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flux1563 · 2 months ago

Text

Seeking attention ft karina

Words :7k

Tags : squirt, titfuck, creampie

"You're not listening to me, Karina," groaned her friend Winter, her voice cutting through the buzz of the crowded cafeteria.

Karina's eyes snapped back to Winter, a hint of annoyance flashing across her face before she plastered on a smile. "Sorry, what'd you say?"

"I said, you're not listening again," Winter repeated with a knowing look. "You've had your eyes on him all week."

"Him?" Karina played coy, but her cheeks betrayed a soft blush as they turned towards the figure Winter indicated—Y/N, the enigmatic scholar who sat at the corner of the room, nose buried in a book. His tall frame and chiseled features made him the center of attention without even trying, yet he remained oblivious to the whispers that followed him. "What about him?"

Winter rolled her eyes. "Come on, Karina. You can't ignore the fact that every guy in class wants a piece of you, but you're pining over the one who barely notices anyone exists outside of his textbooks."

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch and the start of another dreaded afternoon class. Karina's heart skipped a beat as she gathered her books, her thoughts racing. Winter's words echoed in her mind—everyone else saw her as the object of desire, but she only had eyes for the unattainable. The one who didn't seem to care about her curves or her smile. The one who was perfect for her, yet so out of reach.

As the students shuffled out, Karina took a deep breath, steeling herself for the challenge she was about to undertake. She had to get Y/N's attention somehow. She had to make him see her beyond her body. An idea began to form in her mind—she would ask him for help with her homework. It was a simple plan, but it was a start.

That evening, Karina found herself standing nervously outside Y/N's apartment, her heart pounding in her chest. She had sent him her address earlier in the day, hoping he wouldn't think it strange. The door creaked open, and there he was—his piercing gaze meeting hers, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"Hi," she managed to squeak out, her voice betraying her nerves. "I, uh, I need help with my homework."

Y/N looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a curt nod, he stepped aside to let her in. "Follow me," he said, his voice low and even.

The apartment was small but meticulously organized. Textbooks and notepads lined the shelves, and a faint scent of coffee lingered in the air—a stark contrast to the chaos that was Karina's own living space. She followed him to a clutter-free desk, her eyes scanning the room for any personal touches that might give her a glimpse into his soul. But there were none, just the cold embrace of academia.

He sat down and gestured for her to take the chair opposite. "What do you need help with?"

Karina's mind went blank. The words she had rehearsed on the way over escaped her. "Everything," she blurted out, feeling like a fool.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing at the corner of his lips. "Everything is a broad subject. Be specific."

Her cheeks burned as she opened her book to a random page, her thoughts racing. This wasn't going how she had planned. "Just...just math," she stuttered. "I'm really bad at math."

For a brief second, she thought she saw a flicker of something warm in his gaze before it was gone, replaced by the cold detachment she had come to expect from him. "Alright," he said, pulling out a notepad and pen. "Where shall we begin?"

And so, the night of tutoring began—a dance of numbers and formulas that Karina stumbled through, eager to impress him with her ability to learn. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more she needed to do to capture his heart. Little did she know, the real lesson of the evening was just about to start.

Y/N's patience was unyielding, breaking down complex problems into bite-sized pieces that she could digest. His eyes never left her face, watching as she struggled, nodded, and finally, clicked with the material. It was as if he could see into her mind, understanding her thought process and gently guiding her to the right answers. The way he spoke—so calm, so certain—was like a balm to her frazzled nerves.

As the hours ticked by, Karina's mind began to wander. The way Y/N's fingers moved with precision across the page, the way his tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he concentrated, the way the light hit his sharp jawline—it all painted a picture of a man who was more than just intellect. He was a masterpiece of focus and discipline, and she found herself drawn to him in ways she hadn't anticipated. Her thoughts grew hazier, and the room felt hotter, her heart racing as she stole glances at his strong arms.

The math grew simpler, but the air grew thicker with tension. Each time their eyes met, there was a spark—quick and fleeting, but it was there. Karina's cheeks flushed, and she swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as she wondered if he felt the same. She tried to shake off the thoughts, telling herself to focus on the task at hand, but it was no use. The more he taught her, the more she found herself adoring him—not just for his brains, but for the way he made her feel seen.

Her bladder finally decided it had had enough of the emotional rollercoaster and interrupted her thoughts. "I need to go to the bathroom," she said, a bit too loudly, her face flushing deeper.

Y/N looked up from the book, his eyes briefly meeting hers before he nodded towards a hallway. "First door on the left," he said, his voice a bit gruffer than usual.

In the bathroom, Karina took a deep breath and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The idea that had popped into her head in the cafeteria now seemed silly and desperate, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she needed to do something drastic. With a shaky hand, she turned the faucet the wrong way, watching as the water spurted out and drenched her shirt. Her heart raced as she called out, trying to sound more panicked than she felt. "Y/N! Help, the sink's broken!"

The footsteps grew closer, and the door swung open. Y/N's eyes widened at the sight of her, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. "What happened?"

"I...I don't know," she lied, trying to look as flustered as possible. "It just sprayed everywhere." Water droplets clung to her lashes and trickled down her neck, her shirt clinging to her skin.

Without a word, he stepped in, his movements efficient as he turned off the faucet and began to mop up the mess. The tension in the room was palpable, and Karina felt her breath hitch as his arm brushed against hers. This was it—her chance to get closer, to show him she wasn't just a pretty face.

He handed her a towel, and she took it, her eyes never leaving his. The fabric of her shirt had grown translucent in the dampness, the lacy outline of her black bra visible beneath it. She knew he could see it, could see the curve of her breasts and the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

Summoning all her courage, Karina took a step closer, her hand shaking slightly as she reached out to him. Before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was tentative at first, a soft brush of skin on skin, but as he didn't pull away, she grew bolder. She felt the towel drop from her hand as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

Y/N's body stiffened for a moment, but then, to her surprise, he relaxed into the embrace. His hands found their way to her waist, holding her gently as he returned the kiss with an intensity that made her knees wobble. Karina's pulse raced as she felt his warmth envelop her, his scent overpowering the lingering smell of ink and coffee in the room. It was everything she had hoped for and more.

Breaking away, she whispered, "Just touch my breast, dear." Her voice was a breathy plea, her eyes searching his for any sign of rejection. For a moment, she thought he might push her away, that she had crossed a line she shouldn't have. But instead, his eyes searched hers, as if looking for an answer she hadn't given. Then, ever so slowly, his hand moved up, his thumb brushing the fabric of her shirt before sliding beneath to graze the sensitive skin of her collarbone.

"Ahh," Karina moaned as his hand finally reached its destination, cupping her breast gently. The feeling was exquisite, and she leaned into his touch, her breath hitching. His thumb traced lazy circles around her nipple, eliciting a whimper from her lips. The warmth of his hand seeped through her damp shirt, sending shivers down her spine.

Without breaking eye contact, Y/N reached behind her and deftly unclasped her bra. It fell away, revealing her full, round breasts to the cool air. He took a step back, his eyes drinking in the sight of her exposed flesh. The look of amazement on his face was all the validation Karina needed—she was more than just a pretty face.

"You should be proud of yourself, Y/N," she murmured, her voice filled with passion. "Everyone in this university wants my body, but they can't have it because I've fallen in love with you."

Y/N's gaze remained locked on her, his expression unreadable, but his actions spoke louder than words. His other hand found its way to her other breast, kneading it gently as he bent his head to take her nipple into his mouth. The sensation was heavenly, and Karina's back arched as a soft moan escaped her. She had dreamt of this moment, of feeling his warm breath against her skin, his lips wrapped around her sensitive flesh. His tongue danced around the peak, flicking and suckling, sending bolts of pleasure straight to her core.

Encouraged by his responsiveness, Karina grew bolder. She reached for the button of his pants, her trembling hand slipping it free and pushing the fabric down just enough to reveal his thick, hard erection. She couldn't believe what she was seeing—nine inches of pure masculine beauty, the girth of it making her mouth water. "Oh, my god," she murmured, her eyes going wide.

Y/N's eyes snapped to hers, a mix of surprise and arousal. He didn't protest as she guided him to sit on the edge of the tub, his back against the wall. "What are you doing?" he breathed, but she could see the desire in his eyes.

"I never knew you had such an...impressive size," Karina said, her voice a seductive purr. She knelt before him, her eyes never leaving his as she wrapped her hand around his shaft, feeling the heat and power of him. "It's like you're holding a piece of the universe."

Y/N's cheeks colored slightly at her words, and he couldn't help the smug smile that tugged at his lips. "I've never had anyone...measure me up quite like that," he said, his voice thick with desire.

Karina's hand looked almost comical around his length, her fingers not even coming close to touching her thumb. "Look, my hand can't even wrap around it," she said, her voice filled with awe. "You're just too big."

Y/N's smile grew wider, a hint of pride in his eyes. "I've been told I'm...gifted," he said, the word rolling off his tongue with a hint of arrogance.

Karina couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing through the bathroom. "Gifted is an understatement," she said, her hand still stroking him. "But I'm going to need two hands for this."

With a sly smile, she leaned in closer, her ample breasts pressing against his thighs. "Do you like it when my boobs wrap around you?" she asked, her voice playful and full of mischief.

His eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. "I...uh...yes," he finally managed to say, his voice strained.

With a knowing smile, Karina leaned in closer, her breasts pressing against his thighs as she began to move her body up and down in a rhythmic motion, her nipples grazing his shaft with every pass. The feeling was exquisite, and she watched with rapt attention as his expression grew more intense. Her breasts moving faster and faster around his thick cock.

"Karina," he gasped, his eyes squeezed shut as she worked him with her body. "I'm gonna cum."

"Cum on my boobs," she whispered, her voice a siren's call. "I wanna feel it on me, I wanna feel you in me."

The words were barely out of her mouth when she felt him tense, his hands tightening on her shoulders as he let out a deep groan. Warm, sticky cum shot out, covering her breasts and chest in a hot, pulsing wave. She moaned in pleasure, feeling the warmth spread over her sensitive skin. It was a sensation she had never experienced before, and she reveled in the power she had over him in that moment.

Panting, Y/N opened his eyes, looking down at her. His gaze was a mix of shock and lust as he took in the sight of her cum-covered breasts. "I've never..." he trailed off, unable to find the words to express his thoughts.

"It's okay," she murmured, standing up and reaching for him. "We're just getting started."

Their clothes discarded in a pile on the floor, Karina led Y/N to the bedroom, her eyes never leaving his. The air was charged with desire as they tumbled onto the bed, their bodies entwined in a passionate embrace. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve and valley, worshipping her in a way she had never felt before.

He kissed her again, his tongue delving into her mouth as she straddled him, her wetness coating his stomach. His cock was still semi-hard, and she felt it nudge against her inner thigh, sending a thrill through her. She wanted more—needed more.

With a seductive smile, Karina slid off him and lay down on the bed, her legs spread wide. "Keep playing with me," she murmured, her voice a sultry whisper.

Y/N's eyes darkened as he complied, his fingers moving back to her swollen clit. He teased it mercilessly, circling and flicking, watching as she writhed and moaned beneath him. Her hips rose and fell, seeking the friction she craved, and he took the opportunity to glide his fingers down her body, tracing the path of her curves before returning to her core.

Her breath hitched as he pushed a finger inside her, feeling the warm, wet embrace of her pussy. It was tight and slick, and he could feel her muscles contract around him as he began to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm. He watched her face, memorizing every expression that played across her features—the way her eyes fluttered shut, the soft moans that escaped her lips, the way her cheeks flushed a deep pink.

He added another finger, curling them inside her as he continued to rub her clit with his thumb. Karina's moans grew louder, her body trembling with the effort of holding back. "I'm close," she panted, her eyes squeezed shut. "So close."

"Cum for me, Karina," he urged, his voice thick with need. "Let go."

And with that, she did. Her body arched off the bed, a high-pitched scream tearing from her throat as she came, her pussy clamping down on his fingers. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt before—intense and overwhelming. It was as if every nerve ending in her body was on fire, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her.

As her orgasm subsided, Y/N didn't give her a moment to catch her breath. He kissed his way down her body, his mouth finding her sensitive clit once more. He began to suck and lick with renewed vigor, his tongue swirling around the swollen nub in a way that made her hips buck against his face.

"Oh, fuck," she gasped, her eyes flying open. "Oh, oh, oh!"

Y/N felt the warmth of her climax flood over his face, a salty sweetness that only added to his own arousal. Karina's body convulsed above him, her legs trembling and her toes curling as she squirted like a fountain, her juices spraying across his cheeks and chin. It was a sight he had only ever seen in porn, but here it was, happening in real life. He lapped at her, eager to taste every drop, his cock pulsing with need.

Her body finally went lax, her breathing ragged and her skin glistening with sweat. Y/N sat back, wiping his face with the back of his hand, a look of wonder on his own. "I've never seen that before," he said, his voice filled with awe.

Karina giggled, a lightness to her tone that hadn't been there before. "I've never done that before," she admitted, a shy smile playing on her lips. "But with you, it just feels...right."

He leaned in, kissing her deeply, tasting her on his tongue. His hands found her hips, pulling her closer to him. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

The words sent a thrill through her, and she felt a newfound confidence bloom inside her. This wasn't just a physical attraction anymore—it was something deeper, something she hadn't even realized she craved. "Thank you," she whispered, her eyes searching his for any sign of doubt. But all she saw was desire—pure, unbridled lust that mirrored her own.

Without another word, Karina swung her leg over him, straddling his waist. His cock stood at attention, and she took it in her hand, feeling the weight of him, the heat and power of his arousal. She positioned herself over his tip, her heart racing as she lowered herself down. The first inch was tight, a slight burn that made her gasp, but she didn't stop. She wanted all of him—needed all of him.

Y/N watched with bated breath, his eyes never leaving hers as she took him in. His hands found her hips, guiding her, urging her to take more. She felt the head of his cock push against her tight entrance, and then with a sudden, desperate need, she slammed herself down onto him. The pain was there, but it was overshadowed by the pleasure—a white-hot spark that ignited within her.

"Ahh, you're so deep," Karina screamed, her voice echoing off the walls of the small room. His cock filled her completely, stretching her in a way that she had never felt before. She paused, panting, trying to adjust to the feeling of being so completely filled. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she began to rock her hips, sliding up and down his length.

Y/N's eyes rolled back in his head, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly. "You're so tight," he groaned, his voice strained with the effort of not losing control. "So fucking tight."

Karina's nails dug into his chest as she took him deeper, her body moving in a rhythm that was both agonizing and exhilarating. Each time she slammed down onto his cock, she felt him hit a spot deep within her that no one else had ever reached. It was a feeling she had only dreamed of, a feeling that made her feel alive. "Ahh, so good," she moaned, her voice breathy and full of need.

Y/N watched her, his eyes dark with desire. He could feel her walls tightening around him, her muscles clenching as she grew closer to the edge. "Cum for me again, Karina," he ground out, his own release building.

Obeying his command, Karina raised her pace, her hips moving faster and faster as she chased the elusive orgasm. She could feel it building, the pressure growing until it was all she could focus on. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she threw her head back, her long hair cascading down her back.

Then it hit her—a wave of pleasure so intense that it stole her breath away. "Ahhhh," she screamed, her pussy spasming around Y/N's thick cock as she squirted against his belly. He watched in amazement as a gush of liquid spurted out, painting his stomach and chest with her essence. The sight was erotic, and he couldn't hold back anymore.

"Now it's my turn, Karina," Y/N growled, his eyes dark with need as he raised his hips to meet her thrusts. "Let's come together."

