as more bodies leave, it becomes clear that you have a motive behind being here.

Finally, it’s just the two of you left. Joshua approaches, his hands clasped in front of his body. “You came,” he notes, delighted at the double entendre to his words. 

“Yeah, I uh…” you lick your lips. “Father, I wanted to apologize-”

“We have a confession booth for that,” Joshua muses. “You’ve been here six months, I think it’s time, don’t you?”

You take a deep breath, your eyes shifting to the booths in the corner of the chapel. “Do we really have to do this there?”

“There’s no better place,” he assures you, stepping back and holding out a hand in the direction of the confessionals. “After you.”

After a moment of deliberation, you stand up, nodding as you pass the priest. As you walk in front of him, Joshua notes your body. You’re wearing a jacket and a dress, the cream colour of the skirt’s fabric almost looks virginal, except he knows better. You’re anything but a virgin.

When you get to the booth, you look at both doors. “Which one-”

“On the left, darling.”

With another tight lipped smile and a nod, you enter the confession booth.

Joshua takes a deep breath, his skin tingling with excitement. As he enters the priest’s side, his mind reels with the possibilities of what you’re about to say to him. 

Joshua revels in the knowledge that his parishioners bestow upon him. Their confessions help him figure them out, see what makes them tick. He’s long been wondering about you and your… motives for being.

You’re a math problem he can’t wait to crack, and he’s excited for you to give him a cheat sheet.

The booth is silent, and Joshua waits patiently. 

Finally, you sigh. “How do I even begin?”

“A confession generally starts when you say ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.’ then you tell me how long it’s been since your last confession, and we go from there,” Joshua explains. 

He can hear you breathing, can feel the anxiety wafting off of you.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” you say. “It’s been… too many days to count since my last confession.”

There’s silence again, and it’s clear you need more guidance. “What are your sins, darling?”

“Lust,” you blurt out. “Lust is a big one… and I think… probably greed too. Do you think I’m greedy, Father?”

He definitely thinks you’re greedy. One girl being passed around by four men- it’s as greedy and lustful as he’s ever seen, but Joshua keeps that to himself. “I’d need more details about your situation in order to make an adequate assessment.”

“Well, I mean… you saw me with Wonwoo today.”

Joshua stays silent.

“I just want you to know… We didn’t think anyone would see us.”

“God sees all.”

“God I can handle, but you? It’s different that you saw it.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, because-” you pause. “It’s just different.”

Joshua considers your words. “We live in rough times,” he says finally. “Unprecedented days. It’s not unusual to seek comfort in a situation like this. I would never judge you for finding comfort in the arms of a man like Wonwoo.”

“Except… I think… I think we both know it’s not just Wonwoo I seek comfort in.”

Joshua’s heart beats loud in his chest, and excitement tingles across his skin. “Go on, darling.”

“I’m not sure I should.”

“Why are you apprehensive?” Joshua asks.

“I was asked not to discuss this with anyone, but- I mean, you saw me and Wonwoo, so I wanted to come here to apologize for that, not to get into the messy details.”

The priest immediately guesses the culprit behind your secrecy. It’s just like Choi Seungcheol to give you a boundary like this. You’re the Z1 unit’s open little secret. Anyone with eyes trained to look can see what’s going on, but the prison has a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. And no one pries into the personal lives of Choi Seungcheol or his men.

“It would feel better to confess,” Joshua tells you. “No one would have to know.”

“I’d know.”

“And it would stay between us. You can trust me.” Joshua’s a master secret keeper, and he’s eager to add yours to his long list of indiscretions carried out by desperate survivors.

“That’s the thing, Father, I’m not sure I can.”

“Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?” Joshua asked, perplexed by you. Has he been slipping? 

No, it couldn’t be. His carefully created mask is good enough to charm and convince anyone-

“Wonwoo wasn’t happy about you stumbling across us today,” you note.

Ahh, Joshua nods to himself, Wonwoo, the sniper with the sharp eyes. Things are beginning to make sense. 

“Maybe Wonwoo should be in the confessional, not you,” Joshua muses.

“He’d never come here,” you laugh. “He wouldn’t even want me to be here right now, not alone.”

“And yet, here you are, darling. Alone.” 

“This wasn’t a good idea.”

Joshua hears you stand up. Part of him wants to find a way to manipulate you into staying, but he’s already toed the line by calling you ‘darling’ multiple times. If he does anything else, it might incur the wrath of Seungcheol. The priest still has plausible deniability on his side for the petnames, but anything further might be the tipping point.

“I’m always here,” Joshua assures you, wondering if you’ll clue into the word ‘always,’ and see the true meaning there. “You’re welcome in my confessional any time.”  

Six

Your pulse is still racing from your interaction with the priest when you make it back to the Z1 dorm. Your four lovers are playing cards, a general pastime for them when they’re not blowing your back out, and they all look up as you slip inside the room.

“Baby?” Mingyu puts his cards down, standing to address you. “Are you alright?”

“Me? Yeah- of course, why wouldn’t I be alright?” you ask.

“You look off,” Wonwoo notes, also getting to his feet, an expression of concern evident in his handsome features.

“Tell us what happened,” Seungcheol commands.

“Sir-”

“Tell us,” he insists.

“I went to the chapel,” you tell them, watching Wonwoo’s expression drop. “I uh- the priest saw me and Wonwoo today so I went to apologize-”

“The priest caught you?” Jeonghan laughs, still seated and clearly enjoying the drama unfolding in front of him. “Naughty, naughty.” 

“Shut it,” Seungcheol warns his friend, gaze shifting back to you. “Then what happened?”

You swallow thickly. “We went into the confessional and- I mean, I didn’t tell him anything, but, there was something about the vibes- the way he spoke to me-”

“How did he speak to you?” Wonwoo questions, irritation clear in his tone.

“I can’t explain it,” you sigh. “It almost felt… It almost felt like he was flirting with me- and maybe, maybe I gave him the wrong idea, I don’t know- it was weird.”

“Maybe you gave him the wrong idea,” Seungcheol repeats your words back to you. “Have you been flirting with the priest, princess?”

