#and the last one is probably would do better next time with warnings and content resume but like i just typed that on a whinper in the -

[sungjinhos]

BF! WONWOO hanging out on lazy days 18+ mdi

lazy sundays were you completely favorite. everybody hated sundays, the dreaded week lurking the feeling of the rest day just ending.

but you learned to love sundays. sundays meant late and lazy breakfast in bed, it meant snuggle in hoodies all day, it meant not getting out of the house, it meant laying in the sofa all day reading with your boyfriend between your legs.

you started reading a book that your boyfriend and also bookworm gifted to you; "I just thought you would enjoy it" he said while giving it to you as he arrived from his last leg of his tour "I brought in a pretty bookshop in New York, it has a nice coffee in it, you would love it, we should go together in your next vacation" and your heart sweell nicely thinking about your boyfriend just going around New York thinking about you.

wonwoo rubbed himself against your stomach, claiming for your attettion. "this book is boring" he said, leaving the book on the floor. "I mean it's not boring but I already know who is the killer" he continued, putting his hand inside your hoodie and on your skin, making your heart buzz a little and making you shrink a little.

"mine is pretty fine, you made a good choice" you said ignoring your boyfriend lifting his hand to your rib cage and depositing a brief kiss against the line of your sweatpants.

"yeah? did you liked you present baby?" he said while his hand travelled through your body, his fingertips touching the valley between your bobs and resting against your neck. "i always think of you when i see pretty things."

"you know i liked wonu, i almost cried when you showed me the whole bag you brought back full of presents." you saying running your fingers thought his short hair, he almost never used liked that and you dont know why but made you more attatched to it. wonwoo laughed, that almost scoffing sound full of air.

"that's what my baby deserves" he kissed your stomach and retreated his hand just so he could grab you by the hips with both hands. "I'm such a nice boyfriend, and yet you leave me bored out of my mind because of a book." he said playing with the hem of your pants.

"you are acting like I ignored you for an hour." you finally bookmark the page of your book knowing that it is a lost fight. You are not reading a sentence anymore.

"not a hour" your boyfriend finally gets off the sofa just so he can take off your pants, he lays between your legs again and he presses a kiss against you clothed pussy making you catch your breath. "a few minutes at least"

"not even five minutes baby" you complain while opening more your legs so your boyfriend gets comfortable, he just squirm a little and plant his big hands in your thighs.

"more than twenty for sure." he says while he travel his fingers against your clothed pussy, putting more pressure at your clitoris making you whimper pathetically.

"not that much." somehow even to yourself your voice sound pitiful, wonwoo barely did anything to you and somehow you are almost begging already.

"did so." he says without leaving his fingers against your pussy, and you can almost feel his fingertip through the cloth, the way your wetness is spreading somehow makes you feel that the cloth is getting thinner, almost disappearing but still not enough. "I love watching you." he pauses and presses a kiss in your pussy, and you feel his wet tongue against you. "you are so pretty all over, I just can't take my eyes off you" he says as he presses his fingers against your entrance.

"not fair." you protest while your fingers find solace in the pillow by your head.

"what baby?" he tuts. "cant i find my girlfriend pretty?" he says while he finally pushes your panty to the side. he pinches your pussy. "so fucking pretty and so fucking messy."

"wonu" you protest again feelling a little faint, a little dumb like you always gets when wonwoo talks to you like that, with his voice low like he is telling you a secret making your insides coil.

"fucking love your pussy" he says before finally putting his mouth against you, hot breath fanning over your pussy until you feel his tongue between your folds. and its like being submersed in a way, searching for air but not getting enough. wonwoo pushes your legs up and you come back to reality a little bit, the way his fingers presses against your flesh anchors you.

"god" wonwoo murmurs. "i could live like that" he says while his fingers left your thigh and comes to grope at your pussy, pressing his palm against your puffy lips. "could live eating you out" he says against your thights while you feel his fingers at your entrance, and he push just a little, making you go a tad bit crazy, putting your arms above your head and arching your back, trying to make his finger go in just a little bit more. "don't worry baby I will give It to you."

And you just feel a little bit more out of your mind, a little more hot, a little more denraged, the way his speaks to you just make you squirm because his voice is so full of adoration, like every word is just full of lust that make you clench and you just give up feeling his hot mouth against you, his tongue going against your folds. He keeps lapping at your pussy like he is getting so fucking drunk, you lock eyes with him and he just suck your clit while you feel his second finger aagainst you.

"baby please-" you finally beg and you dont even need to finish because wonwoo just knows what you need and his just put his second finger in you, and in a way it feels so much but not enough, you feel so tight, like every muscle of your body is working. You give up, you just need a little bit more, so you trail your hands against yourself, searching, you put your hand inside your hoodie, finding your boobs and squeezing.

wonwoo mouth leaves your pussy and you whine, his free hands lifting up your hoodie so he can watch you playing with yourself. His eyes travel between your hands and pussy like he can't make a choice. "fuck" he laughs a little "you are just so hot." and he just bite the skin at your hips. "so wet and taking my fingers so well" he changes his position and presses his hand against your tigh so you open your legs for him. "look at you" he coos "you have such a pretty cunt." He says while he keeps fucking your with his fingers. You whine again, feeling desperated, hasty, but you are just at the end of the cliff almost falling and wonwoo just know, he takes his other hand and just pinch at your clit making your moan. "come on baby, you can do it, just a little one and i give you my cock hun? just know you gonna take it so well gonna split you open in a little bit."

and you just fall apart thinking about the way his dick would feel.

[salem-s]

04 ── PLAYING UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN (18+) ── RAFE CAMERON

SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

WARNINGS language, fingering, p-in-v sex. angst (familial issues, mentions of abuse). but also hella fluff??? italian skills are not great, reader's b-day is around thanksgiving for plot sake just go along with it. 18+ mdni.

WORD COUNT 13.7k. don't.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER 24 hours by sky ferreira

The thought of tomorrow sets a pit in your stomach. 

You toss and turn for the better part of two hours, wanting to throw a pillow at Rafe’s face when you see him sleeping soundly in his twin bed, envious of the rest that he’s getting that you yearn for since you obviously didn’t get to nap today after the beach. 

It’s not uncommon for you to dread your birthday.

Growing up, it was always so close to or sometimes on Thanksgiving that it was overshadowed by the holiday, and you never got an extravagant celebration and instead was pushed to the sidelines. Truly, you never cared for a giant blowout, but the song and a slice of appreciation would’ve been nice.

This holiday in particular is a big time of year for your family to flaunt all the things that they are ‘thankful’ for, which mainly entails money, clothes, and materialistic things that are so out of touch with reality that it makes you sick. So, taking that into account, you associate this time of year with dread and misery. 

On your thirteenth birthday, the day fell on the holiday and no one in your family remembered. The one thing you asked for was a birthday cake with candles that only you got to blow out, not your little cousins or your brother, just you.

Apparently, you asking that was far too annoying for your mother, resulting in a swift backhand when you prompted one too many times.

That was the last time you asked for a birthday gift, and stopped bringing the day up altogether in the future. 

So, you don't really tell people with the exception of a few friends and nonna, who promised to not make a big deal out of it in front of Rafe. The last thing you want is it to become a thing for a multitude of reasons, and pulled Lorenza aside when Rafe was preoccupied with Ticino to not let it slip to your so-called boyfriend.

Of course, Lorenza would not let the topic slide away that easily, so you settled on her making your favorite meal with your favorite bottle of wine. 

The day, its lonely memories, plus the thought of having to dress shop keep you from being able to fall asleep. 

You try all sorts of positions, fluff your pillow, count sheep. Nothing.

Anxiety creeps up the longer you're awake, knowing the clock is ticking until you have to cross off a lot of items off your check list: the dress, formalities with your extended family, dealing with your mother, pretending to be Cupid-struck by the guy sleeping seven feet away from you. You don't know how long you've been up at this point, and you're starting to grow delirious.

One idea - a horrible one, at that - stays in the back of your mind for the betterment of an hour.

That last resort sleeps across the room, probably frolicking in a field in his dreams peacefully based on the content expression on his face.

The thought of what you're about to do makes your head spin in embarrassment, the idea of needing Rafe Cameron - of all people - to be able to sleep. It sounds revolting and pathetic to even consider, and it makes you slap a hand to your forehead in frustration, reeling in the thousands of possibilities of how it could go down.

What if it doesn’t work and you still can’t sleep, and then you're stuck in his arms for the rest of the night? What if he wakes up and tells you to go back to your own bed? He wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy after you had sex earlier, and was weird all day following it. 

Weirder than he usually is, anyway.

But it’s the only option, frankly, because the few times he’s slept over or you've slept at his, you always got surprisingly good sleep.

You usually forgo the sleeping over aspect since your dorm rooms are quite literally next to each other, so the walk of shame is only a mere few steps. But, on occasion, he will be too tired to retreat back, or you'll get caught up in stupid conversation, or whatever the excuse is that night. 

As much as you hate to admit it, you always found better sleep in his arms, and that remedy is calling your name right now. Honestly, you fear if you don't do it, you'll be up all night wondering if it would’ve worked. 

Fuck it, you think.

With diligence, you slip out of bed and hiss quietly at the cold tile floor against your feet, adjusting to the temperature. You sheepishly pad over to his side of the room, analyzing where it’ll be best for you to slip in without waking him up. A wave of ridiculousness washes over you, cheeks burning in the darkness at how desperate this feels.

Rafe is fast asleep on his side, facing your bed with an arm slung over the edge and nearly brushing the ground. The position leaves a tiny sliver of space between his body and the wall that you can see from the moonlight casting a pearly hue into the room, particularly towards his half. 

Now or never, you think bitterly.

You nudge his arm gently with your palm to see if he’s truly out cold. He is, because he doesn’t even flinch, chest rising and falling deeply even and syncopated. 

Then you slowly lower your knee onto the edge of the bed, careful not to bump into him as you hike your other leg over his body. Diligently, you place your foot firmly on the mattress, wincing at the way it dips down at the weight of you and you bite your lip at the fear you've woken him up.

However, Rafe doesn’t budge, so you continue your stealth mission and move to climb over him.

But – of course – when you launch forward to quickly hop over his body, you severely overestimate how close the wall is and-

Thud.

You smaaaack your forehead against the wall, hard. The bang isn’t that loud, but you involuntarily yelp at the pain and nearly collapse at the ferocity of the collision. The unsteadiness of your posture has your trailing leg nudging his hip harshly. 

You freeze, hoping it isn't hard enough to wake him up, and for a moment you think you're in the clear.

But your absolutely heart drops when Rafe twitches, groans, and moves to lay on his back, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes in an adoring way that makes your cheeks flame even hotter than before. His hair, from what you can see, is freshly tousled and sticking up in every possible direction, some pieces falling over his eyes while others stick up and out.

You'd normally laugh at the sight if you weren't currently getting caught in the most embarrassing position to grace planet earth. 

Rafe squints in the dark and blinks blearily, taking in the dim sight of you kneeling on his bed and cupping your forehead. All you can do is look down at him with wide eyes, like a deer in headlights.

Despite being lulled from his sleep, you hate how he smiles at you. No, not smiling. He's beaming.

“What are you doing?”

Your mouth opens and closes, attempting and failing to find an excuse for your endeavors as your head throbs at how hard you smacked it on the wall.

Say something, idiot.

Apparently, you take too long to come up with a response, because soon a cool hand comes up to brush against your knee, rubbing a thumb across the bone lazily as if Rafe has all the time in the world, as if he hasn't been woken up from a peaceful sleep.

Now you really stumble over your words.

After a moment of gaping like a fish, you sigh in exhaustion. “I can’t sleep.”

“Hmm?”

“I thought maybe…” you trail off, furrowing your brows.

But you wince when the gesture makes your head throb even more. 

Rafe drops his teasing demeanor when he sees a flash of pain paint over your pretty features, concern immediately rising as his chest tugs something foreign from him. Protection, maybe? Fear? Whatever the emotion may be this time, it makes him panic for a moment at the thought of you being hurt.

He pushes himself up on his elbow and brings his hand from your knee to your cheek, brows furrowing. “Hey, are you okay?”

The whole thing is so ridiculous that you can’t help but snort, but the humorless facade fades quickly and all of a sudden you feel stupid under his gaze and feather light touch.

Incredibly stupid.

You feel stupid that you woke him up when you really didn’t need to, and feel even stupider as his hand caresses your jaw so affectionately that it evokes a need to lean into his touch, to feel protected and cared for. You feel stupid that you just want to melt into his big arms and play dumb. 

Especially with the way he's looking at you right now.

God. You hate that you're so tired. You hate that the dress doesn’t fit you. You hate that you have to seek solace in him in order to feel at ease. You hate that your head hurts.

You hate that it’s your birthday. 

Before you know it, tears spring to your waterline. You pray it’s dark enough so he can’t tell. 

But he notices. 

Rafe sits up immediately, keeping one hand on your cheek and the other on your bicep to ground you, but also to force you to face him. He ducks his head to your level to meet you eye to eye, and even in the darkness you can still pinpoint those gorgeous blues staring at you.

However they hold a new look you don't recognize from him, and after a moment of staring you realize it’s concern.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

God, it makes you want to melt. And puke. And scream. Why does he have to say that outside of intimacy? Why does he have to play with your heart? Why can’t he simply say your name like normal friends do?

“I just–” Your bottom lip trembles and frustration bubbles in your chest. “I hit my head," is all you can pathetically muster.

You hope that’ll be enough to not have to share the other stuff.

Rafe’s eyes land on where you cradle your forehead, frowning as he gently moves your hand away. The moonlight offers him the ability to lightly inspect the damage. There’s no visible blood or bump as his thumb smooths over it with a feather light touch.

Without thinking, he leans forward, pressing a light, chaste kiss on the soreness. When he pulls back, Rafe pushes some hair away from your face and tucks it behind your ear, his hand then settling back on your cheek with a nonchalance that doesn't match how incredibly intimate the act was. 

You watch him the whole time, still willing the tears to not fall as you blink them away quickly. Your head doesn’t really hurt that much anymore. 

After a moment of staring at each other, Rafe gently coaxes you down onto the mattress and pulls you against his chest. His hands sprawl on your back, rubbing up and down your spine and over the ridges of your muscles. Your cheek rests against his bare chest, hearing the loud thump, thump, thump of his heartbeat which contrasts his relaxed demeanor. 

Is he nervous?

You push the thought away. He probably feels panicked on how to handle someone crying in front of him, as emotions are not in his forte. 

“I’m sorry, sweet girl,” he murmurs against the crown of your head. “Can I do anything?”

You simply shake your head with little to no motion, heart dropping as you remember this is just an arrangement, a fake ploy to help you get through the next week. He’s doing this to have leverage. Rafe Cameron doesn’t do things without expecting something in return. But you really don't feel like having sex right now. 

“I don’t feel like doing anything right now,” you murmur, voice more shaky than you'd like. “Maybe tomorrow. I just want to sleep.”

Rafe frowns at the implication behind your words, something ugly brewing in his chest as he repeats them in his head.

Do you really think he wants to have sex right now? 

“No, I–” He stops himself. You want to sleep, he needs to let you sleep, but he also feels the need to defend himself. Rafe comes up short on his response, a flicker of panic rising in his throat at the thought of revealing too much.

He sighs to himself, irritated that that’s how he presents himself.

Rafe says your name quietly. “Go to sleep.”

You frown at the use of your name, knowing he never really uses it unless he’s angry or upset about something or coming down from a high. He sounds annoyed, probably because he thought he was getting some when he saw you climb into his bed, not expecting the late night blue balls.

You bite your lip at the meaning, wanting to go through all the potential reasons of why he would say that instead of his usual obnoxious pet names, but sleep starts to lull you away as his big arms cradle you, cage you in, share warmth and everything nice. 

Not that you'd ever admit this to anyone – not even in a confessional booth – but this is you favorite place to be. 

The overwhelming urge to sleep plus the contentment of being in his arms makes you relax, turning your brain off as you flutter your eyes shut.

You assume this position also makes you delusional, because you swear you hear Rafe whisper, “Happy birthday.” 

You wake up in a sour mood.

First, Po steps on your chest and it feels like a hundred tons on your sternum, jolting you awake.

Begrudgingly petting the cat, you then notice you're alone in the bedroom with the covers bunched around your waist. Inhaling out of frustration, you try to ignore how the sheets smell like him and sit up, but the act makes you groan, the lingering throbbing on your forehead springing back at the sudden movement.

Then when you leave the bedroom, you discover the house to be quiet. Too quiet. 

You enter the kitchen and movement in the garden catches your attention, and your breath hitches when you see Rafe and Lorenza sitting at the outdoor table, sipping coffee and talking animatedly.

Ticino sits right against Rafe’s leg, alternating between typing on his phone and petting him. You watch Rafe type something into his phone and then show Lorenza, who nods and takes the phone, pressing a button and speaking into it.

A pang of frustration pricks at your chest when you see them laugh together. What could they be talking about? 

No, you panic.

They aren’t supposed to be getting along. Rafe isn’t your boyfriend. He doesn’t need to be falling in step with this little act. He’s doing this as a pity favor, because he felt bad for you when your mother practically berated you in front of him. He’s doing this because he doesn’t want to go home and see his family for the holiday, he takes the first out he can get and clings to it. He’s not doing this because he wants to, but because he has to. 

You push the thought away when you remember your agenda for the day, a cloud of grumpiness shifting over your head as you grumble something incoherent. The sun hasn't been up for long and you're already wishing it's the next day.

Instead of joining the two for coffee, you change into daytime clothes and freshen up, hoping to be able to slip out of the cottage and go on your endeavors alone. 

The thought of entertaining Rafe all day makes your stomach do a somersault, as you just want to go in, get a dress, and come back. All you want to do today is relax, maybe go to the beach again, and get stupid drunk at dinner so you can pass out before all the heartfelt emotions circulating your birthday memories come into fruition. 

The only remedy to today is drinking yourself into oblivion at dinnertime.

Of course when you exit the house, purse in arm and sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose, Rafe and Lorenza frown. 

“Dove stai andando?” (where are you going?)

You admit your tone is nothing inviting, as you reply that you're going to the dress shop, and your nonna stubbornly matches your irritable tone. 

“Porti il tuo ragazzo.” (bring your boy)

An excuse brews in your throat but Lorenza doesn’t let you argue, shushing you harshly and gently ushering Rafe towards you.

You nearly roll your eyes at the difference in treatment, practically coddling your so-called boyfriend. You guess you wouldn’t be surprised if, at some point, your nonna ends up pinching his cheeks endearingly before you leave for the wedding. 

You bite back a groan when Rafe shoots up from his seat, waving goodbye to your nonna and falling into step with you. You don't wait for him before you start practically speed walking onto the dirt path, eager to get this whole thing over with - especially since you begrudgingly have a babysitter now.

However, his long legs allow him to catch up with ease, even taking it one notion further and spinning around so Rafe's walking backwards and facing you.

If you weren't so irritated you'd actually be impressed with his foot coordination. 

“You weren’t even gonna wait for me?” he teases, his tone and demeanor a stark contrast from last night. Maybe he jerked off this morning and got rid of his blue balls, as it seems like the only valid excuse for his chippier attitude on this bright sunny day. “I find that highly offensive, baby.”

You roll your eyes, and then realize you're wearing sunglasses. “What’s highly offensive is the lack of steps you took to catch up. Has anyone ever compared you to Gumby?”

“Is he handsome?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

You groan. “You’re in the wrong profession. You should be on some sort of court instead of running your mouth all the time.” You try to side step so he’s not backwards-walking right in front of you, but he mirrors your movements to prevent that from happening, taking utter glee in your irritation. “Stop.”

“No,” he retorts, shuffling with a skip in his step. He must’ve played soccer with the way his feet are coordinationally graceful. “This is how I like to walk.”

“No, it’s not.”

“How would you know?”

All you want to do is leap forward and throttle him.

It’s bad enough you have to run this errand in the first place, and even worse that he has to torment you the entire time with that stupid smile that he wears when he knows he’s pissing you off. It also frustrates you that he’s essentially forcing you to look at him, his biceps outlined offensively well in his plain navy t-shirt and his hair falling over his squinted eyes.

You attempt to mask your staring with a scowl, but it feels like he sees right through you. And it further pisses you off.

“You know you don’t have to talk, right?” you hiss, hating the way he laughs at you. “Sometimes people like to walk in silence.”

“I don’t.”

You throw your head back, huffing at his stubbornness, at your headache, at the whole ordeal in itself. “Well, I do. So shut up.”

Of course, Rafe doesn’t listen and instead taps his chin in mock contemplation, humming low as he pretends to think. “Do you think I could get away with robbery? I’m not talking amateur klepto, I’m talking something big. Like a car. Or a freight train.”

The rest of the walk is essentially just that: Rafe talking your ear off as you brush him off with one word responses, move to hit him, or ignore him altogether.

You know you're being a dick, but today, of all days, you do not want to be tested. Rafe doesn’t seem to run out of words, though, moving past your bratty attitude and filling in the gaps of silence with outrageous hypothetical questions or random stories and facts about stuff you don't care about. 

After tuning him out for the better part of fifteen minutes, you nearly sigh in relief when you approach town. He eventually falls into step next to you, taking in the sights around him. Your heart does a weird leap when you see him pull out a camera you've never seen before and snap some photos of the scenery around you.

In a moment of his distraction, you race forward and slip into a store in a feasible attempt to lose him.

But Rafe doesn’t shake that easily, following you inside with ease and shooting you a deadpanned look as if to say nice try. 

The store doesn’t end up selling clothes, instead holding antiques and random trinkets that you actually don't mind looking at. Frankly, you want to stall your loitering as much as possible with the hopes that he’ll get bored and go venture off somewhere else for the better part of an hour. But to your dismay, Rafe doesn’t budge, instead looking at the items with you and lingering around the things you seem to pick up, inspect, then put down. 

You forget about your irritable facade when you pick up a ceramic fish about the size of your palm, the sardine painted in whites, blues, and yellows with two little holes through the top fin, assumingely there to be able to hang it up with a piece of string. The handmade item sits gently in your hand, inspecting the grooves and crevices and paint job as you run your thumb across the glassy surface. 

There’s a small section of the table devoted to similar ceramic fish, all painted with the same colors but in different patterns, no two alike. They're all beautiful, and you stop and inspect all the different detailing on each one while still holding the original you picked up.

Rafe suddenly appears next to you and follows your gaze to the art piece in your hand, picking up another one off the table and flipping it over to see the artist’s small signature on the back. Your arms brush as he moves his hand next to yours so you can look at both fishes next to each other. The one in his hand looks so much smaller than yours despite being the same size.

“These are cool,” he murmurs, almost challenging you to agree. 

But you simply hum, taking one more lingering glance before putting your fish back down on the table and walking away to inspect other items. You're so dismissive to his presence that you don't seem him pick up the sardine you were previously holding, cradling it along with the fish he picked up in his hand. 

You do that a few more times in the store: pick up a random item, inspect it, hum in appreciation, then put it back. Rafe trails behind you, as if following your movements and analyzing the same things that you do. 

When you move to leave, Rafe calls your name in warning before you can exit.

“I’m getting something for my sisters, can you wait for me? Or am I going to have to chase you down again?”

You roll your eyes at him, but nod nonetheless as you linger by the door obediently, picking at the material of your purse with one hand as you absentmindedly trace the spines of old books with the other.

It doesn’t take long for him to meet you, gripping the brown paper bag tightly as he approaches with shifty eyes. 

“What’d you get for them?” You ask quietly as you move to leave, deciding the question is too intimate so you don't hold the door for him to make up for it. 

Rafe scratches the back of his neck and falls into step next to you, avoiding your eyes as he pretends to busy himself looking through the windows of passing shops. “Uh, there were some small posters in the back made by a local artist. They’re kind of freaky looking, but my sisters are weird. So. That’s what they get.”

You hum at the thought of him thinking about his sisters, catching yourself smiling lightly. But you wipe it off your face as quickly as it came. “Cool. I think there are other shops like that if you wanna get them more stuff. I’m gonna pop in here quick to look around.”

“Nuh-uh,” he warns sternly and your shoulders sag at his stubbornness. “I’m under strict orders to stay with you from Lorenza. Stop trying to get rid of me.”

The thought of the two of them conspiring broaches a weird feeling in your gut, a combination of confusion and envy and something else that you can’t quite pinpoint. There’s a slight tick of anxiety that flashes in your mind that their conversation this morning was all about you, more specifically on what today is. You just hope your nonna respected your wishes and didn’t tell him that it’s your birthday. 

“Whatever,” you eventually grumble, cutting off his stride to side step into a dress shop.

Rafe follows obediently, trailing behind you in the store to inspect the vintage looking dresses on the racks. He watches you fish through them without a forethought, humming at some possible contenders but then continuing to move on with your search.

You feel his gaze burning from your peripheral and decide to ignore him, taking his focus as boredom because he has nothing better to do than to watch. 

You take a few possible dresses under your arm as you move onto the neck rack, ignoring the gross feeling in your chest when he offers to hold them for you while you continue to look.

It almost makes you laugh at the sight of Rafe Cameron as your personal clothing rack.

You have half a mind to tease him on the matter, but when you look back at him to hand him another dress to hold, he looks perfectly content. Happy, even, to provide such a small service. You hate that he doesn’t complain once, grumbling something incoherent about his stupidly incessant presence as you turn back to the rack to resume your search. 

Then your gaze settles on a particularly unordinary dress shoved deep in the back as if someone hid it. 

You pull it out and inspect it with a quiet gasp. It’s a silky spaghetti strap dress with all kinds of patterns etched through it, decorated with delicate beading that make up swirls, small flowers, and dotted lines along the hem. The bottom is uneven, creating an edgy diagonal stitch as it cascades down. The neckline is a v-neck, you assume, because there’s a sliver of material in the bust that gives the dress a bit of a cowlick design. 

With one hand you hold up the dress by the hanger and gently skim over the material with the other, as if admiring its beauty through touch alone. 

You hear Rafe hum quietly behind you, drastically pulled from the mesmorizing moment as you nearly cough from the surprise. 

“You like that one?” he asks gently, voice void of any teasing regard. 

You mimic his hum, but then frown as you further inspect the dress. “It’s beautiful, but…”

You trail off. The dress is beautiful. Ethereal. It’s the kind you’d see in a dream and spend life trying to find.

But you catch the numbers on the tag and your shoulders sag, because there’s no way in hell you’re able to afford that off a measly part time job at school. Even then, you can’t think of a scenario where you would wear this, knowing it’ll ultimately sit in your closet collecting dust. Because this dress will turn heads, and you’re not the kind of person who normally holds the spotlight.

Plus, the dress isn’t wedding guest appropriate to you, because it would no doubt draw attention to you in a way that you really don’t want – assuming that it will even fit you.

Your mother would probably call it hideous and demand you change into something else more appropriate: basic, standard, conservative, because god forbid you try to figure out your own style versus molding into whatever cookie cutter shape your mother wants you to be that day. 

“But what?” You hear Rafe behind you, confusion edging his tone.

“I wouldn’t wear it to the wedding,” you say softly, almost dejected and trying to convince yourself not to waste your savings on a dress you have no occasion to wear it for. “Too…out there. Besides, it’s worth like three months of work for me.”

You put it back on the rack and move on with your search, knowing the longer you look at it the more upset you’ll get. 

In another life, you suppose.

But Rafe doesn’t let you get far, reaching back in to grab the dress and add it to the growing pile. You spin around with an argument ready in your throat, but your words don’t come when he gives you a pointed look, a warning, forcing you to shut up before you create another argument.

The thought of standing in the middle of this shop and arguing with him seems like your personal hell, so you humor him with a dejected sigh, turning back around to fish through the last rack. 

“I’ll be quick,” you grumble as you take the pile of dresses from his arm. “You can wait outside if you want.”

Rafe’s response is immediate. “Sweet girl.”

A warning.

The changing room is small. Well, calling it that is generous, because it seems more like a supply closet that the owners were forced to change into a dressing room. It’s a fully closed off room with no seats for observers, so Rafe settles on leaning onto the wall next to the door.

You have to physically look away when he shamefully crosses his arms, shutting the door quickly behind you to put the barrier between you. 

It's as if Rafe knows how achingly annoyed you are at this little errand, because, bless him, he tries to make it fun for you. 

The first dress you try on is a deliberate no based on the awkward fit, but he insists you show him anyway despite your excessive cursing. With a scowl, you oblige, doing a sarcastic twirl for him. In return, he puts on a fake southern accent to thoroughly judge the dress with dramatic flair.

Rafe only amps it up when you barely - just barely - crack a smile.

After breaking the ice, your cold demeanor slowly starts to slip. You come out one by one, needing his help a few times with a lingering zipper. There’s one that is so atrociously bad that you step out to show him as a joke, and hate how he laughs with you (not at you, it seems) pulling out that camera before you can protest and snapping a photo of you mid-shout. Rafe holds the camera high above his head when you nearly tackle him to get him to delete it, failing to no avail as he simply fights you off as you attempt to reach it.

You wouldn’t even call it fighting, because it takes little to no effort for him at his offensively tall stature.

Eventually, you give up on the matter, grumbling something about judge-model confidentiality before disappearing back into the changing room. 

It isn’t until you come out in a sleek wine-red gown that Rafe perks up, and he's at a loss for words because he can't even muster up the gall to put on the judge-facade he's been milking the whole time. 

And, boy, does he stare.

The dress is beautiful and wedding appropriate. It’s conservative enough with a higher v-neck that ties into a halter, your entire spine exposed with a cowlick at the base of your back. The form is fitting around the bust but falls loosely from your hips down, a knee-high slit showing a sliver of your leg. 

You hate the way Rafe is drinking you in right now, staring shamelessly up and down your body.

To fill the gap of silence, you try to distract yourself by explaining what you’d do with your hair, which is tie it up, and what kind of jewelry you’d adorn. But, frankly, it’s as if it goes in one ear and out the next given how Rafe can only nod absentmindedly at your words, eyelids low and lazy. 

“Okay,” you roll your eyes at his demeanor, “clearly this is the winner based on your lovely review.��

Rafe can only blink stupidly as you shoot him a pointed look before disappearing back into the dressing room.

In your absence, he masks a cough as he readjusts his pants, suddenly irritated how he seemingly has to wait at least another thirty minutes before he can fuck you right, and that’s if Lorenza isn’t home. He sighs at the thought of having to sneak around again, wanting to hear you loud and clear every single time. 

This knuckle-biting-moan-preventing bullshit is starting to irritate him.

When you exit the dressing room, back in your normal clothes as you hold the red-wine dress, Rafe frowns, angrily huffing.

“You didn’t try the other one on.”

You look up at him quizzically, gesturing to the piece of material in your hand. “I’m getting this one. There’s no need.”

Rafe scoffs, as if the whole thing offends him. “Go back and try the other one on.”

“Cameron–”

“Go.”

His incessant tone makes you freeze, your gaze flickering between his furrowed brow and his palm upturned at you, gesturing you to hand him the dress.

Your frustration bubbles at his bossiness, pinching your brows at his sudden demeanor switch and nearly stomping your foot when you move to walk to the register and he grabs you by the elbow, keeping you in place. 

Rafe squeezes in warning. “Now.”

You narrow your gaze right back at him, so it just becomes a few moments of you staring at each other in mutual irritation, waiting to see who will break first.

Eventually, Rafe squeezes your arm again to which you relent, rolling your eyes so hard it kickstarts a migraine, shoving the dress in his hands and slamming the door behind you. 

You grumble to yourself the whole time, shoving your pants off and ripping your shirt over your head as it falls to the floor carelessly. Despite the anger, you handle the dress with delicacy as you slip it onto your body with such care it might as well be made of glass. After adjusting the straps and zipping the side, you sigh dreamily at the sight. 

It fits you like a glove. It makes you feel beautiful.

Though your heart is heavy.

Fuck, you wish you hadn’t even picked it up, because the sagging feeling of not being able to afford it nags at your brain. A wave of sadness crashes over you as your palm skims over the material longingly.

A knock at the door startles you, pulling you from the moment. You don’t realize how long you’d been standing there admiring the piece until you hear Rafe’s voice.

“Are you dead in there? What’s taking so long?”

God, you want to throttle him. His impatience turns your sadness into anger. 

You swing the door open, nearly hitting him as you meet his gaze. Huffing, you gesture to the dress with an attitude. 

“Here it is. Happy?”

There’s a prolonged silence between you as Rafe takes in the sight before him, studying the way it shapes your body, cascades down your legs, and hugs your breasts in the right place. His breath hitches, feeling his dick twitch uncomfortably at how frustratingly perfect it looks on you. The delicacy and beauty of the dress starkly contrast the expression on your face, one of irateness and annoyance that it makes him furious. 

You take his silence as dislike.

Grumbling something under your breath, you spin around and attempt to slam the door in his face.

But Rafe’s foot jabs out to stop it from shutting. 

Before you can yell at him, the words die in your throat as Rafe pulls you in for a bruising kiss, pushing himself into the small changing room and shutting the door behind him. His hands wander all over, shameless groping and fondling you as he pushes you against the mirror, caging you in.

Breathless, Rafe pulls back, reeling in the way you lean up to chase his lips and pout when you don’t get your way. 

“I need you to understand something,” Rafe warns low, his fingers feather light against the neckline of the dress, tracing it and ghosting over the warmth of your sternum. “You've been nothing but a brat all morning.” His finger finds the strap, pulling one down your shoulder agonizingly slow, his touch the complete opposite of his intentions. “So, I’m going to fuck the attitude out of you. And you’re going to be good and quiet, and you’re going to take it.”

You nearly gasp when he presses his hip against yours, feeling his already aching hard-on against the swell of your belly.

He doesn’t falter. “When I’m done with you, I’m buying you both dresses and you’re not going to complain about it.”

“Bu–”

A hand grips your chin, forcing your mouth shut. “Shut. Up. Not another word about it. Alright?”

Frustration seeps from your pores. You don’t want him to feel obligated to buy you the dress, the price tag flashing across your mind and a swell of guilt rises in your chest. The topic of money is no concern for him, you assume, but it’s more so the implication of the purchase.

Why does Rafe care?

His fingers only grip harder when he sees your internal battle, and the guilt slowly starts to fizzle out and is replaced by lust, especially with the way his other hand ghosts under the material to slowly fondle your ass.

Rafe peers down at you, patiently waiting for the green light, and he moves lightning fast when you nod against his hold, submitting. 

He suddenly takes a step back, hands and body leaving yours and you nearly slump without the weight of his support. Your mind feels fuzzy as he inspects the scene in front of him, dick painfully hard at the sight of you waiting obediently.

“Good,” he growls. Then, with a wave of his hand, he gestures to the dress. “Off.”

For once, you don’t argue as you carefully push the straps down your shoulders and unzip the side, letting the material fall to the ground and pool around your feet. Eagerly, you grab a hanger and step away, gently putting the dress back on the wall as your tummy flutters with excitement.

There’s no denying you’ve been a brat all day. Maybe you really do need him to fuck you into a better mood. 

Rafe hums in appreciation. “Turn.”

Obliging, you spin and face the mirror, eyes coming into contact with his as he takes a step forward, closing the distance. Your heart skips a beat when you feel him up against your back, and suddenly you survey the scene in front of you, naked besides a pair of panties while he stands behind you, fully clothed. 

A flicker of embarrassment coats your features, as you want him to be as naked as you are right now (almost in solidarity?), so you spin around and grab at the ends of his shirt to try and pull it over his head.

But Rafe doesn’t allow that to happen, snatching your hands to pull them away from him and forcing you to face the mirror once again, tsking in your ear at the disobedience. 

“I thought you were gonna be good for me,” he spats quietly, but the words feel amplified as his mouth ghosts over the shell of your ear.

“I-I am,” you defend weakly. “You’re being—“

“No,” he rasps, interrupting you with a firm tone that has you shutting up immediately. “Quiet.”

Rafe doesn’t break eye contact with you through the mirror as one of his hands snakes around your waist, flattening his palm against your lower belly and traveling lower to trace the outline of your panties. 

Your breath hitches, watching his fingers slowly descend into your underwear as your heart races with anticipation. It doesn’t take a look in the mirror to know how ferociously your cheeks burn when he slips a finger through your slit, the embarrassing realization dawning on you that you’re already wet for him.

You can feel and see your face get hot, and it only spurs him on further. 

Rafe smiles at you and it’s nothing nice.

He drinks in the way you’re practically putty in his arms, chest heaving when he enters one finger inside and eagerly watches your reaction. Stubbornly, you try to not give him one, but fail when he enters a second without warning, humming in satisfaction when you let out a low moan at the feeling. 

You flutter your eyes shut but snap them open when his other hand roughly grips your hip. 

“Eyes open,” Rafe commands with a whisper. “I want you to watch yourself come on my hand.”

Jesus, the words make you bite back a smile.

You should act like a brat more often if this is what the result will be.

Rafe continues to shamelessly finger you in this dingy dressing room, his other hand groping your ass, tits, waist — anything else he can get his hands on — while he works you towards your high.

Every time your eyes start to slip closed from pleasure, he stops and scolds you with a particularly harsh squeeze with whatever part of your body his hand happens to be on in that moment. It's usually accompanied with a simple "sweet girl" or "eyes" when he notices.

And, of course, you obey.

It only takes a minute for you to feel shaky under his touch, especially when he presses his thumb against your clit and traces tight circles on it. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, reaching an arm up to grip his hair to ground you to something while you feel your release approaching.

Your other hand flies up to your mouth, biting down on your knuckle as you try — and fail — to hide a shameful moan.

"Look at you." Rafe's voice is right in your ear, sucking ungodly kisses on your neck. "Dirty girl, fucking my hand for everyone to hear."

It only takes around half a minute before you’re writhing from his touch, panting as you feel your orgasm coming.

“Fuck, Rafe, I’m–” You can’t finish, instead interrupting yourself with a pornographic moan as you rut against his hand like a bitch in heat.

You force yourself to look in the mirror at the scene in front of you in fear that he’ll rip his fingers away if you close your eyes. With eyes slitted and your mouth parted, you will yourself to look him in the eye, only spurring your orgasm.

And Rafe simply stares at you.

His mouth is agape, eyes trailing from yours down to your breasts and eventually down to where his fingers disappear inside you. Rafe has to bite back a moan when he sees your cum coating his hand and your underwear, relentlessly continuing to shove his fingers in and out to shove your cum back inside as you ride out your high. 

You moan in overstimulation when you come down from it and realize he’s still going.

Weakly, you try to push his hand away with a huff, attempting to assert any last ounce of dignity, but that quickly flies out the window when he snatches your wrist with his other hand, gripping so tight that you can’t move even if you wanted to. 

“No,” Rafe orders, bringing your hand back up to his hair where it was before. “You’re giving me another.”

You splutter in protest. “Bu–”

He interrupts you when his thumb returns to your clit, entering a third finger that elicits a loud whine from you.

Gripping his hair impossibly tight, you nearly pull him forward to where his lips ghost over your flaming cheeks, the roughness making his eyes roll back for a fraction of a moment. Your back arches off of him when you feel Rafe press against you again, feeling his hard-on through his shorts, and in a feeble attempt to stake your claim of control, you push your hips back to press into him.

Of course, that makes him stop.

Rafe scoffs meanly at you absolutely writhing against him. “You’re such a fucking brat. No complaining.”

The dominance makes your head feel fuzzy, and when his other hand comes up to wrap around your neck, the coil in your belly starting to gradually build again.

With a fuzzy brain, you whine, mouth agape as you get closer and closer until–

“You want my dick, princess?” Rafe urges mockingly.

Your head is spinning as your orgasm builds, and builds, and builds. “Yes, Rafe, I’m cl–”

“Fine.”

A gasp rips out of your throat as Rafe suddenly pulls away, his fingers leaving your pussy devastatingly early.

You stumble on your own two feet at the loss of support, about to spin around and hit him on the chest for teasing you until the hand around your neck grips your chin, forcing you to look at him in the mirror.

“Stay,” he commands harshly.

Rafe brings his cum-coated fingers out of your underwear and to your lips, eyes narrowing as it takes a moment for you to realize what he’s waiting for you to do. With bleary eyes and shallow breaths, you take his fingers in your mouth, sucking the taste off of him and swirling your tongue around his digits. 

The act elicits a low moan to escape from his mouth, and he hates the way it comes out involuntarily. 