His words sent a jolt of excitement through her, and she eagerly leaned into his rhythm, her body moving in perfect sync with his. She could feel him swelling inside her, the heat of his climax building with every stroke. The room was a symphony of moans and skin slapping together, the sweet scent of sex hanging heavily in the air.

With a final, powerful thrust, Y/N buried himself to the hilt, and Karina felt his warmth flood her as he came with a roar "AHHHHHH". Her own orgasm crashed over her, a second wave of pleasure so intense it left her trembling. She threw her head back, her mouth open in a silent scream, as she felt herself squirt again. It was as if her body was claiming him, marking him as hers.

Collapsing onto his chest, Karina tried to catch her breath, her heart pounding like a drum in her ears. Y/N's chest heaved beneath her, his cock still hard and pulsing inside her. She felt the sticky warmth of their combined releases, the evidence of their passion smearing between them as she moved.

They lay there for what felt like an eternity, the only sounds in the room their heavy breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. The weight of his body was comforting, anchoring her to the world. The feel of his heart beating against her cheek was reassuring, a steady rhythm that matched her own racing heart.

Finally, Y/N pulled out with a groan, and Karina felt a sense of loss as his cock slipped from her. He rolled to the side, taking her with him, and they lay there, their limbs tangled together. She could feel his softening length against her thigh, the stickiness between her legs a constant reminder of what they had just shared.

The silence grew heavier, and Karina felt a twinge of nerves. What came next? Would this be a one-time thing, or had she finally broken through his icy exterior? She turned to look at him, his eyes closed, his face a picture of peace. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, and he looked at her with a softness she had never seen before. "For what?" he asked, his voice low and gruff.

"For making me feel...important," she said, the words spilling from her lips before she could stop them. "For noticing me for more than just my body."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. "You're more than just a pretty face, Karina," he whispered, his breath sending shivers down her spine. "Much, much more."

The words were a balm to her soul, and she nestled closer to him, her heart swelling with happiness. The night had started as a simple homework session, but it had turned into so much more—a confession of feelings she had never dared to hope would be reciprocated.

But as the reality of what had just happened sank in, Karina felt a flicker of fear. This was uncharted territory for her—she had never been with someone who valued her mind as much as her body. Would she be able to keep his interest? Would she be enough for him?

Y/N must have felt her tension, because his arms tightened around her, pulling her closer. "Don't worry," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "I've noticed you for a long time now. And I like what I see."

The words sent a shiver of pleasure through her, and she let herself relax into his embrace. For now, she was content to lay there, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking and the promise of what was to come.

But as the moments ticked by, Karina grew restless. She knew she couldn't just lie there forever—there was still so much to explore, so much more of him to experience. With a sultry smile, she rolled off of him, her body still sticky with their combined arousal. "Now get all on fours," Y/N said, his voice a command that sent a thrill through her.

Without a second thought, Karina did as he asked, her hands and knees sinking into the plush comforter. She felt his body shift behind her, the heat of him a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. "What kind of stamina do you have?" she asked playfully, peeking over her shoulder at him.

Y/N's eyes never left hers as he lined himself up with her wet, pink opening. "Let's find out," he replied, a smug smile playing on his lips. With one powerful thrust, he pushed into her, filling her completely. Karina gasped "ahhh", the sensation of his thick cock stretching her was almost too much to handle. It was a feeling she had never experienced before—like a mix of pleasure and pain that left her breathless.

He didn't give her any time to adjust. Instead, he began to pound into her, his hips moving with a fierce, almost brutal rhythm. His hand found her hair, and he gripped it tightly, pulling her head back as he slammed into her again and again. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through her body, making her toes curl and her nails dig into the bed. "AHHHH!" she screamed, the sound a mix of pleasure and surprise.

Karina felt herself stretching to accommodate him, her body adjusting to the relentless onslaught of his thick cock. It was a delicious pain, a feeling she had never experienced before. Each time he hit the deepest part of her, she felt an intense pressure that bordered on unbearable—but she never wanted him to stop. "Yes," she panted, her voice barely audible. "Harder, Y/N. Just like that."

Y/N complied, his movements becoming more forceful. He could feel her body tensing, her muscles clenching around him as she grew closer to climax. He watched her in the mirror, the sight of her bouncing breasts and arched back making him even more determined to push her over the edge. "I'm gonna squirt again," she screamed, her voice echoing off the walls.

He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back as he whispered in her ear. "Do it, Karina. I want to feel you come all over my bed."

And with that, she did. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her body with a force that made her see stars. Her pussy spasmed around him, gripping his cock like a vice as she squirted uncontrollably. The bed beneath her grew wet, the fabric soaking up her juices as they spurted out in a torrent.

Y/N's hand didn't stop moving, his palm connecting with her ass cheek with a loud smack. She yelped, the pain mixing with pleasure, sending another bolt of sensation straight to her clit. It was a delicious cycle—each spank making her cum harder, each orgasm making her more sensitive to his touch.

"Yess..." she gasped, pushing back into him. "Spank my ass, baby."

He complied with a smack that was harder than the last, and Karina's eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth forming a perfect O of pleasure. "U like that, don't you?" he taunted, his voice a dark growl.

"Yes, I do," Karina moaned, her body begging for more. Each slap of his hand against her flesh sent a fresh wave of arousal through her, making her pussy clench around his cock.

"You're such a good girl," Y/N said, his voice thick with satisfaction as he continued to pound into her. "So responsive to pain."

The smacks grew more intense, each one sending a jolt of electricity through her body. Karina could feel the beginnings of another orgasm building, the pressure in her pussy growing tighter with every hit. "AHHHHH," she screamed, her voice raw and needy. "Y/N, I'm gonna cum again!"

He leaned down, his teeth grazing her ear. "Come for me, baby," he murmured. "Come all over my cock."

With a final, hard spank, Karina's body shattered into a million pieces, her orgasm consuming her completely. She screamed his name as she squirted once more, her pussy flooding him with her release. Y/N groaned, the feeling of her tightening around him too much to resist. He thrust into her one last time, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep inside her.

Their bodies went still, both of them panting and trembling with the aftershocks of their shared climax. Y/N leaned down, kissing her neck and shoulder before slowly withdrawing. Karina felt the emptiness acutely, a sudden coldness where he had been so warm and hard.

They lay there for a moment, their limbs entangled, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. Then, with a soft groan, Y/N rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so she was nestled against his side.

Karina lay down beside him, her heart racing. She looked up at the ceiling, trying to process what had just happened. It was more than she had ever dreamed of—more than any of the fantasies she had concocted in her loneliest moments. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "For giving me an orgasm that no one else ever has."

Y/N's eyes searched hers, his expression unreadable. "It was nothing," he said, but the tenderness in his voice belied his words. He stroked her hair, his touch gentle and soothing. "You're welcome to come over for homework help anytime."

The room was quiet, the only sounds their breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. Karina felt a warmth spread through her, a sense of belonging that was new and exhilarating. "I will," she said, her voice filled with promise. "As long as you don't mind me...distracting you like this."

A smirk played on his lips, and he leaned in to kiss her forehead. "I don't mind," he said, his voice low and intimate. "In fact, I might just enjoy it."

With that, Y/N pulled her to her feet, scooping her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing. Karina giggled, her arms wrapping around his neck as he carried her back to the bathroom. The cold tiles against her back were a stark contrast to the warmth of their bodies, and she felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of what was to come.

He set her down gently, his hands sliding down her body to grip her ass. "Bend over," he ordered, his voice firm and commanding. Karina complied eagerly, her hands braced against the cool porcelain of the sink. She felt his cock nudge against her wetness, and she pushed back, eager for more.

Y/N didn't disappoint. With one swift motion, he plunged into her from behind, his cock filling her completely. Karina gasped, her eyes squeezing shut as she felt him stretch her open. He began to move, his hips slapping against her ass as he fucked her with a ferocity that left her trembling.

Each thrust was punctuated by a smack, his hand coming down hard on her ass cheek. The sound echoed through the bathroom, mingling with her cries of pleasure. "Oh, fuck," she moaned, her body writhing beneath his touch. "You're so rough."

"You love it," he grunted, his hand coming down again, this time harder. "You love it when I spank your pretty ass."

And she did. The sting of his hand only made her more aroused, her pussy clenching around him as she pushed back to meet each of his movements. The mirror in front of her was foggy with steam, their reflection distorted but unmistakable. She watched as he claimed her, his hand rising and falling in a rhythm that matched his strokes.

Her body felt alive, each touch a spark that ignited a fire deep within her. She could feel another orgasm building, the pressure in her core growing tighter and tighter with every smack. "Yes," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Keep going."

Y/N's hand never stopped moving, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. Karina's legs began to shake, her body on the edge of something she hadn't felt before. It was as if every nerve ending was alight, every inch of her skin sensitive to his touch.

And then it hit her—a climax so intense it felt like a supernova. Her pussy clamped down on him, her body convulsing as she screamed his name. He didn't stop, his hand never faltering, his cock plunging into her with a relentless pace. "Cum for me," he growled, his voice a dark command that sent shivers down her spine.

And cum she did, her pussy spasming around him as she squirted once again. Y/N watched in amazement, his own release building until he couldn't hold back any longer. With a final, brutal thrust, he came deep inside her, filling her with his warmth.

They stood there, panting and shaking, for a long moment. The only sound in the room was the dull thud of their hearts and the distant rush of the shower. "You're mine," Y/N murmured, his voice a gentle rumble in her ear.

Karina leaned back into him, her body still trembling. "Yes," she whispered, the word a declaration of ownership. "I'm yours."

Their bodies were slick with sweat, their breaths mingling as they held each other close. The world outside didn't matter anymore—all that existed was the two of them in that small, steamy room.

But eventually, the moment passed, and reality began to creep back in. "We should clean up," Karina murmured, her voice still shaky with the aftermath of pleasure.

Y/N nodded, his arms sliding from around her waist. He stepped back, giving her the space to stand up straight. "Let's get you cleaned up," he said, his voice a mix of satisfaction and concern.

Karina felt a blush creep up her neck as she turned to face him. She had never been so exposed to anyone before, not even herself in the mirror. But with Y/N, she felt a strange sense of vulnerability that was thrilling rather than terrifying. She watched as he grabbed a towel, his own body still flushed with arousal.

He wrapped the towel around her waist, tucking it in gently. "Come on," he said, taking her hand and leading her to the bathroom. The cold tile felt good against her hot skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the room they had just left.

Y/N turned on the shower, the water spraying hot and steamy. He stepped in, pulling her in after him. The water cascaded down their bodies, washing away the sweat and cum that had painted them both. He took a washcloth, his movements deliberate and tender as he began to clean her. The sensation of the cloth moving over her skin, combined with the warm water, was almost too much for her to handle. "You're so gentle," she murmured, her eyes drifting shut.

He didn't respond, his focus solely on her. He washed her thoroughly, taking his time to pay special attention to her breasts and pussy. His touch was soft but firm, as if he was afraid to break her. Karina felt her body responding to him again, her arousal building once more.

But she knew they couldn't go on like this forever. "We should get out," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "We're going to turn into prunes."

He chuckled, his eyes meeting hers. "You're right," he said, turning off the water. He stepped out first, grabbing two towels from the rack and handing one to her. They dried each other off, the silence between them a comfortable one.

Once they were both dressed again, Y/N turned to her, his expression serious. "I need to tell you something," he said, his voice low.

Karina felt a sudden knot in her stomach. What was it? Had she done something wrong? "What is it?" she asked, her voice small.

He took a deep breath, his eyes searching hers. "I didn't just do this because you're...beautiful," he began, his words tentative. "I did it because I care about you, Karina."

The confession was like a weight lifted from her shoulders. "I know," she said, her voice firm. "And I care about you, too."

He leaned in, his hand cupping her cheek. "I want us to be more than just...this," he whispered, his thumb brushing against her bottom lip. "I want to get to know you—all of you."

Karina felt a warmth spread through her chest. "I'd like that," she murmured, standing on her tiptoes to press her lips to his.

The kiss was sweet, filled with all the unspoken promises of a future together. When they pulled away, she knew that this was just the beginning. "Let's go back to the living room," she suggested, taking his hand. "We have the whole night ahead of us."

Y/N nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "I've got an idea," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "How about we start with a movie?"

They settled onto the couch, their bodies still humming with the aftermath of their passionate encounters. Karina curled up against him, feeling more content than she had in a long time. The TV flickered to life, but neither of them really watched it. Instead, they talked—about their hopes, their fears, their deepest secrets.

And as the night grew darker outside, their bond grew stronger, weaving a web of trust and desire that neither of them wanted to break. For the first time in a long time, Karina felt truly seen—not just for her body, but for the person she was inside.

Y/N pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her in a fierce embrace as they lay down on the bed, their limbs intertwined. The scent of their lovemaking still lingered in the air, a potent reminder of the passion that had just transpired between them. Karina's heart fluttered in her chest, the feeling of his naked skin against hers both familiar and new.

The sun had just begun to peek through the blinds, casting a soft glow across their entwined bodies. The light danced across Y/N's features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the softness in his eyes. He leaned down to kiss her, a gentle pressure that spoke of affection rather than lust. Karina felt her heart melt a little more with each brush of his lips.

"We should get ready," Y/N murmured, reluctantly breaking the kiss. "We don't want to be late for class."

Karina groaned, burying her face in his chest. "Just five more minutes," she begged, her voice muffled. But she knew he was right—they had to face the world outside of this cocoon of intimacy.

With a sigh, they both sat up, the cold air of the room hitting them like a slap in the face. Karina watched as Y/N stood, his cock still semi-hard and glistening with their combined juices. The sight made her stomach flutter, and she couldn't help but admire the way his muscles rippled as he reached for his boxers.

They dressed quickly, the act of putting on their clothes almost mundane in comparison to the intensity of the night before. But even as they stepped into the crisp morning air, Karina felt a newfound lightness in her step.

They walked together to the university, her hand in his, their bodies close enough to feel the heat of each other. As they passed other students, she noticed the glances thrown their way—a mix of surprise and envy. Y/N had always been the quiet, brooding genius, and she had always been the flirty, popular one. But now, they were something more—something she hadn't even known she wanted.

Men's eyes followed them, lingering on Karina's curves and the way she leaned into Y/N. They whispered among themselves, their voices filled with disbelief. "How did he get her?" she heard one of them murmur, the words sending a thrill through her.

Y/N seemed oblivious to the attention, his focus solely on her. He held the door open as they entered the lecture hall, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. Karina couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, a swell of happiness that he was hers—at least for now.

As they took their seats, she couldn't stop herself from laying her head on his shoulder, her hand wrapping around his arm. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed, his hand coming up to squeeze hers. It was a silent declaration, a promise that no matter what the day brought, they had each other.

The professor droned on about calculus, but Karina's mind was elsewhere. She was lost in the sensation of Y/N's warmth beside her, the feel of his muscles shifting as he took notes, the way his eyes would occasionally flicker over to hers. It was as if their night of passion had forged an unbreakable bond between them, a connection that went beyond the physical.

But she knew it wasn't all rainbows and butterflies. They had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed, and she couldn't help but wonder how it would affect their dynamic outside of his apartment. Would he still be cold and aloof in class, or would he treat her differently? And what about the other students—would they whisper and gossip?

Karina pushed the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the steady beat of Y/N's heart beneath her ear. For now, she was content to bask in the warmth of his presence, to revel in the knowledge that she had managed to crack open the shell of the enigmatic student she had been pining for so long.

The rest of the world could wait—for now, all that mattered was the here and now, and the promise of what was to come.