“I don’t think so-”

“You don’t think so,” Seungcheol scoffs. “Sounds like we all need to go have a talk with this fucking priest.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Jeonghan says, jumping to his feet and drawing all eyes. “I mean- come on, he’s a man of God, right? He probably wasn’t flirting with her-”

“Why so jumpy, Hannie?” Seungcheol turns to his friend, looking him up and down. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Of course not.”

“Then you’ll have no problems if we go have a chat with him. All of us. Right now.” It’s clear that this isn’t a suggestion, it’s an order.

Seungcheol heads to the door, holding it open and looking at your group expectantly. Mingyu’s the first to sigh and head out. Jeonghan is next, and you can’t help but notice the slight skip to his step, as if he’s excited about what’s to come.

Wonwoo grabs your forearm, dragging you past Cheol. “Going to the chapel alone wasn’t a good idea,” he tells you. 

“I know,” you frown. “I knew that while I was there. I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol falls into step on your other side, his gaze forward, jaw set. 

“You know how I feel about that man,” Wonwoo continues. 

You nod. “You don’t trust him.”

“Can you even imagine how any of us would react if something happened to you?” Wonwoo asks, his grip tightening on your forearm.

“Joshua is a priest,” you insist. “He wouldn’t do anything-”

“He’s more capable than you give him credit for. All survivors are,” Wonwoo states harshly. “We’re still alive for a reason. Some of us had to do bad things to get where we are now, and I wouldn’t be shocked if your priest has made choices that even his own God wouldn’t like.”

You can’t respond, because you know what Wonwoo’s saying is true.

In fact, if anyone on the base is able to spot a predator, it’s probably the man holding your arm. He’s a sniper, and it’s his job to see threats and dispose of them before they become a problem. 

The five of you are silent as you make your way through the prison, heading outside to walk the short distance to the chapel. When you get there, Jeonghan pushes the door open. He’s been here so many times that he has no problem entering the sacred space, but the rest of you are a little more hesitant.

Mingyu heads inside, leaving you on the doorstep with Seungcheol and Wonwoo.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Wonwoo states.

“You’ve never doubted me before, don’t start now,” Seungcheol grins. “A talk with this priest has been long overdue, don’t you think?”

“She doesn’t have to be here for this,” the sniper looks down at you.

“Of course she has to be here for this,” Seungcheol scoffs. “I know you don’t like Joshua, but you have to trust me on this.”

Wonwoo takes a deep breath, watching Seungcheol enter the chapel. When it’s just the two of you still outside, Wonwoo cups your cheek. “Whatever happens in there, it won’t change how I feel about you. How any of us feel about you.”

“What do you think is about to happen?” you ask, confused at the ominous tone that’s been set.

Your sniper simply stares at you for a few moments, then he looks down, a muscle in his jaw feathering. “With Seungcheol in charge, you never know.”

Wonwoo kisses you then, and he’s surprisingly gentle. You kiss him back, leaning against his strong chest- the door to the chapel opens and Mingyu pokes his head out, “Are you two coming, or what?”

With a sigh, you enter the church. Jeonghan, Seungcheol and Joshua are standing by the podium in the front. They’re speaking too quietly for you to hear what they’re saying, but they all look up when you enter.

Joshua’s the first to smile. “Seungcheol has told me that you’re here for a real confession this time.”

“Hmm?” Your gaze shifts to the unit leader, and he grins.

“Go on, princess,” Seungcheol encourages. “The confession booth is all yours. We’ll be right here, for moral support.”

Wonwoo lets out an annoyed sound, but he doesn’t stop you as you stumble to follow through with Seungcheol’s command. You make your way to the confession booth, hand shaking as you pull away the long velvet curtain to step inside.

Your heart is racing wildly in your chest, but you try to be patient as you wait for the priest to enter his own side. 

When you hear Joshua sit down, you do your best to remember how this starts. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been… an hour since my last confession.”

There’s a distinctly Jeonghan-like snicker from outside the booth, and it sets your stomach into knots. 

You’re hyper-aware of the fact that all four of your lovers are just outside the confessional, that they’re listening in- it’s making your mouth dry, your palms becoming sweaty as you rub them against your dress.

“When you last confessed, you mentioned greed and lust as your sins. Would you care to elaborate more on that?” The priest asks. “Maybe it will be easier, now that you’re amongst… friends.” 

“I’m not sure what to say,” you admit.

“In my experience, the truth is what’s important,” Joshua muses smoothly.

“I think… I think I’m here right now because I told Seungcheol about coming to you earlier. There was something- something I couldn’t quite explain about the interaction.”

“Go on.”

“It almost…” you swallow thickly. “It almost felt like you were flirting with me, Father.”

“Greed and lust are most definitely your sins,” Joshua notes. “Would you have liked it if I was flirting with you?”

Someone whispers ‘what the fuck’ from outside the confessional, and you’re pretty sure it was Wonwoo. He’s voicing your own thoughts, and you scramble for a response.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” you admit. 

“I’d like to tell you something, and I think you should consider it when looking at your sinful actions. Perhaps you can think of it as a way to release yourself from any shame you feel.” Joshua’s tone is soothing, and you hang onto what he’s about to say next. “While many men of my religion believe that God created the world and all its creatures in a matter of days, I think a lot can be learned from a Darwinian approach to life. Our closest ancestors are primates. They live in a warzone. Nothing is guaranteed but death. I’d be tempted to confess that their psychology isn’t that different from our own these days. Survivors of an apocalypse become no better than our primitive ancestors, and our behaviours are reflective of that. When certain species of female primates ovulate, and head out in search of a partner, do you know what they do?”

“Erm… no, Father.”

“The female bonobo primate will mate with as many fit males as possible. There are a number of reasons for this, but the primary one seems to be the need for protection. Not only for herself, but for future offspring. A male bonobo is less likely to throw out a baby if there’s a chance it could be his own. I would guess you’re using a contraceptive, but the psychology of a female in need of a band of male protectors in desperate times still applies. It’s animal nature, and the world we live in now has turned us all into animals. Instincts take precedence over logic. You might be greedy and lustful, but I would argue that you’ve needed to be in order to secure your survival.” 

“I…” you clear your throat, mind spinning at what he’s just suggested so eloquently. “I can’t believe you’re comparing us all to primates.”

“And how do you know so much about monkeys?” Mingyu asks loudly from outside the confessional, earning a chorus of snickers.