Rafe takes his fingers out and quickly unbuckles his shorts, letting them fall to the floor as you both look down to the achingly pitched tent in his boxers.

Your mouth nearly salivates at the sight of it, your hazy muscle memory forcing you to dart your hands forward to grab him.

But his fingers harshly grip your wrists and pull them away from him. 

“Turn around,” Rafe grumbles.

You stumble on your feet as he tries to spin you around. “I want to–”

“No.”

You huff in frustration, nearly stomping your foot. The bratty excuse but it’s my birthday rises but dies in your throat. 

Irritation clouds your mind. You want to suck him off. The last time you did so was in his dorm room about a week and a half ago, as he had a particularly rough day. A small part of you loved when he let you take control, giving into the notion of letting you take care of him without needing to ask. Instead, you had insisted.

You want an ounce of that semblance back in an attempt to gain control of the situation. But you can’t help but feed off of being bossed around, since this isn't the first time Rafe has fucked his frustration out on you. After snipping and barking insults and orders, it’s nice to let someone else take the reins for a little. 

Despite your wishes, you oblige and turn around with a pout, letting Rafe practically shove your underwear down the curve of your ass and around your ankles. Your faux irritation wipes away from your features when he butterfly splays a calloused palm on the middle of your spine, pushing you down to bend over.

With a spark of excitement, your hands brace themselves on the mirror, biting your lip in anticipation as you watch him admire you from this angle, cock hard in his hands as he fists himself up against your ass. 

“Look at you,” Rafe coos, almost mockingly. You meet his eyes in the mirror, the piercing blues dark with lust. “Being such a good girl for me.”

Rafe takes achingly long. It could be seconds but it feels like hours before he brings his cock between your folds to soak up your wetness. You’d be embarrassed if it didn’t feel so damn nice, and you can’t help but moan at the sensation, wanting to yell at him to stop elongating the foreplay.

“Rafe, please—“

But it’s as if he reads your mind, aligning himself with your entrance and pushing himself in until he’s buried fully. 

“Shut. Up.”

Unlike the tender-like intercourse yesterday, Rafe snaps his hips harshly, setting a fast starting pace as he thrusts in and out of you, keeping one hand on your hip to raggedly keep you in place while the other stays firm on your back to keep you low and bent over nicely for him.

His tip nearly leaves your cunt every time, slamming back into you with his full length. 

God, your eyes roll back into your skull.

“Feel good, baby?” Rafe asks huskily. The tone is far from genuine.

You can only babble something incoherent back to him.

It only makes him laugh darkly. Mean. “Done being a fucking brat, hm?”

Your elbows fold and extract with every thrust, trying your very best to hold yourself against the mirror instead of smacking headfirst against it. You moan as he fucks you deep and rough, the sound of hips snapping together only spurring you on further.

"N-Never—"

One of his hands leaves your hip to firmly smack your ass, jolting your body forward as you can't help but sigh at the sensation, head lulling as your legs begin to shake from his force. But Rafe notices, and instantly his palm is snaking up your spine to grab at your hair, forcing your eyes back into the mirror.

"Eyes. Up."

Back arching at the sensation, you both moan when his cock nearly hits your cervix, the mixture of pain and pleasure creating a low rumble in your tummy. 

You try and say something back, some half-assed retort that never reaches the light of day because you find his eyes in the mirror, and you instantly notices he's equally as fucked out as you are.

Rafe’s hand on your back snakes around your body, instead splaying on your stomach as he pulls you to stand up straight, the new angle causing you to roll your eyes back. You throw your head against his shoulder, forehead sticky with sweat and legs shaking from overstimulation. He continues to fuck into you, a thumb finding your clit that has you immediately arching your back, molding into his body.

When you glance into the mirror, you notice Rafe is already staring at you.

“Look at yourself, princess,” he rasps breathlessly, your blissed out state nearly making him finish. “Taking it so goddamn well.”

Suddenly, it’s all too much.

The pace, the obscene noises, the way Rafe’s blue eyes are blown black with lust, never straying away from your face.

“Give me one more.”

It’s as if his words ignite a fire in your stomach, the sensation of everything happening in this room catches up to you.

His thumb on your clit. His dick hitting every possible angle. His chest heaving against your back. His breathy moans ghosting the shell of your ear.

The coil snaps for the second time as you’re coming so hard you see white, the noise wrangling from your throat in surprise as you throw a hand up to cover your mouth, not wanting to alert the shop owner of the scandalous activity happening in the room, but you really don't do much to prohibit the noise as your hands shake from the force.

The sight in front of him has Rafe’s pace stuttering, trying to ignore how fucking nice your orgasm feels around his cock, how your hand knots in his hair, how your pretty little sounds echo off the walls.

“Shit,” Rafe curses, eyebrows furrowed in what looks like pain as his thrusts gradually slow.

You return to planet Earth momentarily, frowning at his elongated pace. In an attempt to ride out your high for a little longer, you snap your hips back into him.

The rebellious act has Rafe gripping your hips impossibly tight, probably bruising, as his rhythm falters.

“Where? Where should I–?”

The response is immediate and careless.

“Inside.”

That seems to startle Rafe as he nearly shoves himself forward, coming inside of you with hot spurts as he groans into your ear, both of you nearly drooling at the side of his cum pooling down your thighs as he fucks you through his orgasm. His hands on your hip are iron clad, guiding your motions in rhythm with his.

Eventually, Rafe’s thrusts gradually slow as you lean against one another with heaving chests and breathy pants.

Once he’s assured his knees won’t give out, Rafe slowly pulls out of you. You stand there for a moment, balancing on wobbly legs and nearly collapsing from the dull ache from between your thighs.

But he’s quick to hold you in place, gentler this time, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder as his fingers smooth over the roughness of his previous grip, soft enough to be considered an apology.

Blinking away the fuzziness, your mind comes down from the dumbification.

And it makes your heart ache.

You hate the way Rafe’s eyes soften in his post-orgasm haze, trailing his eyes up and down your body not in hunger but in admiration.

At least you hope it’s admiration. 

You two stand there for a moment, chests heaving and staring at each other through the palm-stained mirror with matching fucked out gazes. In an attempt to regulate your breathing, you bring a hand up to smooth down the pieces of his hair that you pulled abhorrently tight, doing your best to make it look presentable.

Then, Rafe manages to chuckle lightly. “Still wanna be a brat?”

That makes you snort.

“Hm,” you hum in mock contemplation, eyes slitting. “Can we do reverse cowgirl if I do?”

He shakes his head in disbelief, but the rising grin gives away his faux irritation. "Sweet girl, you don't even need to ask."

It’s funny because the first couple of times you and Rafe hooked up, you were thoroughly appalled at his lack of aftercare. 

You remember cussing him out for practically ignoring you, thinking he was purposefully not helping you clean up because you weren’t really friends at the time and you still couldn’t really come to terms with how you both, sometimes, had to be nice to each other. But once you brought the word up to him in the heat of an argument, you watched his anger morph into confusion.

Given his track record, you were stunned that he genuinely had no preconception of the word, let alone the concept in itself, and taught him the implications of aftercare and how it makes life so much easier for everyone.

He hasn’t forgotten about it since. 

Rafe helps you clean up, but not without pushing some of his cum back into your pussy with his fingers, then proceeding to pull your underwear back up over your hips.

You, truly, try to ignore the casual intimacy of it, but it doesn’t seem to faze him as he helps you dress first, then takes care of himself. 

With a racing heart, you tell him you’ll meet him out at the register in a minute, spewing some excuse of wanting to fix your hair. Rafe doesn’t press any further, grabbing the dress hanging and throwing it over his arm before he leaves the room, closing the door behind him to give you some privacy.

What the fuck was that?

It was almost perfect. Almost.

Why does Rafe have to do things like that? Why can’t he just fuck you rough and hand you your clothes instead of dressing you himself? Why can’t he use a tissue to clean his cum instead of pushing it back into you? Why does he have to say stupidly endearing things right after as if he didn’t just give you an earth-shattering orgasm?

Pull yourself together, you harshly think.

After you nearly coach yourself to calm down in the mirror, you slide out of the room looking presentable enough to see Rafe at the register, flashing his black credit card to the shop owner. When he stuffs the card back in his wallet, you catch a glimpse of a giant wad of Euros that you’ve never seen before.

You don’t linger on the moment before the shop owner is handing him a bag, taking it with a curt nod.

Rafe’s eyes find yours as you carefully approach him. “Ready?”

So nonchalant, you think.

You can’t find the words, instead nodding and murmuring grazie to the shop owner, partially out of guilt for what went on in the changing room. As if the universe hates you, Rafe’s hand grazes your lower back, guiding you out of the store and back out onto the street. 

You don’t venture back up to the cottage just yet, as your mood has – shockingly – improved.

Finding an ounce of independence again, you decide you want to look around in a few more stores for shits.

Rafe doesn’t complain, and instead encourages it, claiming he can look for more trinkets for his sisters. Although, you don’t see the way his gaze shifts to you when he says it, nervously waiting for you to call him out on his strange behavior of why he wants to buy things for his family after bitching and moaning about them. 

But you don’t seem to catch on, thankfully.

Because Rafe practically buys everything you express the slightest interest in in secret.

When you’re off distractedly looking at something else or hopping to another store, he’s carefully building up his collection: dainty rings with jewels, clunky rings, a pair of earrings with pretty green jewels, an old annotated copy of Macchiavelli’s Un Principe, an old Italian movie poster that he doesn’t understand, a thin frilly scarf, and even manages to sneak a pair of vintage heels that he has to nonchalantly confirm are in your size. 

Rafe stuffs all the items in the only two bags you know about, not wanting to raise suspicions even though they get heavier after leaving each store. He imagines you’d be mortified if you caught him in the act buying all the things you seemed to touch, and no doubt bites back a laugh as you’d probably force him to take it all back.

After all, he bought you a computer once after yours broke, and you harassed him for a week to take it back or let you pay him for it. Rafe edged you so fucking much one night until he forced you to drop it.

So, yeah, he’s content doing this under your nose.

Eventually, after Rafe convinces you that you need gelato from a stand on the street, you retreat back to the cottage with a careless pace in your strides, taking all the time in the world as you eat your ice cream and talk about stupid stuff that has no meaning. He wishes he had another hand so he could take a photo of you like this: grinning into your cone with the slightest bit dribbling on the side of your lip, no doubt grilling him about something stupid he says.

Rafe quickly finishes his cone so he can have the hand free, reaching over and brushing the pad of his thumb over the sweet strawberry gelato ghosting your lip.

The fuuuuuck.

Your mind turns to mush as you pause mid sentence at the action, watching him as he takes the thumb in his mouth, tasting the flavor. 

“Mhm,” Rafe hums. “Good choice.”

You shake your mind out of the gutter at the terribly intimate action, telling yourself that he is so casual about it because he doesn’t care about stuff like that.

Besides, he’s probably doing it to get a reaction out of you — his favorite past time — which you refuse to give him.

Instead, you roll your eyes in faux irritation and continues what you were saying. 

After twenty minutes, you make it back to the cottage and the overwhelming gloom-cloud over your head returns, popping out of fantasy land and remembering your birthday celebration tonight, the memories of the day in the past creeping up to haunt you.

Memories of you begging your mother for a cake or the newest Barbie or whatever infatuation you had of the year to get absolutely nothing in response, maybe an eye roll or – that one year – a swift backhand to the cheek for interrupting her phone call. 

A small part of you wishes you felt comfortable enough to ask for what you want, as it would certainly make life a lot easier. Instead it only augments your stubbornness and makes you skeptical of what people do actually bring you things. And that definitely doesn’t allow for an easy way out of situations. 

Unfortunately, Rafe notices your quiet demeanor, trailing off from whatever tangent he finds himself on and frowning. 

“You okay?”

His change in tone pulls you away from your nagging thoughts, looking up at him distractedly. “Hm? Oh, yeah. Fine. Just tired.”

Rafe nods, half accepting that answer but also not wanting to push it. You enter the garden. “How’s your head?”

The question tugs something in your heartstrings. Why does he care?

You push it away. “Better. Might refrain from sneaking around in the dark, though."

You go to push open the door but Rafe beats you, opening it for you despite the two bags he carries.

Thinking back to the dresses, that former guilt of him spending all that money on you resurfaces as you pause. Rafe expectantly holds the door open, gaze flickering from his arm down to you, who stares at the bags in deep thought. 

A shot of panic flashes to his mind, thinking you caught a glimpse of all the things for you stuffed deep in the bags, but instead you peer up at him sheepishly, a kind of look he hasn’t seen from you before. It has him tilting his head to the side in concern, half torn between making a chide comment in teasing and half resisting the urge to kiss you.

“What?” he whispers, gazing deep into your eyes. 

You bite your lip, frowning ever so slightly. “You really didn’t have to buy them. The dresses, I mean. They were expensive.”

Rafe’s mouth curls up into a smile, the cost having little to no effect on his wallet and it’s endearing to him that that’s your concern.

Hell, he’d buy you anything you wanted with no questions whatsoever – if only you asked.

Asking isn’t in your nature. Rafe learned that pretty quickly after the computer debacle. Plus, he just had to fuck you stupid in order to buy two dresses for you alone, so he couldn’t imagine what he’d have to do to convince you to let him take care of you more often. 

“I just…” you continue, hating the way he’s practically beaming at you, “don’t expect me to let you buy stuff for me just because you fuck me nice.”

That earns a belly laugh from him, throwing his head back precariously close to hitting the doorway and you have to refrain from mirroring his smile, switching your demeanor back to serious as best as you can to keep up your firm facade. Although, it's proven difficult because he has the audacity to look incriminatingly handsome.

Rafe’s grin burns a hole through your heart. His eyes gleam with pride. “So you’re admitting I fuck you nice?”

Cheeks burning embarrassingly red, you turn away from him and roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. But I’m not letting you buy me anything else ever again.” You point to him in warning, then brush past him to enter the cottage. 

Rafe’s laugh echoes throughout the house as you storm into the bedroom, partially laughing at how mad you’re going to be at him later. 

Boy, is he wrong about that. 

Dinner runs swimmingly. 

Lorenza makes your favorite kind of meals: gnocchi with a crab based tomato sauce, breaded chicken with lemon squeezed over the top, along with a homemade tiramisu that the neighbors bring over just an hour before you all eat. The older woman prepped with two bottles of wine: one to drink during the cooking and another to drink while eating.

It’s wonderful.

It’s all you want out of your birthday: having a lively dinner full of laughter and conversation with a belly full of wine. Rafe asks a bunch of questions to Lorenza and she answers, trying to tie a few English words into her stories to help him understand. However, you end up translating for most of the night, but you don't mind. 

Not in the slightest. Not when your mouth hurts from smiling so much.

After eating, Lorenza slips a gift into your hand when Rafe leaves the room to play with Ticino, an assortment of your favorite Italian chocolates and an old pendant of hers that you once complimented. Along with the present, she gave you a smooch on each side of your cheek with a quiet, “Tanti auguri.”

You tell your nonna that she absolutely did not need to get you anything, but, in Lorenza-like fashion, waves you off with a scoff, nearly offended at the thought of not doing anything for you. 

When you retreat back to the room, a little tipsy and toying with the gift in your hand, you sit down on the edge of the bed, a stupid smile painting your lips as you close your eyes and hum dreamily.

This is the most content you've felt in a while, and you feel incredibly grateful at the notion of your nonna getting you a gift. It’s small and light, wrapped delicately with a ribbon, a short handwritten note folded inside with something so beautifully written that you can't bring yourself to read it right now, otherwise you'd probably cry from the sappiness. 

The door creaking causes you to open one eye, seeing Rafe poke his head in to see if you're in here. He reciprocates your smile as he pushes inside, walking over to you and kneeling between your legs.

The sensation of his cool hands gently running up and down your thighs makes you hum sweetly and brace your hands on his shoulders, smoothing down the ridges of his collar. 

“Hi, pretty,” he says softly. 

You beam at him and he swears he’s never seen a better sight. “Hi.”

Rafe drums his fingers on your soft skin in anticipation. “How do you feel?”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Mhm.” You shut your eyes in contentment, sighing dreamily as the effects of wine make you feel warm. “Great.”

Rafe taps your thigh gently. “Hey. Don’t fall asleep.”

You open your eyes obediently and pout. “But ‘m tired,” you nearly whine, especially when his smile grows larger.

“Wake up.”

Your eyes flutter shut again. “Why?”

“‘Cause we’re going out.”

Then they shoot open, staring down at Rafe in confusion.

Your feather-light touches around his collar and the nape of his neck cease. He taps your thigh again, noticing he's trying (and failing) to suppress a grin, one that screams trouble. If you weren't so tired, you'd tease him for his eagerness.

But curiosity gets the best of you, especially when he has this look in his eyes that means he’s up to something.

“Why?”

“Did you really think I wasn’t going to do something special for your birthday?”

You freeze, the confession causing a moment of panic to rise like bile in your throat.

God, you're going to kill your nonna.

Your gaze darts between his eyes to see if he’s going to add anything else, or berate you for not saying anything. People usually go berserk when you neglect to tell them your birthday, seemingly more upset about it than you. Over the years, you've gotten used to the lectures, and it's given you more reasons not to tell people the day to avoid such grandiose scoldings.

However, Rafe simply stays quiet, watching you intently with a gaze so genuinely soft that it makes your stomach somersault. Suddenly, the wine doesn’t make you feel so nice. 

You hate the way your voice is barely above a whisper. “We don’t have to do anything.”

Then Rafe sits up, placing a caressing hand on the side of your neck as his lips place a chaste kiss on one cheek. “We’re going out.” He alternates and places another on your other cheek. “You’re going to wear your pretty new dress.” And then his gaze flickers from your eyes down to your lips, pausing for a moment before leaning in and kissing you. “And we’re gonna take your nonna’s Vespa.”

That pulls you from the moment, brows furrowing and blinking stupidly. You move a fraction away, still confused about the whole matter. 

“Nonna has a Vespa?”

Rafe nods. “Mhm. It took a lot of convincing. But she eased up when I told her I know how to drive a motorcycle.”

A...what?

The confession sends warmth to your tummy, the thought of Rafe operating a motorcycle has you shifting in your seat. “You do?”

“Mhm. What do you say, sweet girl? Wanna go?”

God, if you ever say no to that question...

It doesn’t take you long to get ready, simply pulling on your new dress and putting on some mascara. The whole time, Rafe simply watches you, lounging lazily on the bed after quickly changing with an arm tucked under his head.

It isn't until you're digging through your bag to take out your heels – meant to be for the wedding – Rafe stands and stops you, putting his hand over yours and pulling something out from behind his back.

You want to slap him silly when it’s a pair of heels, shoes that you voiced interest in earlier during your shopping (or browsing) spree. Of course, you were never going to buy them, and placed them back on the rack, but it seems as though he snuck his way around you. 

You never really know how to accept gifts. Usually it’s with reluctance and dismissal, but right now, in this very moment, you've found a new reaction when he hands them over to you: a scowl. 

“Okay, this is the last thing you buy me. Deal?”

Rafe puts his hands up in surrender, dressed adoringly in a collared shirt and dress pants. He looks so ridiculously handsome that it makes you blush, especially with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top button undone. It almost makes you angry at his audacity. Truthfully, he looks good in anything: T-shirts, flannels, polos, nothing. It isn't fair.

The urge to stab him with the stiletto of your shoe but also pull him in for a bruising kiss comes into fruition, and you have to shove it to the back of your mind when you stand with the heels on, slinging your purse over your shoulder. You have the sudden realization that you're dripped out in clothes he's bought you, and you'd be pretending if you said it didn't make you feel some type of way.

Like his.

"Ready, baby?"

Shamelessly watching you, Rafe crosses his arms and tilts his head, drinking the sight of you in.

Thank god you're still a little buzzed from all the wine you drank, because you can't stand it when he looks at you like that.

So, instead of babbling like an idiot, you smile sweetly and nod.

And, jesus, the sight of it makes him bite his lip.

You're annoyingly beautiful, especially dressed in clothing that he's gotten you. A wild wave of possession rolls over him, much to his dismay, and it only makes his heart lurch when he remembers that you're not his.

Not really, anyway.

But regardless, Rafe ignores the thought.

Lorenza escorts you to the scooter waiting patiently at the edge of the gate, exchanging a few words with you and forcing a helmet into your nimble hands. Rafe waits patiently on the vehicle, biting back a grin when you nuzzle in behind him, wrapping timid arms around his middle and pulling yourself flush against his back. He can feel your breath on the back of his neck, and it makes the hair stand up with a chill. Before he starts driving, he gives your hand a gentle squeeze in reassurance. 

The ride is, admittedly, stupidly fun.

Rafe is careful on the dirt road, rightfully so, focused on his task so intently that he barely registers you hugging him tighter, expressing your thanks in the only way you know how.

The sun sets low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the horizon that your eyes seem glued to, and soon the drive is illuminated by street lamps, making it into the heart of town as the roads slowly transition to cobblestone. Watching the life on the streets pass by, you rest your helmet clad head against his back, looking out towards the sea in longing and glancing at the locals basking in the setting sun.

Only now, you allow yourself to relish in the moment, shutting your eyes and simply existing, feeling his warm chest against your palms, the wind blowing against the exposed skin of your leg, hearing the sounds of laughter emitting from the street. The whole journey is so achingly pleasant that you forget you're actually stopping.

Rafe parks on the street in a small designated spot, hopping off before you can think. He slips his helmet off then proceeds to unbuckle yours, diligently lifting it off your head and holding both of them in one hand by the straps.

Then he offers a polite hand to help you off. “M’lady.”

You raise a quizzical brow. "Is this the Rafe Cameron boyfriend experience?”

“Shut up and take my hand.”

You roll your eyes, taking his hand anyway and allowing him to help you off the scooter. “How charming.”

Ignoring the thumping of your heart, you walk across the street to a quaint little restaurant, his hand splaying on the small of your back possessively as you enter. 

You peer further into the restaurant to see they have outdoor seating with a view of the ocean, deciding to indulge in the pleasantries of a birthday and attempt to learn how to ask for (seemingly small) things.

Before the host can pull them into a corner to hide you from the locals, you ask, “Se è possibile, possiamo per sederci fuori?” (if it’s possible, can we sit outside?)

The request is successful, because the host leads you to their private tables outside, and you nearly sigh when you feel the ocean air brush your cheeks. You and Rafe sit away from others, tucked in your own world as the ocean laps gently to your left, his right. The table is lit gently by hanging lanterns and a single candle on each table, impossibly romantic in a way you try to disregard.

You order two red Chianti’s for them, the same wine you drank earlier at dinner.

When the waiter disappears, the silence stretches between you.

It suddenly dawns on you that you're on a date. With Rafe Cameron. 

He seems to have the same epiphany simultaneously, and he chuckles out an anxious laugh and scratches the back of his neck.

The act makes you reel. Is he nervous?

You decide to elongate his misery as he comes up short on things to say. “How’d you find this place?”

“Oh,” he murmurs, the question catching him off guard.

He can’t look you in the eye.

It makes you grin.

“Lorenza recommended it. Said it was fancy to the locals, but far enough from the tourists.”

“Technically, we are tourists,” you tease.

Big, bad Rafe Cameron nervous on a date. Who would’ve thought?

Rafe finally meets your gaze, rolling his eyes when he sees your big grin at his stupidity. The hard edges to his exterior slowly smooth out, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Repressing his own smile, he shakes his head and turns away from you, hating the way he feels his cheeks turn pink. 

“Shut up.”

“You’re being awfully rude to me on my birthday.”

“You were being awfully rude to me on your birthday,” he retorts as the waiter brings the wine, setting each glass in front of you. 

Despite his playful tone, the accusation has you frowning.

You definitely were an asshole all day, no doubt about it given the dressing room treatment. There really was no excuse to take out all the anger surrounding your birthday and the upcoming wedding out on him, who simply has been helping you this entire time and going above and beyond in front of your nonna. A flicker of embarrassment coats your features at the thought of it.

After the waiter pours you each a glass, he places the bottle on the table and walks away, leaving you alone once again. 

This time, it’s you who can’t look him in the eye, absentmindedly swirling the wine by the leg of the glass. 

Fuck it.

You decide to swallow your pride because, regardless of how insane he drives you or how much of an asshole he is or everything in between, he didn’t deserve to be at the receiving end of your behavior today. After all, he did buy you two beautiful dresses and heels despite being your personal punching bag all morning.

Guilt washes over you. You don't even remember if you thanked him. 

“I’m sorry for being such a dick today.”

The confession catches Rafe by surprise, his brows rising as he brings the glass to his lips, pausing his sip mto see if he heard you right. The genuine tone of your voice renders him speechless as he's only able to stare at you.

His silence makes you continue. As well as the alcohol.

“I don’t really like celebrating my birthday just because of…stuff that’s happened in the past. It’s not an excuse, but contrary to popular belief, I’m juggling a lot of shit right now and I took it out on you.” You struggle to get through the sentence, finding a shroud of bravery to look him in the eye. “So, I’m sorry.”

Rafe takes a sip, then puts the glass down on the table. A moment of silence stretches between you before he finds himself asking, “Do you…want to talk about it?”

You raise a brow. “Which part?”

“Any of it.”

Rafe knows his tone reeks of desperation, but he wants you to be able to trust him, even if it’s for one night.

Because, fuck, he wants you to tell him what’s bothering you, and he wants you to know that he’s here to listen. He stills, nearly holding his breath and waiting for you to reject it, to shove him back into a cloud of mystery surrounding the pleasantries of your past. The pounding in his ribcage only augments the longer you stay silent, contemplating opening up to him.

Taking a long sip of your drink, you take a moment to compose yourself, swirling the drink more as you stare at it. 

Fuck it.

“My birthday brings up a lot of bad memories,” you murmur quietly, almost reluctantly. You refuse to look at him but he doesn’t even mind, eager to pick on the breadcrumbs. “I, uhm, am used to not celebrating it because it’s so close to the holiday, so it usually just gets…brushed over.”

You decide that’s a nicer term than what the reality is. 

But Rafe simply doesn’t understand. How could anyone treat you like that?

You fidget with the glass, finding it really interesting to look at all of a sudden as you feel his gaze burning into you.

“As a kid, I used to have to beg my mom for the family to sing me happy birthday, trying to compromise that I didn’t even need a cake or presents or anything. Obviously that went nowhere, so after thirteen I stopped asking.”

You find yourself faintly smiling, remembering the gift your nonna gave you and the clothes he bought you today.

“I can’t remember the last time I got a birthday gift. So, thank you,” you say so gently.

The expression on his face is indifferent, you realize, when you look up at him. 

It’s a mixture of concern, pity, admiration, and a bunch of others that you can’t quite pinpoint. He doesn’t offer an immediate response, instead staring at you as if he’s carefully collecting his thoughts by darting his piercing blues around your features. 

You once again fidget under his gaze, unsure of what to make of it.

But Rafe takes a deep breath, sliding his hand forward to cover yours that anxiously picks at the glass, ceasing your movements altogether. The gesture of comfort makes your shoulders visibly relax, leaning into the conversation instead of shying away from it.

Rafe squeezes your hand, as if to coax you to continue, to let you know that he’s here to listen. 

So he does.

Rafe listens intently to you lament about (most) issues plaguing your mind: how the whole concept of celebrating your birthday feeling foreign and disingenuous to you, the upcoming stress surrounding the wedding – more so having to see all of your extended family and deal with your mother at the same time – and how you wish you could just exist with them instead of constantly trying to prove yourself, the term paper that you have to submit by the end of the month that you forgot to start, and the thought of leaving nonna again since your mother is forcing you to come home for winter break. 

The bottle of wine is eventually finished, and Rafe insists on getting some food so you're not stumbling around on an empty stomach.

You share a calamari appetizer throughout the night as you go over your checklist of worries. Rafe offers a few of his own so you don't feel left out: the fact that he has to say goodbye to the greatest dog he’s ever met, the nagging reminder that he has to call his dad at some point and give a thorough explanation of why he didn’t come home for the holiday, the excuses he has to come up with as to why he doesn’t want to spend Christmas with them, and how he doesn’t want to leave Italy to return back to the cold.

"I almost have maternal instincts for him," you frown after you're both long finished with the lamenting. "If I was having a really bad day, I think I would get irritated with him even though he doesn't know any better. He would probably think it was his fault."

"Sweet girl, Spongebob isn't real, you know."

This exact conversation is a tale-telling sign that you're tipsy.

You're babbling about nothing, but you really don't care. "It doesn't matter. No one understands him-"

Rafe is grinning at you taking this conversation so seriously.

"-I mean, his own best friend participated in the 'No Spongebob Day' for fuck's sake." Your cheeks flush at Rafe's teasing expression. "Stop looking at me like that. How would you feel if your best friend celebrated in a 'No Rafe Cameron Day'? It probably wouldn't feel good, you know. You're not being very sympathetic right now."

"Sorry, baby." His tone is hardly apologetic.

All you can do is narrow your eyes. "You're on thin ice, Cameron."

He nearly laughs. "Whatever you say."

You reluctantly let Rafe pay for the drinks and food despite a million protests, claiming that Lorenza gave you money to spend on the evening, but he doesn’t buy it for one second, flashing a wad of Euros to the waiter to take care of the bill without so much a thought.

Once you finished your last glass of wine (not Rafe, he stopped drinking hours ago), he guides you out of the restaurant by the hand, intertwining his fingers with you gingerly. You blame the overly affectionate act as special treatment for today and today only. 

The ride back is calming, hugging him impossibly tight the entire time. When the cottage comes into view, you frown under the helmet that the little excursion is over already, nearly laughing in disbelief that your date with Rafe Cameron was actually pretty decent (maybe excluding the part where you drunkenly ranted about the implications of modern day make-up in period pieces or the Great Molasses Flood).

Even if it was all pretend, anyway. 

Lorenza’s asleep given all the lights are off except the entryway, so you and Rafe quietly tip toe towards the bedroom. It’s much easier for him than it is for you, so it’s mainly him guiding you through the house by your waist, careful not to bump into anything or make a lot of noise. At one point, you almost knock over a vase that makes Rafe pull you taut against his chest, not letting you an inch from his grasp until you make it to the room.

He shuts the bedroom door behind you, flickering on the lamp behind his bed before turning back to the birthday girl.

Rafe isn’t sure if it’s technically your birthday still, but none of it matters because he still needs to do a few things before you fall asleep, starting with showing you how much you mean to him without having to say anything.

Without further ado, he gently takes your hand, slips your dress off, and guides you to bed, all while kissing your knuckles, your cheeks, your forehead, your lips, murmuring sweet nothings against the goosebumps on your skin in a tone that seems only reserved for you, his sweet girl.

Then Rafe proceeds to make the softest love he knows how to you.

There isn’t an inch of your body that goes unnoticed, un-kissed, unappreciated. It’s slow, gentle as he can, and completely, irrevocably, impossibly revealing his true feelings, spilling secrets he can’t seem to speak into fruition or else it’ll simply confirm the rawness of it all. So he lets his body do all the talking, and all it does is worship you.

Frankly, you relish in the princess treatment, liking it a little too much that you can’t even find the gall to tease him for how doting he’s being. 

So you both submit to each other, emotionally and physically. 

When you lay under his sheets together, limbs entangled with one another with quiet chatter spilled across cotton sheets, it’s the most content he’s felt in a really long time. He could spend the rest of his life in this twin bed with you if he had the ability to choose, to forget about everything else happening and solely devote himself to you and only you. 

Fatigue creeps up on you in your body and soul, your core aching in a pleasant way as you nuzzle into the sheets that smell like him while adorning one of his t-shirts, the clothing practically swallowing you whole. You're surrounded by him, physically, emotionally, mentally, a thick fog that clouds your vision.

Your eyes start to lull shut, but a calloused palm shakes your shoulder gently. 

"Hey, don't fall asleep yet."

You whine, but obey nonetheless as you watch Rafe turn over and nearly hang off the bed, reaching underneath to pull out a bag and the sight of it makes your heart throb.

It’s the same bag he carried around all day, you recognize with a pang of guilt.

And he's handing it to you.

Moving to sit up, you reluctantly take the bag from him and he twiddles his thumbs together as he watches you. 

“What’s this?”

“It’s for you.”

Your shoulders sag. “I told you not to get me anything else.”

Rafe simply shrugs, not entertaining the thought. 

You have half a mind to tell him off, but your eyes catch a glimpse of something in the bag and your heart flutters, freezing as your gaze flickers between the contents and his nervous expression. Reaching into the bag, you can’t help but grin as you hold up the ceramic sardine you so patiently admired earlier today.

Leaning back to pull something out of his backpack, he holds up another ceramic sardine, the one that he picked out. “I got one, too. Now we can match.”

God, the whole thing is so fucking thoughtful that you want to cry.

You pull out more objects, the gifts seemingly never-ending: the fish, more clothes, a scarf, a book, jewelry, and more.

The realization dawns on you like a tidal wave. He got you everything you expressed interest in at the stores and managed to do it right under your nose. The whole thing is severely overwhelming and you cradle each item with such love that he nearly melts at the care.

You've never had someone do anything like this for you, never had to not ask to get something, never had someone who simply understood what you wanted without needing to outright say it. 

You're hugging him before you can process it.

The action startles Rafe, your arms hooking around his neck as you press yourself impossibly tight against him. He hesitates to reciprocate it in a moment of surprise, but Rafe eventually slides his arms around your waist, warm hands settling on your back as he shuts his eyes at the sensation of simply holding you, being held by you, holding each other. 

Rafe decides that he really likes hugging you.

Being a hugger is not in his day to day agenda, not even his year to year. Hugs are viewed as hello and goodbyes in his family, nothing more. When someone was upset, he simply talked it out. When someone had something great happen, he poured them a drink. When someone was expressing gratitude or love or genuine appreciation, it was through words or not expressed at all. Rafe doesn’t realize what he’s been missing out on all his life, not knowing hugs can just be. They can simply happen because it can, no need for an occasion. 

But when your shoulders start to gently shake with a quiet sniffle, his eyes snap open.

Are you crying?

Rafe tries to pull back to inspect the damage but you only grip onto him tighter, holding yourself there in his arms for a little longer before you have to face reality again.

He says your name so fucking soft that it brings upon more tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, worry evident in his tone.

Fuck. Was it too much? Was it not enough?

Rafe nearly huffs in frustration at the thought of fucking it all up, kicking himself because he was doing so well, or at least he thinks he was doing well, but all of that goes out the window by making you upset. No, not just upset: he made you cry. Now that’s a new low, even for him, and panic rises in his throat as his heart drops at the sound of your sniffling.

He decides he hates the noise, never wanting to hear it again after tonight. 

In another attempt to comfort you, Rafe pulls back again and you let him.

He doesn’t get a glimpse of your face as you immediately cover it with your hands, sniffling once more as he frowns deeper. His hands ghost over your forearms, unsure if he should touch you right now or give you a bit of space. There’s always a caution when it comes to people crying, and he normally doesn’t handle it correctly.

But his anxiety simmers when you let out a strangled laugh, aggressively wiping your tears away and sniffling once more as you finally manage eye contact with him, faintly smiling at his severely worried expression. 

“I–” you hiccup, “I was so mean to you all day, and you were doing all of this for me.”

Rafe’s shoulders drop in relief, huffing out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Gingerly, he lets his hands run up and down your arms endearingly as you continue to wipe away your tears, the nerves in his chest simmering down because, phew, you aren't mad at him or upset or, more importantly, he didn’t overstep. 

Brushing a stray tear away with his thumb, he manages a tired smile. “Don’t scare me like that. I thought I upset you.”

You pout, confused. “Why would I be upset? This is…so thoughtful. I’ve never…” you trail off.

But he understands what you're trying to say. And he hates that he's the first to do so.

“You deserve all of it,” Rafe says quietly before he can stop himself. “All of it. And more. I’m sorry that no one has done it before.”

He opens his mouth again to say more, but the words die in his throat, not wanting to say too much even though a small part of him fears he has. Instead of speaking, Rafe settles in silence, keeping his hand against your cheek as he caresses your jaw and stares deeply into your eyes to compensate for his lack of words, trying to telepathically tell you what he's trying to say. 

You do the same, so confused on how someone could think you deserve all of this, especially when that someone is Rafe Cameron.

Melting into his touch, you nearly sigh, relishing in the moment and trying to draw the line between real and fake. However, dwelling on the fine line of the arrangement will only make you more upset, so instead you lean into his touch and decide you'll indulge in your delusions for tonight.

At that, Rafe breaks eye contact to look at your lips. It doesn’t take long for him to lean in, kissing you slowly, passionately, earnestly. The kiss ends as soon as it begins, you feel, because he’s already pulling away and tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. 

“C’mon, sweet girl. Let’s go to sleep.”

After carefully putting all the gifts back in the bag and setting it on the floor where you won’t step on it in the morning, you settle into his bed as he turns the lamp off, following suit and pulling you taut against his chest. Your face nuzzles into his neck as a big hand cradles your back, rubbing gentle circles along your spine underneath his shirt. 

In the dark, you feel a little more comfortable and a little less vulnerable (despite literally crying in front of him a few mere minutes ago), but the confidence to say what you've been meaning to say all night comes easy in the pitch-black.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his neck, voice so quiet you aren't sure he hears you. 

But Rafe hums, confirming he does. He says your name quietly. “You don’t ever have to thank me for that…for anything. I want you to know that.”

Your heart beats uncontrollably at his words, at your name. “Okay.”

“I’d get you anything you wanted if you just asked.”

Your chest feels funny at the confession, confusion running awry in your mind at all the implications that statement can have. What is he trying to say to you right now?

Exhaustion fatigues you, eyes lulling shut as you lay in his big, warm arms. Despite all the nagging and overly complicated emotions plaguing your mind, you manage to softly smile against his skin, pressing a featherlight kiss on him. 

“Even a Mary Poppins umbrella to save myself from a tsunami?”

Rafe chuckles above you. “Anything you want, baby.”

“What about a talking car?”

“Sure.”

“A magic crystal that turns me invisible?”

“Mhm-hmm.”

“The Fairy Godmother’s wand from Shrek 2?”

“‘F course.”

You pause, biting your lip. “What about a cannoli tomorrow at the bakery by the beach?”

Rafe snorts. “Now you’ve crossed a line.”

You can't help but laugh, nuzzling even closer to him as you hum in contentment.

The sensation of being in his arms, the warmth of the bed, and the fuzzy feeling pooling in your chest quickly lull you to sleep, soon turning limp in a matter of minutes. The last thing you register is Rafe's lips pressing on your hairline, pulling you just a fraction closer than before.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work unless given permission. mdni.

notes please leave comments. i yearn for feedback.

[carnalcrows]

BAD TIMING - GYEONGSU

pairing: han gyeong-su x top male reader

synopsis: The real infection here is horniness

content warnings: 18+, semi-public sex, anal, zombies, breeding, creampie, nayeon being a bitch, slight overstimulations, spit as lube.

word count: 1.1k

Nayeon was running her mouth again, voice shrill enough to probably attract zombies instead of keeping them away.

"He’s bitten! I saw it! We have to throw him out before he turns!" she screeched, pointing an accusatory finger at Gyeongsu, who was looking one second away from committing a crime.

"For the last time, I am not bitten, you absolute lunatic!" Gyeongsu snapped. "It was a scratch. A SCRATCH.”

You, ever the voice of reason (and also, let’s be honest, just wanting an excuse to be alone with him), stepped forward. "Okay, okay, let’s settle this like civilized people," you said, patting Gyeongsu on the shoulder. "I’ll go with him to the recording room and keep watch. If he turns, I’ll scream."

"And we definitely trust your judgment." Nayeon scoffed.

"Like yours is any better," Cheongsan muttered under his breath.

But before anyone could object, you were already dragging Gyeongsu toward the soundproof recording room, slamming the door shut behind you.

“Man, she is so annoying,” you huffed, leaning against the wall.

Gyeongsu rolled his eyes, flopping onto one of the chairs. "Tell me about it. I’d rather get eaten by a zombie than listen to her for another second."

You made a thoughtful noise. "Well, since you’re not gonna turn, we have some time to kill."

Gyeongsu glanced at you, brow raised. "Yeah? And what do you suggest we do?"

A slow smirk crept onto your face. "Oh, I have some ideas."

The next five minutes were a blur of teeth, hands, and terrible decision-making.