---

Winter's words played on a loop in Karina's mind as she sat in class, unable to focus on the lecture. "I think you got what you wanted, Karina," Winter had said, her voice filled with a knowing smile. "Tell me your stories." Winter's curiosity was palpable, and Karina felt a blush creeping up her neck as she thought of the tales she could now share.

Her thoughts drifted back to the night before, the way Y/N had looked at her with such intensity, his eyes dark with passion. It had been more than just a physical connection—it had been a meeting of minds, a melding of souls that had left her feeling both exhausted and invincible.

Karina leaned back in her chair, her eyes glazing over as she remembered the feel of Y/N's cock sliding into her, the way he had filled her so completely. It had been more than just sex—it had been a declaration of intent, a claiming that she had never experienced before.

But Winter was waiting, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Karina knew she had to tread carefully, to choose her words wisely. After all, this was new territory for her—how did you explain to your best friend that you had not only slept with the guy you've been crushing on for months but had also managed to break through his stoic exterior?

---

"So, what happened?" Winter asked eagerly as they met up for lunch, her eyes wide with anticipation. Karina took a deep breath, her heart racing as she recounted the events of the previous night. Winter's jaw dropped, her eyes never leaving hers as she listened to the details of their steamy encounter.

"You've got to be kidding me," Winter whispered when Karina finished, her voice filled with awe. "You actually did it. You got him to crack."

Karina couldn't help the smug smile that played on her lips. "It wasn't easy," she admitted, "but I think I've figured out the trick."

"Well, spill it," Winter said, leaning in. "I want to know everything."

Karina took a sip of her soda, her mind racing with the memories of Y/N's gentle touch, his fierce passion, and the way he had made her feel. "You just have to be...persistent," she said finally. "And vulnerable. He's not like other guys—you can't just throw yourself at him and expect him to catch you."

Winter nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "So, you had to show him that you're more than just a pretty face," she mused. "That you actually care about him, not just his body."

Karina nodded, feeling a warmth spread through her. "Exactly. And once he saw that, he couldn't resist."

The cafeteria buzzed with the chatter of students, but the two of them sat in their own little bubble, lost in their conversation. Winter's eyes were filled with admiration, and Karina felt a sense of pride that she had managed to do what no one else had.

#kpop smut #male reader #girl group smut #aespa smut #gg smut #karina smut

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wonderlandwalker · 2 months ago

Text

Developments | Steve Harrington x reader

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 / 𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈

summary: Steve keeps finding Polaroids of you in… compromising positions. Each one burns hotter than the last, until his ‘just friends’ act is ashes

word count: 5.7k

tags / content warnings: pining, explicit language and insinuations, pure smut too, Steve is a disaster really, hurt, comfort and whole nine yards of my ramblings, au where mario kart existed in the 80's

a/n: had an anxiety attack while abroad in Germany. Slept for 14 hours. Debated deleting my blog. Wrote this instead

The first time it happens, Steve is three beers deep at The Hideout, loose-limbed and laughing at something Robin just said—something crude, probably, given the way Eddie’s wheezing into his whisky, shoulders shaking. Steve’s still grinning when he reaches into his jacket pocket for his lighter, fingers searching for the familiar shape.

Instead, they brush against something stiff.

What the hell?

He pulls it out under the dim, beer-stained lights of the bar, and—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

It’s you.

Not just you—your bare skin glowing in the grainy tint of a Polaroid, the flash catching every curve, every shadow. One knee is drawn up, giving way to the perfect view, and your arm is thrown across your face like you couldn’t bear to be seen. But your mouth—Christ, your mouth is open in silent ecstasy, lips swollen and parted, and your fingers—

Jesus Christ.

Your fingers are buried in your cunt, working deep like you’re trying to feed an insatiable ache, the wet shine unmistakable even in the cheap film. His throat goes dry. His pulse kicks so hard he can feel it in his fucking teeth. Eddie says something then, some smartass remark that has Robin snorting into her drink, but Steve doesn’t hear it. Doesn’t care. All he can think about is how you’re sitting right across from him, legs crossed, sipping your drink and quipping back like it’s the most normal evening in the world. He slaps the photo face down against his thigh, grip so tight the edges crumple.

How the hell did this get in here?

He doesn’t remember you giving it to him. Doesn’t remember touching it, period. But now that he’s seen it, he can’t unsee it—the curve of your hip, the desperate arch of your back, the way your brows were scrunched together like you were right on the edge—

Stop.

He shoves it back into his pocket, but it’s too late. The image is seared into his skull—it’s just a stupid Polaroid, but now it’s all he can think about. His pulse thrums under his skin, restless and too warm. He shouldn’t be this affected. He shouldn’t. But his traitorous mind keeps circling back to it— how easy it would be to move closer, to let his hands settle where they’ve been itching to go, to see if your breath would catch the way he imagines it would. All he can think about is how badly he wants to tiptoe that thin line between friendship and sex, but it’s a dangerous game. One he’s played before and lost spectacularly. He knows the rules—knows how quickly almost turns into too much, how just friends becomes we shouldn’t have done that in the space of a single reckless moment.

But god, the temptation is killing him.

The way your knee brushes against his under the table like it’s an accident, but he knows it’s not. The way you lick salt off the rim of your margarita, eyes locked on his, like you’re waiting for him to break first. The way you shift just slightly, just enough for him to catch the ghost of a smirk—like you know exactly what he’s picturing.

It’s a slippery slope he’s sworn off.

Or at least, he tried to. But then you catch his eye, lips quirking like you can read every filthy thought racing through his head, and—Fuck. He’s too far gone already.

The following four days, Steve lives in a special kind of hell. The photo should’ve been forgettable. Just some stray Polaroid lost in the chaos of his life—another piece of clutter tossed onto the pile of things he doesn’t have the energy to deal with.

But it’s not. It’s you, branded into his brain with the precision of a lit match pressed to skin. No amount of pretending—no amount of jerking off in the shower with his forehead braced against the tile, teeth gritted around your name—dulls the ache. If anything, it makes it worse. Every time he closes his eyes, there you are.

The worst part? Nothing’s changed. You still sling your legs over his lap like it’s nothing, like you hadn’t ruined him with a single fucking square of film. No sly glances, no secretive smirks. Just normal, like you haven’t been haunting his dreams with your fingers between—

God. He’s losing his goddamn mind.

The next one hits him like a slap to the face. He’s rummaging through the disaster zone of his coffee table—shoving aside empty beer cans, a half-eaten bag of chips, a crumpled pack of cigarettes—when his fingers brush against something that isn’t his keys. Cold dread slithers down his spine even before he pulls it free.

Another fucking picture.

It steals the air from his lungs.

You.

On your back, sheets a mess beneath you, your hair fanned out like some kind of halo. The angle is intimate, almost reverent—the curve of your bare hip, the dip of your waist, the way your fingers dig into your own thighs, holding yourself open.

Wet.

Exposed.

Your head is tipped back, lips parted around a moan he can almost hear, eyes half-lidded, lost in it. The flush on your chest, the way your body arches—like you’re caught in the thick of pleasure, like you’re drowning in it. Steve’s not sure if he’s surprised or jealous or just furious that he wasn’t the one to pull that expression from you.

He knew you were beautiful—that wasn't news. Everyone with working eyes and half a brain could see that. But this? The way golden light caressed the sweat-slick curve of your throat, the way your pleasure wasn't performative but private, intimate, real—

Christ.

It wasn't just erotic. It was sacred.

The Polaroid nearly slips from his trembling fingers before he catches it, the glossy surface warping slightly under his desperate grip. He forces himself to relax, to breathe, but the damage is done—the image already tattooed behind his eyelids.

Are you leaving these on purpose?

The question claws its way up his throat like a living thing.

It can't be.

But God help him, he needs it to be

His thumb traces the edge of the photograph as he drinks in the details: Your lips—swollen, glistening, the faint indentation of teeth where you'd bitten down to silence yourself. Your eyes—black as spilt ink, heavy-lidded yet startlingly aware, staring through the lens like you were seeing him, like you wanted him to witness this unravelling. A voice whispers through the static of his thoughts: You're missing something, and the realisation hits like a sucker punch—he's been here before, trapped in this limbo between wanting and having, between friends and something else. He remembers the exact moment he first knew you held his heart: The air in family video had been thick with the scent of stale popcorn and the hum of the ancient AC unit fighting a losing battle against the summer heat. You'd laughed at something he had said—and the sound had punched through him like a bullet. Your tongue darted out to catch a drop of Cherry Coke from your lower lip, and suddenly his hands were sweating, his collar too tight, his entire body electric with the need to move, to touch, to— "Steve?" You'd caught him staring, your head tilting in that way that made his ribs ache. "You okay?"

Now. Say it now.

But his tongue had turned to lead. Three words lodged in his throat: I want you. Then the bell chimed, Robin bursting in with arms full of candy, grinning as she spoke, “Okay, who wants to bet Eddie eats all the Red Vines before the movie even starts?” and the moment shattered like dropped glass.

Now, staring at this damning photograph, the same fear coils in his gut—what if he's wrong? What if these Polaroids aren’t for him?

What if they’re just—

Lost.

Left behind.

Not meant for his insatiable eyes.

The thought sends acid flooding through his veins. Because the alternative—that you planted these for him to find, that you wanted him to see you like this—that wasn't just hope. It was arson. And he was already burning; the way you look at him sometimes, like you’re waiting for him to figure it out; the way your fingers linger when you pass him a drink; the way you smile when he stumbles over his words, like you like that he’s flustered.

And now—

The Polaroids. Left where only he would find them.

Taunting him.

Testing him.

Tempting him.

The third Polaroid nearly fucking kills him. By the time your group crowds into the diner booth, Steve's almost convinced himself he imagined it all. Almost. But then, after about an hour of comfortable familiarity, his fingers brushing the edge of his milkshake glass, the coaster shifts –

There.

Tucked beneath it, glossy and damning. He chokes so hard Eddie has to thump him on the back. "Jesus, Harrington, are you allergic to strawberries now?" Eddie's voice is all amusement, but Steve barely hears it over the blood roaring in his ears. He doesn't answer. He's too busy slipping the picture under the table, pulse hammering in his throat as he glances at you across the booth. You're stirring your drink absently, the neon diner lights catching in your hair. And then he risks a look at the Polaroid.

Fuck.

This one's... worse. Or better. He doesn't fucking know anymore. It's a close-up. Your face, tilted up toward the camera, tears streaking through smudged mascara, pupils blown wide. And Christ— there's cum dripping off your chin, your lips parted like you're showing off. The flash had caught every detail: the wet shine on your bottom lip, the way your eyelashes stick together, the way you look up with a glint in your eyes like you were looking at him, like you wanted him to see – His jeans grow uncomfortably tight. He shifts in the booth, pressing his thighs together as heat floods his face. It turns his brain to static.

Obscene. Perfect.

No.

Across the table, you tilt your head, voice dripping with sweet concern. "Steve? You okay?"

That's what really drives the stake in. The way you sound normal, like you're not the same person in the photo — wrecked and wanting. Like you haven't been systematically dismantling his self-control. He forces a smile, fingers twitching against the sticky diner table. "Peachy." His voice comes out strangled. Robin kicks him under the table, her eyes sharp with knowing.

He spends the rest of the evening in quiet agony, debating whether to bring it up, tearing himself apart for an answer that won't come. Every time you laugh at something Eddie says, your throat bobbing, he remembers how it looked in the photo – stretched taut as you tilted your head back. Every time you lick ice cream off your spoon, he thinks about your lips, shiny and parted. His mind drifts back to the first time he met you — Robin's bright smile as she introduced you, her "You two will get along so well!" ringing in his ears like a prophecy. Then, the first flicker of something more – that slow, dawning realisation as you sat there, a giggling mess from the joint he'd rolled, clumsily teaching him pat-a-cake like it was the most crucial lesson in the world. Your fingers had brushed against his palms, warm and sure, and something in his chest had clenched tight. Every moment since has been hidden torment. Every glance across the Family Video counter when you'd come to visit Robin, your eyes lingering just a second too long. Every laugh you'd smothered behind your hand when he'd fumbled his words. Every time he'd caught himself staring at the curve of your neck, wondering how you'd sound if he pressed his mouth there. Every time he caught himself wondering if you felt that same invisible pull.

And now?

Now he's stuck with this.

What the hell is he even supposed to say? "Hey, so, funny story—I found a Polaroid of you fucking yourself the other day. Any reason that might be lying around?"

Yeah. That’d go over real fucking well.

But who else would be leaving these? He knows it has to be you. Because no one else looks at him like that. No one else smirks like that when he stumbles over his words. And God help him—he loves it. But he's Steve Harrington, and Steve Harrington doesn't ruin good things. Doesn't risk friendships for fleeting moments of pleasure, no matter how badly his hands itch to touch. So he tucks the Polaroid into his pocket, lets Eddie tease him about spacing out, lets Robin shoot him looks that promise future interrogation, and pretends his heart isn't pounding loud enough for the whole diner to hear. And when you brush your foot against his under the table, he doesn't pull away; he wonders.—

How much longer can he keep pretending before he snaps and does something stupid? Like pin you against the nearest flat surface and find out if you taste as good as you look in those photos. The thought sends another wave of heat through him. He takes a too-big gulp of his milkshake to hide the way his breath hitches. You smile at him over the rim of your glass, all innocence and sharp edges, and Steve realises with dawning horror that he’s already in too deep to climb back out.

The fourth photo is the last straw. He finds it in his glove compartment that same night, the edge jutting out like a taunt as he sits there, engine off, the silence of the parking lot pressing in around him. For a second, he just stares.

Jesus.

A mirror shot—the kind that feels private.

Except now it’s in his hands.

And fuck, it’s— You’re on your knees, but you’re not facing the glass. No. Your face is tilted up, lips stretched obscenely around your own fingers, glistening with spit, your tongue pressing against the pads like you’re imagining them as something else—someone else. Your lashes flutter, heavy with the kind of pleasure that borders on pain, like the strain is its own sweet torment. And shit, your ass—arched high, round and perfect, the curve of it taunting him, the dimples at the base of your spine begging for his thumbs to press into them. The way your hips tilt just slightly, like you’re already waiting, already needing the sharp bite of a handprint blooming across your skin. He can almost hear the sound it would make—the sharp crack of his palm meeting your flesh and the punched-out whimper you’d choke on right after. Your other hand claws at your own tits, fingers digging in, squeezing hard enough to make your breath hitch. The fabric of your shirt is rucked up, your bra shoved aside, and the sight of your nipple pebbled tight under your own touch—

Christ.

His hands shake. The photo nearly slips from his grip, and he has to white-knuckle the steering wheel just to steady himself. His throat is too tight. His jeans are too fucking tight; he shifts, grinding his hips down against the seat just to relieve the pressure, but it’s worse—so much worse—because now he can feel the rough drag of fabric, the heat of his own desperation, and God, he’s dripping, already slick with the image of you burnt into his skull. This isn’t—

This isn’t fair. He’s imagined it a hundred times. Fantasised about the way your mouth would look wrapped around him, the sounds you’d make when he finally got his hands on you. But never like this. Never with the cruel twist of being nothing more than a spectator to his own undoing.

Fuck.

His head thuds back against the seat, eyes squeezing shut like he can erase the image burnt into the backs of his eyelids. But it doesn’t help. The photo is branded into his soul.

He should stop looking.

He should.

But he can’t.

Because this isn’t just some fantasy anymore. This is proof. Proof that you think about this. Proof that you want this. Proof that you might—

Might—

Want him.