“If you won’t accept this comparison as… a justification of your greedy and lustful ways, then how about you try to explain it yourself?” Joshua suggests, ignoring everyone but you.

“I think… maybe I just like to be fucked,” you admit. “I think we all come at this from different backgrounds, with different motives for what we do.”

Joshua lets out an understanding sigh. “And what are your friend’s motives?”

“Mingyu likes companionship. He’s like me. He needs reassurance, needs physical touch. Jeonghan likes the fun of it all. He likes enjoying himself, likes to indulge. Wonwoo… I think it started as something just physical for him. A way to distract himself from the pressure he has on his shoulders. And Seungcheol likes to dominate. He likes to feel as if he’s won at something. I’m guessing he sees this whole thing as a punishment.”

“A punishment?” Joshua enquires. “For you?”

“For me mostly,” you nod. “He likes to humiliate me in certain ways, and I think this might be one of them. He also likes to challenge God, he’s not a believer, so I’m guessing he’s enjoying this because we’re bringing sin into a place of worship. He’s in control right now. Not you, not me, not even Wonwoo-”

“Is Wonwoo also receiving this punishment?” the priest asks.

“Of course he is. Wonwoo doesn’t like you, that’s no secret, Father.”

“What did the two of you do to deserve such a punishment?”

“I admitted that I probably flirted with you a little,” you say quietly, your skin heating at the admission. “And Wonwoo’s been taking more of my time recently, been talking back to Seungcheol in ways that Seungcheol hasn’t liked.”

“It’s quite the dynamic you’ve found yourself a part of,” Joshua muses. “An entanglement of wants, needs… indulgences. If you have such a good understanding of Seungcheol, how do you think this whole thing will play out for you?”

“I think he’d like for me to confess in deeper detail, confess my personal sins instead of talking about the others so much. I think he’d like for me to feel dirty, and when this confession is over, I’m guessing he’ll prove how dirty I am, here in this church, for all your eyes and God to see.”

“How would you feel about that?” Joshua asks.

“Humiliated… excited…” you consider the emotions running through you. “I’d feel like I’d done something to deserve it, which I have.”

“A simple thing like flirting doesn’t constitute a punishment of this magnitude. What other sins have you partaken in? If you know Seungcheol wants details, you should give us all details.”

You take a deep breath. “I’ve done practically everything a lustful greedy sinner could do to deserve this. I’ve had more orgies than I can count. I’ve had three men inside of me at once. I’ve been filled with cum over and over and over again. I’ve been insatiable, always greedy and ready to take more. I’ve been fucked to the point of passing out, only to awaken and go another round. I’ve reveled in the fact that I have four men who like watching me get fucked, who touch themselves to the view of their friends fucking me to the point where I can’t talk or walk. I’ve become a fuck toy instead of doing actual survivor work in the prison, giving into my own greedy desires instead of the good of others. I’ve had sex in all sorts of places that I never thought I’d have sex in-”

“Like this church,” Joshua interrupts you. “You’ve desecrated it before.”

“I-” your heart thunders in your chest. 

“Admit it,” the priest insists.

“Father, I-”

“You’ve been a very, very bad girl.” 

You hate that you’re getting wet from this. There’s a feeling of relief that’s come from confessing your lustful ways, and now Joshua’s deeper tone is setting you on edge. He’s degrading you, like Cheol does, but it feels more extreme coming from a man of God- from a priest who clearly knows you’ve been fucked in his place of worship.

“What’s the correct penance for a naughty whore like her?” Seungcheol’s voice makes your skin tingle. He opens the confessional fabric screen, staring down at you. His thumbs are hooked in his belt, and the way the light hits him from behind makes him look shockingly angelic and demonic at the same time. It illuminates his broad shoulders, the soft curls of his hair- but his face is shadowed.

“Sir-” you whisper, cowering against the back of the booth.

“It’s clear that she’s insatiable,” Joshua responds smoothly, shifting on his side of the confessional. “I’d say you’re within your right to do anything you want to her. As long as I’m here, the dirty ways you choose to defile her will be penance, a Godly act.”

“A Godly act,” Seungcheol grins, turning to look over his shoulder at the others. “I don’t know why you’re so offput by this priest, Wonwoo, he makes all the sense in the world to me.” The unit leader’s eyes find you again. “Now, what to do with our naughty little whore of a princess.”

“I think you know what we’re going to do to her,” Jeonghan says sinisterly from outside the booth.

“Yes, but in what order… decisions, decisions.” Seungcheol cocks his head to the side. “I think I’ll have you first, pretty girl. I was the first one to have you in the beginning, it’s only fair that I have you first now.”

You can’t help yourself, you drop to your knees, shuffling forward. Seungcheol’s grin widens, and he looks down at you while you begin to undo his belt. 

“Good girl,” he muses, threading his fingers through your hair as you pull down his pants. He’s already hard, his cock springing up toward your face. You can feel yourself beginning to drool, and you grab his base, guiding him to your mouth. 

Seungcheol releases a low groan as you begin to blow him in the confessional. You don’t hold anything back. You sink down on him as much as you can, suctioning your lips around him and swirling your tongue. Even so, it’s not enough for Seungcheol. His grip tightens in your hair, holding you still so he can begin to fuck your face.

You moan around his cock, relaxing your throat so he can go as deep as he wants- and Seungcheol always likes to test your limits.

Your hands find his strong thighs, looking for something to anchor yourself while he uses you for his own pleasure. 

“Letting me fuck your face in a confessional, this is a new low, even for you, princess,” Seungcheol laughs, pulling you off his cock. “Open.”

You part your lips, sticking out your tongue. Seungcheol spits into your mouth.

“Now swallow,” he instructs, smirking as you follow through with the command. “Who do you belong to?”

“I belong to you, Sir,” you whimper.

“Keep that in mind tonight,” he warns, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him. He squeezes you roughly, and then pulls you to your feet. Seungcheol thrusts you out of the confessional, holding you against his chest while your eyes take in the men all crowded outside. “Who do you want after I’m done with you?”

You can’t help but shift your gaze to Wonwoo, not because you want him to be next in line, but because you’re worried about how this is affecting him. He’d been more riled up than you’ve ever seen him before when you’d entered the chapel, and now that it’s clear Joshua will be joining this orgy, you wonder how he’s feeling.