It started with you yanking him forward by the collar, kissing him like the world was literally ending (which, to be fair, it was). It was all heat and desperation, his hands gripping the edge of the table as you practically devoured him.

"Didn’t think you’d—mmf—make a move now," Gyeongsu mumbled against your lips, breath hitching as you bit down on his lower lip.

"What, you wanted me to wait until after we’re zombie chow?" You pulled back just slightly, running your thumb over the wetness on his lips. "Nah. If I’m gonna die, I’m going out having fun."

He huffed a laugh, gripping your shirt and yanking you right back in. "Good. Now shut up."

It got sloppy real fast. Hands pulling, teeth clashing, breath hot and uneven. Gyeongsu let out a muffled noise when you practically shoved him against the table, his head tilting back slightly, giving you way too much access to his neck.

And God, the way he was looking at you—eyes half-lidded, lips swollen, breath uneven—yeah, you were definitely gonna die in this apocalypse

Your hands trailed to his pants, yanking them down. He yelped in surprise, to which you covered his mouth with your free hand.

“We’ve got to be quiet, you don’t the others to hear, hm?”

He shook his head, and you proceeded to pull his boxers down too, his dick springing out. 

“He’s more excited than I am, isn’t he?” You gestured to his erection, smirking. Gyeong-su turned away, flushed.

“Get on with it, will you? We haven’t got all day.”

You simply grinned and flipped him around, so that his back was facing you. You grabbed the firm flesh of his ass, fondling with it, wondering what to do. It struck you then that you didn’t have lube available.

His spit would have to do. 

You yanked on his hair (not too harshly), to crane his neck around to face you. Wordlessly, you poked two fingers at his mouth, pushing past his plump lips to the wet cavern of his tongue.

He swirled your digits around his tongue for a solid minute, before you pulled out and brought your fingers to his ass.

As you pushed one finger in, Gyeong-su had to cover his mouth– his eyes widened at the penetration. You really did want him to be loud, but neither of you could risk getting caught. Not now, and definitely not like this.

You held him steady at the table with your other hand, as you pushed a nother finger in, followed by one more. Three fingers were steadily pumping in and out of him, and god, he was seeing stars.

Deeming him prepped enough, you removed your fingers and pushed your own pants down, cock springing out.

You slowly pushed the tip in, hips already stuttering at the warmth of his hole. You leaned over him and held his hand, cooing in his ear as you eased your way into his heat.

When you bottomed out, you straightened your back and took your hands to his waist, holding him in a strong grip.

“I’m gonna move now, ‘kay?” He just whimpered, which you took as a green flag, and slowly started to rock in and out of him.

He was so tight, it was almost like his hole never wanted your cock to leave. If anything, that only turned you on even more.

Soon, your pace increased, the grip on Gyeong-su’s waist only getting more firm. The poor guy was shaking, hands trying to steady himself on the table but absolutely failing. At one particular thrust, he let a loud moan, quickly muffling it with his mouth.

So that was the spot.

You rammed into his hole– practically abusing his prostrate with every thrust. His eyes clenched together, his brain was feeling so, so empty.

Soon, you felt yourself on the verge of a release, your thrusts started to stutter. 

“Do you want it in or out?” You questioned, leaning down on him so that he could hear you better.

“In– please, oh fuck–f”

That was all you needed to hear,

With a low groan, you spilled into him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck– painting his insides a pearly white. He came soon after, dick spurting cum onto the desk, staining it.

Before you could pull out—there was a sudden bang from the other side of the glass.

Both of you froze.

Slowly, you turned your heads toward the window.

On the other side, standing in absolute, soul-crushing horror, were Cheongsan and Joon-young.

Cheongsan’s mouth hung open like he was trying to say something, but nothing was coming out. Joon-young? He looked like he was re-evaluating every life decision he had ever made.

You and Gyeongsu stared at them.

They stared back.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

Then—

"I told you!" Nayeon’s voice rang out, triumphant. "They’re hiding something!"

Cheongsan slammed the door shut before she could step inside.

"N-Nope! Nothing to see here! We’re leaving!"

You barely had time to process what had just happened before Gyeongsu lost it, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he shook with laughter.

"Well," you sighed, ruffling a hand through your hair, "I guess we’re never living this down."

Gyeongsu looked up at you, grinning. "Worth it."

And, yeah. You had to agree.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and I take genuine effort to do them.

[seokgyuu]

The Sweetest Thing

All your life you’ve been your sisters’ punching bag. Never good enough. Never fully accepted. When your mother makes one of them choose you as her maid of honor you reluctantly agree. Semi-vacationing in Tuscany with your ‘beloved’ family, you meet two handsome strangers one night and let them do whatever they want with you. Too bad you didn’t ask for their names first.

Pairing: Heeseung x F!Reader x Sunghoon 

Genre: Strangers to ???, Porn with Plot

Warnings: CHEATING!!! reader is hooking up with her sisters’ fiancés, sisters are horrible and suck, mentions of past verbal abuse, reader is somewhat a pervert (she defo is), heeseung & sunghoon definitely are perverts, heeseung & sunghoon are mean, they have nothing good to say about their fiancés, alcohol consumption, adult content MDNI! smut warnings under the cut

Word Count: 9.2k 

a/n: and here it is!! my little box of filth. i wanna give a shoutout to @c-oupsie for hyping this up and telling me to keep going, ilysm!! and also @chwepen for beta-reading!! sending you smooches. <3 now everyone, please enjoy this sausage fest.

Taglist: @skzenhalove, @haelahoops, @deobitifull, @shiningnono, @jakeswifez, @slut4hee, @gyuhanniescarat, @branchrkive, @doublebunv, @capri-cuntz, @jaehyuniewifeu, @whateverhoon, @c-oupsie

Smut Warnings: threesome, dom!heeseung, dom!sunghoon, sub!reader, lowkey public sex, p in v sex, throat fucking, unprotected sex (be smarter than this pls!!!), degradation (usage of the words: whore, slut, filthy, stupid (only indirectly?)), praise, tit job, mc is described to have big tits, sunghoon can carry mc, manhandling, cum eating, cum play, shower sex, consensual sex taping, pls tell me if i missed any!!

Pastel colors are slowly but surely becoming your greatest enemy. You can’t count how many different patterns and matches you have seen on this day alone - and the preparations for this wedding have been going on for months. 

In all honesty, you didn’t even want to be here. As pretty as Tuscany is - this is the last place you want to be at right now. You would rather sit at home and play a game, would rather sleep in and not have your mother be all over you, pressuring you to do better in a job you never wanted in the first place. 

It is your sisters’ wedding. Yes, sisters’. They are both getting married at the same time, same place. Just the grooms are two different men (even though you wouldn’t put it past them to share a man for convenience). Men, you haven’t even met yet. Men, that your mother and sisters kept on swooning over. Look, it is no surprise your sisters got lucky in that department; They are extremely conventionally attractive and they love doing fun things like going out and spending money on things they really didn’t need. 

You grew up with them being six and seven years older than you, making them already inseparable when your mum decided to push another one out. Getting along with them sure as hell wasn’t an easy task, in fact it still isn't. It’s pretty clear you only got the job as Linda’s maid of honor because your mother threatened her to do so. There was probably a very heated rock, paper, scissors round going on between your sister dearests to decide who got to have you. 

And now you are here. In warm, beautiful Italy with yet another color scheme to look over and authorize. You surely didn’t sign up to suddenly become the wedding planner as well. 

“Yeah, that’s perfect, thanks,” you say to one of the florists who are just now setting up the arrangements for the rehearsal dinner happening tonight. 

It’s hot, so hot that you have to take shelter every ten minutes because of the fear of burning up. You don’t usually like to spend this much time outside - let alone in the scorching hot sun, so this is rather the change for you. 

When the florists leave to get another load of flowers, you decide to take this as the next round of shade and air conditioning inside the resort your sisters have chosen for their special day. 

It’s insanely beautiful. High ceilings, incredible murals on the wall, a big round table in the center of the entrance hall with a crystal vase on top, filled with flowers that would make the florist outside turn green in envy. 

The air inside immediately cools you down and you take the moment to sit down in one of the arm chairs in the lobby to calm yourself. Only a week. That’s all you need to survive. A week with your sisters and their fiancés, soon to be husbands and your and their families. Guests would arrive the night before the wedding and as soon as the reception was over - you could finally leave and hopefully not see your sisters for another year or so. 

“Ah, there you are.” You close your eyes for a second. 

“Shouldn’t you be outside?” Linda and Liza are standing in the lobby in their designer sun dresses, very obviously judging you for not being where they want you to be. 

“I just came in to escape the heat for a second, that’s all.” You explain as you open your eyes again. The two certainly don’t look happy. In fact, they roll their eyes and flick their perfect hair over their shoulders.

“Okay, well, time is up. If this wedding doesn’t go according to plan, it’s on you.”

“You don’t want us telling mum you don’t care about your big sisters, do you? She’d be so disappointed knowing you aren’t doing your job right.” 

Your fists almost immediately ball into fists. How many times have they been like this over the three days you’ve already been here? You honestly lost count. One week. Just one week.

“I was just about to go back outside, don’t worry.” 

Anger well hidden away, you stand up and present them with a fake smile, moving to go back outside. 

“Oh and, Y/N?” Linda’s voice feels like a ray of ice hitting you, “try to look a little bit more presentable when talking to our staff. We don’t want them to think we can’t actually afford being here.” 

Your sisters giggle happily all while you bite your tongue once more. One week. Stay calm. One. Week. 

Something about the Italian sky seems different. Maybe it’s because you’re not close to a big city, but the stars shine brighter than you’ve ever seen them. It feels like a movie; the stars and moon so visible with no cloud in sight, the small street of Arezzo you’re currently sitting in - a small restaurant with a small menu but a nice older man that speaks decent English. A glass of wine standing on the small table beside you and the first bit of peace you’ve felt in days. 

It’s when you take your next sip of wine you see them. 

Two men straight out of a magazine walking towards one of the free tables next to yours and sitting down. There is nothing you can do but stare. Both of them have dark hair, one of them a bit shorter than the other. They are dressed elegantly, designer shoes and pants, blazers hanging over their chairs. Even if you wanted to - you could not possibly say which one was more attractive. 

What a nice way to end a horrible day, you think. Smiling, you finish your glass and immediately order the next, not entirely used to drinking so much, but not caring since you are miles away from home and no one here knows you anyway. The waiter nods and then proceeds to go over to the newcomers. The one with the slightly lighter hair and the mole on his nose orders in perfect Italian, with just enough of an accent for you to know they aren’t from here. Your choice of table appears to be perfect for watching them, listening to them converse in a language you understand. 

And it all stays innocent like this - they talk about their flight and about friends - until suddenly the conversation sways.

“I honestly- fuck, I can’t believe we’re actually doing this, you know?” The one with shorter hair says and his friend sighs, taking his wine glass and finishing it in one go. Impressive. There was at least half left in yours. 

“I don’t know what to tell you. We committed and now we’re fucked.”

“Just that we aren’t getting actually fucked.”

They look at each other before they laugh, shaking their heads. Meanwhile, your ears perk up. 

“Fuck, I really don’t know the last time she let me hit it, Hoon. I think I’m going crazy.”

“Yeah, same here. Like, yeah, we fucked once the day before her flight. But literally only missionary and she didn’t suck me off.”

“Again? Dude, is she ever even putting her mouth on it?” 

“Nope. Ever since we got engaged she’s like this fucking prude. Is yours like that too?”

“Yeah. I got her flowers and her favorite chocolates and she still wouldn’t even jack me off, like fuck, if it’s gonna be like this forever I can just go cut my dick off.”

Jesus. These two seem to be in very happy relationships. Makes you almost feel better to not be in one. Even if your mother would beg to differ. She’s been desperate for you to find a match for ages. For whatever reason, really, considering her two golden girls were about to get married to rich and handsome heirs. 

“Just one good blowjob, man, that’s all I want, really. I miss getting some good fucking head.”

The way short hair looks at mole - with so much understanding and pity, you can’t help but chuckle. Chuckle loud enough for them to take notice. 

Their gazes burn on your face before you even see them. But when you do your smile dies and instead makes room for horror. They heard you laugh at them. Even worse, they know you’ve been listening. Shit. 

Thankfully, you are three glasses of delicious white wine in and the fourth one is almost empty. Which means you aren’t the sweet little wallflower you’d usually be. Scary, how alcohol can change people.

“Oh, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have eavesdropped.” You apologize, placing your hand over your heart. 

“Agreed.” Short hair says, his eyebrow raised. Now, with both of their eyes on you, it seems like they are even more attractive. Perfect faces with pretty eyes and soft looking hair. Handsome men in unhappy relationships that fail to give them what they need. It’s almost comical how the switch in your head turns over, how the persona you normally never let anyone see until you’re in a secluded space comes out and gives you the courage to speak your next words.

“I just couldn’t believe my ears,” you let your finger glide over the rim of your glass, eyes on the two men with your tongue slipping out to lick over your bottom lip, “how anyone would be opposed to having sex with you.” 

Oh.

Sunghoon and Heeseung’s ears perk up just like yours did earlier. Eyes widen slightly as they understand the innuendo in your words. 

They think about the same thing - the last time they took a girl together. Probably during senior year in college. Back then, they used to do that regularly. Having almost the identical type in women. Instead of having to let her choose, she’d get them both. 

But it’s been years since then. They are in committed relationships now, about to get married. And still - neither of them can deny that you fall right into their usual prey, or well, the prey they’d chosen back in college before their parents had picked out their wives for them. 

It’s the way you look at them, the way your eyes say so much more than your words. It is also the way both of them feel like they are 22 again with nothing but getting their dick wet on their minds. One thing about Heeseung and Sunghoon - they always worked perfectly in a pair. Back in college and now, too. They can almost read each other’s minds at this point, only a short exchange of looks needed to know neither of them gave a single fuck about anything right now.

“Want to sit down with us?” Sunghoon asks and points at the free chair opposite them. You smile. 

“It’d be my pleasure.”

The very small bathroom stall is crowded with three people, but you make it work. 

Sunghoon is holding your head in place, his cock buried so deep down your throat he’s seeing red. You’re perfect. The sweetest thing on the outside, and a filthy little whore behind closed doors. You literally begged him to thrust down your throat without paying you any mind. You wanted, no, needed him to use your throat, to act like you were nothing but his little fuck toy. And, shit, he was more than happy to do exactly as you asked. 

His hips are moving in rapid speed, his groans music to your ears. Drool is running down your chin and dripping onto your knees. He is not holding back, he is just doing whatever he wants with you and you are throbbing. Throbbing around Heeseungs fat cock that is fucking into you with no care in the world. 

Heeseung is sitting on the toilet seat, his hands on your hips, cock rapidly leaving and entering your sopping hole. His head is literally spinning at how fucking good you feel. He bets you’d also sound fucking perfect if only Sunghoon’s cock wasn’t in the way. He can tell by the way you are already squeaking around his best friend’s cock, how your pussy is continuing to spasm around him after you already came on his cock once before.

“Take it, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Heeseung breathes out, hips speeding up and your eyes roll back into your head, your body seemingly on fire. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been fucked this good by a strange or, in this case, two strangers. All you know is that you’ve already cum before and that Heeseung surely will get you over the edge another time. He’s thick and veiny and he fills you up so good there was nothing you could do but cum after only a minute of him fucking you like an animal. 

“Shit, look at you,” Sunghoon groans, one hand now wrapping around your throat, his eyes glossy as he stares down at you, still fucking down your abused throat, “you’re a perfect little fucktoy, aren’t you? Enjoy being used by two cocks, huh? Fuuuuuck, you’re gonna make me cum, fucking slut.”

Heesung feels you squeeze around his cock, feels the way you suck him in even deeper. 

“This filthy little thing likes when you talk to her like that, Hoonie. Squeezing my cock so fucking hard.” His head tips back and his mouth drops open as he focuses on his pleasure, already fantasizing about stuffing you with his cum. He moves his hands up, squeezing your perfect tits over your dress and you moan around Sunghoon’s cock, tears streaming down your face. Every touch, every thrust, every word is getting you closer to another high. With Heeseung’s hands on your breasts you can freely move your hips now, bouncing up and down on Heeseung’s cock, matching his thrusts perfectly. 

There is no chance Sunghoon will last much longer. Your mouth, your throat - he’s scared he already developed an addiction to them. Maybe it’s the long time he hasn’t experienced anything like this, but right now it feels like no throat has ever taken his cock so well before.

“Where should I cum, huh? Down your throat? On your pretty face?” Sunghoon groans, his cock twitching over and over before he finally pulls out, jerking himself off so you can answer the question. 

“Cum on her tits, look at those fucking perfect tits, bro.” Heeseung decides to answer for you and Sunghoon smirks as he watches Heeseung get your tits out of your dress for which you thankfully don’t need a bra. Your perfect tits bounce free now and Sunghoon nods, eyes glued to them and how they bounce now that Heeseung continues to fuck into you, your back now arched against him. 

“Fucking hell, such fat fucking tits,” Sunghoon is in a trance, mouth dropped as he jerks himself off with the help off your spit and his precum. 

“Tell him to cum on your tits, slut, come on, tell him how much you want his cum all over you,” Heeseung whispers into your ear, his cock still continuing to ram into your g-spot like it has never done anything else. 

You moan loudly, eyes flying open and Sunghoon almost doesn’t need you to say anything - your fucked out face could well be enough to make him cum. 

“Pl-please g-give me your cum, want it a-all over my tits, pl-please, need it so bad!” You cry out and Sunghoon feels his orgasm hit him, thick spurts of cum landing on your tits and neck, some even on your lips that you hungrily lick off of them, only making another spurt come out of Sunghoons cock. 

“Holy fucking hell, shit,” he groans, falling against the stall door, his chest heaving. 

Heeseung, meanwhile, grabs your hair and tilts your head back as he does his final thrusts, filling your pussy with his seed, white making you feel warm inside and tipping you over the edge, milking him for all he has with your own orgasm, high pitched moans escaping you as your toes curl and your hands grip the material of your dress. 

Once he’s done fucking both of you through your orgasms, Heeseung helps you up, his cock slipping out of you. You’re a little shaky on your legs and Sunghoon catches you before you can fall, his eyes immediately going to your tits that are covered in his cum. He licks his lips. 

“If we had more time I’d take you to my room and fuck those tits until they are covered in even more layers of my cum, baby.” He mumbles, one finger scooping up some of his release and shoving his finger in your mouth, watching in awe how you eagerly suck it clean. 

“Holy fuck, you’re perfect.” Heeseung has put his cock back into his pants, considering to get it back out just to have you lick it clean of your and his juices. He decides against it mainly because he knows there isn’t much time. He and Sunghoon have to get back to the hotel, their fiancés probably awaiting their return. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Sunghoon says, but you shake your head, only putting your tits back into your dress and stepping back into your panties.

“I wanna keep it for a bit, keepsake if you will.” 

Both men are silent. Where the fuck have you been before they got engaged to the sisters from hell? For a second they contemplate just keeping you. Using you for when their soon to be wives were being difficult again. 

Obviously, though, this was just a fantasy not meant for reality. 

Perhaps it’s well deserved. Having the worst morning all week, the day right after you fucked two strangers in a restaurant’s bathroom. Two engaged strangers. It’s not a surprise that you didn’t care about the blurred lines of their… relationship status, considering you’ve had quite a few hook-ups with married men who were out of town and needed someone to fulfill their needs while their perfect trophy wives were sitting at home waiting for them. Not the proudest thing you’ve done, but whatever gets you cumming. 

Today, your sisters seem to have it out for you especially. You blame it on the nerves, after all their perfect fiancées are about to arrive today. Everything needs to be in order, their dresses, their hair, their nails, everything. 

You’ve become their personal stylist, nail artist and hairdresser all for nothing more than a chuckle at the way your shirt rises up and shows your stomach that they love to comment on. It’s a win-win situation, for sure. 

“Can’t you see you’ve made a mistake!” Liza screeches, pointing at her (to your eyes) perfectly drawn eyeliner. You blink at her and take a deep breath. Six days. 

“I apologize.” Quickly, you move to fix your error, but your sister slaps your hand away and rips the pencil out of your hand.

“No, thank you. I’ll do it myself, like everything else, you useless piece of trash.”

Six. Days. 

Since there is no point in responding to her, you only nod and turn to Linda who is currently checking herself out in her hand mirror. 

“Anything I can do for you?” You ask, feeling ridiculous. One could think you’re their personal assistant and not their younger sister. 

“Just get out, Heeseung and Sunghoon are about to arrive and I don’t want them seeing you first thing, imagine their shock.”

Heeseung and Sunghoon. 

Something rings in your head. Had they ever mentioned their fiancés names before? Probably - why else would they be so familiar to you. 

“Alright. I’ll be by the pool then.” 

Neither of them deems it appropriate to even slightly acknowledge you before you leave the room.

A huge sigh leaves you the second you step out of Linda’s room and instead head for your own. Just a quick change into a bikini and down you go. A few hours in the sun, maybe a couple laps in the pool. Another bit of peace while your sisters are occupied. Sounds like the perfect morning to you. 

Just that, when you reach your room and change into said bikini - you notice a bruise right above your hip. Your eyes widen at the sight, moving closer to the mirror to inspect it. There is no other possible reason but what happened last night. 

“Shit,” you mumble, looking around your clothes for this one light pink scarf you could easily wrap around your hips as some sort of cover. The last thing you want is for your sisters to see this and ask questions. Bad enough you had the face and figure you had - imagine their outrage if one of these was even further damaged! 

For as long as you can remember your sisters had been your biggest haters. No matter what you did, if you changed your hair or your wardrobe, they’d be mean to you about it. To them, you were nothing but an unwanted addition to a family they had deemed already perfect. Neither of them had ever wanted another sibling, especially not six and seven years apart from them. Suddenly, you were the center of attention, had your mother cradling you and loving you and not giving them the attention they were sure they deserved. 

Even now, at their grown ages, about to get married, they couldn’t seem to get over it. 

From an outsider's perspective their lives were fairly more successful than yours. With great jobs in high positions, a perfect routine that included gym visits four times a week, and of course their perfect soon-to-be husbands. If it weren’t so frustrating it might have been funny how they literally kept them from you - kept everything from you. Blocked you from their socials to not be associated with you, living in their own little bubble, acting like you didn’t exist. 

So, expect your surprise when Linda called and asked you to be her maid of honor. You had only accepted because you know your mother would be devastated if you didn’t. 

That all seems like an okay trade for the view of the hotel pool right by the beach, your body rubbed in sunscreen and your sunglasses on top of your nose listening to music and enjoying your moments without a sister (or mother) around to tell you what to do. 

But your life wouldn’t be yours if your peace weren’t suddenly interrupted by the high pitched laugh of one of your sisters floating through the air and reaching your ears. It hadn’t even been half an hour. Maybe, you think, they won’t even come over. After all, they had hidden you away from them for as long as they had been together. Perhaps they wanted to wait til the day of the wedding next week to finally introduce you. 

Curiosity gets the best of you at last. Who are these men they’ve been gatekeeping from you, who have been nothing but your mother’s pride? Slowly, you turn into the direction of the high pitched laugh, opening your eyes behind your sunglasses. 

And the world around you seems to shake. 

“No fucking way,” you breathe out, moving quickly to get up. Panic arises within you, sheer ugly panic that has your body shaking. This can’t be true. This can’t be happening! You move to throw your phone and headphones onto the lounge chair, your eyes darting back and forth between here and your sister’s location, finally freeing yourself of all the things that can’t get wet to jump into the pool. It seemed like the only way not to get noticed by them. 

There are several other people in the pool and the splash of you jumping in had been drowned out by the sound of a child laughing and screaming. You stay underwater for a good while, thanking your strong lungs, and only come back up when you feel like enough time has passed for them to have left - only to be met by absolute horror. 

They had taken seats right next to your stuff. In their bathing suits from Chanel or Prada or whatever, they looked breathtaking. Not that they would ever get into the pool. It wasn’t them, though, who made your blood turn cold and the insides of your stomach threatening to say hello again - it was their fiancés. 

Short dark hair, beautiful faces. One with a mole on his nose. The other with clear shock in his eyes. 

The men from last night. 

As if to remind you further, you feel the bruise on your hip suddenly starting to throb with pain. You wince and look down, noticing your make-shift cover up being gone. Wonderful. 

Your sisters notice you now, their eyes widening when they see you in the state you’re in. Dripping with water, your hair pushed back out of your face, your body dressed in nothing but a flimsy bikini. They had always envied you for your breasts - not that they would ever admit this. But seeing them right now made them even angrier, after  all Heeseung and Sunghoon were right here and could see those monstrosities! 

And yeah, they see. See your body in that bikini that is leaving nothing to the imagination. See your tits almost falling out of the bikini top - tits that were covered in Sunghoon's cum not even 24 hours ago. They see your pretty face, your long eyelashes, droplets of water sliding down your soft skin. 

Heeseung and Sunghoon don’t realize the gravity of the situation yet, right now all they think about is how they’ve hit the jackpot because you’re in the same hotel as them. Right now, neither of them knows who you are besides the girl they’ve fucked the night before. 

“Y/N!” Liza screeches, “get out of that pool right now, you look ridiculous!” 

Linda gets up and grabs one of the towels next to her, throwing it into the Pool. She wants you to cover up, needs you to cover up. 

It is then that Sunghoon and Heeseung slowly understand. Your name. They have heard that name before. Time and time again. 

“Mum made me pick my ugly little sister as my maid of honor, Hoonie, can you believe her?” 

“Ugh, Y/N, called today. Wanted to congratulate us. Can you believe her? I bet she is so jealous, Hee, she could never get a man to stay. She’s just… too…. ew.”

You’re their sister. Their little sister they have nothing good to say about. 

You. The girl from last night. The girl who potentially could become the best fuck of both of their lives. 

If they had been able to, they would have looked at each other. But they are too mesmerized by you getting out of the pool with the towel wrapped around your body, or at least around your upper half. They can still easily see your legs, your perfect thighs, the little bikini bottom that does almost nothing to cover up your ass, can see the bruise that is a clear indication of what happened last night. It’s safe to say they are both growing harder in their trunks. Relatively bad timing. 

“Sorry, I told you I would be at the pool,” you mumble once you get out, grabbing for your stuff.

“I don’t think so, I would have remembered that!” Liza hisses, her arm sneaking around short hair. So, he must be Heeseung. Heeseung who had his cock buried inside of you mere hours ago and whose cum was most likely still inside of you. 

“Just go back upstairs,” Linda shoos you away with her hand and you let your eyes wander to mole next to her. Sunghoon, then. Sunghoon who had been craving a mouth around his cock, Sunghoon who had his cock in your mouth, who had cum all over your exposed tits. 

Your body heats up and you quickly turn around to leave. 

“It was nice to meet you!” Sunghoon calls after you and you swallow hard, not turning back to them before you leave. 

Dinner that night is horribly awkward, to say the least. The fact you’re even allowed to participate is insane. Your parents are delighted to welcome you once you sit down, your sisters and their fiancés showing up a little while after you. 

As it turns out, the two men had insisted you’d join them for dinner. Judging by the way they look at you, you feel like they’d rather have you be their dinner. 

Nothing could have prepared you for this. For the utter want you see in their faces, the utter want you feel in your bones. It makes all of dinner extremely awkward, makes you press your thighs together, shove around your food on the plate because suddenly your appetite is for something entirely different. 

But you know you can’t. The first time, so you tell yourself, was fine because you didn’t know who they were. You even go as far as to blame your sisters for this, after all they had never bothered to show you what Heeseung and Sunghoon look like. 

Now, it’s different. Now you know who they are. And as much as you despise your sister’s, you don’t think you could do this to them. 

… Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. Because the second you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and find yourself pressed against yet another stall door, you know you’ve been lying to yourself.

It’s Heeseung, his hands on your hips, digging into the bruise on your side, having you moan in no time.

“What are the fucking odds, hm?” He whispers, his breath hitting your face. You open your mouth to answer, but Heeseung dips forward, his tongue sliding into your open warmth, his lips pressing down on yours. It doesn’t matter what you thought of before, doesn’t matter who he is. Your body is taking over, melting against the strong man, against his chest and arms. 

Heeseung kisses you hungrily, like he has been starving for days. He had wrapped his hand around your wrist and yanked you into the one bathroom stall for men, had claimed you as his for the next few minutes.

“We-we can’t!” You cry out, pushing him away, but Heeseung only grabs you harder, turning you around, your chest hitting the door and a gasp escaping your mouth.

“If we can’t, why are you so fucking wet, baby?” His fingers are inside your cunt the next second and your eyes roll back, hips already chasing his touch. He smirks behind you, shoving your dress up with his free hand. Your backside is a sight to behold and he licks over his lips before landing a slap to your right ass cheek. You squeak. 

“I guess bathroom stalls are just our thing now, aren’t they?”

Just that this one is spacier. You’re pressed against the door that leads right into the open restaurant. You can hear the people outside, can hear the sound of cutlery meeting plates, of glasses clinking. 

“Hee-Heeseung, yo-you’re my sister’s fiancé!” You tried again, even though your hips were already bouncing on his fingers. Heeseung chuckled lowly.

“Don’t tell me now you care about the fact I’m in a relationship. It seemed like yesterday you couldn’t wait to get this taken cock shoved into your pussy.”

He’s not wrong. You bite down on your lip and turn slightly, looking over your shoulder into his dark eyes. God, he’s beautiful.

“Please,” you pout then, and his smirk comes back, his nimble fingers freeing his rock hard cock. You lean back against the door, your cheek pressed against the cold wood, your hands on either side of your head. Your pussy is dripping down his fingers and once he removes them, you’re already impatient to feel his huge cock fill you up.

Wiggling your hips, he lands another slap on your ass before shoving his cock into you, both of you groaning once he bottoms out. 

Then, he doesn’t show you any mercy. One of his hands sneaks around you, pressing down on your mouth to keep you quiet as he fucks you right into the door. He is panting, staring down at the way his cock slides in and out of you over and over again. His other hand fishes for his phone in his pocket, halting his thrusts for only a second to concentrate on opening the camera on the phone and hitting record. 

“Need to bring Hoonie something to jerk off to later,” he grins as he continues to fuck you, your moans getting numbed only by his hand. He just feels too good. Feels like no other cock you’ve had before. He’s big, wide and so god damn veiny. Every vein seems to drag along your walls, seems to push you closer to the edge. Your eyes are rolling back as your ass bounces off his hips, as his thrusts become sloppier with every second. He needs to cum soon and so do you. There isn’t much time for this, no time in fact. But he’s been craving you, and so has Sunghoon. Thank all the luck in the world for him to have won that rock, paper, scissors round. 

“God, you take it so well, you’re such a good little whore, aren’t you? All ready to go when I need to get my cock in you, fuck.” 

Heeseung’s words make your pussy spasm around him, his next groan deeper than before. He changes the angle slightly, fucking into you faster and harder, his orgasm getting closer with every little squeeze of your pussy. 

“Gonna cum so hard into your pussy, gonna have you sit at that table with my cum trickling into your panties.” He breathes into your ear and bites into your earlobe after, causing you to triple over the edge and cum hard around his cock - taking him right with you. 

He curses as he fucks both of you through your orgasms, his cum filling you up, warming you from the inside. 

Planting kisses on the back of your neck, Heeseung pulls out, watching his release drip out of you. 

“I could get used to this,” he says and puts your panties back into its rightful place. 

It doesn’t stop there. And it also doesn’t stop with Heeseung. But while Heeseung is more daring (coming to your hotel room at night, sending you pics of his dick after a shower, telling you to send him a voice note of you cumming), Sunghoon decided to take his time to make his move. You know it’s coming. You just don’t know when. 

Heeseung is like a wild animal - he can’t get enough of you. He wants to have his hands on you, his dick in you and his cum all over you as many times as he can. But the week only has seven days, and you only have four more to go until this whole thing is over and they are married to your sisters. 

Four days until you won’t be around them all the time, four days until Heeseung won’t be knocking on your door at two in the morning asking you to get on your knees. He fucks you like he owns you, like he knows your time is limited. It is, after all. He leaves marks where it is hard to spot them, kisses you in places no one has ever kissed before. 

Yes, the nights with Heeseung are special and steamy and perfect - and yet you wonder where Sunghoon is in all of this. You see the way he looks at you, and you did get a dick pic from him the night you and Heeseung fucked at that first dinner, courtesy to him seeing the video Heeseung took of you. And that is the thing, Heeseung films you. He films you when you’re on top of him, when he’s behind you, when you got his cock down your throat, when you’re bouncing up and down his cock. All of it goes straight to Sunghoon, all of it leads to Sunghoon cumming all over himself in the bathroom and sending you a picture of it. He never leaves his room, though, never does anything about it.

It’s day minus three til the wedding and you’re at the beach with everyone. The other maid of honor has arrived, and so have the two best men. Jake and Jay, they had introduced themselves as and judging by the way they were looking at you… they knew exactly who you were. If you weren’t so busy with Heeseung, you’d gladly have slipped into one of their rooms at night. 

You’re laying on your towel, happy to have everyone around you be busy with something that isn’t you. Your book is in your hands, the words getting more and more raunchy, your thighs pressing together. Perhaps this isn’t the best place to read smut, but it’s not like you have any control over when these scenes happen in the book. You just know every word hits you deep and has you biting down your lip. Even with the soreness still left between your legs from last night's visit, you feel yourself growing wetter with every sentence. 

“In broad daylight, sweetheart, really?” 

The voice makes you flinch, your book flipping closed as you turn around, spotting Sunghoon standing right above you. He is wearing a slight smirk on his lips and you feel your cheeks heat up. Not just because he caught you with your book but because he’s standing there in nothing but his trunks, a cup of iced coffee in his slim hand. His chest is defined, so are his abs. His arms look strong, toned, like they could throw you against a wall and hold you there. You swallow the lust that is daring to come up.

“What do you want?” You hiss, sitting up and looking at him. 

He hasn’t really talked to you much. Too busy giving you looks and pretending like he didn’t when your sister or parents or any other already arrived wedding party approached him. 

“What would I want?” Sunghoon asks back, tilting his head. The view he has from up here, your tits sitting in your bikini top, looking as delicious as they always did. It takes all in him not to drag you up and take you in front of everyone. 

You snort and roll your eyes, turning back to your book.

“Well, if there is nothing you want, you can leave me alone.” 

He watches you, how you lay back on your stomach, how you open the book and look for the page you just read. Licking over his lips, he roams his eyes over you. At this point, he has lost count of how many times he’s looked at you. How many times he has waited in the bathroom at night for Heeseung to send the videos, the pictures. As much as he was jealous, he enjoyed looking at you as he used his lubed up hand to get himself off. Except… for the last two days. He hasn’t sent you a picture of him with his cum all over his torso or thighs for two days because he simply hadn’t let himself reach climax. He’s been edging himself for all this time, waiting for the right time to unload all of his seed… preferably on you. 

It doesn’t feel like enough. Just getting to watch you through a screen, imagine what you would feel like. Your mouth, he remembers. Vividly. Your pussy… he can only wonder. Only guess when Heeseung sends him those videos or when he tells him before they head down to breakfast. 

Letting his eyes wander over your frame, your neck and back, your hips and ass, your legs… 

“Get up.” He says. You don’t move. 

He growls.

“I said,” his voice is low and warmth gathers at your core, “get up.”

It is when you still don’t move, Sunghoon feels his patience run thin. He places his iced coffee on one of the tables next to the lounge chairs.

Then, he is quick to pull you up, both his hands on your hips, a yelp coming out of you as he skillfully gets you on your feet. You stare at him with wide eyes and your mouth agape. Oh… your mouth. He has to restrain himself - already half hard in his trunks. Sunghoon looks around, sees his fiancé in a conversation with your mother. An idea flashes before him and he smirks slightly, alarm bells ringing in your head. What is he planning?

Not even a second passes when he grabs his iced coffee and spills it all over himself.

“God, watch where you’re going!” He yells, making all of your family members and their friends look at you. This little shit. 

Linda immediately jumps to her feet.

“Look what you’ve done!” She screeches and you press your lips together, acting the part of the guilt ridden sister.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to!” You defend yourself, but your sister just shoots you a deadly gaze. 

“My darling, are you alright?” She is looking at Sunghoon now at his coffee stained self. He shakes his head.

“I really wanted that coffee. And these are my favorite trunks,” he sighs, “come on, Y/N, you’re gonna get me a new coffee.”

“I can get you a new coffee, babe!” Linda tries, her fingers wrapping around Sunghoon’s arm. It fills you with a sense of triumph when he moves out of her grip.

“You didn’t do this, honey. She did. Go back to your lounging.” He says it to her, but looks at you. And, god, you don’t think you’ve ever been more aroused in your life. 

It starts in the elevator up to his room. His hands are on your tits and your tongue is in his mouth. He groans when he feels you grabbing around his cock, hand swiftly inside his swimming trunks. There are no words being exchanged, only moans and sighs and gasps as he presses you against the wall, your kisses getting deeper and heavier by the second. 

Sunghoon has never wanted anyone as much as you right now. His cock is begging to be freed, leaking into his trunks. His thoughts are spiraling, a part of him just wants to push those skimpy bikini bottoms to the side and just fuck you right here, no matter if someone could walk in at any second, the other wants to take his time, bring you to his room and explore every inch of you. 

When the elevator stops at his floor, he drags you out, glad no one is around to see as he pushes you against the wall next to the now closing elevator doors, his hand immediately moving between your legs. He moans at the wetness already there. Well aware you haven’t been in the pool or the ocean today. 

“Fuck, look at you. So fucking wet.” He mumbles against your lips, pulling them into yet another heated kiss just as his fingers slip underneath your swimming suit, making you whimper. Your hips roll against his hand and he bites down on your bottom lip, fingers getting closer to where you want them, need them, the most. 

But he pulls away, grabbing your hand and leading you to his room, getting the keycard out of the small pouch he had in the pockets of his trunks. You watch as he opens the door, watch as impatience and need radiate off him and another feeling of triumph, of confidence overcomes you. He is actively choosing you over your sister. He wants you not her. 

Once you’re inside and the door is closed, you find yourself stuck between him and yet another wall, or in this case, door. His first mission is to get your tits out, his hands losing the strands of your top, the little fabric falling onto the floor a second later. He licks over his lips.

“I’ve been dreaming of these, baby,” he whispers, “come on, get on your knees.”

You do as told instantly. Dropping to your knees, eyes focused on him and only him. On how he now shoves his trunks down slowly, his cock, hard and red at the tip, springing free for you to admire. Your pussy starts throbbing. How badly you want him inside you, how badly you want him to fill you up with his cum, joining Heeseung’s from last night. 

“Open up, slut.” Again, you obey. Your mouth drops open, tongue sticks out and Sunghoon’s cock twitches at the sight. This is what he has been dreaming about. Your mouth around his cock, your perfect heavy tits naked and oh-so ready to be painted like that first night. 

“Good girl, so, so obedient.” He moves closer, right hand around his cock as the left is leaned against the wall, helping him keep his balance. Slowly, he brings the tip of his cock to the tip of your tongue, watching as you lick over it immediately. His eyes don’t leave yours when he begins shoving it in, his chest heaving. There is a good chance he might not last long, but he won’t let you leave this room without his cock having been inside you and if that means going again right after his first or second load. 

You take him like a pro. Feel him slide down your throat, hitting the back of it before going even deeper. You choke just slightly, breathing through your nose. He stops only when he is fully buried, his breath getting heavier with every passing moment.

“You take it so fucking well, what a good little whore.” Sweat is pooling at the top of his forehead, his knees about to give in. He begins to move his hips slowly at first, but when you tap his thigh, he takes it as a sign to go harder. And, shit, does he go harder. Throwing his head back as he brings both his hands to your head, holding it in place as he thrusts down your throat over and over again. His balls hit your chin whenever he moves to bury himself again, his moans and groans nothing but music to your ears. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck!” He groans in pleasure, pulling his cock out and the next thing you know there is cum all over you. Your tits are full with his seed, your neck, your chin, your face. You gasp slightly, staring at him with your lips swollen from the roughness of his movements. He breathes hard, hand around his cock to hold it steady as waves of his pleasure make more cum land on your tits. 