And that’s what terrifies him. Because if he’s wrong— If he misreads this—He’ll ruin everything.

But God, the way your back curves in the photo. The way your lips glisten. The way your fingers dig into your own skin like you’re aching for someone else’s touch. His fingers twitch against his thigh. He could—

He could find you.

Right now. Pull you into the backseat. Make that look in the photo a reality. But what if he’s just—

Projecting. Hopeful. Pathetic. His jaw clenches. He can’t risk it. He won’t. The photo goes back into the glove compartment. His keys twist in the ignition. The engine roars to life. But he doesn’t drive away. Not yet. Because one thought won’t leave him alone—

What if she wants you to come find her?

So he plans to ask you about the Polaroids—if he can ever figure out how the hell to bring it up without sounding like a complete creep.

His apartment is spotless, scrubbed down in a frenzy of nervous energy. Just a regular movie night, he tells himself. You’d had dozens. Nothing to panic about. And for a while, it is normal. You steal his fries, mock his shitty taste in films, and press your ice-cold hands against his thigh just to hear him yelp. It’s easy. It’s you.

But then—

Halfway through, as he gathers empty food containers, something flutters to the floor. Upside down. He knows what it is before he even turns it over. His heart stops. You’re still on the couch, laughing at something on screen—but he can’t help himself. He picks it up. And—

Fuck.

It’s you—sinking down onto a toy like you need it, like you’d die without it. Your eyes are closed, lips parted in relief. One hand braces against the bed, the other at your throat, fingers pressing in like you’re chasing more, like you want to feel it everywhere. The angle is obscene, the slick shine of your arousal glistening where you’re spread open for the camera. Steve swears he can feel it—the phantom roll of your hips, the way you’d clench around him if it was his cock instead— "Something wrong?"

Your voice is too soft, too normal, and it guts him. The photo sticks to his sweat-damp palm as his brain short-circuits between this you—wanting, wrecked, fucking yourself like it’s your only salvation—and the you standing in front of him now, all wide-eyed concern and bitten-pink lips. Ask her. The thought burns through him. Just fucking ask her. But what comes out is, "Nah, just—uh—dropped a napkin." God fucking damnit. You tilt your head, and for one heart-stopping second, he thinks you know. That you’ll smirk, step closer, and whisper, "Like what you see, Harrington?" But you don’t. You just hum, "You’ve been weird all night."

Weird. Yeah. That’s one word for it.

He shoves the Polaroid into his back pocket like it’s evidence of a crime. His crime. Because, Christ, he shouldn’t have looked. Shouldn’t be hard right now, straining against his sweatpants as you blink up at him, all wide-eyed innocence. Like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to him. He forces himself to step around you, putting the couch between you like it’ll save him. "Just tired," he mumbles, grabbing his half-finished beer. The bottle is slick with condensation, and he clings to that—the cold—instead of the sliver of skin exposed when you stretch, the curve of your waist he knows by heart. Intimately. He’s catalogued every dip and slope of you—the way your hip fits perfectly under his palm when he guides you through a crowded room, the way your waist nips in just enough for his fingers to span it. He’s thought about it. Too much.

You don’t push. Just flop back onto the couch, tucking your legs under you. "Well, hurry up. This movie’s shit, but I want to see how it ends." Steve exhales through his nose. Right. The movie. Except all he can focus on is the weight of the photo in his pocket. The way you’d looked—fuck—like you were made to take cock, like you’d beg for it, like you’d whimper his name if he just—

That’s the problem, isn’t it? He knows you. Knows the way your nose scrunches when you laugh. Knows how you cling to your coffee mug in the morning, both hands wrapped around it like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Knows the way you’d held his hand that one time he got too high and swore the ceiling was breathing, your thumb brushing over his knuckles like you were anchoring him. But this?

This is a version of you he isn't allowed to have, isn’t allowed to need.

One he is desperate for.

The movie drones on, some cheap horror flick with terrible effects, but Steve’s pulse hasn’t slowed since he found the damn photo. You’re curled into the corner of the couch, knees drawn up, fingers idly tracing the rim of your soda can. Innocent. Bored.

Too innocent.

Because he’s seen the way your gaze lingers on him when you think he’s not looking. The way you bite your lip when he rolls his sleeves up. The way you lean in just a little too close when you laugh. Steve exhales, rough, dragging a hand down his face.

Fuck.

He should say something. Should’ve done something. But the truth is, he’s fucking scared. Terrified of being wrong. Terrified of ruining this—whatever this is—with his stupid, greedy hands. Because what if the Polaroids aren’t for him? What if the way you look at him, all slow smiles and heavy-lidded glances, is just him, reading into things? What if he reaches for you, and you pull away? Every time you shift, his gaze flicks to your thighs. Every time you laugh, he imagines the way your breath would hitch if he dragged his teeth over your pulse. Every time you look at him, he wonders—

Is this a game to you?

Are you waiting for me to break?

Because he’s close. So fucking close.

When you leave, you linger in the doorway—just a second too long. Your fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, the fabric slipping between them like a secret. It’s innocent. It’s not. The way your knuckles brush against his hip, featherlight, makes his breath catch.

You’re tempting fate.

You’re torturing him.

"Night, Steve," you murmur, lips quirking in that way that drives him insane—like you know exactly what you’re doing to him. And for a wild, reckless moment, he considers it: Pinning you against the door. Trapping you with his body. Letting his mouth finally, finally ask the question that’s been clawing at his ribs for weeks—

Are you doing this on purpose?

But then you’re gone. The door clicks shut. And all he’s left with is the ghost of your perfume—something sweet and sharp, clinging to his clothes like a promise—and the Polaroid in his pocket, burning a hole straight through to his skin.

The get-together on Friday is a grand fucking disaster from minute one. Steve's apartment swims in a haze of cigarette smoke and the stale tang of spilt beer, the kind of party atmosphere that usually feels like second nature but tonight just makes his skin itch. The laughter rings too loud in his ears—Eddie's wheezing cackle from the couch, Robin's snort-giggle as she loses at poker again. Normally, he'd be right there with them, tossing out stupid jokes and soaking up the chaos. But tonight, every word sticks in his throat like gum, and every forced smile makes his jaw ache. And you.

Fucking hell, you.

You're everywhere. Perched on the arm of Eddie's chair, your knee brushing his. Leaning over Robin's shoulder to peek at her cards, your hair falling in a curtain that smells like vanilla when it grazes Steve's arm. Laughing at some stupid story Nancy's telling, your head thrown back, the column of your throat working as you swallow your drink. Every glimpse is a fresh punch to the gut. He's two beers deep and still wound tighter than a spring when it happens. You turn just as he steps forward, and his drink sloshes over the rim, drenching the front of your shirt in cold amber liquid. "Shit—fuck, I'm sorry—" Steve stammers, already grabbing for napkins he knows won’t help.

You look down at the mess, then back up at him with an expression he can't quite read. "Real smooth, Harrington," you deadpan, but there's no real heat in it. Just that same unreadable something that's been in your eyes all night. The fabric clings to your skin as you peel it away, and Steve's mouth goes dry. He forces his gaze up to your face, but it's too late—he's already seen the way the wet cotton moulds to the curve of your breast, the shadow of your nipple through the thin material. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom?" you ask, and your voice is so normal, so casual, like you didn’t just notice him staring. Like you're not standing there half-drenched because of him.

Steve swallows hard. "Yeah, no, I mean—go ahead." He gestures vaguely down the hall, his face burning. "Towels are under the sink if you... you know." You nod, sliding past him so close the heat of your body sears through his shirt, your arm brushing his in a way that sends sparks skittering down his spine. The party's dying embers surround you—empty cups littering sticky tables as the four of you remain in the hollowed-out quiet of the now-empty apartment, and when you disappear into the bathroom, Steve exhales like he's been holding his breath for hours.

Robin materialises at his elbow like the world's smuggest ghost. Her grin vibrates with barely contained glee, fingers digging into his bicep hard enough to leave crescent moons in his skin. "Dude," she stage-whispers, her breath scalding his ear, "you're a walking fucking disaster." Steve doesn't deny it. He's been digging his own grave for weeks – every aborted reach across the Beemer's console, every confession drowned in stale beer, every time he's nearly had you pinned against the Family Video horror section only to choke at the last second. "Christ, Buckley," he hisses through gritted teeth, "not now—" The bathroom door creaks open. You. Polaroid pinched between your fingers like an executioner's blade, edges worn soft from how often he's traced them. Steve's stomach plummets through the scuffed floor.

Oh, fuck.

Oh fuck, oh fuck—

The drawer. He'd forgotten about the goddamn bathroom drawer he left the Polaroids in.

Your approach is lethal. Purposeful. The sharp staccato of your boots on hardwood echoes like a firing squad cocking their rifles. The air between you curdles – thick with tension and something darker, something that makes Steve's pulse stutter in his throat. When you speak, your voice drops to that register—the one that turns his bones to liquid, something that makes the fine hairs on the back of Steve's neck stand at attention.

"Where did you get these?" Not a question. A goddamn death sentence.

Robin's nails bite deeper. "Holy shit," she breathes, eyes darting between you like she's watching the best tennis match of her life. "This is better than my parents' divorce." Steve's heartbeat riots against his ribs as you stop just beyond reach—close enough that your perfume coils around him. The Polaroid dangles from your fingers, the image facing him like an indictment: your lips swollen, lashes fluttering against tear-stained cheeks, fingers twisted in sheets that should be his. The lights hum overhead as you tilt your head, catching the sharp challenge in your gaze. "Where did you get these?" you repeat, each word dripping with deliberate intent. Steve's throat seals shut. Every lie he'd prepared withers under your burning stare, under Robin's vibrating presence at his side, and under the way his body betrays him with every inch you close between you.

"I—" His voice cracks like dry kindling. "My jacket. And—fuck."

You step closer. The brush of your knee against his sends electric currents through the denim. "And?"

"My glove compartment." The admission tears from him like flesh from a wound.

Robin makes a sound between a wheeze and a dying air horn. Your smirk could strip paint from walls. "Interesting." Another step forward, and now your chest nearly grazes his with each breath. He can't tell if you're moving in for a kiss or a kill shot.

"And what were you planning to do with them, Steve?" His mouth floods. A dozen filthy images flash through his mind—his teeth marking your thigh, your back arching against the employee break room wall, that broken moan you'd make when—

You lean in. Your lips ghost over the shell of his ear as you whisper, hot and deliberate: Steve's vision tunnels to pinpricks. "You—you've been—" Your grin cuts deep. "Leaving them for you? Yeah." The world tilts on its axis. Steve stares at you, caught between outrage and a hunger so deep it terrifies him. "You've been messing with me this whole time—"

A careless shrug as you step closer—so close your thighs slot between his, your skirt riding up just enough to make his hands twitch with the need to touch. "Maybe I wanted to see if you'd crack."

"Why?" It's barely more than a breath. Your expression turns sweet, soft. "Because I like how you look at me when you think I'm not watching." A heartbeat of silence stretches between you, thick and charged.

"Did you like them?"

The question hangs suspended, heavier than the humid air between your bodies. Steve's control shatters. “I hated those photos,” he grits out, voice shredded. “Not because—fuck, not because I didn’t want you. But because every time I looked at them—” His jaw clenches so tight it aches. “All I could think was it should’ve been me making you look like that.”

Your lips part, just slightly, and you step closer. Just one more step. But it’s enough to make his pulse riot. “Prove it,” you murmur, your lips brushing his with provocation.

His hands find your waist.

Your breath hitches.

The space between you collapses. And when he kisses you, it’s not sweet. It’s desperate. It’s what I’ve wanted forever. It’s why the hell did we wait so long? You gasp against his mouth, fingers twisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, every desperate inch of his body imprinting itself on yours like he’s trying to��melt into your skin. Then his mouth crashes down—hot, demanding, lips moving with a possessive hunger that rewrites your pulse into something wild. You whimper into the kiss, fingers scrambling at his shoulders as Steve licks into your mouth like a man starved. There's nothing gentle about it – he kisses like he's determined to rewrite your DNA with teeth and tongue and the relentless press of his hips until every cell in your body sings his name. It's everything he's fantasised about and so much more – the heat of you pressed flush against him, the crescent moons your nails carve into his shoulders, and the broken little whimper you make when he nips at your bottom lip. When he finally tears away, you're both panting, foreheads pressed together, his ragged breaths scalding your swollen mouth.

"Took you long enough," you murmur, voice wrecked. Steve huffs a laugh, thumb swiping across your kiss-slick lips with a reverence that belittles the hunger in his eyes. "Yeah, well. You could've just told me."

You grin, all teeth. "Where's the fun in—" "Hell no," Eddie's voice cuts in, strangled. "I am not witnessing Harrington's sexual awakening live and in colour—" Robin's already dragging him backwards by his collar. "We're leaving! Enjoy your— Jesus Christ, Steve, just— use protection—!"

The door slams. Steve's on you before the latch clicks – no hesitation, no space between. He pins you against the wall hard enough to knock the air from your lungs, his body a furnace against yours. One hand fists in your hair while the other slides up your thigh with deliberate roughness, calloused fingers branding your skin through the fabric. "Should've done this years ago," he growls against your throat, thumb circling your nipple with just enough pressure to make you arch into him. "Why the hell didn't we?"

His forehead drops to yours. The warmth of his breath ghosts across your lips as he confesses, "Because you're Robin's best friend. Because Eddie would've never shut up about it." His hips grind forward, the hard line of his erection leaving no room for doubt. "Mostly because I was fucking terrified of losing you."

"You?"

"Thought you'd get bored of me," you admit, the wall biting into your shoulder blades as he presses closer. "Worried I'd just be... another conquest." Steve goes utterly still. When he meets your eyes, the raw intensity in his gaze makes your stomach flip. "You were never just anything." His whisper is rough, like the words were clawed from his chest. "I've been in love with you since you beat me at Mario Kart drunk off your ass in '86." A surprised laugh punches out of you. "That was like our fifth hangout."

"Yeah." His grin is all boyish charm, obscenely at odds with the filthy drag of his fingers on your inner thigh. "Fucking devastating." Then his mouth is at your ear, teeth scraping that sensitive spot that makes your knees weak. "Gonna spend the rest of the night proving it to you," he promises, voice dark with want. Something feral flashes in his eyes. In one fluid motion, he hauls you up — arm hooked under your thighs — and carries you toward the bedroom, your laughter dissolving into a moan as his mouth finds yours again. The last coherent thought you have before he drops you onto the mattress is that you should've let him find those Polaroids much, much sooner.

𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈 [𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧]

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nadvs · 3 months ago

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nads .... can we pls get make up sex w rafe :'(((( him all but cooing in ur ear as he fucks u within an inch of ur life like he's really being sooo sweet about it :'(((((((( 💔💔💔💔 Yeah i'm thinking thoughts ....

the way i’m obsessed with desperate makeup sex with ex-boyfriend rafe... combined this ask by @abrellareads 💘 college au. fratboy!rafe. explicit smut. 18+!

it happened so fast.

rafe was across the crowded room, in the throws of yet another party, wearing that charming smile that made you fall in love, holding the same power over you that you wish you never gave him.

it’s been a month since. after a ruthless cycle of different versions of the same fights, you went over to his place and told him you couldn’t be with him anymore.

earlier tonight, you were watching him from the other side of the party, thinking about how long a month feels and how your ex-boyfriend still owns every piece of your heart.

a fight broke out. if you weren’t already watching him, you wouldn’t have to guess he was involved. whenever there’s commotion, he’s often in the middle of it. attracting chaos.

you left. you were unable to take any of it anymore. you’d broken up with him to rid yourself of the stress that came with loving him, but even as a supposed part of your history, he pulled you into his storm.

you made it home. you got ready for bed. something came over you before you turned out the lights. you’ve missed him so much it hurts.

your fingers went from the lightswitch to your phone and you found his name and texted him asking if he was home.

rafe replied quickly. he figured a simple yes would’ve been good enough. but because he’s hurting for you, because he’s painfully desperate, he added come over to the end.

and you’re here. you’re at his doorstep, as tense as you were the night you broke up with him.

the house he lives in is hardly ever quiet, but when he swings open the door, you’re certain he’s the only one home. the rest of his frat brothers must still be at the party you left, while he’s by himself with a red, swelling splotch on his cheekbone where he’d been hit in that ridiculous fight back on the other end of greek row.