Seungcheol follows your eyes. “Wonwoo goes last,” the unit leader announces.

“The priest goes last,” Wonwoo retorts, the words coming out in something near a growl.

“Now I see what she meant about him talking back,” Joshua muses as he steps out of his side of the booth. “Is that any way to speak to your superior?”

Wonwoo clenches his jaw tightly. If looks could kill, the priest would be dead, but it simply makes the man standing next to you laugh. The sound causes an ache in the pit of your stomach.

Jealousy has never been a part of this dynamic- that’s what makes this whole thing work. You worry about the implications this night will have on the rest of your time in the prison, worry about your safety going forward.

“Okay, princess,” Seungcheol brings his lips to your ear, his hands sneaking down the front of your dress and gripping the fabric, “I’m done waiting.”

In one quick motion, he reaches under your skirt, grabbing your panties and tearing them off. Then he pushes you forward, bending you at a ninety degree angle while he brings his cock to your soaked core. 

“I knew you’d be wet from this,” Seungcheol laughs, rubbing his tip through your pussy lips. “You know, priest, she wasn’t lying when she said she revels in the act of being watched. She goes fucking crazy for it. Let me show you just how crazy she gets.”

Seungcheol sinks his cock into your tight hole and you moan desperately, trying your best to hold yourself up in this position with your fingertips to the floor. The unit leader’s hands are on your hips, and he begins to rut into you roughly, forcing squeaks and moans of pleasure to slip out of you.

“Tell us how much you love this,” Seungcheol prompts.

“Fuck, I love it so much- oh my god-”

“Bet you’d love it more if you had something to suck on.”

Jeonghan and Mingyu both step forward immediately, and you feel Seungcheol’s hand leave your hips as he points at the elder of the two. “You.”

“Thank God,” Jeonghan grins, already working on his belt. “It’s been too long since I fucked your face in this church, kitten.”

“Put your hands behind your back,” Seungcheol instructs.

“I can’t-” you’re hardly stable and standing as it is, bent over like this.

“Give me one wrist,” the leader insists, grabbing it as soon as you’ve presented it to him. “And now the other.” With both your hands caught in a bruising grip, Seungcheol helps stabilize you, holding you up from behind. Your muscles are already beginning to ache, but when Jeonghan slips his cock into your mouth, you nearly forget about the burn.

“Fuck, this is so hot,” Jeonghan groans, thrusting gently in comparison to the man fucking your pussy. 

“She likes it too, gets all tight and wet whenever you hit the back of her throat,” Seungcheol laughs. “She loves being used like this.”

You can only moan like a whore around Jeonghan, an orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. 

“Gyu’s already touching himself, princess,” the unit leader tells you. “You love it when he gets needy and can’t wait.”

You do, you love it more than you can ever put into words-

“Tell her how good she looks like this,” Seungcheol demands.

“You look so fucking good,” Mingyu groans. “Our perfect little baby-”

“Your perfect little whore,” the priest laughs. 

“Mingyu’s too soft on her,” Seungcheol says with a grunt, fucking you so hard that your legs begin to shake. “He always has been, and he always will be.”

Great, now Seungcheol’s degrading Mingyu too. He’s not usually like this. You’re not sure why he’s in such a mood today- or why he has such good compatibility with Joshua.

“Enough talk, fuck,” Jeonghan groans. “If you’re not going to cum in her soon, I will.”

“You know I only cum when she begs,” Seungcheol retorts.

Jeonghan is quick to pull you off his cock, fisting your hair while tendrils of spit keep you tied to his throbbing tip. 

“Fuck, please, sir- I can hardly stand- please, I need your cum-”

Seungcheol laughs darkly. “You can do better than that.”

“Sir, I’ll die without it. I need it- I need it deep inside, please, I want you dripping out of me for days-”

His speed increases as you babble pathetically, and you can feel your core tightening around him. 

“I’m gonna cum- fuck, Sir, please, please cum with me, please- please let me cum-”

“Cum on my cock, dirty girl, show everyone how much you love getting fucked like this.”

As your orgasm slams into you, so does Jeonghan’s cock. He fills your mouth, muffling your sounds of pleasure while Seungcheol fills your pussy. Your entire body is thrumming with hot energy, alight with the ecstasy that your lovers always provide.

You can feel your wet walls milking Seungcheol’s cock, and his low groans only make your pussy throb harder, your orgasm lasting so long that it almost hurts.

It’s hard to breathe with Jeonghan fucking your face, but the lack of oxygen only adds to the copious stimulus, and you can already feel yourself beginning to cry a little from how good it all is.

The moment Seungcheol’s finished, Jeonghan is tearing himself away from your mouth. “My turn, my turn-” he insists, tugging you off of Seungcheol only to flip you around with your back to his chest. He bends you over in the same manner that his superior did, sliding his cock into your cum filled hole. “Fuck-”

“Hannie-” you whimper, legs still shaky.

“I know, I know,” he coos at you. “I’ll give you what you want.”

His hand wraps around your body, fingers finding your aching clit. You’d cum from penetration alone with Seungcheol, and your sensitive bud had been throbbing at the missed action- now, each rub of Jeonghan’s digits has you crying out.

“Need you to cum again,” Jeonghan tells you. “You can do that for me, right? Cum on my cock just like you did for Cheol- you’re a good girl, aren’t you, kitten?”

“I’m good,” you insist, on the verge of tears again.

Suddenly, hands are cupping your face, and you open your eyes to see Mingyu on his knees in front of you. He wipes your tears away with his thumb, pressing his lips to yours. “Wanna see you cum, baby,” he murmurs.

There’s nothing like a gentle touch after the number Cheol just did on you, and something about Mingyu’s words tip you over the edge. You gasp against his lips, pussy clamping down on Jeonghan like a vice while he groans loudly.

You feel him spilling deep inside of you, pressing his hips flush to your ass while your walls contract around his cock. “Fucking hell-” Jeonghan grunts, thrusting shallowly while orgasms surge through you both.

Mingyu kisses you deeper, his large hand finding the back of your neck, stroking you while his tongue invades your mouth. You get lost in the kiss while your orgasm subsides, and when Jeonghan pulls out of you, you crumple down onto your knees.