“That’s right, look at you, fuck,” his eyes are glossy watching your tits covered in his cum, his cock not losing any of it’s hardnes even after the amount of cum he just left on you. It’s not hard to notice. Your fingers scoop up a bit of it, sucking them clean and not letting him out of your sight. Sunghoon feels like he might have reached heaven. 

“You’re so fucking filthy,” he grumbles, pulling you up by your arms and crashing your lips against his again. He pulls you to the bed and pushes you down, watching your cum-covered tits bounce as you fall. You know what he wants and you slightly sit up, your elbows behind you, watching as he moves on top of you. His eyes are still so full of hunger, of need, of pure and hot lust. 

His cock slides between your tits, his hands pushing them together around it. Then, he begins to thrust again. Just like he had wanted back at the restaurant. Fuck your tits covered in his cum, add a little more. 

You feel like the luckiest woman on earth with him like this. Using you to get off, his cock fucking your tits like a madman, whimpers and moans and groans, his head thrown back as he enjoys the feeling. It is even better than his imagination. Every second feels like he’s gonna ascend any moment now. His skin is tingling with desire and he wonders if it’ll ever stop. Right now, he thinks, he could probably go on for hours, for days. Just you and him and your tits and your mouth and your pussy. 

When he looks down again, sees the way you look at him, see the way his cock looks sandwiched between your breasts, Sunghoon can’t help but cum again, less than before but still enough to cover your chest and neck, adding even more paint to the already perfect canvas. 

Exhaustion is starting to spread through his bones, but he’s ignoring it. Instead, he pulls you up with him again, kissing you hard, fingers now finally finding their way into your bottoms again. He shoves them inside you immediately. 

“Sunghoon!” You cry out, fingers gripping his strong shoulders as he places you on his lap, straddling him. He fucks you with his fingers, hard and fast. Your pussy squeezes them, your arousal dripping onto his bare thighs.

“So, so wet. So fucking filthy with my cum all over you. Tell me, baby, are you a whore?”

“Y-Yes!” You squeak. He grins wickedly, adding a third finger to the two. You cry in pleasure, bouncing up and down on his long, perfect fingers.

“So eager to be called a whore. Fucking a taken man, two taken men. Your sister’s men. Aren’t you ashamed?” He breathes into you ear and you moan again, nails digging into his skin.

“N-No!” You answer and he laughs quietly, thumb now pressing down on your clit. You feel the first tears starting to pool in your eyes.

“Oh, but you should be. Such a dirty fucking whore, full of cum, getting her pussy fucked by her sister’s fiancés fingers,” He chuckles, “and soon his cock.”

You reach the edge just then. When he promises you his lengths, when he tells you how ashamed you should be. As if you don’t know. That’s what makes this whole thing so ridiculously hot. 

He fucks you through your orgasm, kissing your mouth again, tongues slashing against each other in a heated fight. You need him to fuck you. Right now. And as if he could read your mind, Sunghoon picks you up, hands underneath your thighs, lips never leaving yours and brings you to the spacious bathroom. 

First, he fucks you in front of the mirror. Makes you watch yourself, getting fucked like a cheap whore by his sister’s soon-to-be husband. He makes you lick his cum off his fingers, thrusts them as deep down your throat as his cock is penetrating you. 

Your pussy might be the best he’s ever had. The second he was buried inside of you, he knew he was done for. Knew this couldn’t be the last time he did this. Every bit of you, he wanted for himself. He even thought about asking Heeseung to back off, which he knew his best friend never would. Not with you. Not when you were this perfect. Fulfilling their every need, letting them do with you whatever they wanted. 

When he gets you in the shower, he washes the drying cum off of you softly. He’s still inside of you, his still not fully satisfied cock. You squeeze around him, throb around him. You need him to do more, he knows it as well as you. But he’s gentle. Uses a sponge to get every bit of his seed off your body, his lips kissing your cheeks, lips, nose, neck and breasts. It’s almost too soft for you. 

This is supposed to be about nothing but sex. He is supposed to fuck you, call you names while you’re at it and then disregard you. Instead, he’s being gentle. 

That is, until the door outside opens and your sister’s voice interrupts the softness. It makes room for yet another wicked grin and Sunghoon’s first thrust inside of you for minutes. Your hand flies to your mouth covering the pathetic whimper that would have come out. Sunghoon’s eyes sparkle.

“Hoonie? Are you in the shower?”

He begins to thrust again, his hands on your hips, staring into your eyes as he gives you his fucking all. Your eyes roll back.

“Yes, darling. Your stupid sister managed to get me all sticky with that coffee!”  

Your pussy fluttered at the words. He grinned wider.

“Oh, like it when I call you stupid?” He whispers into your ear, cock twitching rapidly as he bites into your neck, hips showing you absolutely no mercy.

“Ugh, I am so sorry about her! She’s not just a klutz, she’s also insanely dumb. I can’t wait to never see her again after this is done.”

Perhaps these words would have hurt you, if Sunghoon wasn’t railing you like the god he was. Every thrust was smooth and yet hard enough to make your toes curl. He made quick work to lift you up, your legs now wrapping around his middle as he continued to fuck into you, moaning into your neck to drown out the noise. 

“Yeah, she is a real piece of work,” he finally replied, his eyes staring into yours as he smirked. 

“No wonder she can’t get a boyfriend! Who would ever want to be with that?” 

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, pressing his body closer to yours, kissing you again, his tongue licking sensually over your bottom lip. It makes a shiver run down your spine. 

“Anyway, where did she go? I didn’t find her in her room.”

Sunghoon reluctantly parts from you.

“No clue. She got me a new coffee and stormed off like the big baby she is.” 

He grabs your tits again, squeezing and massaging, nipple between forefinger and thumb, leaning down so he can put it in his mouth and suck and bite down, your hand on your mouth pressing down harder. 

You explode around him. Squirt like a fucking porn-star, liquid shooting out of you and down his legs, mixing with the water of the shower. Sunghoon’s knees are once more about to give in. He moans against your lips, hoping Linda didn’t hear and at the same time also hoping she did. Your climax makes him cum for the third time that day, his hot semen filling your spent pussy, painting it white like the clouds. 

“That, she is indeed,” Linda laughs, “anyway, we’re gonna go get dinner in the city, baby. I’ll be at Liza’s room, love you!”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer and Linda just leaves. You feel like no words were even needed to understand. 

Once you’re sure Linda is gone for good, Sunghoon and you step out of the shower. It’s quiet between you, quiet and somewhat heavy. You don’t like it one bit. You’re quick to grab your bikini and put it back on, relieved to know you most likely won’t find your sisters back at the beach where you’re headed now. 

You don’t turn around again when you leave the bathroom. And you also don’t expect Sunghoon to say anything. Still, when you open the door to leave, you feel just a tiny bit disappointed that he doesn’t hold you back. 

How utterly pathetic of you. 

Heeseung doesn’t come for you that night. You wonder if it’s because of Sunghoon and decide it most definitely is because of Sunghoon. 

Yet, the slightly younger male doesn’t come to seek you out either. 

Tonight, it’s just you. 

And perhaps, you think, that’s just how it’s supposed to be. 

to be continued...

header & divider credit to the wonderful @wongyuseokie <3

[heavyhitterheaux]

Girl Errands

See Me Through You Blurb

Synopsis: You try to distract your husband from the multiple bags piled up in the back of your car, which was the result of you running "errands"

Pairing: Husband!Joe Burrow x Wife!Reader

Series Masterlist

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Glancing down at your dashboard in your car, you saw that it was now around two in the afternoon and figured that Joe would probably be making his way home soon.

So, that left you with one task.

Beat him home so that he doesn't see the multiple bags that are a result of you telling him that you were going to run “errands”. 

You in fact did not run one errand according to Joe if you were to ask him since they consisted of Target, TJ Maxx, Starbucks, JoAnn Fabrics for more things to crochet, and last but certainly not least browsing the Savage Fenty website for new lingerie which you knew would end up getting torn and would make Joe buy you more. 

As you pulled out of the Target parking lot, you were met with a stop sign before turning on the main street and coming to a red stop light. You just so happened to glance to your right to see no one other than your husband drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and waiting for the light to change.

“Shit!” You muttered as you glanced behind you to look at the multiple bags in the backseat.

When you turned back around, Joe just so happened to catch your eye and you smirked before you gestured for him to roll down his window.

You might as well distract him.

“Hey handsome! You got a girl? I'm trying to go on a date with you tonight.” You said as you winked at him while he couldn't help but to laugh at your horrible attempt at a pick up line.

“I have a wife actually and I highly doubt she would like that very much.” 

“Well, I won't tell if you won't.”

“I'm trying to save us both from ending up being six feet under. She's short, but don't let that fool you.” He replied as you turned up your nose and glared at him.

“I'm sure I can take it. So what do you say?”

Before Joe could respond, he glanced in the backseat of your car and made a face before turning his attention back towards you.

“Uh oh.” You said quietly before you heard your husband's voice.

“Baby! What do you have in the backseat!?”

“Nothing! Bye!” You told him as the light turned green and you pulled off without another word.

But your luck ran out when you were once again caught at a stop light literally less than a mile from your house right next to Joe as he gestured for you to roll your window down and you shook your head no.

So as soon as you told him no, your ringtone for him started blasting throughout the car and you hesitantly hit accept.

“Princess….”

“Oh thank goodness. There's this weird dude who keeps following me in his car and pulling up next to me every time I'm at a stop light.”

“I am not doing this with you today. I refuse.” Joe said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Refuse what, babe?”

“Don't act dumb. Now what is in the backseat?”

“Stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“For me to know and for you not to find out because I was supposed to beat you home and hide everything.” You honestly told him.

“Hmm, and how's that working out for you?”

“It'll be fine once I get home before you do.” You replied as you hit the gas once more and sped away from him.

“I am literally right behind you and you better slow down before you get a ticket.”

“I'm pretty and I'll be let off with a warning. Works every time.”

“Why do you love to stress me out on a daily basis?”

“You're the one who asked me to marry you so you did this to yourself.” You replied as you pulled into the garage with Joe right behind you.

Joe got out of his Porsche before coming over to the driver's side door of your car and opening it, seeing you smiling at him, but he did not look amused.

“Hi baby!” You greeted him as you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs wrapped around his waist.

Placing a kiss on his lips, he didn’t return it which made you frown. 

“Give me a kiss and fix your face.”

Joe rolled his eyes before kissing you and continued to make a face at you as he pulled away.

“Is this supposed to be serving as a distraction?”

“A little bit, but I can take my clothes off if it isn't working. Now how about that date you promised me?”

“I never even gave you an answer.”

“You're undressing me with your eyes so that's a good enough answer which obviously translates to yes.”

“We can go on a date... right after you show me what's in the backseat.”

“No.”

“Fine. I'll just get my hair cut and run errands in my gray sweatpants.” Joe told you as your eyes then went wide.

“I… Just get the bags please and I'll tell you.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.”

[florencemtrash]

Club Rats and Cigarettes: Part II

Azriel x Modern Reader

Summary: When Azriel stumbles into a new world with his brothers, the last thing he expects to find is a mate. But she has a hell of a way of making a first impression, and Azriel can't help but fall in love with someone who feels familiar in a strange world.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of drug use

Masterlist of Masterlists

Author's note: Y'all... I'm just trying to get back into writing after disappearing off the face of the earth... so here's part II! Y/n's cat is about to play a huge role in all of this

<- Previous chapter Next chapter ->

Y/n had gone to bed hoping she’d been drugged at the club (that was the first and only time she would ever think such a thing). That alone might explain how she’d been persuaded to bring three grown men home, decorated with enough weapons to arm a small battalion. But perhaps it had all been some acid-laced dream and she would step outside her bedroom to the sight of an empty living room and a very disgruntled Jefferson at her heels. 

But alas, she had gone to bed sober, and woke up to two Illyrians passed out on the floor and one Shadowsinger thumbing through her bookshelf.

“What is this?” Cassian squatted in front of the microwave, nose pressed up against glass as his breakfast spun in lazy circles. Steam shot out from beneath saran wrap and he watched mesmerized as tingles of electricity sang through the air and set the hair on his neck alight. He could taste the energy on his tongue, along with leftover chicken tikka masala from the one Indian restaurant fifteen minutes away. 

Y/n shot him an odd glance from the kitchen table, pouring herself a cup of coffee with a sigh. It was becoming easier and easier to believe that they were from another world as they fawned over her kitchen appliances, beaten and used as they were. Just this morning, Rhys had taken an hour-long shower, content to stand beneath the assault of boiling hot water until his skin was red and spotted from heat. “I need this in the River House,” he’d declared with an air that spoke of royalty, standing in the hallway with nothing but a towel wrapped low around his waist. Y/n’s face had burned brighter than the sun and Azriel had growled so low Jefferson scowled and scampered away.

“It’s a microwave,” Y/n explained, rubbing at her temples.  

“What does it do?” Cassian opened the small door and hissed when the dish burned his fingertips. A common mistake — though he wouldn’t know that. 

“Heats up food. Pops popcorn. Blows up if you put metal in it.” 

Azriel grabbed his brother’s wrist before he could get any ideas about tossing a spoon into the microwave. “That was not an invitation to try,” Azriel hissed in warning. He was embarrassed enough about his conduct the night before. The last thing he needed was for one of his brothers to blow up his mate’s home. 

Cassian hummed in curiosity, shoving a spoonful of leftover takeout into his mouth and groaning at the taste. He sank into a plastic IKEA chair beside Y/n with a strangled sound of contentment. Nothing in Prythian tasted like this, and unlike the Human Lands, the food here had flavor to it, albeit of an artificial variety. 

Azriel was quick to fill up his plate. He didn’t want Y/n to stand up and offer him anything. Gods, he’d have a heart attack if she offered him so much as a teaspoon of sugar. He even managed to heat it up all by himself, fumbling with the buttons before finally setting the timer for 2 minutes, as she continued to eye him warily over her cup. 

He’d given her a sheath to accompany the knife he’d gifted her and she wore it now slung across her hip. It did not suit the sweatpants and old college t-shirt she wore, but she couldn’t deny she felt better with it close by. Soon he’d have to teach her how to use it properly. 

“If you really want to conduct that experiment, I could probably find a half-usable microwave down at the landfill for you to blow up.” 

Cassian’s eyes lit up with eagerness and Azriel scowled at him once more. Rhysand stalked into the kitchen, hair still dripping onto last night’s clothes. Violet eyes recklessly appraised her house, but if he was judging her 70s floral wallpaper dull with discoloration and time, he was doing a damn good job of hiding it. With a lazy flick of his wrists the stovetop burners lit up with a click and a flare of fire. First he applied his magic too strongly and the hiss of gas tinged the air. But after a strong-worded reprimand from Azriel, he tempered his control over the new, unfamiliar magic. 

Rhysand touched the flame without fear, capturing a flicker in his palms before letting it fizzle out. It was a strange magic the humans used. It touched everything without them even realizing that’s what it was. Y/n had used it to start her car the night before, and had used it this morning to brew her coffee and answer the flurry of messages that appeared on the little black box she carried everywhere. Rhysand couldn’t help but reflect on the strange world they’d arrived in once again. 

Azriel ate standing and Y/n sensed he was not one for relaxation. Constantly vigilant, the twisting of his shadows betrayed what his rock-still body did not. He was searching with his golden eyes, and Y/n found he was the one her eyes stuck to like a mouse on a glue trap. 

His nails were cut short and clean, but his hands were cracked, dry, and horribly scarred — his one and only glaring imperfection. He leaned casually against the wall, content to hide in the shadows of the fridge, but his jaw was clenched. He seemed like he was doing everything he could not to meet her gaze, but everytime she moved, his eyes followed her. Hands twitching by his side or against his breakfast plate as she twisted in her seat or poured another cup. 

“So,” she began carefully. The pouring of coffee splintered throughout the room. “What the fuck am I meant to do with you now?”

Rhysand chuckled, as if he too recognized the absurdity of the situation as he took the remaining chair at the table beside Jefferson and Cassian. Two Illyrians, a half-breed, a human, and her hideous feline companion. If only Feyre could see them now… 

The fat cat hissed, maw split open in a dark scowl. He leapt off his seat cushion, settling precariously in Y/n’s lap as he eyed his three victims. Just one taste. He reminded himself. And I will know their devices. It was the gift that had been bestowed upon him by Master. 

Normally, Jefferson the Cat would find an hour or two to disappear into the night and answer to Them, but the arrival of such dangerous guests had stolen that opportunity from him. He longed to slink into the darkness, to chase after the tendrils of power that lingered in the woods and to reveal all that he knew, for he was a good spy. But he was a better protector and could not bear to leave his Y/n in such horrific company. 

The three brothers looked at one another cautiously and Jefferson could only reflect on how they were so similar in their colorings, yet so different. 

“We don’t… we don’t have a plan.” Cassian admitted, finally giving his spoon a rest and rubbing the back of his neck. “We were hoping you might think of something.”

“Me?” 

“Elain told us there would be a Maker of some kind waiting here for us. Someone who could expect our arrival and arm us with what we need to defeat Koschei.”

Y/n scoffed. “That’s so fucking vague.” 

Rhysand smirked. “When considering interdimensional travel, what more could you expect?”

“So what’s stopping you from using your magic to find the Maker.” She wiggled her fingers in the air and Rhysand tried not to be offended. “Surely a High Lord or whatever you are is powerful enough to find him.” 

Rhysand’s expression soured. “The magic of this world is different from ours in a way that’s… interfering with our usual abilities.”

“Like?”

“Like how I can’t read your mind.” 

Y/n immediately reared back from Rhysand’s violet gaze, finding a patch of silver fur on Jefferson’s coat to distract herself with. “Well excuse me for finding that a relief.” Jefferson hummed in agreement, pushing his head into her open palm. “So your magic’s on the fritz and you’re stuck in an unfamiliar world with nothing but the name of “the Maker” to guide you home.”

“Do you know anything about him?” Rhysand leaned forward expectantly. 

Y/n remained unsmiling. “No. Sorry to disappoint. The uh… Maker is not someone I know personally.” 

He combed through his hair and somehow the strands fell perfectly back into place. It was annoying how handsome he was, like he belonged on the cover of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue. Y/n blinked, suddenly glad that he couldn’t hear her thoughts. He seemed like the kind whose arrogance would scarf up a comment like that. 

“Anyone else you could direct us to? Lords, Ladies, Kings, and Queens, or—”

“Life doesn’t work that way here. We’ve all but done away with royalty.” 

“Then someone else. Whoever governs this place.” 

Y/n snorted. She gathered Jefferson in her arms and disappeared to her bedroom, reemerging with a slender tablet in her hands that she opened like a book. The screen glowed ominously before transforming into a host of words jumbled together. Azriel got a glimpse of the word “Google” before she was slamming her fingers on the keys faster than he could register. 

She showed them the man who governed this place — America, she called it — and all three frowned deeply. 

“I see.” Rhysand grumbled. 

Their disappointment did not go away when she showed them Congress. It got worse when she actually got around to explaining everything. 

“No gods?” Azriel asked. He leaned over her shoulder, one arm planted on the table so she could have turned around and kissed his stretched neck if she wanted to. 

“I mean… yes and no? We have gods, but it’s not exactly like we can speed dial them.” 

“What does—” He shook his head, “Nevermind.” 

Jefferson flicked his tail. Master was a god. Is a god. He put all his weight on his front paw, sinking it deep into Y/n’s stomach until she was grimacing in pain and lifting him into her arms. 

Jefferson eyed the curve of Azriel’s neck, claws inching forward out of his velvety paw when the doorbell rang. Then rang again.

Y/n swore, shuffling the Illyrians into the kitchen and out of sight of the front door before opening the peep hole.

Azriel snuck up behind her quiet as night, and slid a knife into her palm. “Just in case,” he murmured.

She startled at the heavy weight of the blade and looked at him incredulously, fighting to suppress a smile. “I’m not about to murder a Mormon. Now hide.” 

What’s a Mormon? Cassian mouthed. He held a broadsword in a loose grip, bouncing on his feet as he prepared for what may come. An uninvited guest was a threat, and Cassian was all too familiar with the kinds of dangers that liked to visit the homes of young women.

Azriel shrugged, joining his brothers around the corner and out of sight. 

“Hello!” A cheery, male voice called from just out of sight. Azriel couldn’t help but seethe. His hands twitched around the handle of his knife as the soapy, clean smell of the stranger invaded Y/n’s home. 

A thin, lanky frame stood straight as a needle in the doorway, crisp clean shirt and black tie decorating an otherwise bland and pale figure. Sandy blonde hair was brushed back from a freckled brow and framed a long face with a brilliantly white and straight smile. Azriel had never seen a human with teeth so uniform. 

“How are you doing today?” The male touched his hand to his chest, clutching a leather-bound book in the other, “I’m Brother—” 

“Hey,” Y/n dropped her voice low and sweet, “I have company over and can’t listen right now. Come again later?”

“Oh, I’m sorry I—” 

“Yes, yes, apology accepted.” She could hear the fake politeness in her own voice — plastic and lifeless. But she had more pressing concerns at the moment.  

She gently ushered the man down the walkway, watching carefully as he made his way down the street to the neighbor’s place before shutting the door with a definitive thud and declaring, “I need another coffee.” 

Azriel sprang forward, “Allow me.” There was an extra touch of eagerness to his voice. He snagged the empty coffee cup from the table before she could protest and poured her a cup adding in sugar and cream exactly to her liking. He even stirred his spoon the way she liked — three times counter clockwise, once clockwise, before tapping the lip of the mug twice. He’d been paying careful attention to her all morning, and it paid off when she took her first sip and realized, with shock, that it was perfect. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, closing her eyes and sighing. 

He tipped his head forward in the ghost of a bow, eyes catching on the swish of tail and acid-yellow silts narrowing in contempt at him as Jefferson wrapped around Y/n’s legs. Then the cat pounced. 

Jefferson leapt into Azriel’s arms with a howl, swiping at the Illyrian’s face and neck with vengeance. There was a flash of claws and a thin line of blood appeared on Azriel’s cheek. 

“JEFFERSON!” Y/n shouted. Azriel calmly held onto the cat’s thick torso, holding out the spitting creature at arms length as it writhed and screamed. “I’m so, so sorry.” Apologies continued to spill from your mouth as you hauled Jefferson away. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” 

The cat only hissed with his eyes locked firmly on the Shadowsinger. 

Azriel swore there was satisfaction in the cat’s gaze as Jefferson brought one paw up to his mouth and licked the drop of blood from his claws. 

Immediately the cat’s slitted eyes blew open until they were nearly black. 

Oh… Master would not like this. Beyond the Master, he did not like this. 

The cat began to whine, clawing at Y/n’s clothes like he was convinced she would abandon him. You cannot have her, Shadowsinger! He thought with venom. You cannot take her away! He meowed desperately, crawling into Y/n’s shirt through the neck hole. 

Rhysand cocked his head to the side, reaching out with his magic at the cat that was acting very un-cat-like. There was something there, some magic, clinging to the creature like a piece of armor. Rhysand could feel it wrapping around the beast, coiling and uncoiling and burning with light. Breathing.

“Y/n?” The High Lord asked carefully. The young woman was too busy soothing the beast to hear him the first time around. “Y/n.”  

“What?” 

“Where did you get that cat?” 

“Really, Rhys? That’s what you’re focused on right now?” Cassian scoffed, crossing his arms.

 “Please answer the question, darling.” 

Azriel and Y/n both frowned at the use of that pet name. 

“I got him the way most people get cats.” She shrugged, “I found him in the backyard.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. I found him a week after my previous cat died. Jefferson was scratching at the window frame for hours until I finally woke up and let him inside. He’s been with me ever since.”  

“Interesting.” Rhysand poked at where Jefferson bulged under her shirt. If he didn’t know any better he would say Jefferson was protecting Y/n with his body, covering her heart with his own. “Could I see the cat please?” 

Reluctantly, Jefferson let Y/n pull him out of her shirt and present him to the High Lord of the Night Court. Rhysand held him loosely in the crook of his arm and pulled out a knife, pricking the tip of his pointer finger before presenting it to the cat. 

“No claws necessary.” He said as the cat took a tentative lick, then bit down for good measure. 

Y/n watched all of this with a mixture of fascination and detached horror as Cassian did the same. Jefferson licked his lips, regarding them with less suspicion and more disdain. He would need to go see Master. Now. He was in desperate need of revelation if he was to care for Y/n. But this time, he could rest easier knowing Y/n was in good hands. Although he only possessed the brain of a feline, incapable of grasping the enormity of a mating bond, he knew that so long as Y/n was with the Shadowsinger, she would be safe. At the very least she would not be the first to die. 

Jefferson jumped down Cassian’s arms with a firm kick to the warrior’s chest, slunk towards the front door and with startling dexterity, unlocked, then opened the door all on his own. 

“Jefferson…” 

The cat turned, tail high in the air like an antennae and meowed his goodbyes, blinking slowly at his charge. 

Fear not. He purred, although he knew Y/n was not so enlightened as to understand him. I will not leave you to these plebeians for long. 

He took off for the woods, his form warping and changing as he went. He seemed to grow, then shrink. His fur turning black, then gold, then back to silver. But before Y/n could fully comprehend what she was happening to her fucking cat, he melted into a beam of sunlight and flickered out of existence. 

<- Previous chapter Next chapter ->

[trashytracktales]

omg I LOVE your writings, its my first time ever requesting one, hope u can write it (if u dont like it i would completely understand)

i was thinking about some lando thing, where his girlfriend is reading some spicy book and he accidentally reads some lines and the room gets hot lol, and when everything its done he is just the fluffiest boyfriend of the world

hope u are doing good🩵

By the book | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── I genuinely had so much fun with this one, thank you so much for the request. Hopefully this is a nice first experience 😉🤍

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

𐙚 summary ──── When boredom leads him to a new world, intense and full of possibilities, Lando wants to prove to his girlfriend that despite the perfect moments in her erotic books, the real deal is still better than fiction.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, established relationship, fluff & smut, descriptive language, fingering & oral ─ (f)receiving, unprotected sex, swearing, edging, teasing, roleplay elements, Max F. cameo.

𐙚 word count ──── 3.7k

𐙚 date ──── Dec. 19, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Guys! I’ve got a couple more one-shots coming your way before the year wraps up, and I just wanted to thank you all so much for your patience and support. It means the world to me 🤍

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

THE FAINT GLOW from Lando’s monitors is the only light in the room, casting faint shadows over his side of the bed. It’s pretty late — later than it probably should be for him to start a streaming session — but Max insisted, and Lando figured it was either this or mindlessly scrolling through his infinite feed until falling asleep. His headset lies next to his keyboard, untouched, as he waits for his best friend to finish whatever pre-stream rituals he’s currently busy with.

From the en suite bathroom, the sound of running water echoes like ambient noise, muffled by the walls yet delicate, while his girlfriend showers. He glances at the door, thinking about how she had kissed him on the forehead just a few minutes ago, hair piled on top of her head in that messy bun he secretly loves. She had told him to have fun streaming, flashing him a sweet smile that made him wish she weren’t about to leave him alone to his boredom.

Lando sighs, spinning slightly in his chair, his gaze randomly falling to the nightstand on her side of the bed. A stack of books rests there unbothered, as it always does, each spine a different color. She goes through them so quickly that he can never keep up with what she’s reading now versus what she finished last week, that's why, normally, he doesn’t pay them much attention. But tonight, in the thick silence, with Max still not ready and the hum of the bathroom as his only company, he reaches for the book at the top of the stack.

The cover is intricate and inviting — soft, watercolor-like strokes of flowers in muted tones frame a bold, serif title. There’s no hint of what it’s about, and when he flips it over, the description on the back isn’t much help, either.

“Vague as hell,” he mutters under his breath after reading it.

He flips the book open, thumbing through the pages, noticing that she's halfway through it, with a scattering of sticky tabs peeking out from various places. A glance at the pages confirms his girlfriend’s habit of underlining sentences and jotting tiny notes in the margins. He smirks to himself, picturing her curled up on the couch, pen in hand, diligently marking her favorite parts, as she always does.

He stops at one of the tabs — a pink one — curiosity getting the best of him. The text beneath is neatly underlined, with a couple of notes scribbled faintly in the margin. His eyes skim over the words, and then he freezes, blinking at what he’s just read.

His hands roamed my bare skin with a deliberate slowness, mapping every curve, every dip. I gasped when his fingers dipped lower, teasing just enough to make me squirm beneath him. “Patience, my love,” he murmured against my neck, his voice rough with desire. “I'll give you what you need.”

Lando’s mouth goes dry, while his eyebrows shoot higher on his forehead. His fingers tighten slightly on the book as his eyes dart to the highlighted lines. She’s underlined “I'll give you what you need” and scrawled something next to it — he squints to make it out.

‘OMG. The tension here is insane,’ it reads, followed by ‘On. My. Knees’.

His pulse quickens, and he feels a flicker of heat low in his stomach.

Suddenly, Lando realizes how intimate it is to rummage through her annotations, as they are pure, unfiltered emotions, evoked by scenes that obviously awakened something in her when she read them, and now he feels way too guilty to continue.

But not enough to stop.

He flips ahead, stopping at another pink tab, as if he's on autopilot, guided by sheer curiosity alone.

My legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, until there was no space left between us. His mouth was everywhere — on my lips, my collarbone, the sensitive skin of my nipples. I trembled as he kissed his way lower, his tongue leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I moaned his name, breathless, as he looked up at me with a smirk that promised more.

Lando swallows hard. He shifts in his chair, hyperaware of the heat creeping up his neck. He tells himself to stop, to close the book and put it back, but he can’t seem to help himself.

“You liked that, don’t you?” he asked in a whispered tone. I whimpered in response, my nails digging into his shoulders as my body arched into his touch. “You did, my good girl,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. “Keep being good, and you'll get to cu—”

He sucks in a sharp breath, snapping the book closed. His mind betrays him, conjuring images of her beneath him, her breath hitching the way it does when he teases her, her hands clutching at him as she whispers his name in pleasure.

His jaw clenches, and he drags a hand through his hair, all too aware of the way the air has changed inside the room. Luckily, the vibration of his phone on the desk jolts him back to reality. He startles, nearly dropping the book in his lap.

Scrambling to grab his phone, he sees a text from Max:

“Shit,” Lando mutters under his breath.

He rushes to put the book back where he found it, his movements momentarily clumsy. He’s acutely aware of the way his body feels now — tense, restless, hot — as he makes himself more comfortable in his chair, tugging his headset over his ears.

The monitor flickers to life as Max joins the call, his voice loud and cheery in Lando’s ear. “Finally, mate! Thought you fell asleep or something.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando replies, his voice a little strained. “Let’s just get started.”

By the time she's done with showering and coming out of the bathroom dressed in one of his oversized t-shirts and towel-drying her hair, Lando is fully immersed in his racing game. She pauses in the doorway, watching him for a moment with a small smile on her face, and he catches her eye briefly, following her as she crosses the room, the t-shirt swallowing her frame entirely. He gives her a quick nod before returning his focus to the screens, while she climbs onto the bed and grabs the book from her nightstand, settling in against the pillows to read.

At that, Lando finds himself smirking.

It’s hard not to, knowing what’s tucked between those pages now. His fingers twitch on the steering wheel, but he keeps driving, throwing himself into the rave to avoid getting distracted.

“Mate, you’re lagging behind,” Max calls out through the headset, breaking Lando’s focus.

“Yeah, mate. Don't worry, I’m here,” he replies, steering his car to catch up.

Time passes in a blur of laughter, strategy, and the occasional curse as he and Max trade wins and losses. At some point, she gets up from the bed, her book left open and facedown on the comforter. Lando watches out of the corner of his eye as she pads over to him, stopping just out of frame.

“Want some tea?” she asks quietly, her voice careful not to interrupt his live stream.

Lando glances up at her briefly, his lips curling into a small smile. His hand leaves the steering wheel, trailing to the back of her thigh, his fingers traveling up slowly, squeezing the soft curve of her ass.

“Yeah,” he whispers, the word leaving him on a smirk.

Her breath catches in her throat at his touch, and she shoots him a pointed look, though the pink dusting her cheeks betrays her.

She swats his hand away lightly, protesting quietly, “Behave,” before disappearing into the kitchen.

TWO HOURS LATER, the game session finally winds down. Lando thanks the chat, throws a parting joke at Max, and shuts down his stream with a satisfied sigh. He swivels in his chair to find his girlfriend still awake, her book now resting on her stomach while she scrolls idly on her phone.

She glances at him and smiles kindly, watching as he heads to the bathroom, but when he gets back a few minutes later, he’s wearing nothing but a fresh pair of boxers and a wide smile. His skin glows faintly from the shower, and water droplets cling to the sharp angles of his collarbone.

Lando approaches the bed slowly, his gaze fixed on her. She looks up from her phone as he slides in beside her, his presence warm and familiar. Without a word, he takes the book from her stomach, his fingers brushing hers lightly as he closes it and sets it back on the nightstand. Then, he leans down, brushing his lips over hers in a kiss that’s soft but full of intent — definitely not the kind that he uses to send her to sleep. Quite the opposite. It makes her hum against his lips, her hand coming up to rest lightly on his chest as she kisses him back.

“You’re still wet,” she notices, pushing Lando lightly to look at him.

When he pulls away, his voice drops, small but teasing. “We can both be,” says Lando.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, “Yeah, not tonight, buddy. You took too long, and I’m sleepy from all the reading.”

“Come on, just wrap your legs around my waist, and pull me closer, until there is no space left between us,” he murmurs the words deliberately.

For a second, her heart skips a beat, her eyes widening slightly as she registers his sentence. Blood rushes to her cheeks and beyond, her pulse quickening.

“What?” she asks, giving him a puzzled look.

Lando’s smirk deepens. He leans closer, letting his breath fan over her ear as he continues, his tone overly suggestive. “What? You don’t want my mouth everywhere? On your lips, your collarbone, the sensitive skin of your nipples?”

Her breath hitches, and her lips part in surprise. Her mind starts spinning as the words he’s quoting — the ones she underlined so carefully in her book — fall from his mouth.

“Lando,” she says cautiously, her voice shaky.

“Hm?” he asks innocently, his fingers ghosting over her hip beneath the t-shirt. “I hope it's okay, I’m just trying to remember what you liked so much. What else was there? Something about… good girls?”

She swats at his chest, but there’s no real force behind it. “You’ve been reading my stuff!”

His laughter is quiet, but there’s heat in his gaze as he leans down to kiss her again, this time deeper, as if he has a purpose.

When Lando pulls back just enough to catch her gaze, his eyes are glinting with mischief. His hand trails up her side, his thumb slowly brushing the soft curve of her waist through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

“And? What’s that about, baby?” he asks. “Don't you want to be my good girl?”

She lets out a soft laugh, a mix of flustered and amused, and presses a hand to his chest. “For the record, you’re not allowed to touch my books anymore,” she says, trying to sound stern but failing miserably when her cheeks flush under his intense gaze.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls, leaning closer, his lips brushing her skin. “I think I learned a lot. Like how you’re into being told what to do, and being touched like this,” he continues, tracing the pads of his fingers up and down her body.

“Lando,” she protests, but her voice wavers, her breath hitching when his teeth graze the sensitive spot just beneath her earlobe.

“You marked all the good bits for me,” he says, his mouth trailing along her neck, placing soft, lingering kisses there. “Made it so easy, really.”

She shakes her head, trying to maintain her composure, but the warmth of his lips and the purposeful way his hands roam her body make it impossible. “You’re being ridiculous,” she whispers.

“And you’re so cute when you’re blushing,” he counters, his lips hovering just above hers. His tone shifts, teasing, giving way to something more profound. “Just know that if you ever want to recreate something from your books... all you need to do is ask, yes?”

Her breath catches as Lando’s fingers find the hem of her t-shirt and tug it upward. She lifts her arms without hesitation, letting him pull it over her head and toss it aside.

“And if you can't tell me, just underline the scenes,” he continues, smirking down at her. “I'll figure it out.”

“Lando…” her voice is much softer now, her eyes searching his, but he silences her with another kiss. Slow and lazy, his tongue dancing with hers on a rhythm only they know.

His hands move over her bare skin, stopping on her waist, then continuing until one of them curls around her neck, “My good girl,” whispers Lando against her lips, echoing the words from her book. “What should I do with you?”

She laughs softly, but it turns into a gasp as his lips leave hers, trailing down over her collarbone, while he squeezes lightly at her neck. He pauses to nip at the delicate dip at the base of her throat, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin. She smells like her vanilla body lotion, a faint scent that drives him wild.

“You don’t—” she tries to say something, but his mouth moves lower, and her words dissolve into a soft moan as he presses kisses across the swell of her breast, moving his hand on top of it to squeeze the flesh there.

“Relax, baby,” he says, looking up at her briefly, his expression a mix between adoration and pure need. “Just let me play by the book, yeah?”

Her cheeks burn at the intensity in his gaze, but she doesn’t look away. Her hands find his shoulders, holding onto him as his kisses travel lower, across her stomach, his tongue darting out to trace wet patterns against her skin.

When he reaches the waistband of her shorts, he glances up again, his fingers toying with the elastic. “Can I?” he asks softly, his voice full of want.

She nods, her breath shaky, and lifts her hips to help him slide them down her legs.

Lando kisses along her inner thighs, taking his time, savoring the way her body reacts to every little, torturous touch. She’s already trembling under him, anticipation coiling in her stomach as he hooks his arms around her thighs, spreading her legs wider.

“So ready for me, hm?” asks Lando, reaching for a pillow, and sliding it beneath the small of her back, adjusting her gently until she’s perfectly positioned for him. “Every time I open your pretty legs, fucking hell.”

She nods, chewing on her lower lip as she feels his hot breath falling over her skin. The first swipe of his tongue along her slit has her gasping, her head falling back on the mattress, unable to keep her eyes on him. Lando groans, the sound reverberating through her, his movements teasing, as always.

Her hands find his hair, threading through the damp strands as she arches toward him, desperately wanting to feel the heat of his tongue on her.

He looks up, his lips glistening while smirking. “Better than your book so far?”

“Mhm,” she breathes, her voice catching as he dips lower, his tongue working in a rhythm that has her eyes rolling.

He breathes heavily as he runs his tongue over her clit, teasing her hole with the tip. It's too much for her, yet still not enough to make her body shudder, but only ache for more instead. Luckily, Lando doesn’t stop, his hands gripping her hips to hold her in place as he gives himself entirely to her, the soft sounds she makes driving him on.

Patiently, he brings his fingers between her folds, opening her even more, little by little. When he pushes in the second finger, she moans his name again, which encourages him to curl them inside her, feeling her pussy tighten around him, the sound alone making him so painfully hard.

Lando’s mouth doesn’t leave her for a long while, drawing every gasp, every shudder from her as if it’s his life’s purpose. His tongue flicks, teases, and presses, his movements confident and practiced but still reverent, like he’s savoring her in a way words could never describe.

She’s close, and Lando knows it from the way her thighs tighten around his shoulders, and the way her fingers tug at his hair, grounding herself as the pleasure builds higher and higher. It makes him hum against her wetness, the muffled sound forcing a loud gasp out of her. But right when she approaches the edge, his mouth pulls away, leaving her breathless and shaking.

“Why did you—Lando!” she starts to protest, but her words are cut off when he moves up her body, kissing a heated trail along her stomach, her breasts, and up her neck.

“Patience, baby,” he whispers, the word heavy with intent. “Isn’t that what your book said?”

She squeezes her eyes shut, her breath hitching as she remembers the very scene he’s playing out now. “I couldn’t care less about my book right now, Lando.”

He smirks, his hand sliding between her legs to tease her hole again, his fingers brushing over her sensitive heat with a featherlight touch. “Tell me what you want, then. I want to hear you say it.”

Her heart pounds, her mind is spinning, and the tears are so close from slipping out of her eyes. He's still quoting her stupid book, when he should be fucking her into oblivion instead. Even though now those words feel entirely different coming from his mouth, spoken in that low, rough voice that sends shivers down her spine, only makes her cry in protest when his fingers keep playing with her clit. The pressure he applies is measured enough to just keep her on the edge, but never pushing her over it.

“I want you,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. “Need you, please.”

“And if I ask you, pretty please, to say it again, will you?” his soft voice forces another moan to slip from her lips, his fingers dipping into her pussy, slow and teasing, feeling her walls constricting around them.

She nods, swallowing hard, “You,” she repeats, louder this time, her hips rolling against his hand. “I want you.”