“hey,” he says stiffly.

“hey.” you motion to your cheek. “that hurt?”

“i’m fine.”

it’s a lie. he hasn’t been fine since you told him you couldn’t do this anymore. you pushed him into a hole and he’s been too hopeless to even try to crawl out.

“is that why you came here?” rafe murmurs. he hates himself for asking. he just wants to feel you against him and questioning you at his front door won’t get him there.

it’s a defense mechanism. he’s trying to act careless when he’s anything but.

he steps back, a silent way to beckon you in. warm relief floods him when you close the distance to come inside.

“partly,” you reply. wordlessly, you follow him upstairs, each step creaking the way you remember. you’ve been here so many times, rushing to rafe’s bedroom, lips on his the second the door shut.

this time, when the door closes, the soft thud is a harsh reminder of the last time you were here. you were sure it would really be the final conversation. you were done with him.

“why, then?” he rasps, standing across from you in the middle of his small, cluttered bedroom.

muscle memory. instinct. an involuntary reflex. you can’t help but step forward, finding your fingers in his hair, pulling him towards you.

“one last time,” you say in a strained whine you weren’t expecting. “we never said goodbye.”

rafe’s body tightens. you did say goodbye. you said you’re better off out of each other’s lives and you didn’t start crying about what that really meant until he did. nothing he said was enough to convince you to stay.

he looks at your lips, at the pleading look in your eyes. fuck, how good it’d feel to tell you no. to tell you to get out of his house.

but it’s feel so much better being buried deep inside you again, listening to you breathlessly groan his name, hearing your bodies meet over and over.

clothes are tugged off hurriedly and clumsily and every bit of his skin that you get to feel again is an electric shock that zips through you. your heart races as he buries his face into the crook of your neck to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses.

your knees weaken as he grips your ass once your pants are on the floor, and like he used to, he reads your body, senses your loss of strength, and guides you to his bed.

everything smells like him. his detergent, his cologne, his musk all envelop you in the soft duvet beneah you. you’d been in this bed so many times, clung onto the sheets, tiredly laughed with him when the bed frame would hit the wall with your rushed movements.

rafe hovers over you, still kissing your neck. he hasn’t felt your lips against his yet and when he shifts to finally taste your tongue, he grunts in pleasure.

you run your hands down the curve of his firm, bare back. you stop at the band of his boxers and surrender to him, spreading your legs so he can settle between them.

“fuck,” you breathe when you feel his hard length, only two layers between you now. he’s already at that point and the aching at your core pulses with the same desperation.

“what’d you expect?” he whispers against your mouth. his words make the air thicker and the room spin.

rafe can pretend he doesn’t care, but his body can’t. it burns for you, and you only. no other girl comes close. no other girl makes him act the way you do, makes him gaze at her while she’s not paying attention and leads him to wonder what he did to deserve to be alive at the same time as her.

you. only you.

“take this off,” he rasps, fingers looping beneath your bra strap. you move to unhook it, but he does it for you, taking over like always. like before.

he doesn’t wait for the next part. he pulls your panties down, groaning a quiet oh my god when he sees you. your breath’s caught as you watch him sit up to tug his boxers off, springing out, every inch of him as perfect as you remember.

his throat tightens with something that feels like the threat of tears when you pull him down to you. it’s overwhelming to feel loved again by someone who once looked like she was bothered by his very existence.

but you said this is goodbye. one last time.

rafe’s never been one to think of what’s next. impulsiveness runs through his veins. consequences are an afterthought.

but he can’t do it. he can’t feel you wrapped around him to know you’ll just leave him cold yet again, leave him to lick his wounds and continue living as if he isn’t shattered.

blue eyes meet yours, his hard desire for you nudging against your entrance. his hands are on the bed, framing your pretty face, hovering over you as he pants.

“this isn’t goodbye,” he says. “you’re my girl. say it.”

you gaze up at him, the weight on your chest almost debilitating. you’re afraid you don’t have it in you. loving him is hard. it hurts. he’s a beautiful disaster of a man and choosing him to be in your life is a game of roulette.

“i’ll be better,” he whispers, his heart breaking even more from the way you’re silently staring at him.

you’d heard it so many times. i’ll change. i’ll get my shit together. i’ll be the man you need me to be. and it claws at your heart, wondering if you should’ve been telling him you’d be the woman he needed you to be, too.

“so will i,” you finally whisper. you’ll try again. because living without him is agony.

his face twists with sadness, with longing, with relief, and he leans to kiss you as he guides himself in, exhaling pure elation.

you quietly groan from the sweet pressure. he feels you stiffen. he pulls back, regretful, but your hands splay over his lower back to push him back inside.

you wrap your legs around his hips and he gives you every inch, head swimming from how hot and tight and wet you are.

“fuck, i missed you,” rafe breathes.

“me, too.” the knot finally loosens. the stress of pretending like you’re okay, like ending things was the right choice is gone now.

you kiss his lips as his thrusts start to get harder, and you know he’s the right choice. he always was.

“i’m sorry,” you say, voice strained again.

“stop,” he whispers. his forehead presses against yours as he rocks in and out of you, stretching and filling you perfectly. “all i care about is that you came back, alright?”

“yeah,” you say shakily. “i love you.”

your heat, your softness, your everything make him reach his peak faster than he ever has, whispering i love you against your mouth and begging you to say you love him again as he tightens and trembles and shifts to touch you exactly the way you need to be touched to meet your climax.

your head is on his chest moments later, shallow breaths overlapping in the humid air. every thud of his heart felt against your cheek.

you watch as he plays with your fingers on his stomach, chest still rising and falling quickly. his arm is around you as you lay tucked into him, back home where you belong.

rafe’s brows furrow as his fingers trace yours, tense you’ll take it all back and leave him to lie in this bed alone again, doomed to know he can only have you in his dreams.

“can i sleep here?” you ask meekly, and his lips pull into a grin. he breathes a chuckle, hopeful again, out of the hole you’d pushed him in, feeling sunlight on his skin.

“you better,” he says.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n #blurb

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halovians · 25 days ago

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࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞. — 𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒙𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒔. ˒ ⊹

syn. where professor anaxagoras teaches you how to touch yourself properly. (3.1k)

cw. fem reader / shameless porn w absolutely no plot 2 be found / teacher x student dynamic (but its only briefly referenced tbh) / vaginal fingering / oral sex (f!receiving) / overstimulation / pet names used; good girl, starlight, my dear

love, oak! HELLOOOOOO we are so freaking back omg. what started out as what was supposed to be a wee little drabble ended up a monstrosity a little over 3k words (which like isn't much tbh but it's alot for ME!!!). i fear i'm a little rusty so i apologize if the writing is rough around the edges, but i just had to get this out of my freaking head. i listened to death by glamour on loop while editing this. also crossposted to ao3 here!

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI. NSFW UNDER THE CUT.

“So you’re coming to me for help with such a thing?”

Anaxa’s sharp gaze meets yours, pinning you in place. Your shoulders hunch slightly on instinct. Even with only one good eye, his stare is incredibly intimidating.

“Well— yes?” Your voice wavers with uncertainty.

Anaxa clicks his tongue, unsatisfied with your answer.

“If you’re so unsure, then I’m not quite convinced you truly need my assistance with anything at all.”

Anaxa’s office is quiet. Private, which is good for a conversation of this nature. Various candles flicker amongst shelves of books and side tables cluttered with research papers. Outside the window, the incessant night sky glimmers, stars winking down upon the Grove.

Silence sinks between you as his words register.

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you shake your head and cast your gaze towards the floor. Your voice escapes you in almost a desperate plea, “No, no— That isn’t it, I just-!”

“Look at me.”

Anaxa’s inflection is stern, but not cold, as he cuts you off. The command in his tone forces your eyes back up, clashing with the pale blue and magenta of his. The gold detailing on his eyepatch glints in the soft glow of the candlelight.

A pause. This time, when he speaks, it is gentle—uncharacteristically so for him. “What is it that you need?”

(You’ve always known the professor had a soft-spot for you, but it always takes you by surprise when it properly manifests. When it becomes something so glaringly obvious.

You suck in a breath. Your heart thumps traitorously beneath your ribs.)

Anaxa’s unusually soft tone causes your shoulders to slump, tension seeping out of your bones in a slow wave. There’s a beat of silence as you manage to steel your nerve. Repeating your request feels humiliating in a way, but at this point, you’re a little desperate.

“I need your help. With... with climaxing. I can’t on my own, and I’m so frustrated.”

The words fall past your lips before you can properly rethink it. Your face flushes with heat—with embarrassment—

Anaxa leans forward, arms folding on his desk. His soft chuckle stirs you from your whirling thoughts.

“And why, pray tell, are you seeking me of all people out for this?”

His question takes you by surprise. You glance away briefly, shame curling low in your stomach like smoke, but the sound of fabric rustling and a chair creaking draws your attention back to him. Anaxa stands slowly, a calculating look about him as he stares down upon you. He doesn’t say anything—he simply waits patiently for you to find the words you wish to speak. Your hands clasp together in your lap, and you find your resolve buried deep within you. The smoke dissipates.

“I trust you, professor,” you finally say. You mentally curse the way your voice warbles faintly. “You are the only one I’d ever think to go to with this sort of… issue.”

Anaxa makes a contemplative noise—something between a hum and a sigh. Slowly, he steps around his desk, fingertips dancing along the wooden edge.

“Just me?” A pause. “Not even Phainon? I know the two of you are.. particularly close.”

The mention of your best friend makes your spine stiffen. His head angles just slightly as the silence settles like dust. You carefully consider his question; then, you shake your head. Your voice comes out breathless, but unwavering: “No— just you.”

And there’s only truth there in your statement. With Phainon… you’re sure he’d be eager. He always is, when it comes to lending a helping hand. But this isn’t the sort of problem you plague best friends with. Maybe in another universe, another cycle— but not this one.

No. In this one, it is you and Anaxa. He is the one you crave the most.

A hint of a smile pulls at his lips—barely there, fleeting as a daydream. He beckons you with a finger. “Come. Sit on the desk.”

The night sky’s light filters through thin white curtains, bathing everything untouched by candle in a soft silvery glow. It casts Anaxa in a sort of ethereal halo, silver gleam and gold candlelight flickering against each other; it’s a sight you have a hard time tearing your gaze away from as you rise to your feet. But he waits, patiently, as you situate yourself on the cool wood of his work desk.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you have to shove a few papers and pens out of the way. Something clatters to the floor suddenly and you flinch, but Anaxa isn’t even bothered. His attention remains solely on you.

You swallow slowly, begging your nerves to settle down. Something like anticipation buzzes like static beneath your skin. Your eyes squeeze shut.

When you open them next, Anaxa is there in front of you.

Close. So, so very close.

You squeak despite yourself.

“Nervous, are we?” He observes.

“A little,” you reply.

Your candor draws an amused chuckle from Anaxa. Your heart flutters again— utterly traitorous.

“You have no need to be,” he says quietly. “It’s just you and me.”

He studies you for a beat, his eye drinking in your form. Slowly, so achingly slow, he reaches a hand out, brushing his knuckles along your jaw, across your cheek. He’s gotten so close now, his breath mingles with yours. His scent wraps around you, like parchment and sandalwood and something deeper— a hint of something citrusy, maybe. You feel lightheaded.

You shiver. Anaxa smiles.

“First,” He starts softly, as if trying not to startle a deer. “I’d like you to show me how you touch yourself.”

Your lips part slightly in surprise. Anaxa’s smile does not waver—in fact, it grows a little wider. Smug, almost.

His head tilts just slightly, pale green hair shifting with the movement. Your fingers twitch as you tamp down the urge to brush the stray strands out of his face.

“Right now—?” You stammer.

“When else, my dear? You’ve oh so bravely made your request—now it’s time to follow through.”

Your throat bobs as you swallow thickly. He’s right—if you were brave enough to ask, then you are brave enough to listen.

So, you don’t verbally respond. Instead, with trembling fingers, you slowly brush the fabric of your dress up your thighs, exposing the skin to him under the soft candle glow.

Anaxa’s tongue darts out briefly to wet his lips. Your gaze meets his, but his gaze is on the slow reveal of your flesh. Without warning, he places a hand on each knee, urging you to spread your legs. His hand is cool against your heated skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake as he lets them drift further up your thigh.

He doesn’t go much higher, though— he’s very intent on seeing how you pleasure yourself first.

Then he’ll think about touching you. If only to satisfy his own selfish cravings.

Your breath hitches as the silken fabric of your panties is revealed—already damp, soaked with the proof of your desire. There’s a satisfied gleam in Anaxa’s eye as you peer up at him.

His thumb brushes across your inner thigh, gentle sweeps meant to ground you in his presence. But really, it just makes the ache between your legs worse. You squirm a little.

“Don’t be shy, starlight. Go on.” Anaxa murmurs. No— he rasps. The anticipation is killing him, and if your eyes were to drift lower, you would see the way his cock strains against his pants— aching, wanting. All for you.

Alas, your attention is on something else entirely:

Starlight. The pet name shoots straight through your beating heart, a cupids arrow tipped in a sweet poison. And the way he sighs it, stars above; it’s like the blasphemer has finally found his faith, and he finds the truth nestled in the space between your ribs.

Your lips part, a little dumbfounded. It shouldn’t be affecting you like this. Anaxa shouldn’t be affecting you like this. Yet here you are, thighs slick with want, face flushed with heat.

He’s going to be the death of you.

Confidence bolstered by the way Anaxa seems to drink you up like the sweetest of wines, your fingers dip into the waistband of your panties. You toy with the elastic, teasingly, before peeling the fabric away.

(And Anaxa so kindly helps—you can’t stop the way your heart leaps into your throat as his hands settle on the curve of your hips, lifting you just slightly to lessen the struggle of removing your underwear. You try not to think too hard about how smoothly he does so, or the warmth of his hands against your sensitive skin.)

Arousal makes you ache. Your pussy clenches around nothing as Anaxa guides your legs open once again, a steady anchor between your thighs. Even in the low lights, he is enamored by the sight of you. Glistening with desire. Pliant. Needy.

Your breath leaves you in a shudder as Anaxa’s hands makes themselves at home on your inner thighs. His head dips, lips brushing along the shell of your ear as he breathes, “Show me.”

He doesn’t have to say much more than that. Your hand brushes the hem of your dress out of the way as the other descends, slowly gliding against your wetness. You bite your lip to suppress the whimper that desperately wants to escape you.

Gathering slick along the pads of your fingers, you slowly circle your clit. Pleasure zips through your body, the pool of heat in your stomach slowly growing deeper with every movement.

“Good girl,” Anaxa breathes, attention raptly on you. “Keep going.”