“Come here,” Mingyu says softly, collecting you into his lap while he sits against the wood floor. There’s no cushioning tonight, no jacket placed down to make things easy on you. Your knees hurt as they dig against the hardwood, but part of you thinks you deserve the pain while you wriggle against Mingyu, immediately grinding on his hard cock while cum begins to drip out of you.

Mingyu grabs your dress, tearing it off your body to reveal your naked form to the house of God. Your hand finds his cock, pumping him desperately-

“Two loads are never enough,” Seungcheol muses, but his words feel distant while you kiss Mingyu. “Look at her, stroking him off- I bet she can’t even last a minute before taking him next.”

He’s right. You hate that he’s right. 

Although, in this instance, you don’t want to fuck Mingyu only for yourself, you want to fuck him for him too. He’s clearly as needy as you are tonight, moaning sinfully when you kiss down his throat, finding his sweet spot and sucking it.

“Can you take me, baby?” he asks. “It’s okay if you can’t-”

God, you love him. 

He doesn’t realize that you have something to prove. Doesn’t realize that tonight, failure is not an option.

You lift yourself up enough to bring his tip to your core, and then you sink down on every glorious inch he has to offer. 

Mingyu practically whimpers into the kiss, and the sound of it releases something feral inside of you. Suddenly you don’t care about your knees getting bruised on the floor, you simply want to fuck this man like you’ve never fucked him before.

Your hands find his shoulders, and you push him onto the ground. Your hips begin to move and you tangle your fingers in his hair, kissing him desperately while you ride him. His cock is so big- so long and hard, that it gives you a lot to work with. There’s no fear of it slipping out, no fear of losing him- he’s yours, completely. 

Mingyu is groaning into the kiss, his hands skimming down your back and grabbing your ass, helping you with each thrust.

“Holy shit,” Jeonghan breathes. “I didn’t know she could ride like that.”

“That’s cuz you like to fuck her face,” Seungcheol retorts.

“Still,” Jeonghan insists, “look at our little superstar go.”

Their words make you more confident, and you push yourself up using Mingyu’s shoulders as leverage. You throw your head back, moaning loudly in the sanctity of the church. You’re aware that you’re giving every man watching a full view of you now, your breasts bouncing, hips rutting wildly as you claw at Mingyu’s chest-

You open your eyes. Seungcheol’s sitting on a pew, his boots up on the bench in front of him, where Joshua is perched. Wonwoo’s leaning against the confessional, arms crossed over his chest. Jeonghan is simply sitting on the floor a few feet away. They’re all watching you intently.

“Gyu,” Seungcheol says suddenly, taking off his dog tag and throwing it at the two of you, “put this around her neck.”

“What?” Mingyu tilts his head to the side, a large, muscled arm reaching out across the church floor to grab the chain.

“In case our little whore loses track of who’s already filled her up,” Seungcheol explains, although, you’re pretty sure that won’t be a problem. 

No, as Seungcheol’s dogtag is placed around your neck, followed quickly by Jeonghan’s, you think this must be another way of your men to claim you as theirs.

Joshua doesn’t have a dog tag, his mark won’t be around your neck like a collar showing off who you belong to.

As you ride Mingyu, the dogtags bounce against your breasts, the metal clinking softly together. The material is cool against your hot skin, and you hate that you enjoy it like this.

Mingyu sits up abruptly, burying his face in your tits. His mouth wraps around your nipple and you claw at his hair, throwing your head back and moaning. “Fuck, puppy-”

You hardly ever call him by that petname, but it feels fitting like this. Mingyu groans, palming your other breast with his hand, and it’s a confirmation that he enjoys the term. 

“You’re so deep-” you continue, knowing he also loves praise. “You fill me up so good-”

Mingyu’s arms wrap around the small of your back, and then he’s rolling the two of you so he’s in the top position. He adjusts your thighs, pressing one up against your chest as he begins to fuck into you hard and deep, hitting spots that have you clawing at the floor.

Part of you wants to leave a mark on the wooden planks outside the confessional, a constant reminder to Joshua that you’ve desecrated this holy place. That he’s allowed you to do so, that he’s even sanctioned it. 

Mingyu’s lips find your throat, and a shiver runs through you. One hand threads through his hair, massaging his scalp while he fucks his friends’ cum deep into your core. Your other hand lifts from the floor, sneaking between your bodies to find your clit.

Your pussy clenches at the touch, and Mingyu groans lewdly, fucking you even harder.

“I’m close, puppy,” you tell him, panting in his ear. “I’m so fucking close-”

“Me too,” he whimpers, sucking on your ear. “Me too, baby, fuck- you feel so good-”

“You feel good too,” you assure him, applying more pressure to your clit. “So, so good, Gyu-”

“Shit, I can’t-”

“Cum for me, puppy, please, just cum for me-” you beg, drawing his lips to yours as he groans loudly, shooting his load into your pussy.

His thrusts are rough and erratic, and he triggers your own orgasm, making you gasp into the kiss. The two of you are panting, tongue tied and animalistic as you work through your shared high. 

You claw at his back- it’s as though you need him closer, you want to devour him even though he’s as physically close to you as he ever possibly could be.

Mingyu’s large form shudders as his orgasm subsides, and you know he’s on the verge of overstimulation. He’d kept fucking you for your sake, not his own, and you kiss him lovingly at the thought. 

The two of you have a close bond. You take care of eachother, and you always will. 

Mingyu finally breaks the kiss, looking down at you while he catches his breath. “I-” he swallows thickly. There’s a deep emotion brewing behind his chocolate brown eyes, and you wonder if he’ll voice it for the first time, in front of everyone else. “Wonwoo hyung probably wants you now.”

Your adoring puppy boy pulls out of you, and you whimper at the loss. He sits back on his heels, looking down at you, then he takes off his dog tag, gently placing it around your neck to join the others.

You turn to look at Wonwoo, and he smiles at you softly from where he’s leaning on the confessional. “Hey, beautiful, can you walk?”

You nod, allowing Mingyu to help you up onto shaky legs. You’re aware of the cum beginning to drip down your thighs with each step you take, but you can’t bring yourself to care. When you finally make it to Wonwoo, you throw your arms around his shoulders, enjoying the way he hugs you, twirling you around so you’re now the one pressed up against the confession booth.