Lando hums in approval, his lips curling into a satisfied smile as he leans down to kiss her, his fingers moving with more intent now. “So good for me, aren't you?” he asks against her lips, and the words make her whimper, heat pooling in her belly.

It doesn’t take long for him to position himself between her thighs, his body fitting against hers like they were made for each other. Unfortunately, he takes his time, teasing her with his length, dragging himself over her wetness, his eyes never leaving hers.

“So good and needy, is that why you read those books?” he asks, mostly curious than anything. “You need something to keep you stimulated all the time? Because if that's the case, we can—”

“Please, Lando,” she begs, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, while breathing heavily.

He chuckles, satisfied, “I've got you, baby, you know I do.”

His restraint snaps at her plea, and he pushes into her hard yet measured, his gaze locked on hers as he fills her inch by inch. Her head falls back, a broken moan spilling from her lips as he bottoms out, his hips flush against hers.

“Fuck, you wrap around me so good,” he mutters, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. He waits for her to adjust, his hands running soothingly over her thighs, her waist, and her breasts.

“Move,” she whimpers, her voice breathless as she drags her nails over his back.

He obeys, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm that has her arching beneath him, her body responding to his every thrust. He leans down, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that’s as much about love as it is about hunger — a desperate desire to show her that he can be whatever she needs him to be.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he breathes against her mouth. “Every inch of you.”

Her body rises to meet his with every thrust, their movements fluid and desperate as the tension coils tighter and tighter. His name falls from her lips like a prayer, and he drinks it in, his mouth finding the sensitive spot on her neck once again.

“Lan…” she cries out, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper inside her.

“Yes, baby. Wanna hear you,” he continues, his hand slipping between them to find the bundle of nerves that has her crying out again, her body trembling beneath him as his thumb circles around her clit. “Let go for me, come on.”

She shatters beneath him, her release washing over her in waves as she clings to him, her nails raking down his back. He follows moments later, her name a rough groan on his lips as he spills into her, his body shaking with the force of it.

This will always be better than anything, she realizes — better than any fantasy, any scenario, and any book. Just them, sharing each other in every possible way, then taking their time to come down. Together.

Their bodies are still tangled when Lando asks, “So? Was it better?” his voice is rough, but playful as he brushes a strand of hair from her face.

She laughs, her cheeks flushed, and pulls him down for one more kiss; of course he knew what she was thinking about.

“I think it might’ve been,” she teases.

“Oh? Might’ve?” Lando scoffs, his grin widening. “Guess we’ll just have to try again and make sure, then.”

PREVIOUS LN⁴ ONE-SHOT

MASTERLIST

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2024

[szarina]

For the yandere Zayne series, I wonder what he'd do if reader just... decided to leave? An impulsive decision of a pregnant woman. With Zayne on a long shift, packing everything she could in less than an hour and fleeing on the first train to another city. How far is Zayne reach? Would he use force? He wouldn't hurt the reader, but how far can we push him without consequences?

❆ ₊⋆ content warnings. abuse of power + stalking

A loud thud can be heard inside the huge walk-in closet. The suitcase clattering and it made you wince before pulling the drawers hastily. Shoving your clothes and whatever you can get your hands on and dumping it to your suitcase.

The onesies, onesies. You repeatedly chant under your breath before kneeling in front of a another drawer. The onesies you made for the twins, you will be needing it. You didn't hesitate before gripping the side of the cabinet to pull yourself up. It was hard for you when your pregnant belly is in the way.

You grab a another bag on the way. Prenatal vitamins - check. IDs - check. Personal belongings - check. The emergency packet of money you saved, credit cards. You're going to withdraw some funds, you didn't think much of it and within minutes, you were punching the codes he installed, for security, he said. You memorized it by listening to the dial tones of the certain numbers. It would notify him for sure but he's too busy while he's operating.

How did you know that? It was a coincidence. You were barely waking up after a nap when you heard the call. A patient of his needing immediate surgery and he can't refuse that and when you hear the sound of his car leaving the house and without thinking, you immediately ran upstairs.

You didn't have the plan and what you were doing is in impulse but you can't bear to stay another second in this house. You ignored the pain of your limbs. The gentle flutters of your twins that must be sensing your distress. Adrenaline was also one of the factors why you were doing this.

A taxi was waiting outside. You made sure to leave your phone in the house. You have no need for it and then, you slam the door shut of the taxi and you were on the nearest train station, about to catch the next train of whatever city it will take you.

There was a nearest ATM machine located in the train station. You adjust your beanie and pulling your coat tighter. Hoping that it was enough to conceal and see that you're not really pregnant but only the natural roundness of your stomach.

Grabbing the paper bills, you gently tuck it inside your wallet. You were glad for hiding your card and can be used for emergencies like this. It will be the last time you're using it and you will be using cash in the foreseeable future.

Purchasing a ticket in cash were a breeze. The teller didn't gave much of a peep. Occupied talking to their phone and didn't you gave much of glance. You hold the ticket like it was your lifeline. It's a ticket for the farthest city the train can reach but this was also your freedom.

As you board the train, with your suitcase besides you. A little hope fills you. It wasn't much and it will drastically change your life. You rub your belly softly. “It's okay. Mommy's tough. We're going to be fine. Just the three of us.” A teary smile is all you can muster as you feel them move inside you. This was better. You didn't need him.

The moment he sees that notification on his phone of the silent alarm that you left. He was already pinging all the hospitals in the region under the guise that you were probably visiting for a health checkup. They didn't ask questions from him since you're the esteemed wife of him.

Private investigators were already dispatched and were hot on your trail. He didn't panic, it will only bring the unnecessary matters.

They got twelve hours to find you. Cameras are being checked in the city's vicinity especially train stations and airports. You were only given 12 hours before you can truly hide and settle somewhere. He won't chase you. He will find you. You need him and you were in a sensitive condition. It will be bad for the babies to be away from their father and he's not too trusting of you handling your own matters. You will need him.

When he finds you, he didn't barge and force you to be back again. He lets you stay wherever you are but it doesn't mean he won't take care of you. There will be anonymous deliveries of care packages and food that he knows you'll crave.

Don't be surprised when he's ringing your doorbell. He won't mean no harm. He was only checking that his pregnant wife is fine.

[izzyy-stuff]

𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃 - 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍

choi soobin x afab!reader

summary: After you found out the smarty-pants in your class was in love with you you thought it would be fun to play around with him a bit, but things take a wrong turn when he is the only one you can text when you are horny and he doesn't hesitate and runs to you, making you feel better than any of your ex boyfriends could.

words count: 3.9k

warnings: smut content, she/her pronouns used twice (in the texting part) sorry 🙏, oral, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex (don't!!), cum eating, gentle sex, squiting, idk tbh

You glanced to your side, watching the black-haired boy on the other side of the classroom as he wrote down some notes. If you were to be honest, you weren’t paying any attention to what the teacher was saying, so you had no idea what he was writing down either. But it didn't matter anyway, you knew he would let you copy his notes later. 

It was one of the perks of having the class’s smarty-pants be in love with you. You chuckled when you saw him look your way too, smiling at him before you turned away again. 

“What's going on there?” The black-haired girl next to you asked, her eyebrow raised as she pointed at the male on the other side of the class. “Why do you two keep stealing glances at each other?” 

“You know Yeonjun, right?” You asked, watching as the girl next to you nodded. “Who doesn't,” your best friend scoffed. “What does he have to do with anything?” 

“Well, he is the one that told me last week our little nerdy here has a crush on me. It all makes sense now if you think about it. I couldn't wrap my head around why he would always send me the lesson notes when I asked for them but not to others. I told Ryan he could ask Soob because I thought he wouldn't have any problems with it, but it turns out he only sent them to me to get me to like him, or something,” You explained, watching as your best friend laughed quietly. 

“It's kind of cute though that he does that.” 

“But I don't want ‘cute’ anymore,” you rolled your eyes. “I want someone who can actually make me cum and not just stare at me questioning why I wouldn't finish as if he even tried.” 

“Okay, I know the last boy was a fail as fuck, literally, but who knows,” the black-haired girl shrugged. “You want to tell me you think he of all people could make me cum?” You scoffed. “Please, he probably hasn't fucked a girl in his life.” 

You said that, but God, you had no idea what was coming your way. 

“Who are we gossiping about?” You turned as you heard the male’s voice, scoffing at how needy he was for the tea. “No one,” you shook your head. “Your rival,” your best friend grinned, answering instead when you didn’t do so. The blond boy scoffed, looking at the black-haired boy. “Oh yeah, I am so sure he didn’t fuck a girl - or anyone else - in his life,” he agreed. 

“I am pretty sure I’ve been with a girl more times than he has,” Ryan next to him nodded, joining their conversation. “Kinda crazy,” you commented, laughing. Before you could say anything else, you were stopped by the teacher hitting the board with his hand, making you look his way. “As I was saying,” he started his speech again, giving you a warning look before he turned around, facing the board again so he could write down a few things. 

Your head fell on the table soon after out of boredom, and before you could even start paying attention to what the teacher was talking about, the bell rang, announcing the end of the lesson. 

“Okay, guys, who is coming with me to grab lunch?” Your best friend turned towards you and the two boys behind you. “I am passing,” you mumbled immediately, not even fully sitting up and simply turning your head towards her. “I am going,” Ryan proclaimed, already standing up from his place, the blond following him right after. 

“Okay, I see you guys later, then,” you smiled at them, waving them off as they left the classroom. You knew you should get up too and move to your next class, but you were starting to feel unwell, and the thought of getting up sounded terrible. You sighed, closing your eyes for a few seconds. You knew this classroom was empty for another hour or so anyway. 

“Hey, are you alright?” You opened your eyes again upon hearing the soft voice and feeling the tap on your shoulder, blinking a few times to make your eyes focus again. “Mhm, sure I am,” you mumbled, sitting up straight as you looked around. The class was empty by now, only the two of you were left there. “Why? Were you worried about me?” You chuckled, teasing him. Suddenly, it was as if your headache completely disappeared when you saw the nervous look on his face. “Relax, I am joking,” you shook your head, but couldn’t hide your smile. 

“I don’t want to annoy you,” you started, slowly packing your stuff as he stood beside you, waiting like a puppy. “But do you think you could give me today’s notes, Soob?” 

“You-” he gulped, trying to ignore the nickname. There was simply something about you calling him Soob. “I don’t want it for free though. You could consider it as me owing you one and helping you when you’d need it?” You suggested as you stood up, grabbing your now packed bag. “Uhm, sure,” he nodded, not even paying full attention to what you were saying. 

“I’ll text you tonight about the notes then,” you beamed happily, looking like a completely different person as you placed your hand on his arm as a sign of thank you. You were devastated minutes ago, but whoever would see you now wouldn’t believe him if he told them so. Soobin wasn’t sure why, but he was glad you looked fine again. 

Soobin threw his bag on the side of his room, jumping into his bed immediately after the long day. He laid down on his back, simply staring at the ceiling of his room. He reached into his pocket for his phone, seeing two unread messages from his best friend. He opened his phone, staring at the two texts. “Look at Instagram” “Thank me later” There wasn’t much for him to question. Even though to many it might seem confusing, he knew exactly whose Instagram he should check. There was only one person that the two of them talked about together after all. 

The black-haired male clicked on the icon, waiting for the story to load for a second. Then his eyes widened at the sight. It was a picture of you, but not just any picture. He sat up immediately, looking properly at your body. You were wearing a white top, cropped slightly above your waist. He couldn’t help but notice you weren't wearing a bra underneath, your nipples showing through the fabric. Then he saw the black miniskirt, that you definitely pulled higher than you should. He gulped, remembering how you touched his arm earlier today, your fingers brushing on his skin as your hair fell in front of your face. 

He whined silently as he felt his boxers becoming tighter the more he stared at the picture, your body curves exposed for anyone to see. He shared the story with Yeonjun, his best friend, and immediately texted him how good you looked. 

Only, did he not know it wasn’t Yeonjun he shared the story to.  

Soobin stared at the messages, screaming as he turned his phone off faster than ever before. He couldn’t believe it. He just told you he needed you. There wasn’t anything worse that could be happening at the moment. Not to mention the image of your body was still stuck in his head, making him hard. 

He stared at the messages again, his heart fighting with his brain at that moment. He didn’t want to make you do anything, he felt like it would be too forced, even though you were the one suggesting it. But a part of him knew this was his only chance. There was no way he could get you differently. He knew about your dating history, so he also knew you had never been with anyone like him. It was always the boys like Yeonjun, who just understood how to talk to girls properly, how to make them fall for them. But he wasn’t like that, he had no idea what he was doing. 

And just like that, he was in front of your place, rethinking his decisions as he knocked on the front door, trying his best to ignore the boner in his pants that still hadn’t gone down. How could it be when you shared a picture like that with him?

“You came,” you mumbled as you opened the door, looking up at him. Soobin looked down on you, noticing the same top you had in the Instagram picture. He gulped, his eyes then falling on the bottom part of your body and the white panties that were the only thing you were wearing. “How could I not?” He whispered, making sure this picture would stay in his mind. 

You grabbed his hand as you took him inside, closing the door behind you immediately. It was only now that you noticed how big his hands were against yours. You just hoped he could use them too. 

Soobin blindly followed you to your bedroom, his mind full of thoughts about how he should go about this, while his eyes were stuck on your ass, unable to look away as you walked in front of him. 

“Can I-” he started as his eyes followed you while you sat on your bed. “You can do absolutely anything, Soob,” you interrupted him, watching as his face turned red. “Soob? Soobie?” You smirked, noticing what the nicknames did to him. “Is that what turns you on?” 

“Everything about you turns me on,” he admitted, slowly getting closer to you while you moved back, not taking your eyes off him. You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t. You simply bit your bottom lip as you found him above yourself, holding eye contact. This was becoming more intimate than you thought it would. 

“Is it okay for me to kiss you?” He wanted to assure himself one more time. You thought about it for a second, not wanting to give him any hope, but also desperately needing his lips on yours. You nodded to him in the end, grabbing the collar of his shirt and bringing him closer to yourself, pressing your lips on his, your mouth slightly opened which only made it easier for him. 

His right hand found its way to your boob, carefully sliding under your top, his cold fingers brushing over your nipple. You groaned into the kiss, clenching around nothing but thin air. It felt pathetic. He had barely touched you and you were already getting wet. 

Soobin left your mouth for a second, getting a disagreeing whine immediately that made him smile as he started placing wet kisses all over your neck, slowly moving down to your collarbone and then between your boobs. Your lips parted as you breathed out from the pleasure, raising your head to look at him. “Mhm, take it off,” you whispered, your hand reaching for his sleeve. He didn’t hesitate for a second and listened to you, taking his shirt off while you took down your own, exposing your breast to him completely. 

“Fuck,” he groaned at the sight, feeling more and more uncomfortable in his sweatpants. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking at your body one more time before his lips found their way to your breast again, his hand cupping one of them as he pressed kisses on your other boob, his tongue making wet circles around your nipple. 

“Fuck,” it was you groaning this time, quiet moans escaping your lips as your nipples became hard at his touch. “Soob, please,” you whined, throwing your head back into the pillow. “Please, what? Hm?” He asked, not even looking up and just continuing what he had been doing until now, his lips moving down again, leaving wet traces on your stomach now as his hands found their way to your waist. “I don’t know. Just- fuck,” you moaned out again when you felt his lips on your clit through your panties. 

“Just?” He asked again, looking up at you. You could swear you had never seen anything better in your life. The male was in between your legs, his breath landing right on your clit as he looked at you, absolute need in his eyes. 

“Just fuck me already,” you begged, watching as he took down your panties, his eyes fixated on your already leaking pussy. “I don’t think so,” he informed you, moving up again so he would face you. “I doubt you could take it just like that,” he whispered, moving his fingers to your lips. You didn’t need to hear anything else and immediately opened your mouth, sucking on his fingers. 

Before you could even register his actions you felt him slowly inserting his two fingers into you, carefully watching you. He did so to make sure he was doing everything right. You weren't completely wrong when you said he probably hasn’t been with a girl in his life. He couldn’t say he would have much experience, but all of his friends were sex addicts - and now he could finally see why - and they couldn’t keep their mouths shut every time the topic came up, so it was only natural for Soobin to catch on to a few things. 

You gasped, your eyes rolling back. You knew there was an obvious difference in your hand sizes but god, his fingers were bigger than you thought. “Fuck, curl them now,” you commanded, not daring to look down. He did as you said, feeling his precum on his boxers. He wanted nothing more but to fuck you right then and there, but he knew he had to wait. 

It didn’t take much longer for you to squirt on his fingers, especially after he added pressure to your clit too, his thumb making slow circles around while his fingers were stretching your inside. 

“Can I eat you out, please?” He asked, looking up at you again, his thumb still rubbing your clit slowly. “Please, y/n,” he begged, making you go crazy. You weren't sure if it was the way he begged you, the way he said your name, or because of his breath on your skin, but you couldn’t say no to him even if you wanted to. “God, please do,” you whined out and just like that, his tongue was pressed on your pussy right away, not wasting any second of the time he had with you. 

It had been months since you had cummed thanks to a boy, so you didn’t have any expectations for him when you invited him over. But you were wrong when you thought no boys knew how to take care of their girls anymore because he did exactly what he should, making you cum on his tongue a few minutes after he went down on you, not leaving your trembling cunt even then, letting you ride out your orgasm as his nose was pressed on your clit, his tongue carefully licking every last bit of your cum. 

“Soob,” you groaned, pulling his hair, making him finally raise his head and look at you. “Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he mumbled, going up again to kiss you. “And delicious,” he informed you, pressing his lips on yours. “Fuck, Soob, you’re too good,” you mumbled before you kissed him again, slowly sitting up. “Come closer,” you said, grabbing the hem of his pants, and pulling him closer at the same time. 

He groaned, his eyes shut tight, his lips unable to stay away from yours. You smirked into the kiss, your hand grabbing his trembling cock over his pants, making him moan. “I don’t usually do this but…” you started, breaking your kiss so you could look at his body properly. “You were so good earlier,” you praised him, not breaking your eye contact as you changed your position so you would be kneeling. “Pants off, baby,” 

That alone was enough to make him go crazy. You calling him baby just did something with his head. And with his dick. 

“Fuck,” You breathed out when you finally pulled down Soobin’s pants and boxers, your pussy clenching around nothing again. You knew he would be bigger because of his height, but this was more than you had expected. 

He cupped your cheeks, making you look up at him. “Are you sure?” You chuckled, simply nodding. “I can take good care of you too, you know,” you proclaimed, looking up at him as your right hand wrapped around his cock, not breaking your eye contact. You knew it must have been making him go insane. 

You started slowly, simply kissing his tip and licking off his precum. Then, you decided to try to take his full length into your mouth, but stopped shortly after getting to his half, already feeling like you were going to gag any second. There was no way you could do this. 

However, Soobin saw it differently. To him, it looked like you were playing with him, moving slowly and carefully on purpose to tease him. His hand found its way to your head, carefully tugging the hair that was getting in front of your face behind your ears before he held your chin up, making you look at him, his dick still in your mouth. “Think you can go faster, pretty? Please,” He asked, hoping maybe begging would help him. 

He groaned when he felt you suck harder, trying to go faster too but failing miserably. He chuckled at the sight, his hand in your hair so he could control the speed himself. “If you want to stop, just punch me, or something, okay? Try not to bite my dick off if you can’t take it anymore, though,” he told you, and before you could even look up at him again and question what he was talking about, he was moving with your head on his own as if you were just a toy to fulfill his needs. If you were honest, you were glad he did so. It was turning you on more. 

“Fuck, just a bit more,” he moaned out, thrusting his hips into your mouth as you sucked on him. He didn’t dare to look at you just yet, he felt like he would stop if he saw you in the moment, scared he might have been hurting you by determining his speed. 

When Soobin finally looked at you there were tears in your eyes, and his cum was all over your mouth. He cupped your cheeks, wiping the tears from your eyes with his thumbs. “Sorry,” he mumbled. You looked up at him, high on all the pleasure you felt until now thanks to him. God, you knew you needed to do this more often from now on. You licked the corner of your mouth, making sure not a single drop was wasted. 

“You’re not done yet, are you?” You asked, your puppy eyes almost making him cum again right away. “Fuck, no I am not,” he answered, leaning down to you to kiss you again. 

Soon after, Soobin found himself sitting on the edge of your bed, his back pressed against the white walls while you sat on him, your head on his shoulder, biting into his skin so you wouldn’t get too loud as he fucked you. Holding your ass, he was helping you remain at the same speed, moaning along with you. “So close, Soob,” you cried out. “Hold in a bit more,” he whispered, closing his eyes as he felt himself getting closer to finishing again, too. 

“Fuck,” you breathed out, a mixture of your own and Soobin’s cum leaking from your pussy. You raised your head slowly, your cheeks completely red as you looked into his eyes, still sitting on his cock. “Soob, this was the best sex I’ve ever had. God, you were so good.” He bit onto his bottom lip, watching your fucked out face. “Oh, yeah?” He asked, even more embarrassed than you were. “Does that mean you’ll let me fuck you again next time?” 

“Soob…” you mumbled, just watching him for a second before you carefully got off him. He just shook his head before you could say anything else. “I know, I know, don’t worry,” he muttered. “I still needed to try it,” he smiled awkwardly, his dimples being the cutest thing you had ever seen. “Let me help you clean yourself up before I leave. It's the least I can do,” He suggested. You nodded to him, convinced this was the last time you were together like this. You couldn't be more wrong though. 

You knew you couldn’t stay away from him for too long when he helped you to get into your bathroom and his fingers found their way to your clit again, making you melt at his touch. Even worse was when he carried you to your bed after he switched your bedsheet for you, asking you to let him eat you out one more time before he would leave you alone for good. 

You just couldn’t let him get away. 

“Fuck, Soob,” you mumbled, sitting on the edge of your bed, watching him kneeling in front of you, begging to feel your cum on his tongue again. “You’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?” His innocent eyes looked up at you, his hands rubbing your thighs. You sighed, “Just stay here.” 

You could swear you saw sparks in his eyes as the words left your mouth. “Really? Can I?” 

You nodded, agreeing. “Sleep here tonight, I’ll let you eat me out again next time.” 

Soobin smiled proudly, his hands squeezing your thighs. “Only next time?” 

“God, just come here,” you proclaimed, pulling him up from the floor into a warm kiss, feeling his hands roaming on your body again. The night was still nowhere to be done.

[yanderelionwrites]

Take a Break - Self Aware AU Leona x Reader

Very self indulgent drabble to cope with finals stress 🫠

(Type of self aware au where they can come out of the game btw)

Content Warning: None!

Word Count: 778

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A normal person would probably scream and freak out if a whole person came out of their phone, nevermind it being a character from a mobile game. But you’ve grown used to it by now, so you don’t even bat an eye when an NRC boy comes through to say hi. In fact, you welcome it.

Except for maybe today. You have a bunch of projects and assignments due for finals week and you’ve been working nonstop on them so you can get them done on time. You’re beyond tired and your hands feel like they’re gonna fall off, but at least your assignments don’t look like total shit.

You’re at your desk working, ignoring the strain in your eyes or the stiffness of your shoulders. In fact, you’re so busy, you don’t even notice your phone’s screen lighting up, glowing from across the bedroom where you left it charging. In a flash, a certain lion beastman appears, feet planting themselves on the floor before his eyes scan around the room for you.

After confirming you’re actually present, Leona makes himself comfy on your bed. You hear the creak of the mattress springs, and finally then do you realize you’re not alone. You only stare at him in mild annoyance, though.

“What did I say about napping on my bed? You can’t just use my room as one of your hideouts, you know.”

Leona closes his eyes, leaning back until his head hits the pillow. He hums, murmuring, “You say that, but I don’t see you trying very hard to kick me out.”

“Cuz I’m too busy to fight with you.” You take a minute to stretch your limbs out before going straight back to work. “I thought we agreed that you guys wouldn’t visit during this time so I could focus. Just couldn’t wait to see me, huh?”

A huff of a chuckle came from Leona, saying, “Nah, just wanted a quiet place to nap. It’s those freshmen that won’t stop yappin’ about seeing you.”

“Mmhm,” is all you respond with, and the room soon falls silent again.

Only a few seconds go by and Leona is out like a light. You watch as his chest heaves up and down, looking oh so comfortable on your bed. Oh, what you’d give just to lay down and nap the day away. Better yet, make it the whole week. Geez, when was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?

You swear, once finals are done and over with, you’ll take the time to relax as much as you like. But for now, you need to finish this work.

The idea of taking a nap seems to still be on your mind, however, as you nod off at your desk. Your head nearly hits the wooden surface at one point, and you have to shake yourself awake to get the drowsiness to go away.

A hand clamping down on your shoulder causes you to jump, wide-awake eyes meeting the emerald ones of the man behind you. You didn’t even notice him there until now.

“You look awful,” Leona states matter-of-factly, and you throw a scowl at him before facing back towards your laptop.

“Gee, thanks. That’s exactly what I wanna hear right now.”

“Quit pushin’ yourself and take a break already before you find yourself drooling all over your work.” 

“I’m…” You take a second to yawn. “...not even tired. And I’m almost done, so–”

Leona shuts the lid to your laptop, eliciting a “Hey!” from you, but all protests die in your throat as he pulls you up by the arm. It’s not enough force to hurt, but it gets you to stand up from your chair. He tugs you away from your desk, uttering, “Don’t try to lie to me. Those eyebags are horrendous.” 

He leads you over to your bed and nudges you forward, and you have no choice but to flop down onto the covers with an indignant huff. You cross your arms as Leona crawls in next to you, chuckling at your glower.

“Don’t be like that. It won’t kill ya to rest a little bit.” He props his arm up to support his head as he leans against the pillow, gazing down at you. “Seriously, you gotta learn to take it easy sometimes.”

“Hmm, good thing the expert is here to show me.” You finally crack a smile, cuddling further into the warmth and comfort your bed brings.

You fall asleep shockingly fast; you really were more tired than you thought. The stress of finals still hangs around you, but at least you can find a moment of peace in Leona’s arms.

[lovemomhatepolice]

inCHident - charles leclerc

navigation taglist requests

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: drunk! reader and Kelly, English is my second language!

type: fluff (funny? i hope so)

word count: 1k

summary: there is nothing funnier than you and your good friend Kelly Piquet, with whom you imitate your partners after alcohol and their famous action of 11 years ago...

more content: formula 1 masterlist, charles leclerc masterlist, max verstappen masterlist

“You know what?” You laughed, uncertainly walking down the stairs hand in hand with your boyfriend Charles.

“I'm listening to you, baby,” the man replied, holding you carefully by the elbow and waist.

Your head was spinning. The amount of alcohol on that day probably overcame you too much, or at least at that moment. Partying with Formula One drivers after races was something you loved. That atmosphere, that closeness of everyone together, the successful partying… well, and your beloved girls who proudly stood by their boyfriends as you did.

“You're a good boy,” you grinned, squeezing his hand. “Really, I've never had a better one in my life.”

Charles giggled under his breath, well aware of your condition. Ay, it wasn't the first time he'd seen you in it, and it probably wouldn't be the last either.

“Well, in that case I'm glad,” he replied, helping you up the last flight of stairs at Max and Kelly's temporary lodging for this trip.

That's where the two of you held your after-party after a good partying at the club. You didn't often do this, as mostly everyone was already tired after the fun at the first place, but today quite a few of you still had a lot of energy in you and you definitely couldn't let it go.

“But really Charles.” you said, stopping in front of the stairs.

You were then standing in a place somewhat isolated from the room where all the rest who had come with you were sitting. They were not all drivers, on the contrary, you ended up with about ten people. The rest simply let go of further fun and either returned by plane to their homes or to their hotel rooms.

That's why hardly anyone could catch the fact that you managed the “bathroom” task, which earlier caused a lot of laughter. Leclerc just didn't want to let you go up the stairs alone, and heck knows - you could still fall down them in those heels.

“Really what?” he laughed, grabbing you by the waist the moment you threw your arms around his neck.

“You really are a good boyfriend. If it wasn't for you, I probably would have peed there, it was a must,” you whispered in his ear as if it were a secret, which brought a smile to his face.

“Mhm” he muttered, stroking your hips through the thin material of your dress.

You moved closer to him and kissed him lightly, grinning into his mouth at the same time. However, you were soon interrupted by a shout from Kelly, who, unbeknownst to you, suddenly jumped out from around the corner.

“[Y.N] I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN A LONG TIME!!!”.

You quickly turned around, abandoning your boyfriend's embrace, and threw yourself into the arms of the brunette, who stood behind you with her arms spread out. The hallway was filled with your squeals.

“Kelly, how I love you! You are so beautiful today, what am I saying? You are beautiful every day,” you replied, giggling.

You and the girl moved towards the living room and sat close to each other on the couch. Charles moved behind you, however, sat on the armchair next to you. He was well aware that he didn't even have a lift at that moment, when you continued to be giggling and in each other's embrace.

Everyone in the room was listening to some story by Lando, who was telling it with great passion, but you were in your own world. You whispered something in each other's ear, burst out laughing afterwards, paid each other compliments, and much more. It did not even cross your mind that Max was not in the room. You only found out when he entered the living room in a down jacket and looked at you and Kelly with a surprised look.

“Max, what happened?” asked Oscar, giggling under his breath at the sight of Verstappen.

Max shrugged off his jacket, depositing it on the couch behind you, making the brunette hiss from the touch of cold on her warm skin.

“I thought she went out...” the man began, but was not given the chance to finish, as he was interrupted by his girlfriend.

“NO, HE'S JUST UNFAIR,” she began to say loudly, grabbing your hand, which you quickly picked up on. You loved to laugh at your boyfriends. "I'm leading, he want to pass, he push me, I push him back and after he push me off the track. JUST NOT FAIR"

"Thank you, thank you Max" you replied, pretending to hold the microphone.

A volley of laughter went throughout the living room, and you could feel Lando's phone pulled out on you, which was most likely recording you, but you didn't pay much remark to it. So did Charles, who measured you with his eyes as intensely as Max did.

Kelly rose on the couch, catching in her hand the remote control that lay on the coffee table, and pressed it to her lips, sitting cross-legged. The girl tilted her head toward you and raised her eyebrows slightly, lending authenticity to the “interview.”

“Charles. What's happend with emm Max?" She asked and put the remote control to your lips, encouraging you to use it, like a real microphone.

You looked at Max, who was standing behind his girlfriend with a disbelieving face, and burst out laughing, but quickly stepped into your role again and put on a serious face. Just like fifteen-year-old Charles, giving an interview at the time.

"Nothing, just an inCHident... on the race" You replied, shaking your head in a familiar way.

“I think I just cried,” replied Lando, choking back his own laughter and wiping away the tears that really did trickle from his eyes.

Everyone in the living room laughed, including you and Kelly. Well, okay, maybe not everyone. Max and Charles looked at each other in disbelief, time and again shifting their gaze to you.

“I can't believe it's been twelve years and people continue to remind us of this,” muttered Charles, trying to break through the loud laughter and applause in the room.

All he got in response was a pat on the shoulder from Max, who took the seat next to him, and they both looked at the rest of their friends, wondering where in their lives they had gone wrong that they had chosen such people...

A/N: please do not copy or translate my work! if you have any issues regarding this please contact me in the messages :)

I hope it brought at least a slight smile to your face. AND what more can I say? happy (but belated) inCHIdent anniversary!

[tricksters-captain]

Declan O'Hara imagine - I'm not doing this.

A/N: I thought about this one shot weeks ago... finally writing it. Probably been done already by someone else but who isn't obsessed with rivals atm. I also haven't written in years.

Summary: Declan is fighting against himself and everything he believes in when you come into the picture.

Warnings: Age Gap, fem!reader, NSFW content 18+, strong language, bit of a slow burn.

"Taggie, honestly, I don't know why you'd ever willingly add Brussel sprouts to anything." You chuckled as you both crept through the door to the kitchen.

"They're good for you!" Taggie tried to defend her culinary choices for her Sunday lunch.

"If they're good for you then I always want to be bad."

"Who's being bad?" A thick Irish accent filled the room as Taggie's dad sauntered in, a mug of coffee in one hand with his other burrowed deeply into his trouser pocket.

"Dad, this is (Y/N). (Y/N) was just objecting to my sprouts."

"Oh yeah, I agree, terrible things. Even the dog won't eat 'em" Declan brought his mug to his lips, smirking through the thick moustache that hid his upper lip.

You felt your insides alight at his dark, playful expression as he teased Taggie.

That was the first time you knew you were a bad friend. A bad friend who wanted your new friend's father to lift you onto the kitchen table and bury his head between your thighs.

The thought made your cheeks burn red as you laughed at Declan's remark and Taggie's complaints against him.

The man left the kitchen when his eyes flitted back to you, sending you a nod and a 'lovely to meet you, (Y/N). '

You couldn't help but replay the way he said your name in your head over and over and over again until you were desperate for his voice to sing it again.

The next time you saw Declan O'Hara was at the O'Hara New Years Eve party.

"You better not spend the whole time in here. I'd actually like you to put a dress on and come out to dance at some point tonight." You pleaded with Taggie as she clasped your necklace for you.

"I'll try but I can't make any promises. Anyway, you're out there to be my eyes and ears. You need to tell me if anyone complains about the food, okay?"

"Yes, Taggie. But no one will because you are amazing and your food is amazing and you are so right for not letting me help you cook or serve after I burnt the soup last time." You faced her as she continued to prep the ingredients she would need for the feast she had planned.

"You are a great friend but you are a terrible cook." Taggie agreed. You felt a lump in your throat at the words. Were you a great friend for literally fantasising over her father after almost every time you had an interaction with him? "Now please go next door and make sure that all the tables have the right cutlery for me?"

"Anything for you, Agatha!" You headed to do as you were told. Looking down to smooth out your dress when you felt yourself collide with something solid.

"I'm so sorry!" You looked up to see Declan turning, laughing softly at your clumsiness.

"It's okay, love." Declan's own eyes fell down your body, his lips parting slightly as he took in the sight of you all dressed up. He knew you were an attractive girl but you were Taggie's age and one of her only friends in the surrounding neighbours beside Lizzie. "You look beautiful."

The sincerity in his voice caused a chill to roll up your spine.

"Thanks. You look very handsome too, Mr. O'Hara." You didn't know why you felt so shy around him. You were so used to owning your space and holding your confidence when you fancied someone.

"That's very kind, (Y/N). And it's Declan. I don't want to tell you again." Declan send you a wink as he started to pass you. "Hey, and no snogging my son at midnight. You're way too good for him."

Your heart squeezed at the taunt. Patrick was a gorgeous boy and he had tried to flirt with you when he met you but you were far too interested in Declan for Patrick to make any dent in your crush.

"He's not my type anyway." You managed to find your tongue to quip back an answer.

"Good girl."

Good Girl.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself replying something entirely inappropriate in response.

As the night went on, you felt your heart drop more and more. Declan was obsessed with his wife. His wife was obsessed with anyone else.

You were desperate to try and make more conversation with the man but almost everyone was grabbing his attention to discuss some work matter or other.

As the countdown began, you gut wrenchingly watched as Maud and Declan kiss. You put on a smile and exchanged celebrations with those around you. Giving Lizzie a kiss on the cheek as her husband blanked her as he usually did.

"Happy New Year, chicken." Lizzie pressed on a faux smile as you did.

"Happy New Year, Lizzie."

"A little advice for your new years resolution if I may?" Lizzie whispered as she drew you closer.

"You may want to get better at hiding your admiration for Taggie's father. I know nothing hurts more than something you can't have." Lizzie's words took you back, you felt your cheeks burning red and your smile drop.

"Oh, Lizzie, I'm mortified! Please don't tell Taggie." You begged.

"Not a peep." Lizzie motioned locking her lips with a key before grabbing your hands to singing sway along with the room.

The night went on and Lizzie tried to encourage you to join in festivities. You drank more and more, being forced away whenever you tried to help Taggie wash up, and you soon found yourself needing some quiet time.

You let yourself into Declan's office, leaning against the desk, fingers gripping the underside to give you some stability when the room started to ever so slightly spin.

You closed your eyes. Inhaling a shaky breath when you heard the door creek open.

"I thought someone unwanted had decided to sneak through my things." Declan's melodic accent forced your eyes open.

"I'm wanted, am I?" You smirked slightly, through the sickness as your eyelids closed again.

Declan didn't respond. Instead he just studied you from across the room. His hands in his pockets, his stance leaning back just ever so slightly.

"You struggling there?" Declan was amused at your state.

You tried to push yourself off the desk but instead felt yourself stumble forward.

Declan's amusement quickly turned into concern as he stepped forward to catch you.

"Steady on." Declan had managed to stop you from hitting the floor, your face pressed against his chest, his strong arms engulfing you as he pulled you up towards him.

"I'm so sorry..." You mumbled as you leant away to look up at him.

His features were so strong up close. You could smell the whisky on his breath as your eyes lingered on his lips.

"Maybe we should get you some water and put you to bed."

Declan's words drew your eyes to his own. His chest seemed to go tight as he starred down into your glassy (Y/E/C) eyes.

"You can take me to bed any time you want, Mr O'Hara." Your words slurred together with your weak attempt of drunkenly flirting.

"It's Declan."

"Okay, Declan..."

That was the first time Declan had heard you say his name. Something inside him knew he wanted to hear you say it again but he fought against the thought, pulling away from you as you gained your stance.

"Let's hope you don't remember this in the morning, ay?" Declan tried to make light, convincing himself the electric feeling he had was nothing.

"Why? I finally got my chance in your arms. My dream come true."

"Yeah, you really won't want to remember this in the morning. Come on..." Declan opened the door, waiting for you to follow suite. The noise of the party echoed around you; you had almost forgot it was still going on outside.

"Have you ever thought about me?" You had no idea where this liquid confidence had stirred from.

There was a pause before he answered.

"No." He was lying. He knew he was lying. He watched the disappoint subtly encase your eyes as you pursed your lips into a thin smile.

"If I was dreaming, you would've said yes. Goodnight, Mr O'Hara."

"Goodnight, (Y/n)."

-------------------------------------------------------

As the weeks went on, rivals became friends. Friends became rivals. You grew closer to the O'Hara family and the moment from NYE had simply been forgotten. Or so you thought...

The dread that had filled your gut that New Years Day after you remembered the incident brewed inside of you for weeks. You had successfully avoided Declan, only seeing him in group scenarios and meetings for Venturer.

"(Y/N), I left some of my flyers on the table in the living room if you want to use them." Taggie climbed into her car, shouting over at you as she rushed off. You both had been going door to door for Venturer in different areas to cover more ground but you had run out of flyers to hand out.

"Thanks, Tag!" You rushed inside, running through the house that still held a cool air inside despite the early summer warmth outside.

"Careful!" You heard a voice proclaim as your bodies hit.

Within the blink of an eye, you had hit the floor with a body on top of you.

"Are you alright?" Declan groaned as you winced underneath his weight. The hard floor sent a wave of pain through your back but you had managed to not hit your head.

"Ow." You grumbled, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Did you hit your head?" Declan propped himself up on his arms, examining your face with a furrowed brow of worry.

"No." Was all you managed to say.

"I thought we had left bumping into each other for last year." Declan recalled on when you knocked into him last New Years Eve before the party had started.

"Clearly I'm not very good at keeping to New Year's resolutions."

Declan chuckled, pushing himself up before offering his hand.

You felt the warmth of his body leave you and the coldness of the floor pierce your bones.

You took his hand; hauling yourself to your feet.

"You sure you're okay?" Declan insisted. His hand reached out to take grip of your waist, his thumb and finger burning against your skin that had been revealed by the edge of your venturer top riding up. His other finger waved past your eyes, checking for concussion.

"I'm fine. No more running in the house with blind corners." You took a step back from the man, straightening your shirt to try and control the lingering feeling of the mans hand on you.

"Now... are we okay?" Declan rephrased,

"What do you mean?"

"(Y/N), don't play stupid. You've avoided me for almost half a year now. You won't even walk around the house without Caitlin or Taggie next to you."

You didn't think that Declan would've noticed with how busy he was with work and his life. Why would he have cared where you were or what you were doing in the house?

"I'm still living down my behaviour at New Years." You reluctantly admitted.

"What, that? Everyone says stuff they shouldn't when they've had a few too many. Doesn't mean you have to never look me in the eye again."