You let out a strangled whimper, fingers clumsily rubbing faster. It’s good— it feels good, but it’s not quite enough, like there’s something missing…

Anaxa kneels, and the movement is so sudden it snaps you out of your pleasure-fueled haze. Your lips part as you stare down at him, watching as his hands brace on your thighs. His head tilts just slightly. You can’t find the words to say—how to ask him what exactly he thinks he’s doing.

Heat blooms across your cheeks. It feels far too intimate, far too much, the sight of Anaxa kneeling between your parted legs as your fingers twitch over your heat. You wonder if perhaps this was a mistake. But then he hums, pleasantly, and you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I didn’t say to stop,” he says, huskily. “Go on— resume.”

And obediently, you listen. Your fingers slip lower now, dipping into your wet heat, starting with one finger, and then two.

All while Anaxa watches.

He looks almost calculating—like he’s mentally taking notes as you tremble and whine in front of him. It shouldn’t turn you on this much. Really.

But it does. And you’re sure he’s taken note of that, too.

Your head tilts back, a low moan falling like honeyed sin from your lips as you finger yourself. And then: a foreign feeling. A brush of fingertips not belonging to you, ghosting over your clit.

“Ah—!?” You gasp, but Anaxa shushes you.

“You’re doing well, but I suppose I should do what you asked of me, hm?”

Typically, Anaxa is much more patient man—but with the sight of your wet heat in front of him for the first time, your little fingers thrusting sloppily, he feels his resolve cracking much quicker than he’d like. A hairline fissure in his foundation, fracturing further and further until he feels it crumbling away. And when it does, his hand wraps around yours, pulling your desire-slick fingers away from your cunt. He brings them to his mouth, and you watch with lust-blown pupils as his tongue darts out, tasting the wetness coating your digits.

“Anaxa—?”

“Anaxagoras,” he corrects, but there’s no real ire behind it. Like he doesn’t actually mind your use of a nickname he believed to have hated.

(He finds that he does not mind it as much if it comes from you.

He tucks this revelation of his away to contemplate later. Right now, his attention is on the pretty pussy dripping for him. His tongue swipes over his lips, savoring the remnants of your taste.)

You’re still reeling from the sensation of his mouth on your hands, but he doesn’t let you sit long in your shock, as his hands move quickly to replace yours. He starts with one finger—sliding it into your wet heat, humming appreciatively at the way your walls clench around him. You let out a weak moan.

“You’re singing so pretty for me, my starlight,” Anaxa murmurs, voice thick with desire. “Don’t worry. I believe it best to learn this sort of thing through experience. So I’ll show you how to cum—again, and again, and again.”

His fingers are longer than yours. Thicker. They reach the spots you’ve never been able to quite reach, and when his fingers brush against a particularly sensitive spot, you keen for him.

Anaxa lights up, as if making a discovery worth screaming to the world. “There it is.”

And he presses against it. Over, and over, and over, like he had promised. One finger turns into two as he slips another inside, and the stretch has you whining as his fingers pump into you. Something foreign in your belly coils tight. Anaxa is deliberate with his every movement, making sure to hit that sweet spot inside you with a cruel precision.

The tension crests to a head when he leans forward to wrap his lips around your clit.

“A—naxa!” you cry, fingers curling into the soft locks of his hair. You give it a tug, but he only groans into your pussy, tongue flicking over your clit in tandem with every thrust of his fingers.

The coil snaps.

Your back arches as you cum, hard, a soft cry falling from your lips as Anaxa chuckles between your legs. It zips through you like lightning, sudden and sharp, leaving you feeling absolutely molten in its’ wake. His fingers pump lazily, drawing you through your high.

Orgasming.. is fucking fantastic, you think. You’d like to experience it again, perhaps.. though the thought of attempting to do so without Anaxa’s assistance is a little daunting.

You curse softly, bringing a hand up to clutch your face as you pant softly. Your other hand remains entangled in his hair—you give him a soft tug.

But he.. doesn’t stop. In fact, his fingers slowly pick back up. What was once shallow, aimless thrusts meant to coast you along return to that vicious preciseness from when he was working you towards your release.

“What are you—”

You’re cut off by a your own gasp when his mouth attaches to your clit again. Your eyes widen as the sensation rips through you, sharp pleasure just bordering on the side of too much.

“I-I can’t!” You cry. “Fuck— s’too much!”

“You can. You will.”

His voice is tinged with obsession, an absolute need to tip you over the peak again. If he could, Anaxa could perhaps spend forever between your legs, playing you like an instrument to draw out the sweetest of melodies your voice could produce.

Your thighs attempt to press together, your hand pushing at him as he continues to lap at your far too sensitive clit—but Anaxa is sturdy, unmoving, positively devoted to his endeavor of making you cum as many times as you can physically manage. He simply uses his free hand to hold you open while the other continues to pump into your aching cunt.

His fingers curl inside you just right and somehow, some way, it happens.

You cum. Again. It almost hurts how good it feels.

You gush around his fingers, and Anaxa laughs, bordering on maniacal. The mere sensation of his breath ghosting over your clit makes your hips jerk, and this time he lets you push his head away. He’s satisfied—for the moment, at least.

Anaxa withdraws his fingers, studying the way your essence coats his hand. He rises to his feet as you’re left to catch your breath. Tears line your lashes as you process the fact that Anaxa has brought you to orgasm not once, but twice, in quick succession. You didn’t even know your body was capable of doing that.

Dizzy, you look up at him, watching as he runs his tongue along his digits. When his eyes catch yours, all offers is, “I enjoy the way you taste.”

“Don’t say things like that,” you huff breathlessly, heat blooming across your cheeks.

Anaxa simply shrugs and turns to the side.

“Just observing.” He pauses. Then: “I’d like to study you more. Your body. The way you react. I find you fascinating.”

You blink at him—still feeling a little hazy from the brain-shattering orgasms he just inflicted upon you, it takes you a moment to realize that this is his way of asking if you’d let him do it again. If you’d let him continue to touch you in ways you’ve never let anyone else touch you before.

You slowly close your trembling legs, smoothing the hem of your dress back over them—where did your panties go?—and tilt your head as you process his statement.

You don’t think you’d mind baring yourself to the professor.

“Okay,” you say softly. At the sound of your voice, Anaxa turns back towards you. His face is carefully schooled into neutrality, but there in the depths of his eye, there’s a glimmer. Something warm. You fold your hands in your lap to prevent yourself from fidgeting. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Anaxa’s lips split into a smile, ecstatic at your agreeance. He approaches you again, the tops of his thighs brushing against your dangling legs as he looks down at you.

“Fantastic. Then— we shall continue to meet in here during the Parting Hour.”

You hum in agreement. Out of all things you had expected to occur this evening, establishing a routine of meeting with Anaxa for what was essentially nightly dick appointments was not one of them. You blink up at him curiously.

Suddenly feeling rather bold, you ask, “Will you kiss me?”

Anaxa blinks down at you— taken by surprise, you note none too smugly. There’s a pinkness that rises to his cheeks, faint, but against his pale skin it’s easy to notice. You smile.

“I suppose I can,” Anaxa finally murmurs, cupping your cheek with a hand. The way he caresses you is gentle. Perhaps a promise of things to come.

And with the stars as your only witness, Anaxa leans forward, pressing his lips to yours.

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

#☆ oakie writes #anaxa x reader #anaxa smut #anaxagoras x reader #anaxagoras smut #hsr x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #anaxa x you #hsr x you #banners by cafekitsune

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twstedfreak · 3 months ago

Text

🎬 UPCOMING SERIES: " The Disappearance of Y/N L/N " !!

Ꮺ ⋮ PAIRING: Ryomen Sukuna, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Naoya Zen'in, and Y/N L/N

Ꮺ ⋮ GENRE: Mystery, Psychological Thriller, Drama, Suspense

Ꮺ ⋮ STATUS: Coming Soon

Ꮺ ⋮ SYNOPSIS: Y/N L/N has vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a trail of confusion and unanswered questions. Sukuna, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Naoya, and Toji are all pulled into the investigation, each one a suspect. They all believe Y/N is still out there, but none of them know what really happened. Their fragmented memories and conflicting stories of their last encounters with Y/N only deepen the mystery. As Detective Higuruma digs deeper into their pasts, he uncovers dark secrets and hidden motives, but the truth remains just out of reach.

Ꮺ ⋮ PLAYLIST: here

ORDER IS SERVED !! go here for the official masterlist of the series

TEASER:

Detective Hiromi Higuruma stood by the window of his cramped office, the city lights casting a pale glow over the desk cluttered with case files. His fingers drummed steadily on the edge of his desk, but his mind was elsewhere—somewhere deeper, tangled in the web of a case that had grown far more complicated than he anticipated.

Y/N L/N. Her face lingered in his mind, a puzzle that refused to be solved. The evidence was thin—almost nonexistent, but her absence felt like a weight pressing on his chest. No one had seen her leave. No one had heard a thing. Just gone.

His eyes flicked over the files again, the pictures of the five men who had once been close to her. Ryomen Sukuna. Satoru Gojo. Suguru Geto. Kento Nanami. Toji Fushiguro. Naoya Zenin. All of them, in one way or another, tied to Y/N. All of them, maybe in some twisted way, involved.

The men had all been questioned, but the answers came out wrong, never quite fitting together. They all had their own stories—each one claiming innocence, each one insisting Y/N was still out there, somewhere. But their words, their gestures, none of it added up. It was almost as if they were trying to protect something. Or someone.

Higuruma’s fingers gripped the edge of his desk harder, his knuckles whitening. Why does it feel like I'm the one being deceived?

Y/N had been more than just a person to them. She had been a mystery, an enigma that none of them could solve, and it made him desperate, wanting to solve this case. But desperation made people careless. He had seen it before. And if there was one thing Higuruma was sure of, it was that they were hiding something. He just needed to figure out what.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the photographs again. His thoughts drifted, replaying the brief moments he'd spent with Y/N before she disappeared—her quiet smile, the way she always seemed to be just on the edge of saying something, but never did. There was more to her disappearance than a missing person case. It wasn’t just about her. It was about everyone around her. And somewhere, buried beneath their stories and lies, was the truth.

He pushed the files aside, his eyes narrowing as he stood up, determination settling over him like a heavy cloak. "I will find you, Y/N," he muttered under his breath. "And I will uncover whatever they’re hiding."

The door to his office creaked open, and Higuruma’s gaze flicked to the hallway. The next round of interviews was about to begin. The men who might know something were waiting.

But this time, he wouldn’t be fooled. This time, he'd dig deeper.

There was no escaping the truth. Not for them. Not for him. And definitely not for Y/N.

Ꮺ ⋮ TAGLIST OPEN comment to be added to the official list of this series (in the making) —

@ratedrrrr @barbare2 @artist1936 @tojis-ball-sack @mangiswig @levimaids @poopooindamouf @ukhtlindi @gremlinartstudio @stardustquills @kingshitonly @levifiance @sakanelli-afc @theanaoevre @yu-uwu @personally4runa @indiewritesxoxo @sunahsvt @sakanelli-afc @ivy-vivii @gojoslovelylover @sukunaslilsocks @amberbrevily @eolivy @miniv1x3n @grignardsreagent @noooo-onee @penguinotapioca @ladytamayolover @getomeatrider01 @lucilles-witchery @van9lla

A/N ; Hey guys, just dropping this by before I sleep fgs. Here y’all go! I got inspired by those TikTok vids from BookTok where the character haunts the narrative, so here we are! Lol, be sure to comment if you want to be added to the official taglist of this series! See ya and stay tuned!

The banner and divider design is created by me. Please do not use, alter, or modify the template/design without permission. Thank you for your understanding! :3

©twstedfreak : Do not steal, modify, tweak, translate, or plagiarize anything from my blog. Do not use / copy my template or theme. Respect my work, love u guys. 🚨

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erwinsvow · 1 year ago

Note

what about rafe spending the night at shy!reader’s house for the first time?

buried in a sea of pillows and stuffed animals, rafe lays down and pulls your quilt over his body. you're still in the bathroom—he can hear running water and the clink of the little bottles you open and close while putting things on your face.

he looks down—the quilt doesn't even cover his feet. he laughs—a short rush of breath leaving him. he fixes the blanket, not caring if his arms stay cold and wanting to make sure you don't worry about it, which you will if you see.

when you come out—dressed in one of his old shirts that's too big on you, something that always leaves him staring while you question what's wrong—you look so pretty he thinks it's the first time he's ever seen you all over again.

it's not how you look—he's used to the shirt and boxers he can't see, the braided hair and the jewelry you don't take off even for bed—it's the way you look at him.

you don't have to say anything, he already knows what you're thinking. but you do, you say it anyways.

"you okay?" and it's said with such sincerity—so much meaning behind two little words, often repeated to him multiple times a day. you thought he used to get mad when you would ask, but really rafe's just not used to being asked, to someone caring enough to ask again.

"yeah, kid. ready for bed?" you nod, turning just to close the bathroom door and sort the last few things—the clothes you wore to dinner, one of the biggest stuffed animals you took off the bed to make room for rafe, other odds and ends.

he watches you do it, looking at how everything in your cluttered yet neat bedroom has a place and how you remember each one. he's been in your room many times before but this is important—sleeping over for the first time.

when you finally join him in bed, you discard your slippers right by the bed and push them underneath. rafe looks at you confused for a moment before you answer.

"so you don't trip. when you get up." you get in beside him and suddenly it's rafe who has to conceal burning cheeks, still unsure how he ended up with a girl who could possibly care this much about him.

the two of you end up like always, same as when you're at tannyhill—with you curled up on his chest and his arm around your shoulders. his hand plays with the ends of your hair and you wrap your hand around the other, holding on tight like rafe might disappear while you sleep.

"you okay?" you ask again after a few moments, said quietly. he can tell you're close to sleep now.

"yeah, kid. m'fine. you okay?" you don't answer, already asleep. he laughs softly to himself again.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #oh i love them #shy reader

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shinoko-oshi · 2 months ago

Text

Simon finds your tumblr blog

Simon Riley who decided to get tea from a nearby cafe only to be starstruck by you, the barista, as you took his order. Accidentally nodding, saying yes when you asked him, what kind of tea would he like.

“Sorry, love, what was that?”

So of course, like a person discovering a drug for the first time, he went back for more. Every day. Eventually learning your schedule, framing his around yours. Timing it so perfectly that it looked natural, casual. Like fate.

He told himself it wasn’t stalking. Said he was just checking your socials. Just looking. Making his favorite photo of you on Instagram his phone wallpaper. The one where you smiled at the camera, lipgloss shining, cheeks rosey from the late afternoon sun. The one he perhaps casually jerked off to. Once. Maybe twice. Definitely more than he’d ever admit.

Until that “not stalking” became breaking into your apartment one day when he knew you were working a shift. Going through your place like he had every right to.

Inside, your place was everything he expected warm, soft, cluttered in the way homes are when someone actually lives in them. Your scent hitting his nose the moment he stepped in. Something sweet. Maybe vanilla. Maybe your shampoo. He didn’t bother guessing, just inhaled deeply as he moved through your space. Fingers brushing your throw blanket, your mugs still drying by the sink, the stack of books on your nightstand.

Lingered in your bedroom. Touched your pillow like it might give him a glimpse into your dreams. Snagging a pantie or two. Pressed one to his face. Just once. Maybe more.

Which eventually led to him taking advantage of his job, running a background check on you, the whole nine. Addresses, phone numbers, emergency contacts. He memorized it all. But what really surprised him was what he found buried in there. An anonymous Tumblr blog. No name, no tags ultimately linked to you. Clearly something not wanting to be found.

Silly girl. Didn’t you know he’d always find you?