His lips meet yours. It’s not a hungry kiss, not at first. It’s a kiss that speaks a thousand words, and yet, none at all. It’s a kiss that reassures you that everything he said at the door before you entered the church was true. 

‘Whatever happens in there, it won’t change how I feel about you.’

When you’d started all of this six months ago, the last person you expected to have a true soft spot for was Wonwoo. He’s not a huge talker, but when he does speak, he’s sincere. It’s one of your favourite things about him- well, that, and the way that his arms have started to feel like the first home you’ve experienced since the outbreak.

His hand cups the back of your head, and the kiss deepens. You press your bare chest against his own, moaning at the contact. Wonwoo grins, nibbling at your bottom lip while his fingers begin to trail down your body.

He’s soft as he circles your clit, and it leaves you wanting more, rutting your hips against him. It’s all too easy for Wonwoo to slip his fingers into your dripping pussy, and the squelching sound your core makes has your skin heating with embarrassment. But Wonwoo clearly doesn’t care about the noise as he begins to pump his hand, curling his digits to reach your gspot.

You grab his shoulders, legs already feeling shaky. You’re moaning too much now for him to kiss you properly, so his lips find your throat.

Whimpers and wet sounds fill the church, and as Wonwoo’s pace increases, you realize what his intention is. The sniper has always had skilled fingers, and it’s not uncommon for him to make you squirt- you can already feel your pussy beginning to drench his hand, but you’re not sure if it’s your cum or someone elses.

All you know is that it feels amazing. The pressure in your stomach is like hot ecstasy, and each rough pump of his fingers has your body tingling with pleasure. 

“Fuck, Wonwoo-” you moan, words caught as he palms your clit. Your eyes clench shut, you feel more liquid squirting out of you, can feel the impact of it hitting the floor, sending droplets that skirt by your toes-

“That’s going to be a bitch to clean up, Shua,” Jeonghan notes with a snicker.

You can feel your lover grinning by your throat- maybe this was his intention all along. 

“Wonwoo-” you whimper, shocked at the amount of squirt that’s left your body. “Too much-”

The sniper doesn’t hesitate when he hears this, he simply pulls his fingers from your core, presenting them to your lips as he pushes his pants down with his free hand.

You suck greedily on his fingers, tasting the mix of cum you find there. 

Wonwoo pulls his hand away too quickly, reaching down to grab your thighs and lift you off the ground. He pushes you against the confession both, pressing his cock into your hole while his lips attack yours again.

God, it feels good not to be standing. Your legs were starting to feel like jelly, and now, you can focus on the cock filling you up. You just get to relax against the soft wooden booth and take what Wonwoo is giving you.

The kiss is a hungry one, his tongue battling yours as he finds a quick pace. You’ve been fucked by three other men already, but it still feels so good to have Wonwoo inside of you like this. 

You tangle your fingers in his soft curls, moaning desperately while he rails you against the confession booth. Your mind goes pleasantly blank. With Wonwoo, no words have to be said, you can feel what he’s expressing, can feel how much he cares for you. 

The angle he’s holding you in has his cock hitting deep, teasing that special spot that has your toes curling. Each smack of his hips against your own has your clit being teased, a consistent pressure that’s quickly tightening the knot in your abdomen again.

“Wonwoo-” you whimper.

“You’re close?” he asks, sounding a little shocked as he breaks the kiss to look at you.

“Sensitive,” you remind him, pouting out your lower lip as you cup his cheek. “You feel so good.”

He releases a groan, kissing you again. 

Wonwoo’s not Cheol. He doesn’t make you beg for an orgasm. He’ll simply give it to you- kiss you stupid while his body does the work of getting you to cloud nine. 

You allow the orgasm to build naturally. There’s no demanding that it comes, no countdowns or ‘cum with me’s- Wonwoo cumming with you is a given. He has selfcontrol, and he holds out till the moment your pussy clamps down on his cock.

The two of you groan into each other’s mouths, Wonwoo’s fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as he fucks you through it. You cling to him desperately while he eats up all your sounds of pleasure. 

For a moment, you’re not some free-use whore being tossed around a group of men in a church- it’s just you and Wonwoo.

You get lost in him, your orgasm feeling endless- but all good things must end, and soon, Wonwoo’s motions stop. His cock stays buried inside of you, his body pressing your own against the confessional while you both breathe heavily between kisses.

Finally, Wonwoo pulls away. He stares at you for a moment, more unspoken communication making your heart swell. He sets you onto your feet gently, helping you stand with one hand while he does up his pants.

Then he takes off his dog tag, leaning in close as he puts it around your neck. “I hate this,” he whispers, and you can’t be sure that he’s only talking about the act of owning you with the chain on your throat.

Wonwoo moves away, and you open your mouth to say more- but you’re cut off by someone clearing their throat. Your gaze shifts to Seungcheol, who stands from the pew he was sitting at. “One more to go, princess.”

Joshua grins, stepping forward. “How should we do this?”

It takes a moment for you to realize he’s not asking you. Seungcheol lets up a deep breath. “Honestly, knowing my insatiable princess, I’d say she could take both of us. You can fuck her ass, priest, but her pussy belongs to us.”

You hate the tingle of excitement that runs through you, your eyes dipping to the front of Seungcheol’s pants, where he’s already growing hard again. 

“You’re the boss,” Joshua muses, watching the unit leader step toward you.

Seungcheol takes you into his arms, one hand cupping your cheek as he looks down at you. “You’ve been so good for us,” he says softly. “Gonna keep being good, right?”

“Yes, sir,” you nod, wrapping your arms around his neck so you can bring him in for a kiss.

The touch of your lips is short-lived. Seungcheol gets down onto the ground, lying flat while he helps you on top of him. “I’ll fuck this pretty pussy,” he announces, undoing his belt for the second time tonight, “and you can lube up Joshua with a taste of your mouth.”

“Okay, sir,” you whimper, looking down between your bodies to watch him pull out his cock. The moment it’s free, he lines it up with your core, his warm hands finding your hips to help you sink onto him.

You both let out moans of pleasure, your eyes closing as you begin to bob up and down slowly. 

The sound of another belt being undone draws your gaze to Joshua, who’s come to stand next to you and Cheol. “Open wide,” he tells you, grabbing the base of his cock and pumping.