"What I said was completely inappropriate."

"Yes, it was. You're the same age as my daughter and I'm a married man but I'll have to admit I'm a little flattered." Declan tried his best to ease your anxiety. "I don't exactly see myself a teenage heart throb."

"I'm not a teenager." You bit back, the harshness your voice surprising you both.

"There's not much difference. You're practically a child and should be going for someone your own age." Declan quit the joking tone he had been using, taken back by your defence.

"Don't call me a child. I'm not the same age as Caitlin. I am older than Taggie and I've been with men before so I'm not playing silly little girl games over here. This isn't some school girl crush on a handsome teacher. You're right my feelings for you are inappropriate because you're a married man and I'm friends with your daughter but not because of my age. I know who I am and what I feel." A fire lit up your chest as you finally had broken out of the timidness you hated.

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Declan took a step closer to you, his stare burning into you as he lowered his voice.

"You're the one who reads people. Tell me what you see in me." You matched him, standing so close to him you could feel his breath on your face as you gritted your teeth.

The air was thick. The silence of the house engulfing you both, your breath audible and quick. You thought you could almost hear your heart thudding against your chest.

Declan was the one to break away. Storming to his office with a hard slam of the door.

How did your conversation turn so heated?

That night Declan tossed and turned, his head filled with moments of you. He rolled over and gently woke up his wife with soft strokes on her shoulder blades.

"What?" Maud hummed, rolling her head over her shoulder to Declan.

"I'm awake." Declan pressed himself against his wife.

"I can feel that." Maud looked at him through a sleepy gaze.

"Let me touch you." His fingers glided over her skin until he reached the space between her legs. Maud moaned quietly as Declan began to part her folds with his finger.

"Declan..." Maud sighed as she pressed her backside into him, feeling his member hard against her.

Declan wasted no time in entering her. He closed his eyes as his dick pressed inside his wife. And all he could see through the darkness was your eyes looking up at his. The first time he had seen you in the kitchen. The bump in the hall, the incident in his study, every time he had caught you intensely listening to one of his speeches to the group, the crash against the floor. You underneath him. The tiny bit of skin his hand had managed to caress from the bottom of your shirt.

He had never thought of you before. Not with Maud, not with his own hand and imagination and he couldn't make sense of why that night he finished almost as fast as his inexperienced teenage self had once before.

-----------------------------------------------------------

It had been Declan's turn to avoid you from that day. He couldn't be too close to you without feeling his throat go dry, a sickening guilt and twisting conflict rising with it.

It was the evening you'd find out whether Venturer was a real contender against Corrinium.

The O'Hara house was filled with people eagerly waiting except one who had decided to leave the house for good.

The house erupted in cheers and celebrations as the phone call confirmed it for you all.

You watched through the window as Maud drove off, leaving Declan and Taggie behind.

"We did it!" Taggie squeezed you tightly before embracing her father and to your surprise, Declan had also pulled you into a tight hug. You had hoped no one picked up on the slight awkwardness that left the embrace when Declan moved onto join the others. You couldn't help but feel it.

The party went on and you tried to keep an eye on Declan without making it too obvious (like Rupert and Taggie had failed to).

When Rupert left Declan's side for another whiskey, (Taggie swiftly disappearing just after), Declan slipped away to his study. You followed.

"I'm sorry about Maud." You made your presence known as you watched him place his glass down on the desk, his back to you when he replied.

"Don't."

"Fine." You clenched your jaw, unsure of what to say next at the warning in his tone.

"What do you want from me?" Declan's voice had a hint of desperation. He turned to face you. You had seen this look before.

"I don't––"

"––No 'cause you followed me in here. You are everywhere I look. I can't even get a wink of sleep most nights without dreaming of two things. You or beating Tony fucking Baddingham. And I can't think of you because you're young enough to be my daughter and I'm a fucking hypocrite for telling Rupert to stay away from Taggie when I look at you in that dress and wonder what you would look like with it on this floor right now. I'm not doing it. I can't do this."

Declan's outburst kept your feet frozen in place. Had he really just admitted to wanting you as badly as you wanted him.

You felt your hand roll the zipper of your dress down your side, your body moved without force as you slipped the straps over your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

"Fuck..." Declan barely breathed out the word. His stare devouring every inch of your skin.

"I'm not doing this." Declan uttered again barely even audible as if only to himself before striding towards you. His fingers found your hips as he thrust you against the door.

His lips were on yours before your back found the solid wood behind you.

You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up towards him, trying to bring your body as close to his own as possible. You needed every gap between you gone. You wanted to feel the heat of him even on this sticky summer evening.

"What am I doing?" Declan broke away and dropped to his knees, placing a firm hand on the middle of your stomach to hold you flush against the door.

There was a deep hunger in his eyes as he lifted one of your thighs up onto his shoulder, never breaking his gaze from your face to almost check if what he was doing was allowed.

You threw your head up, trying to find the air he had stolen from you, one hand finding a grip within his dark curls as your welcome reply.

"Please." You whispered.

Declan moved your panties to the side, a finger running over your folds, sending fire against your skin before he closed his mouth around you.

You let your eyes roll back as his tongue darted across your clit. Electricity filled your body with every moment of contact.

You felt his fingers circle lightly around your entrance. Your hand jumped from his thick curls to tightly grip the back of his own that pushed against your stomach. His grip on you felt as if it were all that was holding you up.

"You want me this badly?" Declan asked with a mixture of teasing and shock. The wetness of your heat coated the tip of his fingers and glistened on the dark hairs of his moustache.

"I've imagined this so many times." You admit honestly.

"I best live up to your expectations then." Declan inserted a finger inside of you, causing a sharp gasp to escape your lips, which made Declan's cock twitch inside his boxer shorts. "Shhhh"

You placed your free hand over your mouth to which Declan smiled a toothy grin at you.

"Good girl" he purred.

Declan rose to his feet as he placed another finger inside of you, thrusting them in and out of you in a painfully slow motion that only made you ache for more.

Declan turned the lock on his door with his other hand before pulling himself away from you completely.

You pouted at the lack of contact to which he tutted.

"So impatient." He uttered as he undid his belt, pulling it from its loops and then kicking his trousers down.

Your eyes fell on the large member pressed against his underwear. The tip seeping precum through the material in a dark stain.

"Go to my desk." Declan ordered.

You almost ran over, Declan caught you by the waist and lifted you up onto it. Spreading your legs with his knee.

"Are you sure you want this?" Declan stripped himself of his shirt, revealing his chest covered with dark thick hair that you reached out to touch. This didn't feel real.

"More than anything." The words were so quiet but Declan seemed to hear them as he freed himself from his underwear.

You reached behind and unclasped your bra.

"Jesus..." He took a handful of your breast, squeezing you firmly as he stroked his member.

"Declan, please." You couldn't wait any longer. The ache pained you.

Declan didn't need to be told twice.

He tore your underwear down your legs and pressed his tip slowly into you.

You bit down on your lip hard to stop yourself from making any noise.

"Holy fuck..." Declan failed at being quiet. You were so tight against him he felt he could've finished inside of you within minutes.

You reached forward and hooked a grip behind his neck, encouraging him deeper inside of you.

"Fuck me please." you pleaded, trying to move your own hips to create some friction.

Declan took the hint and began thrusting into you quickly. His fingers almost bruising your skin as he held you steady on the desk.

The rattle of the belongings on the desk seemed to echo around the room alongside the slapping of skin.

Declan lifted you up, still inside of you and gently placed you down on the floor.

He hovered above you, just like he had once before, watching your face twist in pleasure as he fucked you.

You squeezed his shoulders, your nails leaving an impression whilst he brought you closer to your climax. You pressed your hips up into his creating hot friction against your clitoris, making you throb inside.

"Declan..." You tried to let him know; still trying to whisper to stay quiet.

"Cum for me, princess." Declan smirked, his stare never faltering as he rode you through to your end. He could feel you tighten around him only encouraging him to fuck you harder and deeper.

You bit down on your hand as your climax convulsed through you. Your body shaking in between Declan and the floor.

Declan moved you both effortlessly, lying on his back with you sat on top of him.

You leant ever so slightly forward, steadying yourself with your hand stretched out against his chest.

You smiled wickedly at him as you rolled your hips.

You felt exhausted by your own finish but knew you wanted to see the older man in the same state.

"That's a good girl." Declan held onto your hips, helping you pick up your pace.

His lips parted as he watched you ride him, sweat dripping down your skin mixing with his own as his dick twitched inside of you.

"Fuck (Y/n)." Declan cursed.

You shifted your hand to his neck, Declan almost laughed, flipping you again so that he was behind you. Both of you on your knees as he held you against his chest, his hand wrapped firmly around your neck with his opposite arm securely around your middle.

The sensation was almost unbearable as his thick member pumped in and out of you at such speed.

"You think you want to be a bad girl?" Declan hissed in your ear.

You could only shake your head.

"Bad girls get punished." Declan bit hard down on your shoulder and you fought to not cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"You're mine now." Declan's own proclamation brought himself to his own climax. He pulled out, spilling his seed over his own thighs to avoid finishing inside of you much to your own disappointment.

"I know you wanted that inside of you like the dirty girl you are." Declan teased you as he gave your throat one final soft squeeze.

You fell against him, both trying to catch your breath.

"Declan?" A voice and a knock came at the door.

"Shit..." The realisation of what had just happened and where it just happened hit Declan like a cricket bat to the face.

"I'll be out in a mo." Declan scrambled for his underwear and you did the same.

"Hurry up! I know that's where you're hiding the good stuff!" Bas' voice was more evident now and whilst he was definitely talking about the whiskey. The both of you couldn't help but laugh.

[hotheadedhero]

Preoccupied (18+)

AN: Is Bay Raph constantly on my mind? Yes. Should you be on his mind constantly? DAMN STRAIGHT! I need not say more 😘

(NOTE: I had to delete the last post and reupload because for some reason it wasn't coming up on Tumblr under any of the tags. If the world doesn't need my smut just tell me now 😭)

Raphael x Reader

All characters are aged up

Warnings: NSFW, smutty content, 18+, MDNI, swears (though that's probably the least of your concerns in a fic like this), dirty thoughts, bordering on obsessive, masturbation, angsty because, damn it, I can't help myself, this got weirdly biblical for some reason, idk how to tag nsfw content, an insomniac trying to grammar, my first official smut so apologies if it stinks :'D

You’re a damned distraction, and Raphael doesn’t know what to do about it. He isn’t without his distractions. In fact, he’s classically known to get torn up in his head over things, especially when there’s an injustice thickly rooted in whatever nameless problem ails him. You, on the other hand, agitate him in ways he wishes not to be true. You’re everywhere he goes, just not physically, like a phantom limb - a subjugator who has conquered his very being. 

Many times, over and over, he has tried to categorise you, label you, so he can file you away and forget; anything in an attempt to get you out of his mind, as abnormally pragmatic as it is for him to go such a route. Are you a friend? Best friend? Something more? He bristles at the thought. ‘More’ is dangerous. ‘More’ is a bridge he’s not sure he wants to cross because of how deep this goes, how dark it is.

He catches himself thinking about you at the most inopportune moments. When he’s supposed to be strategising with his brothers, he’s replaying a conversation with you in his head, dissecting your words, searching for hidden meanings. He sees you in the flickering neon lights of the city, a fleeting silhouette blending into the urban tapestry of this concrete jungle. When he’s meant to be watching a game, he’s picturing your hands intertwined with his, your voice fluttering out his name, your body…

You’re not just a distraction, you’re a disruption, and the universe is hellbent on finding ways to toy with his teetering lucidity.

Grumbled curses and wet footsteps can be heard long before you’re seen, but silent curiosities would have been better left when you eventually appear in the lair. Three of the four brothers find themselves around you, each snickering at the pressed spring that is your body. Your crossed arms only tighten further into themselves, lips pulling in between your teeth at their lack of sympathy, but then you remember, they are boys.

Leo is the first to compose himself, matching your exaggerated stance with a raised grin. “You’re not looking very weather-appropriate.”

“I was up until about five minutes ago.” Your hands wipe away at your scrunched-up face. “One moment, sun.” You fling them down, the water hitting the ground with an offensive slap. “The next, a bunch of angry clouds piss on me.”

Laughing semi-heartedly, you loosely gesture at yourself, but dilated pupils behind red cloth have been trained on you the moment you walked in. Head-to-toe, you’re soaked: your clothes stick to you in a way that feels intrusive, accentuating every curve and contour he's learned to admire from a distance, only daring to steal glimpses when you’re not looking. The damp fabric clings to you like a lifeline, his of which is fleeting, and it just highlights your shape, each detail so clear, too clear. It shatters the fragile walls he’s fought to keep intact, a crude violation of the mental boundaries he's desperately trying to maintain. Raphael can’t stand it, and he loathes how the rain has matted your baby hairs to your forehead, a small, insignificant feature compared to the rest, and yet it leaves you looking the most exposed.

In the hazy realm of conversation woven between you and his brothers, he drifts, utterly unaware now. He thinks he catches a flash of Donnie hurrying away, yet the essence of it all slips through his fingers like mist. His form is anchored to this corner, while his thoughts wander far beyond the grasp of the present moment. He wants to lick the rain off your cheek and whisper unspoken secrets he never knew he could keep, what he’s been aching to do to you for so long. He can almost picture how you would taste against his tongue, how soft your skin would be compared to his calloused touch.

As his gaze drops out of focus, you inch closer, lowering to a crawl. Staring up through your lashes, you stop on your knees in front of him, eyes glazed with his deliverance and his destruction all at the same time. He can practically see everything from this angle, each wet crease of material grasping closely onto your body, impersonating one of those marble statues that seem impossible to make by hand. Your damp palms press into his thighs to hoist yourself up, the cold doing little to cool him, doing the opposite, in fact - warm puffs of air feathering against his starved face. His breath shortens, but he does nothing. This should stop; he can’t find it in himself to press that big red button, but this needs to stop. As you close in on him, lips ghost over his own with expectant sighs mixing between each other, and then-

The towel draped over your shoulders is the fire blanket to his perverse absorption; he’s pulled back into reality, where he is, but it doesn’t completely snuff out the embers. His eyes have had a taste of you now, a sample of the meal that he hungers so hopelessly for. You glance around, your gaze lingering on Raph for a fraction of a second before panning away, and he jolts, like a live wire has been threaded through his veins. In that second, he thinks you know, he thinks you’ve caught a glimpse into his vulgar mind, and he expects you to run off, but you don’t. Instead, you pull the towel closer and laugh at something Mikey says, the short spit of eye contact already falling from your awareness whilst it nails into his with a hammer.

Raphael’s fists clench under the table, knuckles paling beneath the wraps. You have no idea. He's thankful for that but it almost pisses him off that you have no clue just how much you invade his everything. He doesn’t quite know when this all started, but he hopes to God it has an end because he’s not sure how much longer he can handle it.

There's a deep shame that comes with these daydreams, an itch that burns within the lowest parts of his belly every time his mind so much as wanders. Unfortunately, the image of you, any image of you, scorches him worse than that guilt, which is why he can't resist those long nights of rutting against his pillow, endless scenarios flicking behind his eyes like a roll of film that goes on forever. There were many reasons that he was thankful for finally getting his own room, more so now than ever. It doesn’t matter what you do, he finds himself in the same place by the end of each day. There’d be the occasional brush of arms, a weightless touch that would burden his skin with gooseflesh, or moments when he’d manage to make you laugh, and the sound itself would drive a tremble through his shell. He thought this was an innocuous crush to begin with, all signs pointed that way, and then it happened.

Shit.

He remembers how this all started now.

It was one of those instances when you didn’t want to go home, too tired after a particularly harrowing shift at work. You had gotten a decent amount of TLC at the lair, but arguably too good, as you found yourself drooping on the couch. The boys would have happily escorted you back home, even volunteering to carry your sluggish form if that’s what it meant, to which you threw out some languidly-humoured remark about them trying to kick you out. Not even. Not ever.

“Take my bed,” Raph had offered without a second thought.

The proposition felt harmless at the time, and his intentions were so. There was no way he was going to let you sleep on the worn mound of springs and pillows that had endured the weight of four mutant behemoths for so many years. He could take it for the night, no big deal. It wouldn’t have been the first time, and truthfully, he was more than willing to sacrifice his comfort for yours. He hadn't even considered the implications of you sleeping in his bed, nor did he think of the consequences: this seed of yearning that would be planted that night to bloom and blossom into the twisted, prickly vine that now chokes his thoughts.

You, bless your oblivious heart, had accepted readily, a tired smile gracing your lips. "As long as you’re sure, Raph. I don't want to put you out."

"Positive," he'd confirmed, a little too quickly perhaps, and then retreated to grab a blanket and pillow.

That night, he barely slept. The couch was uncomfortable, sure, but there was something else: something that nagged at him. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it. His first thought was the lack of activity from the day, barely any thugs had tried their hand at disturbing the peace, or whatever peaceful looks like for the streets of New York. Chances are, he was just restless from how many skulls he didn’t crack. Maybe not. At the time, he was stumped for an explanation, and that only secured his inability to suspend consciousness.

Before long, the early morning had arisen, and you along with it. Raphael’s failure to nod off meant he caught your freshly woken self tiptoeing out of his room. He made no effort to greet you, playing into the idea that he was genuinely asleep as you thought him to be, some parts convinced that he might have been. You slid through the lair with a swan-like equanimity he didn’t want to disturb; each clip of your shoes against the floor calculated and measured to soften the blow of your steps. He probably would have woken up were he soundly snoozing, but the attempt was still appreciated. Raphael never regarded himself as the type to silently observe, to pick up on the little details with such ease, but he had found that he was a little more introspective about these things since you’d been around.

Once you had disappeared completely, he rose from his “slumber” and slipped into his room. He figured he’d be able to get at least a couple of hours' sleep under his belt. He was very wrong about this, however. Upon entering his room, he quickly realised that sleep would be much harder to come by now. The lacklustre day had left him restless, that’s what he kept telling himself at the time, but that wasn’t the real reason. The real reason was the apparitional warmth of your presence on his bed, and if he tried really hard, he’d almost be able to perfectly emulate your body lying in his company. Moreover, it was the lingering scent, faint as it was, that had truly undone him - sweet, undeniably yours, intoxicating. Slowly, he had descended atop the mattress on his side, his cheek brushing against the pillow that you had previously lain on. He could picture you in his place, as you had just been minutes before, curled up in his blankets, comfortable in his space.

He inhaled deeply, committing the fragrance to memory. Succumbing to this was crossing a precarious line. He thinks he knew that, but he couldn’t help himself. A thick rope had taken hold of him without his knowledge, narrowing its taught breach the more he let himself surrender. As he took another heavy breath in, his hand crept down to the beating, almost painful throb that had somehow alluded him until that moment.

This was wrong. Perverted. He was taking advantage, in a way, of your trust, of the virtuous act of offering you comfort when you needed it. You wouldn’t want this. You wouldn’t want him thinking of you this way. And yet, he just could not stop. The essence of you clung to his sheets, whispering promises he had no right to entertain.

A groan escaped his throat, muffled by the pillow he was now pushing into his face, practically suffocating himself in the hints of you that were lingering deep within it. He imagined you hearing him, recoiling in disgust, the trust in your eyes replaced with disappointment, with something akin to fear. The thought was a sharp, painful stab, but still, it wasn't enough to halt his sudden fit of impure mania. He was too far gone, caught in the undertow of his appetite.

He came quickly, shame immediately washing over him in a freezing wave. The pleasure was fleeting, unsatisfying, tainted by the knowledge of his transgression. He lay there, panting, the scent of you now heavy and cloying, no longer intoxicating but strangling. He wanted to scrub himself clean, to erase the moment, to rewind and never offer his bed in the first place.

In his post-nut clarity, it hits him, the disgrace of it all: how badly he wants you, how desperate he is to feel the weight of your body on his, how much he needs every plush piece of skin to become tainted under his hands.

The days that followed were torture; worse than torture if there’s a word for it. He knew he had to avoid you, at least for a while. There was no way he could bear to face you, to see the innocent trust in your eyes. He needed time to process, figure out how to reconcile the image he had of himself with the reality of his actions, but any moment of closure would be met with opposition. Annoyingly, small things: a hair clip in the dojo, a book on the kitchen counter, a faint smudge of lip gloss on a discarded coffee cup. In your absence, these tiny objects served as landmines to his crime, a reminder of what he had done and what he couldn’t have.

Instances in which you were present to share the same air as him, however, were worse, and they still are. If you’re reading, he’s watching the curve of your neck. When he hears you laugh, he hears a calling that simply doesn’t exist. He may catch you licking your lips when they dry, an inattentive habit that makes him envious of your tongue. Each one of these details slots into a catalogue, stored away in the private chambers of his mind to be revised during those lonely nights.

Even his epiphany about stepping back and admiring from afar has been contaminated. Productive revelations have been spoiled and replaced with this thing he doesn’t know how to name. That act of defiling a space you occupied had undeniably tarnished any interaction with you, and in doing so, he had tarnished himself.

He’s a terrible person. People don’t have thoughts like this about their friends. Or, if they do, they’d at least stand a better chance of enacting these thoughts. He should just exonerate himself from you entirely, retreat to the shadows as he has always been taught to. The temptation itself almost makes him laugh. That would imply he has the will strong enough to remove himself from your life, a will he no longer possesses now that you’re in his.

Why can’t it be so easy?

That morning that started this all, something inside him had irrevocably broken. A dam had burst, unleashing a torrential wave of depravity he never knew existed within him. Before that, he’d just thought of you as someone who occasionally wracked his nerves in confusing ways if the circumstances were right. Now? You are everything: his obsession, his undoing, his most profound and concealed secret.

If only this were a simple crush, he could settle for that. It would come with its own problems, he knows, but he could at least sustain it with more prudence; deal with it.

He remembers a time, before you, when his nights were his own, when he could lay his head down after a job well done and bid the day farewell. His skin twitches if he tries to keep any urge at bay, fever lurches behind his eyes any time they close, and if by some miracle he can find his way to sleep without giving in, you all but manage to torment his dreams, too. Vivid, explicit, and utterly mortifying. He’ll wake up drenched in sweat, heart pounding, and worst of all, with morning wood just to add more to this mess for atrocities' sake. He really shouldn’t be thinking about you in this way. You’re a friend, that’s the operative word he strains to keep in mind, but his body, his innate calling, doesn’t care about propriety.

It’s especially bad when he wishes he could practise his older brother’s restraint and condition himself to keep you out of his head. Leonardo’s calm, almost serene detachment is a lifestyle away from his turbulent fixations. Leo, the picture of divine patience, can seemingly shut off any unwanted thought with the flick of a wrist, whilst Raphael is a wildfire, and you the kindling. It’s not as though the routine tactics of his brother would serve him aid in this situation, anyway. Meditation has never done him any good, and it’d only give you the space to tangle yourself up in his imagination again. Instead, he buries himself in his workouts. He tries to sweat it out, tire himself to the point of mindless exhaustion, but the sweat itself stings, and the ache in his muscles is a feeble attempt to dull the sharper ache in his shell.

When he isn’t riddled with pliable what-ifs and maybes, when there is a moment that these lascivious infections decide to leave him be, he has the camera peering down at himself. How long can he actually keep this up? How long will it be before he cracks, before he says or does something he’ll live to regret, regret more than what he’s already done in the dark corners no one dares tread? He’s a ticking time bomb, and you, naively unaware, are holding the detonator.

One way or another, you’re in everything he does, absentminded things like fiddling with his sai; the touch of cool steel against his palms imitates the delicate curve of what he imagines your jawline to feel like. Even the harsh rasp of his father’s voice during sparring matches can't silence the whisper of your name, a prohibited prayer that lingers in his ears. He can't keep you out of his head. He hates it, this constant, burning awareness of you – a forbidden fruit he longs to taste but knows he can't. The self-disgust, the guilt, the painful longing; all of it is a cruel torment, a self-inflicted wound he can't seem to staunch.

He wants to scream, especially on these restless nights, to shatter the silence and break free from the invisible bonds that chain him to this impossible, unbearable infatuation. Yet, all he can do is lie there, a prisoner of his desires, and you visit him once again, not as the friend he knows, the one who laughs easily and quips back with no effort, but as a vision of his indecency. Your smile is a siren's call, eyes a bottomless reservoir of promise. You say things he can only ever dream of hearing from your lips.

This is a fantasy he’s played out innumerable times, but each rerun feels like the first.

You lie back, sprawled across his bed like a fallen angel. Is he your rescuer, or the bastard who shot you down just so he could have you? He can fool himself into thinking this is a mutual salvation, but his jealousy of the stars will have you dragged into the pit with him, where he can savour your divine spirit all to himself. You would never willingly step away from heaven’s light to meet him, of course you wouldn’t, but at least he can pretend, even for a short while, that he has somehow convinced you to fall into this madness with him. He can delude himself that he isn’t quite so alone, and so he follows the illusion of you and takes, moving like a man possessed, lacking dignity, lacking regard.

He stops fighting these premonitions now. He thinks that if he wholeheartedly appeases this greed, abandons all virtue to the fever dream that paints you as his willing partner, that he’ll be set free. He lets the imagined warmth of your skin banish the cold reality of his isolation. He allows the phantom scent of your hair to fill his airless room, drowning voluntarily so that he can fall to the ocean’s depths where he may finally find peace.

This dance with delirium, sometimes culminating for hours, eventually has to conclude, however. Your mirage blurs into nothing the closer he gets to the end, hoping with a crossed jaw that this will be the last time he sullies your good name inside his fist.

It never is.

No matter how many times he relieves himself to your notion, it never alleviates the want, the need, the dependency that’s been conceived on this idea of having you. It only makes it worse. His stomach empties more each time, and his head bloats with new possibilities just to mock him. Every instance in which he falls victim to his imagination, he staggers closer to Hell, and Earth’s core will burn him alive long before he ever admits to the degeneracy of his vestige’s mind. This false impression of reality is much sweeter, bitter in its aftertastes, but easier, a dark bubble without complication, without an outward looking in to tell him how wrong this is.

You’re a damned distraction, and at the cost of his sanity, Raphael can’t find it in himself to do anything about it.

This is kind of an idea I coined off of @moxfirefly (called Obsesión on AO3) when I realised the similarities halfway into writing, so go read that!! It's a good one yo 🙏

[love-lilacs]

as simple as that | tyler owens x reader (18+)

“That alright?” Tyler asks, voice husky and breathy in your ear. It sends a shiver down your spine as heat pools in your core.

You nod quickly, not trusting your voice not to waver and betray you.

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI. porn w minimal plot, not beta read. smut. unprotected pnv (wrap it before you tap it pls). oral, m+f receiving. spanking. dirty talk. no use of y/n. slumby in a truck on the side of the road yk.

word count: 3.7k

It’s the middle of the night. The middle of the fucking night, and you’re tucked into the passenger seat of Tyler’s beat up red truck as you make your way through the middle of nowhere, Oklahoma. There aren’t any streetlights here, and the last car you saw was nearly an hour ago. 

“Tyler, the storm will still be forming tomorrow morning. Please, lets just pull over and get some sleep.” 

He shakes his head stubbornly, “It’s better if we make it tonight.” 

You huff, crossing your arms. “We won’t perform any better if you’re half-asleep while we’re chasing.”

“Darlin’ when have you ever known me to half-ass anything?”

You grit your teeth, unwilling to concede. “There’s a first time for everything.” 

Another half-hour passes in silence with only the tinny music crooning from the radio to fill the air. 

It annoys you, how perfect the great Tyler Owens is. He was the big man on campus back in college, 4.0 at graduation, party guy, and never turning down a challenge. 

And your personal nemesis, because while you were studying late into the night, he was blacked out at a bar and still managing perfect scores. He would always tease you in class, gently tugging your ponytail or stealing your pretzels during group projects. 

“I’m just saying-” 

You’re interrupted by a loud thunk from underneath the hood. You lean forward, peering through the windshield as if you could miraculously see through the metal to see what went wrong. 

“It’s probably nothing.” Tyler says calmly, anticipating your quip, “we’re only an hour and a half to the hotel. Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ll get it checked in the morning.” Even as he speaks, Tyler grips the steering wheel a little tighter, an action you don’t miss in the dark cab. 

Something rattles, as if in response to his assuredness. 

“Oh yeah, it sure sounds like nothing.” You snark, turning to face him.

“Just relax, would ya?” Tyler snaps. “I know my truck.”

Silence fills the air as the truck begins to loose speed, the hood steaming as the two of you come to a slow, rumbling stop. On the side of the road, in Bumfuck, Oklahoma. 

Tyler must be reading your mind as he whips open his door and points a finger at you. “Don’t go anywhere.” He slams his door shut before you have a second to respond, circling the front to open up the hood. 

“Couldn’t if I wanted to!” You call sarcastically at his slammed door. Huffing out a sigh as you wait, petulant and childish as you sulk. 

But you aren’t good at waiting, and you aren’t half awful with mechanical things, so you jump out and join Tyler at the front of his truck. You stare down at the mess of metal and the steaming engine. 

“I can’t get it going again tonight.” He begrudgingly admits. “We’re going to have to wait until tomorrow morning for Triple A or someone on the team to get us.” 

“You’re fucking kidding.” You groan, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“It’s not half bad out here.” He muses, looking around. “We have our sleeping bags and blankets. We can just stretch out in the truck bed and sleep there.”

“Seriously, Tyler? That’s your best idea? Motel Owens?”

“Do you have a better one?” He fires back, putting his hands on his hips. “If so, I’d love to hear it. The next town isn’t for another fifteen miles, the team is blacked out at the motel, and even if they weren’t, there’s no service to call. Even if we walk, we aren’t getting there until daylight anyways.”

“If you had just listened at the last town-”

“Fuck! Okay! I get it! I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know the truck would break down.” Tyler yells, stepping closer to you. 

“It’s not my fault your truck is old and shitty!” You yell back. 

“No, but you could be less of a dick about all of this. I’m not trying to piss you off, but you because you hate me you’re apparently determined to make me feel like shit!”

You open your mouth and close it. Your faces are inches apart, only illuminated by his headlights. You feel his breath coming quickly, in cool puffs from whatever mints he kept popping, and for a split second your eyes dart down to his lips. You don’t say anything and neither does he, chests heaving as if waiting for the other to say something. 

“Can we just suck it up for tonight?” He says lowly. 

You swallow thickly and nod.

“Good.” He steps backwards, slamming the hood and going to grab the bedding to make up his truck bed, leaving you standing alone and questioning the sudden desire you’ve had to kiss Tyler Owens. 

When he’s done creating a makeshift bed, you clamber into the truck next to him. Neither you or him have changed into sleep clothes, him in those stupidly tight jeans and flannel, you in linen shorts and a tiny t-shirt. Not the most comfortable sleep clothes, but you both seem determined not to complain to the other.

Tyler gave you the right side, knowing you like to be on that side of the bed in whatever hotel you crash in. He gave you the only sleeping bag you have, leaving him covered only by a thin fleece blanket. It’s springtime in Oklahoma, and while its been warm for the last few days, the incoming storm brings a cold front that leaves you wishing you had a sweatshirt and that you couldn’t feel him curling tightly into himself to try and keep himself warm.  

You tuck your hand under your chin, musing to yourself about Tyler’s chivalry. He wasn’t bragging, and knew without asking. You know each other more well than either of you would ever like to admit. 

So you don’t hate Tyler. Maybe you like how determined he is to contribute to every project equally. Maybe you love how much he strives to make everyone feel included, and how he volunteers in towns that storms have hit badly, searching through rubble for precious lost items and offering free food to the locals. Maybe you steal his food right back, secretly hoping he doesn’t eat the blue and red sour gummy worms because he knows you like those best, buying the spicy pretzels because he off-handedly mentioned that he really liked them the first time you brought them. You don’t hate Tyler Owens at all, in fact you might like him more than you can possibly handle. 

You’re both facing away from each other, staring at the walls of the truck bed. You roll over to face him, greeted with his plaid covered back, the blanket comically small and barely covering his waist to feet. 

“Tyler?” You ask tentatively.

He grunts out a “Hm,” in response. 

“I don’t hate you.” You say meekly.

There’s a pregnant pause, filled with the sound of crickets from the nearby field. Tyler rolls over. “Sure have a funny way of showing it, darlin’.”

“Well, I-I don’t. I’m sorry if I made you think so.”

“It’s okay.” 

Crickets again, and you can’t help but notice him shiver again as a rough breeze lifts the ends of his hair from his forehead. Abruptly, you sit up, yanking down the edge of your t-shirt where it had ridden up and unzipping the sleeping bag. 

“What are you doing?” Tyler asks groggily. 

“You’re clearly cold. We’re both adults. We can share the sleeping bag like a blanket for tonight.”

Tyler’s green eyes are wide in the moonlight, looking up at you uncertainly.

“Really, darlin’, it’s okay. I don’t want you to-”

“Tyler, we’re sharing a blanket. It’s not like I’m asking you to cuddle or something.”

“You don’t want to?” Tyler teases, propping himself up onto his elbow, that relaxed, crooked grin making an appearance on his face. 

You laugh and it comes easily as your cheeks go pink, imagining your body pressed against Tyler’s, him holding you close. “Are you asking?”

Tyler shrugs, laying down again with the sleeping bag covering him and an open space for you next to him. “Just to stay warm, right?”

You swallow hard, nodding slightly. You can’t deny that you want to cuddle him.

“Right.” You echo, laying down next to him. 

Your back is pressed to his front as he tucks the sleeping bag and blanket into your side to trap any heat from escaping. Tyler carefully tucks a thigh between your knees, wrapping his arm around your middle to secure your bodies together. 

“That alright?” Tyler asks, voice husky and breathy in your ear. It sends a shiver down your spine as heat pools in your core.

You nod quickly, not trusting your voice not to waver and betray you. Tyler’s chest is firm and comforting at your back, his arm securing you to him as if he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers like sand. His breath comes in soft, even puffs against your neck. However close you were to sleep before, its all gone now. 

Tyler has consumed your senses. His touch, his scent, his voice, and you’re becoming very aware of his hardening cock against your ass. 

Fuck it, you decide, testing the waters and grinding ever so slightly back against him.

The soft groan he lefts out surprises you both and you freeze. Tyler grinds forward into your plush ass, pulling you ever tighter as he whispers.

“Now darlin’, I know that wasn’t an accident.”

You respond by grinding back again, whimpering as you feel him against you. He’s so close to where you want him and yet so far. 

“Please?” Is all you can manage, squeezing your eyes shut in anticipation. Wether for in preparation for rejection or mortification, you aren’t sure. Tyler flips you over to face him, green eyes searching your own for any sort of hesitation or regret. 

“Kiss me.” You beg fervently, running a thumb over his lower lip. “Please, Tyler.”

You don't have to tell him twice as he surges into you. It’s hard and rough, yet romantic in a way that only he could manage to pull off. Those mints are still on his breath and you find yourself addicted to the taste as it mingles with the scent of whatever cologne he’s wearing. Tyler’s tongue prods gently into your mouth, exploring with gentle fervor. 

You’ve never understood just how romantic kissing with tongue could be until this moment. 

Tyler bites your lower lip, taking advantage of your shocked moan to haul you on top of him, cradling your cheek gently as he presses your body to his. He’s warm and smells intoxicating, like sandalwood and sage. You can feel him pressing into your thigh. 

Tyler’s fingers trail up your shirt, tracing the underwire of your bra. You sit up, pulling your shirt over your head as he stares at you with what must be awe. His lips are kiss-bitten and swollen but his eyes are wide as he takes in the view of you topless and perched on his thighs. 

He surges up to meet you, kissing you again and letting his hands rove over the newly revealed skin. Your body shudders with anticipation as he reaches behind him to yank off his own shirt. Toned, tan skin meets your hungry gaze and your eyes catch on a newly revealed scar at the base of his neck. You must know what it feels like under your tongue, so you attach your lips to it, biting softly.

Tyler lets out a guttural groan, filling his large hands with your ass through your jean shorts. 

You grind down onto him, moaning as the rough fabric of his jeans catch on your shorts just right. You must be soaked through your panties. Still, you rock forwards on his groin, him guiding your movements. Need is pooling in your lower abdomen- it must be pathetic how close you are just from grinding on him. Your motion becomes quicker, chasing a high you never knew could come so quickly.

“Does that feel good?” Tyler prompts, slapping your ass.

“Yes!” You cry out, raking your nails down his pecs to his abs. Ignoring the throbbing in your cunt from your abandoned orgasm, you slide down his body to mouth at him over his jeans. Eyes darting up to meet his, he gasps as you pull the zipper down. 

“Shit, baby. You gotta let me have a chance to-”

You don’t give him a chance to finish, instead trailing your hand to the waistband of his jeans. The soft hair of his happy trail meets your fingers as you dip your fingers inside and grab his thick cock. 

He groans like he’s been punched, when you first reach your fingers around him. Tyler changes his grip to fist his hands in your hair as you pull his jeans and boxers down, taking him out. 

No wonder he walks around like he does. He’s long and thick, with a thick vein trailing down the side. His tip is swollen and leaking cum, a rosy pink color you’d love to have a lipstick shade in, making you question why you’re waiting so long to have him in your mouth. 

When you first wrap your lips around him, Tyler sighs, the sound music to your ears as you take him more and more. What you can’t fit in your mouth, you pump gently with your fist. His breaths are coming in short jagged bursts.

“Fuck.” He cries out as you start bobbing your head. “I can’t believe I’ve been letting you run your mouth all this time when I could’ve been using it for- shit, this.” 

You love having the weight of him on your tongue, love the taste of him as you bring him closer to the edge. 

Abruptly, he pulls you off of him, eyes wild and crazed as he pulls you up to his mouth again. “I don’t want this to be over too fast, baby. I’ve gotta get my mouth on that pretty cunt.”

You let out a moan without thinking and he smirks.

“You like the idea of that, huh baby?”

You nod and he smiles, laying you down on your back. Where you were quick and eager, he was slow, taking his time as though you were something to be worshiped. Tyler took his time making his way down your chest, sucking your nipple into one mouth while he flicked the other with his fingers. You moaned softly as he lifted up his head, blowing cool air onto the hard bud. 

When he finally makes his way down to your core, you squirm. He presses a kiss over the top of your underwear before sliding them down your legs. Tyler spreads your legs, using his shoulders to hold you open as he drags a thick finger through your sopping folds, pausing to suck the finger into his mouth. 

“So goddamn’ wet, tell me how bad you need it, baby.” Tyler breathes, settling in. He rubs slow, tight circles on your clit, light enough to leaving you keening into his touch. He watches you intently as he waits for your reaction.

“So bad,” You whisper, “so, so bad.”

“What do you want?” Tyler teases, nudging your hole with his fingers. But he hold back, not quite giving you what you want without you asking.

“Your fingers. Your mouth, please Tyler.”

Tyler smirks, pushing his fingers into you and you gasp at the sweet intrusion. “Please, Tyler.” He mimics you, “I could get used to hearing that. Lucky for you, I’m desperate to taste your sweet pussy.”

He doesn’t give you a second to think, much less respond as he leans forward and licks a long stripe through you, thrusting and curling his fingers as he down so. You clench around him as he manages to find the right spot, barely curling his fingers before doing do. 

You gasp, pressing a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound.

“Don’t do that. I wanna hear you, darlin’.” He pulls your arm down, hand away from your mouth and lacing his unoccupied fingers through yours. His forearm bands across your waist, holding you in place as he sets his unwavering pace, rubbing your clit gently through it all. 

When he finally wraps his lips around your aching clit, you nearly scream, feeling him smirk into your wetness as the sound reaches his ears. “Atta girl. So sweet, baby. Come for me, I know you wanna.”

You can’t control yourself as you chase your high, grinding into his face. He moans as you do so, encouraging you as you chase your high. The sight of Tyler between your legs is nearly unholy, him deriving as much pleasure from it as you are. The thought turns you on even more as you feel back, all shame lost as you squeeze your eyes shut and stars bloom behind the shut lids. 

“Atta girl. Come for me baby, you’re so beautiful. This pussy is so sweet, so sweet for me. You gonna come for me? Let me feel this pussy come for me.”

Your high washes over you in a wave, warmth surrounding you as he works you gently through it. It finally starts to calm as Tyler presses a kiss you your clit, causing you to jolt up.