You occasionally posted filthy little one shots about masked men on there, which got a snicker out of him at the irony, he had thought before he saw that hint of blush on your face when he came back from work that one evening, a simple black balaclava still covering his face. The way your eyes lingered a second too long. The way you bit your lip when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Scrolling through your posts, one in particular caught his eye. A story about a man— too similar to Simon to be a coincidence. A regular customer at a cafe. Bending his barista over in the back, stuffing her full when everyone else had left. Their shifts ending.

Well, if that’s what you wanted, love. Simon was never one to deny a pretty bird of what she wanted.

It was funny, really. You looked so sweet and innocent. Too sweet to be writing filthy smut in your free time. All soft lashes and polite smiles. But then again, here you were, taking his cock so well, just like you had with his fingers as he had you bent over some boxes in the back storage room, filling your pretty pussy full of his eight inches. Stretching you open until you gasped his name like a common saying.

Your hand clamped over your mouth, trying to muffle your moans after your second orgasm. Legs trembling, breath catching in your throat, cunt clenching greedily around him like you were made for him.

And after Simon came himself, zipping his pants back up, he looked over your state, seeing the way you were trying to regulate your breaths, coming down from your high, literally. Pussy buzzing with that happy, content feeling after getting stuffed. Sweat cooling on your skin, hair sticking to your forehead.

He gave your ass a light, playful smack, mumbling, “How’s that for your little blog?” as he walked out. Leaving you dumbfounded. Not just from the way he fucked you but from the fact he knew about your anonymous Tumblr account.

He wasn’t done with you yet. No, not even close. Didn’t plan on stopping until he tried every single thing you’d ever written with you. And even after that… he’d still want more.

You were his now, baby.

Can confirm, this happened. Not really… sigh 😞

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gf2bellamy · 2 months ago

Note

hey girl!

Just read someone talking about a tiktok where the boyfriend sits with his plushies and watches and corrects his girlfriend as she teaches him as a way of studying for exam.

Maybe a PhD!student!reader x early!season!spence with this plot and he gets all cheery and claps whenever she gets a topic right idk

Hope that made sense😶‍🌫️

Love ya! 😘

studying — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship, fluff , reader has an exam, earlyseason!spencer <3 a/n: hi hi !! this isnt the first message i've received abt this tiktok video ( i feel like i'm the only one who hasnt seen it?) but its so spencer so i just had to write this <3

You stared at the whiteboard, its surface cluttered with half-erased scribbles, bullet points, and arrows pointing in increasingly uncertain directions.

The markers were beginning to dry out, and your brain too.

You squinted at the words, trying to will them into making sense, but they just sat there, refusing to reorganize into anything remotely coherent.

Behind you, Spencer sat cross-legged on your bed, half-buried in a sea of plushies that had taken up residence there during your all-night study sessions.

He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, you were pretty sure he was enjoying himself.

The way your nose scrunched when you were frustrated, the way you gestured wildly when you finally connected the dots. He loved it when you taught him things, even if he already knew them.

You sighed and dragged a hand through your hair. “Okay, I give up. I’ve explained this same thing four different ways, and I’m still confusing myself.”

Spencer didn’t answer right away.

When you glanced back at him, he was gently repositioning a lopsided stuffed bear, straightening its little bow tie. He caught your gaze and smiled, warm and a little shy.

“You’re not confusing,” he said quietly. “You’re just tired. But I think you're explaining it better than you think you are.”

You let out a breath somewhere between a groan and a laugh, turning around to lean against the edge of your desk. “Then why does it feel like none of it’s sticking?”

“Because you’ve been at this for hours,” he said, shifting slightly and patting the spot on the bed beside him. “Come sit. Let’s go over it again.”

You hesitated, eyeing the whiteboard one last time like it might suddenly throw you a bone. It didn’t.

You had discovered early on in your relationship that Spencer was an excellent study partner—not just because of his eidetic memory, but because of the way he listened. He absorbed information like a sponge, but more than that, he made you feel heard.

When you explained concepts aloud to him, it forced you to articulate them clearly, and his occasional corrections (always gentle) helped you more than anything else.

With a reluctant sigh, you crossed the room and dropped onto the bed. A stuffed alpaca flopped sideways onto your lap, and Spencer gently rescued it before it fell off the edge.

“This one likes to supervise,” he said with a grin, setting it back beside you like it was part of some official plushie committee.

You couldn’t help but smile. “He looks judgmental.”

“Motivational,” Spencer corrected with a soft laugh. “He believes in you.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your shoulders relax for the first time in hours. He turned toward you, expression open and attentive.

“Okay. Tell me again about the difference between quantitative and qualitative methodology. As if you were explaining it to someone who knows absolutely nothing about it.”

“You do know something about it,” you teased.

“Humor me.”

You exhaled slowly, gathering your thoughts, and launched back into your explanation.

As you spoke, Spencer nodded, asked the occasional gentle question, and—when you got slightly off track—interjected with the quietest correction, always phrased like a suggestion instead of a critique.

It didn’t hurt that he looked at you like you hung the moon.

Every time you nailed a concept—delivered a term with confidence, or remembered an example from your research—he clapped.

Actually clapped.

Not loudly, not obnoxiously—just a few soft, sincere rounds of applause, the kind that made you all warm and fuzzy.

“Well done,” he said softly, his eyes glowing with pride. “You’ve got it.”

You chuckled and glanced at the plushies around him. “I think they’re helping. You’ve got a whole committee of motivational support there.”

Spencer paused, then grinned sheepishly. “Well, they are great listeners.” He reached down to adjust the stuffed elephant’s little bow tie.

You continued explaining. Eventually, your words started flowing smoother, more confidently. You stopped stumbling over the terminology.

By the time you reached the end of your explanation, you felt like maybe—maybe—you actually understood what you were saying.

You stood up again, feeling the need to walk around as you grabbed another marker and began scribbling new diagrams on the whiteboard.

“And then… that’s it,” you said, your voice more certain now as you stared at the board, watching the last piece of the equation fall into place. You took a deep breath and turned back to Spencer.

His expression was pure warmth—bright eyes, a grin so wide it almost seemed to take up half his face.

"Exactly," he said, his voice soft with admiration, before clapping again—this time with more enthusiasm.

You couldn't help but grin back.

That smile of his, so genuine and so full of pride, made all the hours of frustration feel worth it. He didn’t look tired—not even slightly. Not after hours of watching you scribble, re-explain, stumble, and try again.

Spencer didn’t show a hint of impatience, and that made you appreciate him even more.

In fact, he looked downright adorable sitting there—cross-legged on your bed, surrounded by plushies, still so full of energy and enthusiasm.

You let out a breath. You had done it. You got it.

“I think… I might actually get some sleep now,” you said, laughing a little as you leaned against the whiteboard for a moment, suddenly exhausted.

Spencer chuckled softly, setting down the stuffed elephant he’d been gently adjusting for the past few minutes, his eyes twinkling. “Sleep sounds like a good idea. But if you need to go over it one more time, I’m happy to help.”

You shook your head, a fond, tired smile playing at the corners of your mouth. “I think you’ve helped enough for tonight.”

He shrugged lightly, an endearing gesture that made you feel like he was constantly giving you more than you could ever ask for.

"Anytime," he murmured, voice warm like the tea he'd made you three hours ago that now sat cold and forgotten on your nightstand.

You turned back toward the whiteboard, eyeing the chaotic scrawl of diagrams and notes that had once felt like your mortal enemy.

Now, it just looked like progress.

“I think we can erase these,” you mumbled, already reaching for the eraser.

Spencer padded up behind you, quiet as ever, until you could feel him just over your shoulder.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, lips brushing just behind your ear. “Might want to keep it up for nostalgia.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Spencer, it’s a jumbled mess. Half of it looks like it was written during a caffeine-induced breakdown.”

“That’s the charm,” he said, tightening his arms around your waist briefly before releasing you just enough to grab a nearby marker.

“Besides, this little guy deserves a spot in the Smithsonian,” he added, circling a particularly squiggly doodle of a triangle that had somehow gained angry eyebrows and a caption that read ‘Qualitative gremlin.’

You laughed, letting your head fall back against his shoulder for a second. “Oh no, not the gremlin.”

“He has theories,” Spencer said solemnly.

“You are the gremlin,” you shot back, elbowing him gently in the ribs.

Spencer feigned offense, but the grin that lit up his face gave him away. “Rude,” he said.

You finally began to erase the board, slow satisfying swipes of the eraser wiping away all the hours of stress and scribbled confusion

When the last marker stain was finally wiped clean, you stepped back to admire the blank space like it was a newly renovated canvas.

“Look at that,” you said, arms crossed, satisfied. “A fresh start.”

Spencer hummed in agreement beside you. “Symbolic.”

You glanced at him. “For what?”

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Tomorrow. The next chapter. Your well-deserved nap.”

You let out a sleepy laugh. “God, yes. That.”

He smiled, then reached out and gently tapped your forehead with his index finger. “Go lay down, before you try to start another lecture.”

You caught his hand before he could pull it away and gave it a small squeeze. “Only if you’re coming with me.”

Spencer’s smile widened, eyes soft as he laced your fingers together. “Lead the way, professor.”

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic

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seospicybin · 2 months ago

Text

CAM.

CHAPTER II

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

CAM MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Struggling to make ends meet as an art student, Hyunjin never expected his quiet neighbor to change everything. Rumored to be an adult content creator, you offer him a deal—help you with your content, and you’ll help with his financial troubles. What starts as a simple arrangement soon blurs into something more, pulling Hyunjin into a world he never imagined. (23,4k words)

Author's note: Forgot to mention this was a late bday fic for Hyunjin. Hope you enjoy it and pls leave a feedback ♡

The past week has been a blur of paint-stained hands and sleepless nights. Hyunjin barely has time to think about anything else, buried in preparations for his school's upcoming exhibition. His apartment is a mess—canvases stacked against the walls, discarded sketches littering the floor, and his camera resting untouched on his desk. For once, his world isn’t revolving around late-night shoots and Lustre content. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

His brush glides across the canvas, layering deep strokes of blue over the rough outline of a figure. He’s been obsessed with movement lately, trying to capture fleeting emotions in abstract shapes and colors. His professors say his work has soul—that it feels raw, intimate. But he wonders if they’d still say the same if they knew where his inspiration truly came from.

Hyunjin sighs and sets his brush down, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders. His eyes wander around his cluttered space, landing on an unfinished canvas propped up against the wall.

Your painting.

It’s a portrait, though he never intended it to be one. It started as a simple study—your figure bathed in warm light, the way your eyes softened when you were deep in thought. But then he kept coming back to it, adding layer after layer, unable to stop himself from trying to capture the quiet allure that had him tangled in knots.

Now, it’s only half-done. The outline of your face remains, delicate but unrefined. Your lips are sketched in, parted just slightly, as if caught mid-breath. Hyunjin swallows, gripping the brush tighter. He should be working on his exhibition piece, but his fingers itch to reach for this one instead.

It’s been days since he last saw you, yet here you are, lingering in the space between his thoughts.

The next day bleeds into the afternoon before Hyunjin even stirs awake. The weight of exhaustion still lingers in his limbs, his body aching from hours spent hunched over canvases and standing in front of easels. He barely remembers crashing onto his bed sometime in the early morning, the remnants of dried paint still on his fingers.

A sharp knock at the door pulls him from the haze of sleep. Hyunjin groans, pushing himself up with effort. The room is dim, sunlight seeping through the closed blinds, casting soft shadows over his cluttered space. Another knock follows, more insistent this time.

Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffles to the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before swinging it open. You're standing there, a warm smile curving your lips. The sight of you in the soft glow of the afternoon sun makes him blink twice, as if he isn’t sure whether he’s still dreaming.

“Wow, you look awful,” you tease, eyes flicking over his disheveled hair and the oversized shirt hanging off his frame. Before he can respond, you lift the paper bag in your hand. “Brought food. And coffee. Thought you might need it.”

Hyunjin stares at you for a moment, words catching in his throat. He wasn't expecting you—not today, not like this. But the scent of coffee and something delicious wafts toward him, grounding him in the moment. “…You didn’t have to,” he mumbles, voice still rough with sleep.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Are you gonna let me in, or should I just eat this myself?”

The two of you sitting cross legged on his worn-out couch with take-out containers in hands. Hyunjin eats in slow bites, his body still shaking off the remnants of sleep. Next to him, you sit with your coffee in hand, fingers curled around the cup as you sip at it leisurely. He doesn’t think much of it at first—just you, keeping him company like you have before. But after a while, he notices it. The way your gaze lingers on him, thoughtful, as if you’re weighing something in your mind. You barely touch your food, just sipping at your coffee, lost in thought.

Hyunjin stops chewing, setting his chopsticks down. His brows furrow slightly as he studies you. “Do you have something to say to me?” he asks, tilting his head.

You blink, as if caught off guard, and glance down at your coffee. “No, not really,” you answer quickly, but there’s something in your tone—hesitation, uncertainty.

He doesn’t buy it. He puts down his chopsticks and looks at you. “Come on,” he presses gently. “You obviously have something to say. Just say it.”

You hesitate again, biting your lip as you lower your cup. For a moment, you seem to debate whether to speak at all. He watches you closely, his heart picking up its pace as you finally part your lips to speak.

“I was going to wait until after the exhibition to ask you this,” you begin, your fingers nervously tracing the rim of your coffee cup. “But… the thought of waiting has been making me uneasy.”

He stays quiet, letting you gather your words, his anticipation growing.

You take a deep breath and meet his gaze. “Now that you’ve paid off your debt… I was wondering if you still want to work with me. You know, help me with my content.”

Hyunjin gets a little taken aback. He expected something different, something more final—but this? He studies your face, the way your expression tightens with genuine worry, as if you’re afraid of what he might say. Instead of answering right away, he asks, “Why are you so worried that I’d stop?”

Your lips press together before you sigh. “Because it’s hard to find someone I can trust to do this with.” Your voice is softer now, more vulnerable. “And I trust you, Hyunjin.”

A strange fluttering feeling stirs in his chest at those words. Trust. You trust him.

You continue before he can respond, your words spilling faster as if you’re scared of what his answer might be. “I mean, obviously, you don’t have to say yes just because I asked, and if you want, we can negotiate the numbers—”

Hyunjin chuckles, shaking his head as he leans back against his chair. “Hey, slow down,” he says, amusement laced in his tone.

You shut your mouth quickly, looking embarrassed, aware that you were a second away from rambling on and on. Then, without hesitation, he gives you his answer. “Yes. I’ll continue working with you.”

The tension in your shoulders melts instantly. A smile blooms across your face, bright and relieved, and Hyunjin can’t help but stare for a moment, thinking to himself how effortlessly you light up a room.

The mood in the room shifts into something lighter, something comfortable after that talk. He sees that you can finally pick up your chopsticks and start eating, the sound of utensils clinking against the takeout containers filling the space between easy conversation.

“You really need to eat more proper meals,” you chide playfully as you watch him practically inhale the food.

He chuckles between bites. “I do eat properly,” he argues, though the evidence says otherwise.

Once the food is finished, Hyunjin gathers the trash and tosses it away, wiping his hands on a napkin. Meanwhile, you stand and wander around the room, eyes roaming over the canvases scattered throughout his workspace. Some lean against the walls, others rest on the floor, each one carrying a story in its strokes.

“These are for the exhibition?” you ask, tilting your head at one particular piece.

He nods, stepping beside you. “Yeah, I’m almost done with them. Just a few more details here and there.”

You take your time admiring each one, letting your fingers hover just above the dried paint as if you could feel the emotion embedded in them. Then, your gaze lands on a canvas tucked away in the corner, covered by a white cloth. Your curiosity sparks instantly. “What about that one?”