You look up at the priest, doing as you’re told. His eyes stay fixed on yours as he slowly pushes his cock past your lips. He doesn’t go in all the way, only giving you half, and waiting expectantly for you to begin sucking him off.

As you hollow your cheeks, digging your nails into Seungcheol’s chest for leverage, the unit leader begins rutting up into you. You can’t help but moan around Joshua’s cock, and you watch as he lets out a sigh of relief, grabbing the back of your head so he can hold you still. He begins to fuck your face, and once again, you’re just a fuck toy caught between two alpha males.

You know what comes next, know that Joshua will be in your ass soon, so you do your best to lube him up with your spit. It’s clear that your wet mouth is driving the priest into a frenzy, his cock hitting the back of your throat now with each thrust.

You’re doing your best not to gag, your eyes welling with tears that you blink away as you gaze up at the priest. 

“She’s so pretty when she cries,” Joshua muses, wiping away one of the tears with his thumb.

“Our little princess is always pretty,” Seungcheol insists with a grunt, forcing you to take his cock fully, keeping you pinned on his hips. “Are you going to fuck her ass or not?”

Joshua pulls himself from your mouth, clearly amused by the lines of drool that still connect him to you. “Be good for us,” Joshua says sweetly.

Seungcheol tugs you to his chest, his hands moving to your ass where he spreads your cheeks for the man who sinks to his knees behind you. 

You feel Joshua’s tip rub against your hole, and you do your best to breathe normally, relaxing your body so you can take him as he slowly pushes inside.

There’s nothing in the world like being full- with cum, with cock, with everything-

“This is too hot,” Jeonghan’s voice makes you look up. “Wanna suck me off too, kitten? If you don’t, I might bust all over myself from this view alone.”

At this point, your mind is fuzzy, and you can’t help but nod, sitting up and opening your mouth for Jeonghan.

“There’s our good kitten,” he grins, immediately whipping out his dick and slotting it past your lips. “Fuck, so fucking good for us. I know you love it when you get three cocks at once. Our little kitten with her kink for being completely full-”

At this point, there are no thoughts swirling around in your head, only the feeling of three men filling you up to their heart’s desire. Seungcheol and Joshua find a push-pull motion that has tension building in your abdomen much too easily. Jeonghan, meanwhile, is fucking you slowly, taking his time and releasing groans as you suck him off.

The tip of Jeonghan’s cock hits the back of your throat, and your body convulses, making both Joshua and Seungcheol moan loudly. Their fingers dig into your skin, you can feel hot breath against your chest and shoulders.

“You know,” Seungcheol groans, “A priest really shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Not so willingly, at least,” Jeonghan adds.

“Well,” Joshua sighs loudly, “I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you all that I’m not actually a priest.”

“What?” Jeonghan and Seungcheol stop thrusting, and you sputter as Jeonghan’s cock slips from your lips, taking haggard breaths.

“It’s not like any of you asked for a resume when I showed up here,” Joshua jokes.

“That’s because you were dressed as a fucking priest?!” Seungcheol’s voice is raising now, his fingers digging into your ass while Joshua continues to fuck you nonchalantly.

“I’ve been quite convincing, wouldn’t you say?” You’d bet your life that the ‘priest’ is wearing a shit-eating grin, but at this point, you can’t even bring yourself to care.

“Sir,” you whimper, clawing at his chest.

Seungcheol swallows thickly. “We’re gonna make her cum, but you and I are going to have a talk about this later, priest.”

Jeonghan presents his cock to you again, and you take it into your mouth. You suck on him hard, wanting to get him as close to the edge as you are. In response, Jeonghan begins to fuck your face again, hitting the back of your throat so your body clenches around Joshua and Seungcheol.

“Fuck,” the unit leader moans, landing a slap across your ass that has your mind spinning. “Need you to cum for us,” he tells you. “Need you to be a good little cock whore and take what we give you.”

You moan loudly around Jeonghan, getting lost in the feeling of being so completely full that you can’t think straight.

Seungcheol lets go of your ass, bringing his thumb to your clit-

The first rough drag of his digit across the sensitive bud triggers your orgasm, and you practically scream around Jeonghan, entire body fizzling with electric energy.

“Fuck-” Jeonghan groans, giving one last thrust before he cums down your throat, holding your head so your nose touches his pelvis, not allowing you to go anywhere as you sputter and take what he gives you.

Seungcheol and Joshua let out moans of their own, and you can feel the heat of them cumming too, filling up both of your holes to a point that’s almost dizzying. 

Jeonghan pulls out of your mouth and you immediately slump down against Seungcheol’s chest, body shaking as you struggle to breathe. Joshua also retreats. You can feel hot tears rolling down your cheeks, too many emotions swirling around in your post orgasmic haze for you to even keep track of.

“Sit up for me, princess, let’s get a look at you,” Seungcheol insists, stroking your back.

With a deep breath, you slowly sit up, rubbing at your eyes.

Joshua comes to stand in front of you, an expression akin to concern on his face. “You’re forgiven for your sins,” he tells you.

Wonwoo scoffs loudly.

The priest reaches up, taking off his cross necklace. As he begins to hold it over your head, intent on adding his claim to the four that already hang around your throat, Wonwoo grabs his hand roughly. Then your sniper tears the cross from Joshua’s grasp, throwing it across the church. “Don’t even fucking try it,” Wonwoo growls. “She doesn’t belong to you. This was a one-time thing.”

“And you’re the one making decisions now?” Seungcheol glares, sitting up and pressing his palms flat to the floor behind himself to balance, his abs moving under pretty skin. 

“Kitten should choose,” Jeonghan agrees. “Like she did at the start.”

“Look at her,” Wonwoo insists, voice breaking. “We all fucked her brains out. She’s not making any big decisions right now. In fact-” Wonwoo reaches down and picks your dress off the ground, helping you put it on, “We’re taking her home. Gyu.”

Your largest lover encircles his arms around you, lifting you up and off Cheol without a question asked. You tuck in close to his chest, closing your eyes and enjoying the bridal style of the carry. 

“Clearly this wasn’t punishment enough for your subordinate who likes to talk back,” Joshua muses, speaking to Cheol while he watches you, Wonwoo and Mingyu head toward the church doors.