“‘S sensitive.” You whisper as he comes up to you, kissing you sweetly. His chin is wet, dripping with you and you can taste yourself on his tongue. The thought makes you want him more. 

“You did so good for me, baby.”  

You peel your eyes open as Tyler nudges his nose against yours. The action is sweet, but your mind isn’t on sweet. His cock is still resting against your thigh, throbbing, hard, and you’re desperate to be stuffed with it.

“Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“If you don’t fuck me in the next minute, I’m going to kill you.” 

Tyler laughs, then groans, “Fuck, I don’t have a condom.”

“Don’t care.” You mumble, kissing him, “I’m clean and on birth control.”

Tyler groans, pressing his cock to your dripping pussy. “Thank fuck. Me too.” 

He pushes in slowly, and you grip his shoulders, lips ghosting over his in a silent moan when he bottoms out. Tyler stays still to let you adjust, an oddly romantic gesture. Then again, your last boyfriend didn’t give you a chance to adjust to the feeling and he wasn’t anywhere near Tyler’s size. Tyler must know that too, based on the gentle praise he’s whispering into your ear.

“Gotta move, baby.” Tyler says after a moment, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. 

You nod, digging your nails into his back and gripping the short blonde strands at the base of his neck, looking down at where your bodies join. You watch as Tyler pulls his hips from yours, relishing as the drag of his cock against your velvet walls. Tyler trusts back in sharply and you cry out as he sets a bruising pace. The way he moves is intoxicating, playing your body like a violin as he works you towards your high with just his cock. 

“You take it so fucking good, darlin’.” Jake sighs into your ear. You can only cry out in response as he hits that spot inside you again and again. 

Tyler trails his fingers down your body, never ceasing his movements as his fingers reach your swollen clit. He rubs tight circles on the nub, determined not to reach his high before you can get yours. 

“Tell me who makes you feel this good.” 

“You, Tyler!” You maon breathlessly, tugging at his hair again, “So good. You’re so fucking good.”

Tyler groans shamelessly into your ear. 

“Atta girl. I know you want it. Come for me, baby. Let go.”

Stars bloom from behind your eyes as your whole body goes hot, coming with his names on your lips. You feel like Jell-O as he pulls your orgasm from your body. Yet, he slows down as your clench around him, coming down from your high. 

When you open your eyes, Tyler is gazing sweetly down at you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “All good, darlin’?” 

You don’t say anything, rolling your hips in response. You take advantage of his shocked expression and agape mouth to slip off of him and flip him over. Before he can open his mouth to speak, you’ve mounted him and are riding him within an inch of your own life. 

Tyler’s emerald eyes are wide as he gazes up at you, running his hands from your hips to your breasts, squeezing tightly as he gasps sharply. He thrusts up to meet you with every rock of your hips. Tyler is looking at you like you hung the moon and stars, pure wonder in his eyes. It only spurs you on; you like being under his gaze. 

“Gon- gonna- fuck, baby.” Tyler moans, “so fucking good for me.”

You rake your nails down his chest as he thrusts quickly and messily. You don’t stop as you feel him spill inside you. Slowly, you still your movements and slip off of him. He turns to look at you as you flop next to him. Tyler doesn’t say anything as he pulls you into his side, brushing a thumb up and down your spine. 

“Never would have taken Tyler Owens for a cuddler.” You mumble, kissing gently at his pec. You feel his laugh rumble though his chest. You tangle your legs with his, snuggling closer to him. 

“Is this just a tonight thing?” His voice permeates the silence.

You sigh, looking up at him. For once, he looks unsure and timid, afraid of your answer. 

“If you want it to be.” Is what you reply, feeling nerves settle in the pit of your stomach at his question. 

“Honestly? I don’t. Been chasing you for years, baby.”

“So ask me out.” You sit up, legs still tangled with his and blanket pooling around your waist, “and I’ll say yes.”

Tyler swallows hard, eyes catching on your exposed chest and pebbled nipples. “As simple as that?”

“As simple as that.” You smile reassuringly, placing a hand on his cheek. Tyler turns his head slightly, pressing a chaste kiss to the palm of your had. Instead of saying anything else, he pulls you back down into a searing kiss, holding you close as the sound of the Oklahoma night lulls you both to sleep.

[filmsbyun]

Just a Game? || Choi Beomgyu

Beomgyu wasn’t one to be caught off guard, wasn’t one to lose control of the game.

But you? You’d rewritten the rules entirely.

Choi Beomgyu x afab!reader

⊹₊⟡⋆ 11k

[MDNI] smut warning: explicit sexual content, kissing [lots of it lol], sexual tension, enemies/rivals to lovers type shit, slight body worship, kinda switch!beomgyu, kinda switch!reader, oral (fem receiving), fingering, multiple sex positions, unprotected sex (not huzzah!), pull out method [probably missed some]

RE-WRITTEN VERSION. This is a continuation of Beomgyu's part from my Seven Minutes In Heaven fic! So I suggest reading it for better understanding of some of the context of this fic. A BIIIIIIIIIIIG THANK YOU TO THE LOML @dawngyu for beta reading this fic and also hyping me up through over 40 comments <3 Reblogging/feedbacks will be much appreciated!

© filmsbyun ── please do not copy, translate, or repost my work without permission.

The moment you walked out of that closet, you disappeared like smoke.

Beomgyu spent the next ten minutes searching for you. He wove through the party, scanning every corner, every group of people, every possible place you would have slipped away to. But you were gone. Completely vanished into the crowd, leaving him restless, his pulse still erratic from what had just happened.

Beomgyu tried to play it off—he really did. He kept up his flawless cocky attitude with his friends and strangers alike. He laughed too loud, flirted shamelessly, tossed casual remarks like he hadn’t just been wrecked in a way he never saw coming.

But he was failing miserably.

Because every time he licked his lips, he swore he could still taste you.

And every time he closed his eyes, he could still feel the way your fingers had tangled in his hair, the way your lips had moved against his—languidly yet so achingly dominating, so different from anything he’d ever experienced before.

Then what did you do? You’d left him in there, standing like an idiot, and he hated—no, loathed—that you’d managed to slip away before he could say or do anything.

Despite his tremendous effort trying to act normal, anyone paying attention would’ve noticed how his gaze flickered to the door every few minutes. How his fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh. How the phantom feeling of your lips against his refused to leave him alone, haunting him like a ghost. His mind replayed it in loops like a broken cassette player, and he kept dissociating more than once throughout the rest of the night. All he could think of was the way you had pushed him, the way your mouth had claimed his, the way you had left him breathless and pathetically undone.

Beomgyu wasn’t one to be caught off guard, wasn’t one to lose control of the game.

But you? You’d rewritten the rules entirely.

It wasn’t until the next day at practice that he saw you again.

The scent of gunpowder greeted him the moment he stepped into the arena. Muffled voices murmured from the observation area, barely audible beneath the rhythmic crack of gunfire. Targets flipped back and forth, fresh paper replacing the perforated ones, scores lighting up on the monitors. Beomgyu couldn't give a damn about all that today.

Because right in the middle of it all, you stood with your flawless stance of a shooter, arm extended, trigger steady. Your aura alone was completely indecipherable, just like last night. He was sure if he got closer, your expression would be too.

Beomgyu exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw ticking with the effort to keep his composure. There was no universe where he was letting this go. Not after the way you had walked out of that closet like you hadn’t just scrambled his entire nervous system with a kiss that still burned behind his eyes.

He took his time to close the space between you. He knew you felt him and it filled him with a twisted kind of thrill. You were giving him exactly what he wanted; he wanted you to sense him approaching before he even spoke, even if you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of turning around.

"Didn’t know ghosts practiced here," he said, voice pitched just above the noise of the shooting range.

You didn’t so much as even pretend to acknowledge him beyond the next squeeze of your trigger. "Didn’t know sore losers did either."

His lips curled. There it was—that fire, that grit, that spark you always threw back at him like a glove to the face. He lived for this. For you. For the way you gave as good as you got. He craved that bite from you like a shameless man.

"So," he drawled as he took position in the station next to you, tone light like he wasn’t trying to crawl under your skin and twist, "was last night just an experiment? Or were you trying to teach me a lesson?"

You finally turned to face him, expression perfectly composed, except for the ghost of a smirk at the corner of your lips. “Does it matter?”

It mattered more than he could say without ruining the game. 

Oh, you enjoyed this. It drove him insane. He wanted to wipe that smirk off your lips—wanted to see just how far he had to push before you cracked.

Beomgyu clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if disappointed. “Let’s make a bet.”

He lifted his pistol, the barrel pointing straight at the target ahead. From his peripheral he could see the slight tilt of your head as if you couldn’t catch up to his implications. Seriously, you knew how to drive him insane, didn’t you? Was it on purpose to piss him off or not, Beomgyu unfortunately could never decipher you.

You turned back to face your own lane. “I don’t take bets I can’t win.”

“That’s funny,” he shot back, tilting his head, “neither do I.”

Your fingers flexed around your gun. The challenge was bait, and you’d both taken it before. He knew you wouldn't resist. Not when there was a challenge in front of you. Especially not when it was him offering it.

“Alright,” you said finally, shifting your grip. “What’s at stake?”

He stepped in, closer now, until he was just inside your periphery. "If I win," he said, his voice dipping low, almost coaxing, "you owe me a redo."

The slightest hitch of your breath and Beomgyu swore he caught it. He saw the way your lips parted slightly, the way your shoulders tensed for a split second before you masked it just as quickly, expression back to obscure.

“And if I win?” You shot back coolly.

Beomgyu leaned in, his breath warm against your skin, just enough to set your pulse alight. “Then I’ll do whatever you want.”

Your eyes locked onto his. You’ll let him have his fun. The corners of your mouth twitched before you nodded lazily. “Deal.”

Beomgyu's smirk deepened, pulling tight across his face, brimming with anticipation. His fingers curled around his pistol, knuckles flexing as he straightened to his full height. "Try to keep up, then."

The crack of his first shot split the air. It took you a heartbeat to answer. Sly bastard didn’t even bother to give a head start. Shot for shot, neither of you faltering. Beomgyu heard the murmurs of onlookers, the suffocating tension as the scoreboard lit up after each round. The room may as well have disappeared—it was just you and him, locked in a battle of ego and thirst for control.

“You’re good,” Beomgyu admitted, lining up his next shot. “But not that good.”

You barely blinked as you fired again, your bullet slicing through dead center. “You sure about that?”

His eyes flicked to the scoreboard. His jaw clenched. The scores were neck and neck and neither of you were willing to give ground. Heat prickled down his spine, each round sharpening the tension until it coiled in his chest like a loaded spring. He adjusted his grip, rolled his shoulders, tongue flicking over his bottom lip, and inhaled through flared nostrils. 

You were good. No—you were better than good. And worse? You were absolutely certain of it.

Final round.

Beomgyu inhaled slowly, steadying himself. His shot landed just shy of the perfect mark. He exhaled through his nose, rolling his wrists. One last chance for you to slip up.

Then you took your shot.

Bullseye.

The scoreboard flashed. Your score eclipsed his.

Beomgyu’s grin faltered for just a second before he let out a slow chuckle, shaking his head. He ran a hand through his long hair, pushed it back as he looked at you. "Well, damn."

You turned toward him, your smirk a mirror of the one he’d worn earlier, only more taunting. "Guess I won."

His gaze raked over your face, trying and failing to school the chaos flickering behind his eyes. There was heat there, and frustration, along with admiration that twisted low in his stomach. He swallowed it all with another shake of his head. "Guess you did."

You stepped in close, voice dropping just enough to make his stomach tighten. “Looks like you owe me now.”

With that you turned away, leaving him behind with the echoes of the match still ringing in his ears. He stayed there, gun slack in his grip, breath caught between a laugh and a curse, staring after you like he was utterly at your mercy.

He let out a breathless laugh, hands settling on his hips. His heart was still pounding. His pride was bruised. And his grin—God, his grin stretched wide now, teeth flashing as he watched you disappear behind the doors of the arena.

He was so, so screwed.

And he wanted nothing more than to chase you down and lose again.

The locker room was nearly silent, save for the occasional rustling of curtains and the distant mechanical hum of ventilation overhead. You were alone, until the door creaked open behind you slowly, the sound dragging like a fingernail against concrete.

“You really think you can just walk away after that?”

His voice licked a ripple down your spine. You didn’t turn to face him. Instead, you adjusted the strap of your bag, letting the silence stretch just a second longer before responding.

“You seemed fine last night,” you remarked, tone as cool as ever. Since you’ve already had the upper hand from winning the match, why shouldn’t you twist the knife a little deeper? “Figured you moved on.”

Beomgyu scoffed, the sound punctuated by the definitive click of the door closing behind him. “Not even close.”

Your lips curled slightly. “That’s a shame.”

Beomgyu stayed where he was. His gaze burned with a fire so intense that it engulfed the space between you before he even reached you. It didn’t matter if he was a few paces away—he was already in your orbit, drawing you in whether you wanted it or not.

“You really don’t care, do you?”

You hummed, pretending to consider. “Should I?”

Oh, you were enjoying this.

He could see it now—the nasty flicker of amusement in your eyes when you finally glanced over your shoulder. You weren’t avoiding him.  You were waiting to see what he’d do next.

Beomgyu let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “You caught me off guard,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I’ll give you that.”

Your head tilted, eyes glinting with quiet satisfaction as you turned to face him fully, your expression unreadable except for the faint uptick of one brow. “I do enjoy a challenge.”

His gaze darkened. He took another step, the last bit of distance between you almost closing. “Then you won’t mind when I return the favor.”

You had no time to react. With a single long stride Beomgyu caged you between him and the locker. The cool metal of the lockers pressed against your back, the scent of his cologne mixing with the faint trace of sweat from practice invaded your lungs like smoke from a fire you’d set yourself.

His hand came up, fingers splayed against the locker beside your head. He wasn’t even touching you but you felt his body heat radiating in yours easily through this silver of distance. His other hand rested on his hip, posture casual, but his eyes darkened and locked onto yours told a different story.

“You talk big,” he murmured, voice dipping just enough to send a slow, curling heat through your stomach. “Wonder if you’ll hold up when the tables turn.”

Your smirk didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened by the adrenaline now beginning to burn beneath your skin. “That depends,” you mused. “Are you actually going to do something this time, or are we playing the same game again?”

His jaw flexed, and for a moment he seemed to chew on the edge of his irritation, a wry expression tugging at the corner of his mouth as his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. It was almost as if he dared you to cross a line while making it clear he’d already redrawn it.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You merely shrugged in response, refusing to look away. Neither of you were yielding. The eye contact between you was a challenge all its own—steel against steel, neither one of you willing to be the first to look away. The tension was hot and volatile, ready to combust any moment.

Your smirk however threatened to falter when he lifted his fingers, his knuckle grazing the edge of your jaw. It wasn't even a proper skin to skin contact, but enough to make you crave for his touch.

“What you did.” His voice was barely above a whisper now, meant just for you. His gaze drifted, almost dazed, like he was following a phantom memory. “Did you enjoy it?”

Your pulse leapt, but your face remained impassive. “Enjoy what?”

Beomgyu clicked his tongue, tilting his head like he was debating his next move. He dragged his knuckle just a fraction lower, tracing the column of your neck, his gaze locked onto yours. There were goosebumps on your skin.

“You know what,” he said simply.

The memory of your last encounter flickered between you like a live wire.

You could taste the sweetness of his mouth whenever you closed your eyes. The sounds that escaped him when you touched him. His dumbfounded, dazed face when you pulled away just before he could regain control.

Your eyes dropped to his lips. He was biting the lower one again, smiling that smug, ruined smile. And when your gaze snapped back to his, it was already too late to pretend otherwise. You could easily take advantage of this distance and grab him by the collar. You could easily crash your lips against his again, taste him again, drink him in to quench your dry throat now.

But the faint sound of voices echoed from the hallway outside snapped you out of your trance.

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, as he stepped back at the last possible second, his frustration evident in the slow drag of his tongue across his lower lip. You wanted to do that for him, drag your tongue over them and over every inch inside his mouth until nothing of him would be left unexplored.

His gaze swept over you one last time, orbs dark with something illegible in them. You were sure your gaze matched his intensity too.Then, with a low chuckle, he turned and walked away, tossing his voice over his shoulder like a loaded promise.

“Guess we’ll have to continue this later.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you there against the lockers, heart pounding like a fist against bone.

Damn him.

Because this time, he knew he’d gotten to you.

It had been a week. A full week since you’d left him standing in that dark closet. You hadn’t expected the moment to shake him so much. It was just a game, right? A well-placed tease. But something in the way Beomgyu had looked at you, wide-eyed and speechless, made you realize you’d done more than just fluster him.

You’d challenged him.

And Beomgyu? He wasn’t the type to back down from a challenge.

He played his part pretty well. Most of the time around people, he was the same as always; loud and testing, pushing your buttons whenever he could. During lunch hours he showed up at your table and stole your fries, still challenged you to one-on-one matches during practise, and still threw his arm around your shoulders in front of your friends as if you were just a friendly rival to him.

But you knew better.

It was in the way his eyes lingered on you a little too long. The way his hand accidentally left a touch on your skin before pulling away during every conversation. The way his voice dipped just a little lower when he said your name.

Choi Beomgyu was waiting.

And, maybe—just maybe—you found that endearing.

"Alright, guys!"

The warm voice of your team manager drew your attention. You, Beomgyu, and two other elite shooters from your club sat around the table of the meeting room.

He set down four sleek black envelopes in the center. "I have exciting news!" His eyes glimmered with enthusiasm as he slid the envelopes toward the group. "You four have been invited to a high-profile dinner event. It’s an exclusive gathering for the top shooters in the country! Big names, big opportunities."

Your fingers brushed the cool envelope as you picked it up, reading the elegant gold lettering embossed on the front. The bubble of excitement was beginning to form in your chest. It was indeed a big opportunity.

"It’s a formal thing, of course, so be on your best behavior. Not that I’m worried." He chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re all professionals. Just go, enjoy yourselves, and make a good impression."

Beomgyu hummed beside you, tapping the edge of his invitation against the table. "A fancy dinner, huh? You think they’ll have steak?"

The other two snorted, and even the manager laughed. Your gaze flickered toward Beomgyu. The light from the window caught in his hair. The soft glow making him look almost golden. Ror a moment, you wondered how could someone so insufferable also be so… maddeningly charming?

You shook the thought away before it could settle.

Beomgyu, on the other hand, turned to you with that knowing grin. While the rest got engaged in a conversation, he leaned toward you. "What do you say? Think you can handle a night of keeping your hands off me?" he lowered his voice just enough for you to only hear.

You sighed, slipping the envelope into your bag. "I don’t think that’s the real question here."

Beomgyu only laughed, standing up and stretching his arms above his head lazily. But when he turned to leave, he tossed one last glance at you over his shoulder. One that lingered just a second too long, before his eyes narrowed.

Game on.

The evening of the event was the epitome of sophistication. Golden chandeliers dangled from the vaulted ceiling, their light pouring down in syrupy amber hues that bathed the grand ballroom in a warm, resplendent glow. The murmur of polite conversation blended around seamlessly with the delicate notes of a live string quartet. A high-profile dinner for elite shooters, a gathering of class and discipline, where everyone carried themselves with courtesy.

You and Beomgyu were no exception.

From the moment you arrived, you slipped flawlessly into the roles expected of you. You exchanged nothing more than formal nods, casual acknowledgments and comments in passing. To the outside world, you were simply two competitors; colleagues bound by skill and reputation, neither particularly concerned with the other beyond professional courtesy.

There was no reason to assume there was anything beyond that. And yet, every glance, every sidelong look, every calculated brush of proximity was executed with the care of a sniper setting their sights.

At the dinner table, you sat across from each other; engaged in separate conversations with your tablemates. Not once did your gazes lock for too long; never more than a passing glance, never more than coincidence. But you didn’t miss it when his eyes stuck to you when you lifted your wine glass, the minute tug at the corner of his lips when your sharp tongue laced through a particularly bland comment made by someone beside you.

Then there were the fleeting touches. Fingers that brushed against each other as you reached for the same silver tray. A fleeting press of his foot beneath the table, one that made contact and then vanished as if it had never been there. When you finally rose from your seat to excuse yourself, murmuring something inconsequential about fresh air, Beomgyu leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly against his glass, eyes never once leaving your disappearing body in the crowd.

Not once did either of you slip. No one suspected a thing.

The dinner transitioned into an afterparty. It was a more relaxed affair, where the guests mingled freely, laughter breaking through the previously restrained atmosphere. People gathered in small clusters, drinks in hand, the tension of formalities dissolving into lighthearted chatters among peer groups and acquaintances.

You saw Beomgyu before he saw you. He was by the bar, speaking with a few others, one hand in his pocket. But you could tell his attention was elsewhere.

He was searching for you.

A slow smile tugged at your lips as you made your move, slipping between guests, weaving through the crowd. You took your time doing so and didn’t so much as glance back. Just like before—just like that night in the closet—you vanished before he could catch you.

Only this time, Beomgyu wasn’t about to let it slide.

The moment he realized you were gone, his jaw twitched.  His drink was long forgotten on the counter. He was on his feet, already moving in between the guests.

Enough of this.

He wasn’t going to lose sight of you again. It had always been like this. It always felt like you were one step ahead of him. What sort of satisfaction did you get from playing with him like this? You were being so cruel, yet Beomgyu desperately craved this.

The truth was, you’d always driven him insane.

From the moment you stepped into the club a year ago, he hadn’t been able to look away. Not because of the way you looked, though that had certainly caught his eye—a composed figure standing tall among the newest recruits. No, it was the control. Back then, he had only looked, only watched. Maybe he hadn’t realized it at first—how his gaze always found you, how your name always lingered somewhere in the back of his mind but it had been there. It was really simply curiosity at best in the beginning.

And then, you weren’t just a presence. You became a contender.

You started rising through the ranks. One by one you surpassed the ones he thought wore the crown with a relentless determination that awed him, that thrilled him. You chased mastery like it owed you something. You always made sure to challenge your own limit, always making yourself your biggest opponent.

But what drove him insane was that you weren’t just good. You were the one who became untouchable.

And now, tonight, you were testing him again. Always pulling just out of reach like you were always one step ahead. Like the world moved at your pace, like you were always in control. Even now, as you slipped away into the crowd, it wasn’t in retreat.

Beomgyu had no intention of letting this become a pattern.

His pace quickened as he pushed through the guests, his eyes sweeping corners and alcoves and literally everywhere. He was going to make sure he matched your pace. He wanted to shatter your unbreakable image.

He wasn’t going to let you win.

You slipped away meticulously, the soft chime of the elevator signaling your quiet escape. You stepped out as the doors opened on the eighth floor. It was where the suites were reserved for the elites. The sound of your high-heeled boots clicking against the polished marble echoed in the empty corridor. The only other presence there was a lone floor butler who passed you whom you acknowledged with a polite nod before making your way to the restroom.

Inside the restroom, beneath the low glow of the wall scones, you looked at the woman staring back at you. You took a moment to really look at yourself. The evening had demanded your best, and you had delivered. Your eyeliner adorned eyes, the sleek lines of your outfit, and the careful touch of color on your lips; you looked good. Of course you did. 

People noticed. The lingering stares that kept returning, the thinly veiled advances from men who thought they stood a chance. You should’ve felt satisfaction but none of it mattered. None of them mattered. Because in the end, only one gaze had truly mattered to you tonight.

A quiet laugh escaped you, almost self-deprecating.

Beomgyu.

A tsk nearly followed the name in your mind. He was pretty, no doubt about it. His prettiness was at odds with the bastardized side of him which clearly pissed you off. Yet here you were, washing your hands as if that could cleanse the memory of the way his lips had tasted when you kissed him first.

You shook your hands free of water and reached for a paper towel, and as you did, you wondered—just how long could he play this game? How long could you?

You hadn’t meant to entertain him that night. When the bottle pointed, and the room went still with the thick anticipation that people dressed up as fun, you weren’t thinking about games. You hadn’t even considered closing that distance and letting the moment happen.

But he was so close that even in the dark, you could see him properly. You stared at him as if you were seeing him again for the first time.

In that split second—just one look at his face up close—something in you wavered, and you gave in.

Even now, the image returned too vividly. It stirred something warm and unwelcoming in your chest, creeping lower to your stomach. You exhaled sharply, as if the motion alone could dispel the feeling, almost scoffing at yourself. You wiped your hands clean and tossed the paper towel into the bin without looking.

This was a game. That’s all it was. That’s all it would ever be.

To him, and to you as well.

With that thought settling like a quiet resolve, you turned on your heel. You pushed the door open and stepped out, ready to return to the afterparty.

The moment you turned the corner, Beomgyu was there, leaning against the wall like he’d been expecting you. Like he knew exactly where you’d be.

Your steps faltered. Heart catapulted to your throat as you took a step back. The look in his eyes was different this time. There were no traces of the mischievous mask he wore when he played the back-and-forth game with you. No, it was like he was savoring something before taking his first bite.

You didn’t get a chance to speak.

One stride, that’s all it took. Beomgyu was in front of you, and in the next breath your back hit the wall with a thud softened only by the fabric at your shoulders. Your hands twitched, not in surprise but in instinct, caught in a dilemma between pushing him away and pulling him in.

The golden lighting caught the sharp lines of his suit, the deep black fabric sculpting his frame in a way that felt almost unfair. You wished it was how well he wore his suit that froze your senses but no it was the look in his eyes. They looked empty but brimmed with emotions at the same time.

He lifted a hand and let it settle against the wall near your head, fingers grazing the cold surface of the wall. His other hovered close to your hip, a mere touch away, purposely letting you feel the absence. He was doing everything to make you break first.

"Caught you," he murmured.

Your breath hitched.

You tilted your head, arms at your sides though your hands had curled into fists without you realizing. “Is this payback?” you managed, though your voice lacked the steady confidence you wished it had.

“Aww, I don’t know.” Beomgyu tilted his head, a slow smirk curling his lips. You couldn’t recognize this man in front of you. He didn’t look like the Beomgyu who’d piss you off over trivial matters. He looked like a man far more patient. “What do you think?”

The hallway felt too narrow. Every little sound seemed to amplify; the faint rustle of his jacket as he shifted, the soft thud of your heartbeat against your ribs, the near-silent pull of breath between his lips. You realized soon what he was doing. Beomgyu was playing the game using your tactics. He didn’t look like he was going to rush. He was going to make you beg.

Your pulse pounded. “You took your time,” you said, forcing your voice to sound nonchalant.

His gaze dipped to your mouth for the briefest second, but that was all it took to make your stomach flip. “Had to make sure you’d feel it.”

Feel what? The tension? The heat curling in the space between you? The way your chest tightened every time he breathed a little closer?

His fingers dragged along the wall beside you before they stopped just near your shoulder. He leaned in achingly slowly until his lips were just at the shell of your ear. His breath ghosted over close enough to draw a shiver from the base of your spine.

“You had your fun,” he whispered, “won’t you let me have some of it too?”

You swallowed, a shaky breath threatened to spill past your lips. 

The worst part? He hadn’t even touched you yet. Not really. And still, you felt scorched by the space he took up.

Beomgyu exhaled a soft chuckle and then, just as easily as he had cornered you, he stepped back. Stepping away like he was already done with you; like he’d gotten what he wanted. The absence of his warmth sent a sharp contrast through your senses, but the moment felt almost comical—like he thought he could just walk away after that. Oh. He was taking revenge.

Well, Beomgyu has always been a fast learner. 

Your lips parted in disbelief, a breathless laugh slipping past before you could stop it. Was that it?

Just as he turned, you spoke in a low, taunting voice. "Is that all you've got?"

That stopped him dead in his tracks.

You leaned back against the wall, arms folding across your chest in mock nonchalance. A lazy smirk tugged at your lips as you tilted your head. "Sorry to say, you're growing to be a bit predictable."

For a second, he didn't react. He stood with his back turned to you in complete stillness and silence. When he turned to face you again, there was no trace of that earlier grin. It seemed as his eyes glowed for the briefest second. His lips parted slightly, only to curl languidly into something far more dangerous than his usual smirk.

Predictable?

In a blink, his fingers curled into your hair, gripping at the back of your head as he yanked you forward. A startled gasp barely left your lips before they were swallowed by his own.

It was all heat and hunger, all months of games and tension and near misses snapping at once, and your mind went blank with the sheer intensity of it all.

The force of it sent you stumbling, your balance thrown completely off. His grip tightened, steadying you, but not gently—he was pulling you closer, demanding all of you. Your feet barely found their place before you realized you had to rise—had to step onto your toes just to meet him.

He held you there, both hands cupping your jaw, thumbs pressing into your skin like he needed to feel you under him. Like he couldn’t get close enough. The downright intensity of it sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could so much as breathe, he pushed you against the wall.

A sharp gasp escaped into his mouth from you and he greedily devoured that sound. He only pressed deeper, trapping you between the wall and the solid heat of him. The absolute urgency of it had your footing slipping again, your fingers finding his waist, gripping onto him as if he was the only thing keeping you standing. Maybe he was.

This wasn’t careful. This was reckless. Like he’d been holding back for far too long and finally let himself break.

It was beginning to feel like you weren’t just a game to him anymore.

But still, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was really him, or if this still was just another game. Either way, you didn’t care. You couldn’t bring your mind to weave together sane thoughts right now. Not when his kiss felt like fire.

“Look at you,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough and teasing.

A shiver ran through you, but you refused to let it show. It felt like he caught it anyway because he was already so impossibly close. He was holding you like he had no plans of letting go. You tried to bite back because you never let him have the last word but the moment your kiss-bruised lips parted, he stole the breath right from you.

His hands no longer cradled your jaw. They slipped lower, fingertips skimming down your neck, tracing the curve of your waist before pressing firmly against your hips. You fought against the broken whimper that threatened to leave you when you felt him pressing against you, drawing you in like he was savoring every reaction you gave him.

And that was the worst part because he knew. You could feel it in the way his lips curved against yours, the slow drag of his mouth against yours, the way his hands travelled back to the sensitive parts of your skins whenever your breath stuttered.

He pulled back only for a moment, and you took that chance to gasp in a much needed breath to stabilize your heart. He didn’t even have the decency to give you space, his lips trailed the line of your jaw then lower until they hovered just over the pulse hammering at your neck.

That’s when he smirked, his voice rich with satisfaction. "That felt pretty real to me."

His teeth grazed over the pulse, followed by a feathery brush of his tongue before he latched his lips there. You flinched at the sensation and grabbed his shoulder, palms pushing him away but he didn’t budge. He caught your wrists instead, fingers pressing just enough to remind you he wasn’t done yet.

But neither were you.

You tilted your head, just enough to shift him back, just enough to meet his eyes—those eyes, darker now, glinting with an intensity that seemed to pulse with heat. It was there, written plainly across his features that whatever this was—this pull, this provocation—you weren’t the only one caught in it.

Your mouth curved into a smirk, voice laced with a teasing edge. “I think I’ve hit a nerve.”

He let out a quiet chuckle. "You think so?"

The space between you vanished again in a second. One moment he was looking at you like he could devour you whole, and the next he proved it exactly right; his mouth was on yours again, harder this time, rougher, like he couldn’t bear another second of restraint. Your back hit the wall with the unrelenting pressure of his body closing the last of the distance, his knee shifting between your legs locking you in place. His hands—one cradling the back of your head with a possessive urgency, the other clutching your hip like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to pull you closer or pin you exactly where you were.

He was chasing your words back into your throat. Your defiance had only lit him up further, like whatever control he’d tried to hold onto had just been shattered and scattered beneath your feet. The drag of his mouth against yours was relentless, his teeth catching your lower lip just hard enough to make you squirm in his hold.

A low sound rumbled in his chest, feral and satisfied. His hand slid from your waist to your arm. "We should take this somewhere else, yeah?"

The words barely had time to settle before he was already moving, his grip firm as he guided you through the dimly lit lobby lined with doors reserved for only a select few. The golden numbers on each one glowed under the dim lighting, but your focus narrowed when he stopped in front of the one meant for you.

"Card?"

The single word sent a slow shiver down your spine, not because of what he asked, but because of how he asked it. Expectantly, like he already knew you’d hand it over.

You sighed, fingers dipping into your pocket. The second you pulled out the card, he took it from you, slipping it into the scanner with a swift motion that sent another rush of heat through you.

The scanner beeped. The green light showed as the door unlocked.

Before you could so much as step inside, he did it for you. One hand at your waist as he walked you backward into the darkened suite. His other hand caught the frame behind you, arm caging you in as the door shut behind with a muted thud.

Just as Beomgyu leaned in to claim the space again, you stopped him. You pushed him back, palm resting flat against his chest. 

Beomgyu halted instantly, dark eyes flicking down to where your hand rested against him. His heartbeat was erratic beneath your touch. The way his jaw tensed just slightly told you he hadn’t expected the pushback.

Your fingers splayed just a little wider, the silk of his dress shirt smooth beneath your palm. Slowly, you met his gaze, tilting your chin ever so slightly. Your eyes steady like his touch hadn’t just unraveled you moments ago; while his had a flicker of intrigue beneath the hunger, his lips parting slightly before curling at the corners.

Beomgyu’s hands fell back to his sides as he watched you step past him, your black boots clicking softly against the floor. You didn’t spare him another glance as you just shrugged off your light coat along the way, letting it slip from your fingers and pool onto the chair beside you.

His gaze burned into your back as you walked.

A black turtleneck, tucked into tailored formal pants that hugged your frame just right. Boots that gave you an air of cool detachment. You looked like you belonged in a painting.

And Beomgyu loved it.

You sat on the edge of the bed crossing your legs in an elegant motion, hands resting on your knee. You finally met his gaze again.

With a languid smirk, you said, “You seem tense.” You let him have his fun. It was about time you took back control.

Beomgyu exhaled a breathy chuckle, pushing back his hair with his hand. His fingers briefly rested at the nape of his neck. His head tilted, gaze narrowing as though trying to decipher you all over again, before the sound of a scoff broke the silence between you. “You love pissing me off, don’t you?”

Your smile didn’t waver. “I love winning.”

He blinked. Then realization flickered in his eyes, followed by a groan. It only deepened your smirk.

“The bet.”

“The bet,” you echoed, tilting your head.

You had beaten him fair and square in that game, outmaneuvering him at his own strategy, and he knew it. The terms were clear—whoever won had carte blanche. And you walked away with the game winning.

Beomgyu ran a hand through his hair again, exhaling a laugh before shifting his gaze back on you. There was a trace of something delighted in his gaze.

“Okay,” he murmured, stepping closer. “I’m a man of my word.”

Your fingers drummed lightly against your knee as you regarded him, gaze dark. 

“Satisfy me.”

He stopped mid-step, lips parting soundlessly at your demand. You watched him absorb it, watched every flicker of thought pass over his face. Huh, whatever this game was, you were beginning to truly enjoy it. You found yourself thriving off of the reactions he gave you to feast on. Then oh so devastatingly slowly, Beomgyu grinned.

What a good boy.

A low hum left his lips as he dropped to one knee before you, his hands trailing up your calf. His fingers found the hem of your pants, slipping just beneath, teasing against your warm skin. His eyes flicked up to yours, ravenous.

“Why, of course,” he smiled, like molten molasses. “I’m a gentleman.”

Your lips curled, mirroring his game. “How charming.”

Beomgyu held your gaze, fingers brushing along the boot. His hand slid higher, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly against the leather of your boot before curling just beneath it. You didn’t rush him. You merely watched, one leg still crossed over the other as he slowly—agonizingly slowly—reached for the zipper along your ankle. A hum left you as he pulled it down, the sound barely audible over the sharp click of the metal teeth separating. He slid the boot off your foot with care, as if savoring the motion.

His fingers trailed back up, this time under the hem of your pants, warm against your skin. And yet, you didn’t react—not the way he wanted. Beomgyu hated how much you got to him. The control was yours, and you held it with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how much power there was in patience. The way you sat there, perfectly composed, lips quirked in something between amusement and indulgence, it was like you already knew how much he wanted to ruin you, and you loved making him wait.

You tilted your head, eyebrows raising in mock concern. “Something wrong?”

His eyes snapped up to yours, and the laugh that spilled from him then sounded rawer. “Oh, you’re cruel.”

Beomgyu dipped his head forward with a slowness that felt almost sinful. The first kiss was barely there, a tender touch of warmth against the arch of your foot. A touch that shouldn’t have felt as reverent as it did.

It wasn’t just a touch. It was a declaration.

His fingers traced idle patterns along your calf, as if memorizing the shape of you, as if grounding himself before his lips found you again; this time at the inside of your ankle. His breath lingered against your skin before he pressed another kiss there; slower, deeper. Worshipful. He wanted you to feel every second of it the way he felt it.

You inhaled, just the faintest hitch of breath, and Beomgyu caught it. His senses were hyper aware of you; just you and only you. His lips curled against your skin, the ghost of a smirk before he trailed another kiss even higher. Your body shuddered at the feeling.

“You like this, don’t you?” he rasped. Dark eyes looked up at you through pretty lashes. 

His hands smoothed over your calf, fingers dragging slow and firm, pressing just enough to leave a lingering fire in their wake. His lips followed, ghosting over your skin with the kind of patience that wasn’t restraint but was indulgence.

Your fingers twitched against the sheets, the only betrayal of what simmered beneath your skin. Then, in a motion so swift he barely registered it, you uncrossed your legs, lifting the pointed toe of your remaining boot and tilted his chin up with it.

Beomgyu froze. His breath caught, eyes snapping up to meet yours.

Your foot pressed just enough to tilt his head back in a clean swift motion. Beomgyu’s lashes fluttered, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. His lips were parted, breath coming quick and shallow. A flush crept up his neck, his skin glowing under the dim light, a bead of sweat trailing down from his temple. He looked wrecked.

Despite that, that bastard had the audacity and gall to smirk. 

"Careful," he rasped, voice wrecked in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion. "I might start thinking you like having me on my knees."

You exhaled, soft and languid. You felt a swirl of pride having him like this infront you, watching the way his chest rose and fell like he was barely holding himself together.

"Who says I don’t?"

Beomgyu’s smirk twitched, faltering just slightly, but his eyes—his eyes maniacally darkened, pupils blown wide, heat simmering beneath the surface like a storm about to break. His fingers flexed against your calf before tightening in an unforgiving grip. Then before you could process the shift—his hand wrapped around your ankle, heat searing into your skin, and he yanked you forward.

A startled gasp left you as you slid closer to the edge of the bed, legs spreading as Beomgyu placed a hand on your thigh. His grip on you was controlling, but not overbearing.

You could stop him if you wanted to, but you didn’t.

Your breath came out a little heavier as you stared down at him, still on his knees before you, still holding your leg like he was deciding just how much he wanted to ruin you. It was getting excruciatingly hard to ignore the ache between your thighs.

“Say it again.”

“Say what again?”

Beomgyu’s grip tightened just slightly, just enough to make you aware of his strength. “That you like having me on my knees,” he rasped, eyes narrowing as if daring you to agree with him. Oh you were getting the thrill back. Adrenaline coursed through your veins and it itched you to piss him off even more.

“Why?” You let your voice drop, teasing. “Do you want to hear it that badly?”

Beomgyu huffed out a laugh, the sound short and strained, like it cost him. His hands slid higher, fingers brushing the backs of your knees, the warmth of his skin burning even through the fine fabric of your slacks. He was breathing harder now, and you could see the tremble in his restraint, the twitch of his jaw, and in the way his tongue darted over his lower lip.

“I must warn you,” he muttered, almost too low to hear. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

He looked so desperate and so, so pretty, kneeling before you. Your gaze wandered, drinking him in. The slope of his nose, the way his lips—plush and kiss-bruised—parted ever so slightly with each uneven breath. The faint sheen of sweat clinging to his skin, trailing down the curve of his throat, catching at his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

Beomgyu was a pretty man.

You reached out, your hand brushing his forehead, sweeping the damp strands from his brow. His lashes trembled with the contact and as your fingers dipped further, threading through his hair, his whole body seemed to shift like he couldn’t help himself. He leaned into your touch, eyes slipping closed as if savoring the warmth of your palm.

Your nails scraped lightly across his scalp, drawing a low breath from deep in his chest, and that was the moment you felt the balance tip again. He was unraveling right there at your feet.

"Well," you whispered, leaning in a little. "I'm still not satisfied."

His eyes snapped open, and you caught the flash of surprise just before it melted into hunger. He had expected a drawn-out game, a slow torment; something that mirrored the way you always liked to push him to his limits, to take your time drawing out every reaction until he was barely holding himself together.

You gave him none of it. Instead slowly, you sank back into the mattress, legs uncrossing with elegance that bordered on cruel. Beomgyu didn’t breathe for a full second, as though the air had caught in his throat the moment he saw you recline before him like that with every intention written across your body.

You had given him permission. Beomgyu never wasted an opportunity.

Two deft fingers worked their way with the button of your pants, pulling down the article of clothing in one swift motion down your legs, the remaining boot getting tossed aside along with it. His hands slipped up to your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed.

A quiet curse left his mouth at the sight of your dampened panties, translucent from the slick pooling in between your thighs. His eyes briefly flitted to your face—you were looking down at him with steel eyes yet they brimmed with anticipation behind them. It drove him insane how little reaction you showed despite the sight of your arousal in front him.

Beomgyu placed a soft kiss over your clothed clit. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine and you had to bite your lips from making any sound. He continued to pepper kisses all over you before finally hooking his fingers into the waistband and pulling your panties down. 

Your head spun when you felt his hot breath over your sopping core, shaky fingers finding residence into his hair again. The first lick over your clit was slow, torturous—as if he was deliberately waiting to see you fall apart. You hissed, tugging on his hair and it made him chuckle.

He gazed up at you through his lashes. “Patience, darling.”

Then without wasting another minute, he dived back into you, his tongue licking a long stripe along your folds, lapping up your arousal with a low, deep hum. “Fuck… you taste divine.” His voice muffled against your skin as his lips latched themselves around your clit and sucked harshly.

Your eyes rolled back almost instantly, breath stuttering, slipping further into the ecstatic sensation of his tongue gliding back and forth over your folds. One of his hands slid under your left thigh, putting it over his shoulder while he held the other open. The angle gave him all the access he wanted. He was good—way too good with his tongue as he continued to send you over the edge. 

Your grip in his hair tightened when Beomgyu brought two fingers, nimbly sliding against your folds, rubbing up and down while his teeth caught torturously on your clit. Your legs trembled with pleasure as he dipped his fingers inside you with humiliating ease. 

“Oh god…” you breathed out before harshly biting down on your bottom lip, your head tipped back as he pumped his digits in and out of your core, curling them at the right spot. The heel of your foot dug into his back as you fought to keep your sanity from losing. 

The room resonated with the sound of depraved squelches, the only sound of his plump lips sinfully eating you out, and it didn’t sit right with Beomgyu. Dazed eyes swirling with desire and lips glistening with your juices, he looked up at you—your chest heaving with every deep breath you took, your lips in between your teeth as you refused to make any sounds. 

He brushed his thumb along your bottom lip, forcing your mouth open. “Don’t do that,” he pleaded, his thumb caressing your lip. “Let me hear you… please.”

Your resolve shook at the way he sounded. You wanted to bite out a provoking remark about how he should earn it but before you could do anything, Beomgyu took your words away as he connected his lips onto yours.

He lifted himself from kneeling, hovering above you as he gently pushed you against the mattress. His tongue pushed past your lips, your restraints—it was hot and messy, your juices mixing with your saliva as your walls fluttered around his fingers. The odd sensation of being able to taste yourself made you groan against his mouth. 

The familiar sensation of heat coiling in your lower stomach began to embrace you, however, before it could fully take over your senses, Beomgyu removed his fingers from you. The glaring emptiness almost made you choke out a moan, eyes peering at him with disbelief. But whatever annoyance took over you melted away in an instance as Beomgyu wrapped his lips around his fingers, licking and sucking off your arousal from them. You swallowed, throat humiliatingly dry at the sight. 

And he knew, because the way his lips curled up into the most devilish smirk as he continued to lick his fingers clean, you know he knew.

You eyed the bulge in his pants before using one foot to apply just the right amount of pressure on it. You watched in pure awe as Beomgyu’s cocky demeanor faltered. A strangled moan fell from his lips as his body twitched and shivered from that simple touch from you. His hands found your ankle, stopping you and eyes locked onto yours in a look that screamed nothing short of begging.

“Take it off,” you commanded lowly, sitting up. Beomgyu complied wordlessly, hands fumbling with the buckle of his belt. His garments joined the rest on the floor one by one. His hands stilled from unbuttoning his shirt when you climb onto his lap, straddling him. His breath hitching as you took your turtleneck off, hair falling breathtakingly around your face as you were presented with nothing but your black bra in front of him. 

Shirt left halfway unbuttoned, forgotten, his hands found themselves on the curve of your waist. His touch sent sparks of heat through you as you cupped his erection through his boxers. His head fell into the crook of your shoulder with a moan. You guided him out gently, his cock springing back against his belly, precum pooling at the tip.

For a beat, you didn't move, eyes going slightly wide at his size. He was big, bigger than you thought he would be, bigger than anything you’ve taken before and your senses clouded with lust at the realization. 

You were broken from your trance when Beomgyu wrapped his hand on yours, guiding you to his shaft. The heated weight of him in your palm shot another spasm straight to your core. You pumped him gently, feeling your senses dizzying by the pants and groans spilling from him. You let out a shuddering breath, trailing your fingers up to his weeping slit, collecting the oozing pre cum there and smearing it across his tip.

Beomgyu panted against your neck, lips trailing open mouthed kisses on your skin, nipping and sucking on the supple flesh. You take that opportunity to take him by the base of his cock, rubbing the tip against your sopping slit, his arousal mixing with your own. The sudden warmth of your core snapped Beomgyu’s head up, eyes locking with yours.

“Do you really want this?” he asked, voice low, but desperate.

His question made you pause, his tip sliding against your core and resting on your abdomen instead. You looked at him, eyebrows furrowing and you felt your chest tighten because why was he looking at you like that? Like he genuinely wanted this as much as you did? You couldn’t dare yourself to hope. Wasn't this only a game?

“Isn’t it too late to ask that?” you couldn’t look at him anymore, gaze faltering under his intense stare. 

There was a pause. The only sound filled between you was your mixed breathing and erratic heartbeats. Then, Beomgyu moved his hands to your hips as he pulled you closer, his tip brushed against your sensitive cunt, causing you to whimper softly. Your hands found refuge on his shoulders, your heart thumping loudly against your ribcage and in your ears. 

“If it’s okay, then,” his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, “I've wanted you for too long to be satisfied with just once. I need you.”

The depth of his words didn't have the time to settle in your senses when his tip slided inside you, stretching you deliciously. His lips devoured your strangled moan, his hand slipping in the back of your head holding you close to him. You gasped into his mouth at the way he brushed up against every sensitive nerves, slowly bottoming out to the very base. 

“You okay?” he pulled away just a fraction, his hand massaging the soft flesh of your hips, a gesture of encouragement that made your chest swell with warmth. He let you adjust to his girth, muttering praises into your ear and it only made your head spin more. You hated the way he was making you feel. 

You attached your lips to his in a feverish kiss as you lifted yourself up to his tip, then swivelled your hip downward on his length. Beomgyu’s eyes rolled back as his nails dug deeper into your hips, choked gasps and grunts escaping him. 

This position let you take him as deeply as possible. Your senses clouded with pleasure at how his cock pressed into your deepest parts, the drag of his tip making you want to slouch over and succumb to the blinding pleasure. It didn't take you long to set a steady rhythm, your synchronous moans mingled in the small space between your bodies, overlapping with the lewd sound of skin slapping.

"You're doing so good," he murmured against your neck, moaning when your walls clenched around him at the praise. "So, so good, oh my god."

Your breath came out in hot puffs, your thighs aching from riding him, as your movements began to become sloppy. Beomgyu pressed one chaste kiss to your lips and brushed your hair out from in front of your face, then your world spun as you were flipped with impressive speed onto your back, your head hitting the soft pillow with a yelp.

He hovered above you, his thrusts hitting deeper inside you in the new position. Strings of broken whimpers left you with each of his thrusts. All it took was one look at his expression for you to choke on your breath.

He was peering down at you with glazed eyes—eyes full of softness that spilled something like adoration. You swallowed hard, refusing to let yourself believe. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you begged, voice coming out barely as a whisper. 

Beomgyu slowed down his pace, the sensation making you squirm under him, his breath hitched, his brows drawing together like your words had physically struck him. But he didn’t look away. Didn’t laugh it off or mask it with some teasing remark. He exhaled shakily, and let his fingers trail up, the touch was so light and full of devotion, until they cradled your face.

“How else do you want me to look at you?” he murmured, voice raw, almost pleading. “Because I don’t know how to look at you any other way.”

You barely got the first syllable out—“Please”—before the word withered on your tongue. Beomgyu leaned down, tenderly pressed his lips to your forehead. That was it. The last string holding you together snapped.

Maybe you had it wrong all along—maybe Beomgyu’s infuriating arrogance, the way he always pushed and provoked, wasn’t indifference at all. Maybe it was a pull, just as relentless as the one that had kept you shackled to him for so long. And now, here you were, drawn together like Icarus was to the sun, aching to take, to burn, to make this moment last before it slipped through your fingers.

Your breath trembled, your fingers curled into his back, and this time—you didn’t hold your sounds. You sank further, letting the warmth of him consume you whole.

“Beomgyu.”

It was the first time you moaned his name that night. It slipped past your lips as if torn free from the core of you, soft and breathless, laced with a wrecked kind of desperation that carved into him like flame. The sound of his name in your voice shaped by want, by surrender, by the kind of hunger neither of you had spoken aloud until now seared through him devastatingly.

That was all it took. Beomgyu faltered, his hands reacted before he could think, fingers flexing hard enough against your skin to leave reminders behind, clutching at you like he was trying to hold on to something slipping through his grasp. But there was no grip strong enough to keep him grounded now—not when you moaned his name like that; not when you were looking at him like he was the only thing in your world worth falling apart for. You had him. Completely.

A curse left his lips, ragged and desperate, and he surged forward—kissing you like he was chasing the sound, like he needed to hear it again, needed to feel it vibrate against his skin. His hand slipped under your bra and kneaded your soft breast, no patience left, his control unraveling at the seams. His hips spearing into you with newfound energy.

And when you moaned his name a second time—oh, he was gone.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he gasped. His fingers push your palm flat against the bed next to you, and then gently intertwine with yours, a jarring contrast to the way his pelvis slammed into you so fervently. 

“You feel so–mngh, good,” you slurred, the haze of ecstasy starting to cloud your consciousness. His thrusts went harder, deeper, at your praises, hitting your g-spot over and over again. The familiar rush of warmth pooling into your abdomen caused you to wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him even closer to you. “I’m close–please,” you screw your eyes shut. “I’m so close.”

His Adam's apple bobbed thickly at the saccharine sound of your pleas. “You’re so beautiful like this–fuck, come for me.”

He thrusted once, twice, and with a final thrust, your walls spasmed around his cock, your back arched into him, his name falling from your lips as a whimper. Beomgyu buried his face into your neck as he sloppily thrusted in your leaking cunt, chasing his own climax. He swiftly pulled out and gave his cock a few pumps before hot ropes of thick, white semen coated your lower stomach and thighs. 

Your bodies heaved in unison. The room was quiet now. The silence wasn’t awkward or empty, but the kind that settled between two people who had nothing left to prove—nothing left to fight.

Beomgyu was the first to move, slipping into the bathroom and returning with a damp towel. He helped you sit up, his touch careful, gentle, as he cleaned you up with a tenderness that felt almost foreign.

You watched him closely. He was too gentle—far too gentle, in fact—and the sharpness in his eyes had dulled into a softer haze.

“You’re being nice,” you deadpanned. “It’s freaking me out.”

You expected a snarky retort, a teasing jab, anything to break the shift in atmosphere. But instead, he just laughed. The sound was warm. And somehow, that laugh only made the fire in your chest burn hotter.

You got dressed in silence. You pulled your coat back on, smoothing out the creases in the fabric, and when you glanced up, Beomgyu was watching you. There was that same look in his eyes from earlier. 

He reached for you before he could stop himself, fingers brushing over your hair, fixing the stray strands with an almost careful kind of touch. His brows furrowed like he was concentrating. The gesture was tender, yes, but it was also searching. Prolonged. It felt as if his hand didn’t quite know how to let go.

Your eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?"

His hand stilled against your temple. There was hesitation in the line of his mouth, a flicker of indecision you weren't meant to see. He raked the other through his hair, messing it up more than fixing it, a nervous gesture that you’ve come to recognise which betrayed the calm mask he tried to hold. He exhaled a quiet laugh, dropping his hand to his side.

“If I’m being honest," he murmured, voice lower than before, "it was a disturbingly short amount of time between meeting you and wanting to say ‘I love you’.”

Your brows lifted, taken aback not because you were surprised, but because of how unpracticed it sounded. This wasn’t some well-timed confession, something he’d calculated to fluster you. It was an admission that had slipped past his guard before he could stop it.

Beomgyu wasn’t waiting for an answer. He wasn’t even looking at you anymore, just kept running a hand through his hair like he couldn’t believe he’d actually said that out loud.

But you had an answer.

You stepped closer, the space between you vanishing in an instant, and Beomgyu froze when you reached for him. With a touch far lighter than he deserved, you straightened the collar of his shirt, smoothing over the fabric the way he had done to your hair.

"We can work on that," you said softly, glancing away. 

Beomgyu gaped at you. For a heartbeat, he looked as though you had spoken a foreign language, and he was trying to translate the meaning behind every syllable. He barely restrained the smile that followed. You saw the way he bit down on it, the way the corners of his mouth twitched despite himself.

And then he echoed your words, breath warm and disbelieving. “We can work on that.”

He repeated it like he needed to hear it again to believe it. He tested the words on his tongue a few times. Seeing him do that almost made you scoff a fond laugh, but you held yourself back from doing it by biting the inside of your cheek.

His gaze flickered down to your hand resting at your side. His fingers brushed against yours, he hesitated for half a second, as if giving you the chance to pull away, but you didn’t. So he threaded his fingers through yours, his hand folding into yours.

Your heart stuttered.

It was such a simple thing. The way he held your hand—his thumb tracing a small arc across your knuckles, it was really simple, but it didn’t feel so at that moment. His touch felt different. His touch felt like he was worshipping you.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his fingers tightened around yours. “I think I’d like that.”

And this time, when you turned toward the door, you didn’t walk out alone.

You didn’t slip away. You didn’t vanish with a parting glance and leave him behind in the silence.

This time, you held his hand.

THE END.

Taglist; @dawngyu @saejinniestar @xylatox @hoefororeo @caratcakemoa @90steele

[silens-oro]

Well Enough Alone: Part VI

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Cut the Loss (companion piece) Part I Part II Chicken Hawk (companion piece) Part III Part IV Trespassing (companion piece) Part V

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist

General Synopsis: Hawk and Pope come full circle. Word Count: 5.6k Content Warning: angst; uncomfortable conversations; typical Animal Kingdom warnings AN: you guys have been so amazingly kind about this series. if I could give you each a lil forehead kiss in thanks, I would. just know that I'm reading every comment, reblog, tag, and message you guys post and I'm giggling kicking my feet and twirling my hair. I appreciate every single one of you who have been a long for the ride so far, and to everyone who is just hopping on the Pope x Hawk train. please comment & reblog :)

Hawk’s head pounded as she woke up the next morning. The increasingly familiar hangover was nothing new for her, not recently, and she figured it would be a close companion if things continued the way they were going. The smell of coffee wafting through the air made her eyes snap open and sit up like the living dead. Hawk’s stomach rolled as she stood on wobbly legs. She didn’t give herself a single second to acclimatize herself before trudging down the hall and out to the kitchen. 

“Hey.” Pope greeted stoically as he leaned against the counter, sipping from a coffee mug.

“Hey? Ten days of absolutely no contact from you and hey is the best you’ve got? Give me a fucking break, Pope.” Hawk moved around him, grabbing her own mug and filling it with what was left in the pot before taking it back to her bedroom so she could nurse the headache from Hell that was approaching. 

“We need to talk,” He called out to her, but the only response he got back was the slam of her door that shook the whole back end of the house. 

The sound of Hawk’s cell phone ringing made her head spin. She had fallen back asleep after downing her cup of coffee and the disorientation was making her feel like she needed to puke. Hawk’s hand sloppily hit around the bedside table blindly until her fingers reached the offending tech. Her dry eyes cracked open and squinted at the name on the screen. Sighing, she hit decline before she let her face fall back onto her pillow. Another thirty seconds later, it rang again. 

“I’ve heard enough from you to last a lifetime, Baz.” Hawk’s voice was dry and rough as she spoke. “Someone better be dead.” 

“Have you, uh, talked to Cath at all, Hawk? In the last day or two?” Not to alarm you, Hawk, but we haven’t been able to contact Catherine in nearly two days. Hawk’s stomach sank and bile made its way up the back of her throat. “Hawk?”

“No, I haven’t talked to her, Baz. Is everything alright? Is Lena okay?”

“Yeah,” He paused. “Lena’s here with me. Just haven’t been able to get a hold of Cath. Can you do me a favor and reach out to her? Maybe she’ll answer your calls. She’s probably just pissed at me and I want to make sure she’s alright.” Catherine wouldn’t leave Lena. Never. Hawk wasn’t close to the woman, but she knew how fiercely she protected her daughter and would never leave her behind for anything.

“I’ll give her a call now, alright? I’ll let you know if I hear from her.” Hawk had a horrible feeling that she’d never get a hold of Catherine, not after what the police told her. If Smurf somehow found out about it…Hawk let the thought die where it began. 

“Thanks, Hawk. I appreciate it.” He hung up, not waiting to hear anything else from Hawk and she was grateful. She shakily brought a pillow up to her face and screamed until her lungs burned. 

Hawk knew Pope was watching her. He had been watching her every move since she resurfaced after Baz’s call and he attempted to approach her three more times before she got in the shower, and all times he was unsuccessful. 

Pope stood in the doorway of her bathroom, and unlike the first time he watched her in the shower, there was nothing inherently sexual about it. He needed her to say something, to look at him, to acknowledge him. He’d take anything at this point because being ignored by her was starting to do his head in. 

Hawk took her time, listening to the music she had playing from the speaker she kept in the bathroom while she exfoliated and shaved. She lathered and rinsed, lathered and rinsed, and Pope knew she was doing it to drag this out as long as she could. 

The shame Pope used to feel when he upset Smurf, and occasionally still felt, was nothing compared to what he was feeling currently. Now, it was amplified to a degree that made his fingers twitch at his sides and made his jaw tick. He’d look away when she turned in his direction because Hawk looking through Pope was worse than not looking at him at all. 

After the third time she brushed Pope off, he gave Hawk her space, but still moved from room to room with her as she went about her day. It was a Monday and the shop was closed, so she had nowhere to go and only had time to kill. 

Pope haunted every room Hawk inhabited and it killed her when he looked at her like a wet cat. When Hawk sat on the sofa, Pope sat on the armchair, both in silence as she flicked through the channels on the tv. When she made herself lunch, he stood in the entry to the kitchen and watched as she moved around the kitchen. After a while, he started straightening things out in every room they occupied because it was the only thing his brain could control in the situation. 

Every tidy. 

Everything in order. 

Everything in its place.  

The shower turned off and Pope continued to watch as Hawk grabbed a towel to wrap around herself before stepping out of the shower and around Pope like he was an obstacle. He followed her, as he had all afternoon, and sat on the edge of her bed facing the closet while she got dressed. Pope’s fingers continued their nervous tapping against his thigh, jaw clenched, and he looked ready to puke if this went on for much longer. 

Hawk was still slightly damp when she bypassed Pope to grab her sunglasses on the nightstand. He swallowed thickly when the scent of her body wash enveloped him, teasing his senses in the worst way. Hawk slid the door open to her private area on the deck and stepped outside. She heard him sigh from inside as she lowered herself to sit on the top step. 

“Please just talk to me.” Pope broke as he came to sit next to Hawk, his knee boldly resting against hers, searching for any form of physical contact he could get with her. 

“I haven’t heard from you in over a week, Pope. You did that, not me. I tried to fix this and you wouldn’t let me so as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing that needs to be said.” The warmth of the sun was relaxing in an otherwise tense setting. 

“There’s plenty that needs to be said.” Pope’s eyes squinted, brows pinched together, as he looked out to the horizon. “I know it wasn’t you. I confronted Smurf about the pills.”

“I heard.” He glanced over at Hawk quizzically. “Baz stopped by a few days ago. I’d say I was disappointed you didn’t actually strangle her, but I’d never want to put that on you. Not when I could do it myself.” Hawk mumbled the last bit under her breath, but Pope still heard it. 

“We had a job-” He started to explain, but was swiftly cut off.

“-Yeah, Pendleton.” Hawk chuckled sardonically. “How’d that go, by the way? Considering you haven’t landed yourself back in lock up, I’m going to assume things either went fine or you haven’t done it yet.” 

“You really want to know?” Hawk shrugged, looking to the flowerbed she missed a few weeds in. “How do you know about Pendleton?”

“It doesn’t matter. Is that why you iced me out? So you could focus on the job?” Hawk picked at her nails, doing everything she could to not look at him. 

“No.” Pope admitted, “Not completely, anyway.” Hawk scoffed, turning her head in the opposite direction of where he was sitting so he couldn’t see her face at all. “I had some shit I needed to figure out, Hawk.” Vin, Cath, Smurf, Lena, the job. 

“And you couldn’t have just said that? Jesus Christ, Pope, I didn’t deserve that.” Hawk shook her head, turning back to Pope. “Ten days, Pope. Ten fucking days of silence. In what world does what I did require that kind of punishment?”

“I wasn’t punishing you.”

“That’s exactly what it was.” She snapped. “You were punishing me because you couldn’t punish Smurf.” Baz’s explanation regurgitated through Hawks’s mouth and the words, although true, felt acidic like bile. “You were punishing me because you knew I’d care that you did, and that it would hurt me if you did it because I hurt you -and that gave you control over the situation.” He didn’t deny it. 

“That’s part of it.”

“Well that doesn’t work for me, Pope.” Hawk’s voice was firm, reprimanding, and she didn’t know how much longer she could keep her spine about her when he looked at her like that. Like he knew he disappointed her. It was scarily similar to the look J gave her the night before -a Cody trait shared with J’s mom’s twin. “And that’s not even the biggest problem we have right now.” Hawk turned to face Pope fully and he could feel a tug in his chest at how goddamn defeated she looked. 

Hawk sat for a moment, contemplating her next words as she let out a sigh. 

“You have been purposefully lying to me since you stepped foot in my house.” She removed the sunglasses from her face to reveal her bloodshot eyes. Pope blinked, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for something to say. “From day fucking one, you’ve lied to me.” 

Pope’s heart raced. The only thing that crossed his mind was Catherine, but the timeline didn’t line up and there was no way Hawk could’ve learned about what he did. He and Smurf were the only two people alive on the planet who knew about what Pope did, and Smurf wouldn’t rat him out to Hawk of all people. Not about this, even at her maddest. Still, it felt like his stomach was trying to escape through his throat the longer she held his eyes with hers. 

“I was so unbelievably angry with you. I wanted to scream and yell and take all of my anger and frustration out on you when you finally decided to grace me with your goddamn presence, but now the fight’s left me, Pope. Now I’m hurt more than anything because you of all people know what it’s like to be deceived by someone you cares about you.” It wasn’t even the latest pill incident she was referencing. A lifetime of deceit from his own mother and Baz had its hooks dug deep into Pope. He carried that weight with him, unable to release it because there was nowhere to release it. That feeling stuck around like an old friend and he never wanted Hawk to feel that, not intentionally. Pope knew he fucked up something, he just didn’t know what it was or when it happened. It’s hard to keep track of the skeletons in your closet when it’s filled to the brim, even when you’re as meticulous as Pope Cody.

“What are you talking about?” Pope’s voice was low, genuinely confused at the direction Hawk had taken this conversation. This couldn’t just be about the time he fell off the face of Hawk���s Earth. 

“J, Pope.” There it was. Everything lined up and Pope finally understood. Somehow, probably from the kid himself, Hawk found out about J’s little field trips. “I’m talking about J and the shit you’ve pulled him into after telling me, promising me, that he wasn’t involved in any of it.” Hawk glared at him. “I don’t know why you did it, but you kept it from me and you lied about it when I asked you point blank.” She broke eye contact with him, looking back out into the yard. “I understand that I hurt you in my own way, Pope. I’m not minimizing that, but these are two very different situations.” Pope released a breath of relief, as fucked up as that was. With everything else going on around him, this was one of the smaller problems he could deal with -and he would deal with it. 

“I know. ” Pope squinted again as he looked over the backyard with her. He needed to fix this rift that he let split between them, and Pope wasn’t the type to lay his feelings and emotions out in the open, but he had to let Hawk know that he understood. “I saw Julia in him, Hawk, and I hated it. I hated how close you were to him and I guess…if I could bring him in, destroy some piece of him so I could let go of her, but I realized that yeah, he looked like Julia, but everything else?” He turned to Hawk, “That was all you and by the time I figured that out, he already got a taste of it.” Hawk rested her elbows on her thighs and she let her face fall into her hands. 

“You don’t understand the lengths I went to, Pope, to keep this from happening.” Pope squatted in front of her, forearms resting on his thighs. “Josh is supposed to go to college, have a life, maybe have a family one day. He was supposed to exist in a world where this shit didn’t touch him and you helped decimate that. All I’ve thought about was him either ending up in prison, or worse -dead. I can’t lose him too. I won’t come back from that.” Pope didn’t have the heart to tell her that Prison was the worst option of the two. If J was lucky, he’d end up in a casket before it ever got to that, but looking at Hawk, he silently vowed to himself to look after the kid. As much as he could without being obvious about it, anyway. 

“I told you before that everything I touched...” Turns to ash. “J was no exception.” Hawk picked her head back up and leveled Pope with a look. 

“Just because it’s been that way, doesn’t mean it has to stay that way.” He nodded, standing back up. Pope turned his back to Hawk so he could face the ocean and cut that line of vulnerability so he could take a breath. His hair was a brighter red under the direct sunlight, Hawk noticed as she watched Pope. 

“J is a part of my life, a very big part, and he always will be.” Hawk left no room for speculation. “If this is going to be a continuous problem, then you need to say something now because I will never leave him behind. For anyone. You understand that, right?” The slightest of nods was given to her, though he didn’t turn around. “J is with me for life, Pope. We’re a package deal. You don’t get one without the other.” Hawk hoisted herself up and walked over to Pope to stand next to him. “But that doesn’t mean I give anything less to you, Pope. They’re different parts, each one a different type of love. One is just as important as the other. Are you okay with that?” Pope turned to fully face Hawk, initiating touch with her once more by bringing his hand up to cup the side of her neck, just under her jaw. Her eyes closed at the contact and she took a step closer to Pope.

Hawk missed him, even as pissed off as she was, she truly missed his presence in the house -in her bed at night. He was quiet, observant, but dutifully by her side when he was home. She missed his touch, his presence, his cologne -him. She missed the space he took up, even though he didn’t try to take up any of it. From being alone for so long with J coming and going as he got older, to having Pope fall back in and out of her life, the whiplash Hawk was experiencing was hard to manage.

“I get that now, believe me.” Pope bit his lip before letting it go. “I don’t have any more problems with J. He’s not a bad kid,” His shoulder raised in a half shrug, “-especially to have around you. He’s smart, loyal.”

“Not nearly smart enough and loyal to the wrong people apparently.” Hawk scoffed, thinking back to the fight she had with J the night before. Hawk tried to give J some leeway, she really did, but it was hard. She experienced what he did, albeit just slightly different. It was easier for her to say no to the temptation because the people she was saying no to were her age at the time. J, on the other hand, was dealing with four grown men who were at least twice his age and had decades of experience being who they were. They were pushy, aggressive, even downright mean at times. She was in denial, Hawk realized. As long as J was in that house, he was never coming out unscathed. 

You left me, Hawk winced, shaking the thought out of her head as she pulled away from Pope.  

“He cares about you.” His eyes followed Hawk as she stepped around the yard. “He loves you. He’d die for you. That alone makes him okay in my book.” Hawk turned to walk back towards Pope, determination filling her.

“And you?” Hawk put Pope on the spot. His face hardened, but not in anger. Pope matched Hawk’s seriousness as she stopped directly in front of him. 

“You know I do, and I would.” Pope said without hesitation, as if his admission wasn’t absolutely earth shattering to Hawk. Pope’s eyes stared into her soul as he reached his hand out to take hers. Hawk let him pull her hand up to his lips, both of them yearning to feel any part of each other that they could before bridging that gap. He gently pulled her closer, coaxing her in just close enough to lean down to press his forehead to hers.

Pope let his confession settle for a moment before continuing, his voice lowering even further as he spoke. It was intimate in a way Hawk had never heard Pope speak before. “My time locked up -I don’t need to tell you how bad it was.” The feeling of his lips moving against her temple was soothing, and the more he spoke, the more she craved him at a molecular level. 

“The day you showed up, I felt like I could breathe again, you know? You’re all I thought about for three years, Hawk. This,” he held up their conjoined hands, “is all I thought about -what I imagined you felt like, the way you smelled, your warmth. Everything. And every time I closed my eyes, it was you. Every call and every visit kept me going and made me feel like I was dying a slow agonizing death all at the same time because I was stuck there…” He trailed off, letting the impact of his words hit her. His hands, both of them this time, returned to her jaw. 

“I’m sorry for pulling J into this.” He nodded with his words, “I did it for selfish reasons, plain and simple. My head wasn’t screwed on right.” He swallowed thickly, “I was just released, I finally got to be around you without any kind of barrier and that was overwhelming. Julia was dead, and then here comes this kid -her kid, who knew every single thing about you. He lived in your house. He spent time with you. He existed alongside you for years. He loved you and you loved him back so fiercely in a way I didn’t think anyone could love their kid. He’s not even blood and you’ve done everything to give him the best life he could have because you loved Julia.” There was something underlying there, and Hawk knew exactly what it was. Pope resented Baz for how Smurf treated Baz as opposed to himself -her actual son. This didn’t excuse what Pope did, but it was starting to make a little bit of sense to Hawk. 

“Smurf gave him my room like I was never coming back -they sold my house. J had you, he had Smurf, he had my things. And it was like I was obsolete and replaced with something new and untainted. I was territorial, unadjusted, and backed into a corner, but he was still a kid who didn’t ask for any of this. None of us did.” Finally, Hawk wrapped her arms timidly around Pope’s waist. He allowed her head to drop to his chest and let his eyes close after finally truly feeling her against him. 

“We can’t do this, Pope.” Hawk mumbled against his shirt. “Not if this is how this relationship is going to function. I can’t live like this -I won’t.” 

“It won’t be.” He promised. “I can’t lose this, Hawk.” Pope’s hands ran up and down between her shoulders as he held her. Pope was very obviously uncomfortable with the conversation, but he was willing to be vulnerable with her -for her. “There is no one else and there never will be after you.” Hawk pulled back just enough to create a little bit of space between them without actually letting go.

“I’m not ending this, Pope, but this” Hawk pointed between them, “is a partnership, and we are supposed to act as a unit. I’m too old to be doing this. I’m not asking for the world, just you. Not Smurf, not the bullshit. Just you.” 

“Okay.” Hawk’s palm held Pope’s cheek so his attention stayed on her as she spoke. 

“Then all of that ends now. The lies and the scheming -all of it. Do your jobs, but you don’t bring any of that shit home. If you need to talk about it, that’s one thing, but anything physical stays out.” He nodded. “We do this our way. If something is bothering you, if something happens, you need to talk to me about it. You don’t disappear and then reappear when you’re ready because I won’t be here waiting again. The same goes for me. We talk and work things out, but we always stay honest with each other.” Hawk thought for a moment. “And we don’t go to bed angry. I’ve had too many of those nights as of recent and I’m done with it. Those are my stipulations for this.” Pope nodded again. “I mean it, Pope. No more lies. I need to hear you say it.” 

“We talk things out. Stay honest. Never go to bed angry.” His eyes were earnest and Hawk genuinely believed him as he said it, but that little bit of doubt that stuck around -like a gnat flying in her face- kept itself nice and cozy in the darkest recesses of her mind.  

“Okay,” Hawk whispered, closing the distance between them for the first time in ten days. 

It’s fixed. Can we talk?

That’s the text Hawk receives from J while she’s working at the shop a few days later. She stared down at her phone for a moment, typing and then deleting what she wrote, then typing it out again. 

When I’m ready. Was Hawk’s response. She wasn’t mad at J -not anymore, but the hurt still lingered and she needed time to work through everything that had come to light between him and Pope. She’d invite him over for dinner soon and they’d hash out what they needed to so they could move forward. Hawk meant every word she said to Pope about J -she’d always be there for him. In no way was she okay with what he was doing, nor did she know just how deep he was into it, but they would make it out of this. 

“Still no word on Cath?” Hawk asked as she got comfortable in the bed. Two months had passed since Pope essentially vowed his heart and soul to Hawk. Things had moved slowly between them, both reacclimating with the other. Pope tiptoed around Hawk, needing to be reassured that he was fine and that his presence was wanted.

“No,” Pope answered as walked out of the bathroom fresh from a shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. Hawk wiggled her eyebrows at him and checked him out very obviously, causing a furious blush to travel from his chest, up to his neck, then flushing his cheeks. Pope rolled his eyes knowing that was the reaction Hawk was going for, but she still saw the tilt of the corner of his mouth nonetheless. 

Pope did not inherently seek attention. He avoided it at all cost, but he did secretly love it when Hawk threw it at him in the intimate confines of the house. Just to be a tease, he dropped the towel coyly as he stepped into the closet, giving her a show of his perfectly sculpted ass and muscular back.

“Watch it or I’m liable to start howling at the moon.” Hawk called out to him as she flipped the comforter over her legs. She heard Pope laugh, ever so lightly, from inside the closet as he fumbled around for a pair of pajama pants. He was typically a nude sleeper, but when Lena was in the house he made sure he was appropriately clothed at all times. Both of them did after Lena tried to climb into their bed after she had a nightmare.  

It had been over two months since Catherine left, or went missing. Hawk leaned on missing considering the fact Pope said Lena was left alone in the house the night that Cath disappeared, but he also mentioned that she stole cash from Smurf -ten grand. That wasn’t chump change, but it also wasn’t enough to just disappear without a trace. The thought of disappearing was one of the scariest things Hawk could think of. 

Lena was the light of Cath’s life. She lived for her daughter  and even Hawk knew she would’ve never left without Lena. Something didn’t add up with any of it, and Hawk spent more time than she’d like to admit dwelling on it. On the other side of things, Baz wasn’t equipped to be an actual father to a child (ironically). Cath did all the nurturing -school drop offs, doctors appointments, feeding, and all around caring for Lena with minimal help from Baz, so that left the young girl in the hands of Smurf when this whole catastrophe started.  

The interesting turn of events for Hawk was when Pope casually asked her one morning over breakfast if it was alright to bring Lena over occasionally. “Just to get her out of Smurf’s.” He said, like he needed to convince Hawk. He still considered himself a guest in the house they both essentially shared, and he wasn’t the type of person to assume anything under someone else’s roof. Pope had taken to his niece like a house on fire and it was genuinely endearing to see him interact with Lena. They were kindred spirits of a sort, an unlikely pair, but they connected with each other when the remainder of the family neglected them. 

Of course, Hawk was perfectly fine with Lena coming over and so “occasionally” turned into “most of the time”. Taking care of Lena brought a spark to Pope that Hawk didn’t know he had and it was refreshing to see someone who lived such a tortured existence let go.

Hawk’s heart hurt for Lena. The first couple of weeks without her mother were trying on everyone at Smurf’s, according to Pope. Hawk wasn’t around the house during that time for obvious reasons, but Pope made sure to tell her what was going on between the family. 

Lena had a lot of questions, as a young child who was attached at the hip to her mother would, and she didn’t get many -if any- answers back. Baz was short with her, Pope said when he brought up the idea of Lena initially coming over. Baz’s annoyance and short temper at having to actually parent was actually baffling to Hawk. Lena was well mannered, quiet, and liked to express herself in ways that mostly involved some kind of coloring utensil and a coloring book. She was a dream kid if Hawk ever saw one, considering who her father was as a child. Smurf, on the other end of the spectrum, let the kid run amok eating whatever she wanted, staying up as late as she wanted, without a single rule in the house. Not that Lena was bad by any means, but structure, even a little bit, was needed for any kid as they grew up. Hawk learned that very early on with J. 

After a couple weeks of Pope bringing Lena around, she became attached to Hawk. Hawk was maternal in a way her grandmother wasn’t and she latched onto any kind of comfort she could -and that happened to be Hawk. Lena didn’t smile often anymore, reserving herself after being told to stay quiet by her father time and time again, but with Pope and Hawk, she was as happy as she could be in the absence of her mother. Pope also told her about how Baz would yell at the little girl and how Lena would act out in ways that weren’t destructive, but just annoying enough to get a reaction out of her father. She needed attention, nurturing, and love - things that children were owed, and Lena wasn’t getting any of that from Baz. Hawk almost blew a gasket when Pope mentioned Lucy’s presence in all of this. She told herself that if she ever saw Baz in the street, she’d hit him with her car first and ask questions later.

In her own way, Hawk also became attached to Lena. It was a familiar feeling she remembered having when J was little. J and Lena were similar when J was her age. Both were kids with easy temperaments who just wanted to matter to the people who brought them into the world, and both had been let down spectacularly. 

Lena was kind, smart, polite and as cute as a button. She had an adventurous streak to her and she also had a very peculiar sense of humor when she wanted to come out of her shell. Pope, out of everyone, seemed to be one of the only people to be able to get her comfortable enough to do that. 

The spare bedroom that Pope had occupied when he first moved in was turned into a bedroom for Lena so she could have her own space. Sage walls made way for a pastel lavender that Lena picked out herself one weekend when Hawk and Pope took her shopping for some things to call her own, and the queen sized bed was swapped for a twin canopy bed that Pope was all too happy to put together the same afternoon they bought it. Pope paid for it, all of it, even when Hawk argued to just split. He insisted that Lena was his responsibility and that letting her stay in the house was more than he could’ve ever asked of Hawk. 

Childrens clothes, shoes, toys, and books slowly started to fill up the pastel room. Dress up costumes had their own rack that Pope mounted to the wall. Then came a little desk so Lena could color and draw in the comfort of her own space. Hawk’s mind imagined what it would’ve been like to have Pope here while she was raising J and she wondered if he could’ve ever loved J as he very openly loved Lena. How different things could’ve been for all three of them.  

Before Hawk knew it, she couldn’t imagine Lena and Pope not occupying the house with her. Pope, in turn, had moved into Hawk’s bedroom -now their bedroom. Lena spent nights over frequently, more frequently than Smurf would’ve liked. At one point, about a month after Hawk and Pope made up, the hatchet between Smurf and Hawk was finally buried. Hawk still kept Smurf at arm's length, but Smurf was all too happy to have her back in the circle.

Pope padded back into the bedroom after finally finding his chosen pair of pajamas for the night. They were blue with little birds on them and they hung dangerously low on his hips -low enough to show off the v-cut of his lower abdomen that disappeared beneath the waistband. It was distracting, and as Pope got more and more comfortable in his own skin around Hawk, the saucier he’d get around her. This was one of the things he knew drove her crazy.

“My eyes are up here.” Hawk barked out a laugh of surprise at Pope’s deadpanned joke. 

“Your eyes may be up there, but mine are down there.” She motioned with her eyes to where she was looking before, then rolled them back up to meet his. Pope crawled up the length of the bed until he reached her. His hand immediately attached itself to her waist as Hawk pulled him up to meet her kiss and toyed with the waistband of his pajamas with a single finger, letting it slide just under the hem to get his blood pumping. 

“Not while Lena’s here,” Pope mumbled against her lips, knowing she was teasing him. 

“I know, but who’s to say we can’t make out like a couple of horny teenagers?” Hawk challenged with a grin that told Pope she was up to absolutely no good. She wiggled her eyebrows once more for good measure and that was it for him. “Make up for lost time.”

“Can’t say no to that.” His mouth captured hers once more, both of them pawing at each other.

please comment & reblog :)

and just like that, we've transitioned to season two. there's plenty more to come for hawk and pope.