Wonwoo’s fist clenches at his side, Mingyu looks back, but no one says anything else. You pass out in Mingyu’s arms while they carry you back to the Z1 dorm. Mingyu lays you on a bed softly, immediately cuddling up to your side. He begins to stroke your hair and you open your eyes when you feel a warm cloth cleaning your inner thighs.

“Hey, beautiful,” Wonwoo looks up at you. “How are you feeling.”

“Okay,” you murmur.

Wonwoo frowns, exchanging a look with Mingyu. 

“Did i say something wrong?” you ask.

“No, it’s just…” Wonwoo swallows thickly, “usually you say ‘good’ or ‘great’ or ‘amazing.’”

“Oh. sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You never have to apologize to us.” Wonwoo finishes cleaning up the mess between your legs, and he tosses the cloth on the floor, getting onto the bed with you. You curl up against his chest, and Mingyu presses to your back, his soft fingers caressing you. “We shouldn’t have done that to you.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Wonwoo insists. “But we shouldn’t talk about this right now. You need rest.”

The mention of sleeping makes you yawn, and you close your eyes, enjoying the warmth that your protectors provide. “Goodnight.”

Mingyu presses a kiss to your shoulder as you begin to drift off. “Goodnight, baby.”

Epilogue

It’s been a week since the orgy in the church, and you’ve spent every night since then cuddled between Wonwoo and Mingyu, thinking heavily about yourself and the relationship you have with the men in your life.

You wake up on the seventh day with your mind set. Wonwoo’s already awake, sitting silently and staring at the wall while acting as your pillow. He looks down at you when you stir, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Hi, handsome,” you retort, loving the way his new petname tastes on your lips. “Can I… can I be vulnerable with you for a moment?”

“Always,” he assures you, nudging Mingyu to wake him up.

The man behind you groans, but presses kisses to your shoulder nonetheless. “What’s happening?”

“Baby has something to tell us,” Wonwoo says softly.

“Okay, baby.” Mingyu speckles more kisses along your skin, tucking closer to your back.

“I think… I think I need to end things with Jeonghan and Seungcheol.” You’re shocked at the resolve in your tone, but at the same time, the declaration feels right. 

“What?” Mingyu holds you tighter, kisses ceasing.

“When I entered this dynamic, I never thought I’d pick favourites,” you explain, “but I think it’s clear that I have. It’s clear to me now that you two care for me in a different way than they do- and… I’d rather focus on this, what we three have, then betray myself with them any longer.”

You’re proud of yourself for putting all your chaotic thoughts into such simple words, and you wait patiently for a response.

“I think that’s a good decision,” Wonwoo says finally, letting out a shaky breath. 

“I just feel like- I mean, I love Jeonghan, I love Seungcheol, but I’m not in love with them. Not in the way that I’m in love with you guys… and I think… I think you’re both in love with me too.”

Mingyu lets out a soft groan. “It’s been hard not to say it.”

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t,” you whisper, reaching to thread your fingers with his hand resting on your hip.

“It wasn’t you,” Mingyu reassures, “it was the way the five of us worked. It didn’t feel like there was room to say it.”

“Well you can say it now.”

“I love you,” Mingyu groans, squeezing your hand. “Fuck, I do. I do love you. A stupid amount.”

“I love you too,” you grin, light airy energy surging through your body. You find yourself looking up at Wonwoo. “Do you love me?”

“Is that even a question?” He lets out a small laugh, cupping your cheek. “I’ve been in love with you for months.”

“I wish we’d all said it earlier,” you admit. “I came into this living each day like it might be my last, but I neglected to do the one thing that’s most important- I didn’t tell either of you how I felt, and I promise I’m going to make up for it every day I have with the two of you.”

You’ll talk to Jeonghan and Seungcheol later. You can deal with whatever reactions they have, as long as Mingyu and Wonwoo are by your side.

Seungcheol has always called you insatiable. He’s made you feel like a needy whore who couldn’t get enough- and yet, that final penance was more than enough. It made you realize that you are satiated- by love, not lust. 

You’ve paid your dues, your penance is complete, and now, even during an apocalypse, you can finally try to secure a life for yourself that you always wished for, with your two protectors. You can finally be happy, and fulfilled. 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I really don't know how this happened, but uh.... I want them. If you liked this one, I've done this pairing before here

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🔮 preview. It’s practically perfect to have Mingyu worshiping between your thighs while Wonwoo is the anchor at your back, whispering soft nothings in your ear and massaging your breasts. This is what love is, and you’re so fucking happy you’ve found it.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, threesome, pussy eating, oral, deep throating, fingering, breast play/worship, overstim, multiple reader orgasms, mentions of old bdsm style ‘rules’/begging, soft boy lovers, dirty talk, praise, size kink, hand job, stroking wonwoo while mingyu rails you, multiple sex positions (sideways, doggy, etc…),   I petnames. (hers) beautiful, baby, etc… (mingyu’s) puppy. (wonwoo’s) handsome.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.4k I teaser wc. 250

🌙 staring. Mingyu & Wonwoo x afab!Reader

bonus

You love the feeling of sun on your face. The warmth reminds you of your two lovers, who hang back, sitting on a barricade a hundred feet away. There are no supply runs today, so Mingyu and Wonwoo have taken to shadowing you at a respectful distance, giving you and Hansol your space to putter around the garden and tend to the growing food.

“You seem happier lately,” Hansol muses as he digs holes to plant beet seeds Wonwoo had found for you on his last trip to the city.

“I am,” you admit, gazing over at the two men who are chatting and laughing together. “It’s nice to be spending more time in the garden again.”

“And I see you’ve picked up your cafeteria tasks with Seokmin again,” Hansol points out. “I know he missed you for a few months.”

“Yeah, I had a lot going on at the time.”

You’ve never outwardly spoken with Hansol about your prior arrangement with Z1, but you can tell he’s noticed Seungcheol and Jeonghan not pulling you away anymore. Your closest survivor friends are too respectful to ask for details, but it’s been a few weeks since you’d ‘broken up’ with the elder Z1’s, and you think you’re finally ready to talk about it a little.

“My priorities weren’t straight,” you continue.

“But it looks like they are now,” Hansol says, straightening to look at the men on the barricade. “You all look a lot happier.”

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