Hyunjin stiffens. His reaction is subtle, but you catch it.

“It’s nothing,” he says too quickly, stepping forward as if to block your view. “Just a failed one.”

You raise an eyebrow. “A failed one?”

“Yeah,” he lies smoothly, though his voice is just a little too even. “Didn’t turn out the way I wanted, so I scrapped it.”

You don’t push, but you do glance at the covered painting again, wondering what could possibly be underneath. Unbeknownst to you, Hyunjin swallows hard, keeping his expression neutral as he prays you don’t try to unveil it. Because hidden beneath that cloth is something he isn’t ready for you to see.

He shifts his focus back to you, watching your gaze lingers on the paintings, your fingers tracing the air just above the dried brushstrokes. The way you look at them—at his work—makes something warm settle in his chest.

“So,” he starts, hands tucking into the pockets of his sweatpants, “are you going to come to the exhibition?”

You turn to him, a playful glint in your eyes. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Hyunjin scoffs, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “So that’s a yes?”

You nod and with a soft smile, you say, “I’d be more than happy to come.”

Somehow, in the pause that follows, your eyes find his, and for a moment, neither of you look away. There’s something lingering in the air between you, something unspoken. Hyunjin wonders if you feel it too.

Then, after what feels like a beat too long, you break into a smile and glance toward the door. “I should probably go so you can work on your paintings.”

He barely manages to hide his disappointment. He wants you to stay. He likes having you here, in his space, talking to him like this. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, he nods, forcing himself to play it cool. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll see you later.”

You give him one last smile before heading for the door, and when it finally clicks shut behind you, Hyunjin exhales, running a hand through his hair. The room feels quieter now, a little emptier and he hates how much he wishes you had stayed.

As you step into your apartment, the air-conditioning greets your skin, a cool relief after your morning run. You set your phone down on the counter, make yourself a smoothie, and settle into your usual spot by the window. The city hums faintly outside, but inside, it’s quiet—just the way you like it in the mornings.

You take a sip of your smoothie and open Lustre, scrolling through notifications. A few messages from subscribers—some predictable, explicit ones—but one stands out.

mag.shawn

The profile picture is simple: a bunch of purple tulips. No face, no suggestive username. Curiosity piqued, you tap on the message.

"The more I see your pictures, the more convinced I am that you're not just beautiful from the outside, but on the inside too. I hope you have a lovely day, beautiful."

You take another second to reread the words. You’re used to messages from men, but they usually come with crude compliments, detailed fantasies, or straight-up requests. This, however, is just… sweet. A small smile tugs at your lips. You type a reply.

"Thank you, that’s really sweet of you. I hope you have a lovely day too."

After sending it, you lean back, taking another sip of your smoothie. It’s such a small thing—a simple message—but somehow, it lifts your mood. As you're about to have a sip of your smoothie, another notification comes and catches your eye.

Felix [Lustre]: Hey, do you want to meet up today?

Your fingers hover over the screen, hesitating. You knew this was coming—he had already reached out about a collaboration and texted you a few times talking about it—but something about it makes you pause. Maybe it's the uncertainty of working with someone new, or maybe it's the fact that Hyunjin's face flashed in your mind the second you read Felix’s message. You chew on your lip, tapping your nails against the glass of your smoothie. What should you say? Your screen stays lit, Felix’s message waiting for an answer.

You pull your car out of the parking lot, the engine humming softly as you ease onto the road. Just as you’re about to turn the corner, you spot Hyunjin walking along the sidewalk, hands shoved into his pockets, his hair is tied into a loose ponytail, his bag slung over his shoulder.

You slow down, rolling down the passenger-side window. “Hyunjin!” He looks up, surprised. “Need a lift?”

He stops on his track and then slightly bends down to look at you as he kindly refuses your offer. “It’s fine, I can take the bus.”

“At least let me drop you off at the bus stop.” You insist, offering him a look that says you won’t take no for an answer.

With a sigh, he caves in, pulling the door open and settling into the passenger seat. “Thanks.”

As you start driving, you glance at him. “So, where are you going?”

He nods, gazing out the window. “I’m heading to school to help set up the exhibition.”

You hum in response, but before you can say anything else, he shifts slightly in his seat and looks at you, noticing the way you're dressed. “How about you?”

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel for a second. You don’t know why you hesitate, but you do. Then, after a pause, you ask, “Do you remember Felix?”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “The creator who wants to collab with you?”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I’m meeting him today.”

His gaze flickers to you before returning to the road ahead. “Does that means you’re doing the collab?”

Another hesitation. You wonder if it's a good idea to share when nothing is decided yet. Then, you exhale. “I’m still considering. I just want to meet him first, get to know him a little before deciding.”

He nods, but he doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. As you focus on the road ahead, you don’t know why, but you feel like you told him something you shouldn't have shared.

When you finally pull up at the bus stop, Hyunjin unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches for the door. Before stepping out, he turns to you with a small, polite smile. “Thanks for the ride.”

You nod, watching as he shuts the door behind him. As you drive away, you steal one last glance at the rearview mirror, catching sight of him standing there, hands back in his pockets, staring off at nothing in particular.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods lingering in the air as you step inside the café. You scan the room, searching for him, and it doesn’t take long before your eyes land on the person you're looking for.

Felix. He’s already there, sitting by the window with a cup of coffee in hand. The afternoon sun casts a glow over him, highlighting the soft waves of his long, bleached blonde hair. You knew he was good-looking from his pictures, but in person, he’s even more striking—sharp jawline, deep brown eyes, freckles dusted his cheeks and a natural pout to his lips. You get it now. You understand why he’s one of the most popular creators on Lustre.

But when he looks up and spots you, a smile breaks across his face—warm, inviting, nothing like the sultry, smoldering persona he portrays online. “Hey, glad you made it,” he greets, standing up to shake your hand. His voice is deep, laced with a natural rasp that takes you by surprise.

You nod, shaking his hand. “I hope I didn't make you wait too long.”

“Nah. Not at all,” he grins before gesturing to the seat across from him. “Please, have a seat. I already ordered for you—hope you don’t mind. I just figured a vanilla latte suits you.”

You blink at him, caught off guard by how effortlessly charming he is—not in an overbearing way, but in a way that makes you feel at ease. Sitting down, you take a glance at the drink he ordered for you, a small smile tugging at your lips. “That’s actually my go-to order.”

Felix chuckles, resting his chin on his palm. “Lucky guess. Or maybe I’m just good at reading people.”

The conversation flows easily between you and Felix as you sip on your coffee, talking about Lustre, content creation, and the experiences that come with it. He’s easy to talk to—engaging, charming without trying too hard, and surprisingly down-to-earth despite his popularity.

Eventually, curiosity gets the best of you, and you tilt your head slightly. “May I ask why you suddenly want to do a collab with me?”

Felix hums, stirring the remnants of his coffee with his straw. “Honestly? I’ve never done a collab before. I always worked solo, but then I saw the one you did with Sienna.” He leans back against his chair, a small grin tugging at his lips. “And I just thought… that looks fun.”

A smile tugging at your lips, slightly flustered. “Fun?”

He nods. “Yeah. The way you two work together, the chemistry—it felt natural, not forced. And I could tell you put a lot of effort into it, not just in front of the camera, but in the way everything was presented. It wasn’t just content; it was… artistic.”

His words catch you off guard, and you find yourself lowering your gaze, a hint of warmth creeping up your neck. Still, another question lingers in your mind. You glance at him again, hesitating only for a second before asking, “But why me? There are so many other creators on Lustre—some even more popular than I am. Why choose me?”

He doesn’t hesitate for a second to answer. “Because I like you.”

Your breath catches slightly, eyes widening at his direct answer. He seems to realize the weight of his words, quickly raising his hands with a sheepish chuckle. “I mean, I like your content—your artistry, your aesthetic. It’s different from the rest.”

But then, after a short pause, he tilts his head, a playful glint in his eyes. “Though… yeah, I guess I also just like you. You’re beautiful—it’s impossible not to like you.”

You feel your heart skip, caught between surprise and something else you can’t quite place. And from the way Felix watches you, as if amused by your reaction, you know he notices it too. As if you weren't flustered enough, he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table as he watches you with quiet curiosity. “So, what do you think? About collabing with me?”

You let out a small breath, fingers idly tracing the rim of your coffee cup as you think of how to answer. Before you can, Felix speaks again.

“I honestly think this would work,” he says, his voice light but certain. “One, because I like your style—it’s different, and I think our aesthetics could blend well. Two, because I know how to bring out the best in my content partners.” He pauses for a second, a smirk playing on his lips. “And three… because I can already tell you and I have chemistry.”

His confidence is disarming, and you can’t help but smile at his words. He says it so naturally, like it’s a fact rather than a guess.

Still, you take a moment before answering, meeting his gaze. “I only collaborate with people I trust.”

He studies you for a moment, then nods in understanding, his expression softening. “I get that,” he says. “Trust is important in this line of work. I’d probably be the same way if I were you.”

You expect him to push further, but instead, he leans back, completely relaxed. “I just hope you’re not completely closed off to the idea.” His eyes meet yours again, sincere and patient. “Take as much time as you need. And when you’re ready, give me a call.”

The weight in his words lingers between you, an unspoken promise that he won’t rush you into anything and for some reason, that makes it harder to look away.

Being a gentleman that he is, Felix insists on walking you toward your car, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, his steps unhurried like he has all the time in the world. The late afternoon sun casts a soft glow on his blond hair, making him look even more ethereal than he already does.

When you reach your car, he turns to you with an easy smile. “I really hope we get to do this collab,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

You raise a brow at him, smirking. “No pressure, huh?”

He chuckles, tilting his head slightly. “None at all. Just putting it out there.”

There’s something about the way he looks at you—warm, expectant, and just a little mischievous—that makes your chest feel light. You unlock your car, and before you can reach for the door, Felix beats you to it, pulling it open like a perfect gentleman. “Here,” he gestures, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Allow me.”

You laugh softly but step inside, settling into the driver’s seat. As you adjust your grip on the wheel, Felix leans down, resting his arm on the top of your car, his gaze meeting yours through the open window. His usual playful demeanor is gone, replaced by something more serious—more intense.

“Whether there'll be a collab or not, please give me a call.” His voice is deeper and lower now, smoother, and for a brief second, it feels like he’s asking for something much more than just a call.

Your fingers tighten on the steering wheel as your heart does a tiny, unexpected flip. And then, just like that, he steps back, flashing you one last, heart-melting smile.

You drive away, glancing once in the rearview mirror to see him standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you leave. By the time you turn the corner, you realize that you’re smiling too.

The gallery is alive with murmurs of appreciation, soft footsteps against polished floors, and the occasional clinking of glasses from the refreshment table. Hyunjin should be basking in the compliments, engaging in conversations with professors and fellow artists, but his mind is elsewhere. He glances toward the entrance again, pretending to survey the crowd, but really, he’s just looking for you.

The anticipation coils tight in his chest. He’s not even sure why. Maybe because you promised you’d come. Maybe because you looked at him that way—the way that made him feel like he was someone worth looking at. He shifts his weight, nodding along to a professor’s comment about his brushwork, but his thoughts are elsewhere. You’ll come. You said you would.

Hyunjin excuses himself, turning around on his feet and about to check his phone when he hears your voice.

"Hey."

He turns to the side, and there you are, standing by the entrance, holding a bouquet of flowers. His breath catches for a second—maybe from surprise, maybe from something else—but he quickly recovers, walking toward you.

"You're here," he says, relief evident in his voice.

You flash him a grin and hold out the bouquet. "These are from Sienna. She wanted to congratulate you but couldn’t make it."

Still smiling, he gestures toward the gallery. "Come on, let me give you the grand tour."

As the two of you walk through the exhibition, Hyunjin explains his paintings to you, his voice softer than usual. He doesn’t even realize how closely you’re listening, how intently you’re watching him as he talks. But when he finally meets your gaze, something about the way you’re looking at him makes his heart race.

Just as Hyunjin is about to say something else, a voice cuts in.

"Hyunjin, I didn't know you have a girlfriend."

Hyunjin turns to see Edgar approaching, one of his classmates and a fellow artist in the exhibition. Edgar's gaze flickers between the two of you, curiosity evident in his expression.

"This is not my—" Hyunjin clears his throat and then gestures toward you. "She’s my neighbor and a... friend of mine."

You briefly glance at Hyunjin before offer a polite smile and extend your hand at Edgar. "Nice to meet you."

Edgar takes your hand with an easy grin. "Nice to meet you too. You a fan of Hyunjin’s work?"

You glance at Hyunjin playfully before nodding. "Yeah, you could say that."

Before Edgar can respond, Hyunjin hears his name being called from across the room. His professor waves him over, motioning for him to come quickly. He exhales sharply, hating the timing.

"I have to take care of something," he tells you, regret in his tone. He looks at Edgar. "Hey, can you take over for me? Show her the rest of the exhibition?"

Edgar nods easily. "Yeah, with pleasure."

He looks at you one last time with a gentle smile on his face. "I’ll be back soon, okay?"

You nod with a reassuring smile. "Go, do your thing. I’ll be fine."

Still, as he walks away, Hyunjin can't shake the feeling of guilt for leaving you behind.

His professor had kept him occupied longer than expected, and now that he’s free, his first instinct is to find you. He immediately scans the room, searching for you amidst the crowd.

When his eyes land on you, he stops in his tracks. You’re still with Edgar, standing near one of the paintings, laughing at something he just said. There’s an easygoing warmth in your expression, the kind that makes it obvious you’re enjoying the conversation. Edgar, on the other hand, is leaning slightly toward you, a smug grin on his face like he’s proud of making you laugh.

Hyunjin doesn’t know why it bothers him, but it does. It’s not like you’re his. He has no right to feel like this. And yet, the longer he watches, the stronger the irrational urge becomes—to interrupt, to pull you away, to remind you that you came here for him, not Edgar. Before he can talk himself out of it, he makes his way over.

“Hey,” he says, slipping into the conversation as casually as he can manage. His eyes flicker between you and Edgar, but his focus lingers on you. “Having fun?”

You turn to him with a bright smile. “Yeah, Edgar’s been telling me all kinds of stories about you.”

Hyunjin narrows his eyes at Edgar, who only smirks in response. “Oh yeah?” Hyunjin crosses his arms. “What exactly have you been saying?”

Edgar chuckles. “Just a few fun facts.” He glances at you with a teasing look. “Your friend here thinks you’re impressive.”

Hyunjin feels his heartbeat pick up at that, but he masks it with a scoff. “Yeah, well, I hope you weren’t exaggerating.”

Edgar waves him off and then turns to you with a grin. "So, what do you say? A drink after this? A little celebration for Hyunjin’s big night?"

You blink in surprise, then glance at Hyunjin, who suddenly looks like he wasn’t expecting this either. A smirk tugs at your lips as you tease, “Oh? Hyunjin never mentioned anything about drinks.”

Edgar crosses his arms together and chuckles. “That’s because I just came up with it. But come on, it’ll be fun.”

You shake your head, smiling politely. "I appreciate the invite, but I think I’ll have to pass this time."

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, but you notice the way his posture subtly shifts, like he’s relieved. Taking the opportunity, you turn to him. “Speaking of leaving, I should probably get going.”

His expression falters slightly, just for a second, but he quickly recovers. “Oh… already?”

You nod, offering him a warm smile. “Yeah, but congratulations again. The exhibition is amazing, and I’m really proud of you.”

Something flickers in Hyunjin’s eyes at your words, but before he can say anything, you take a small step back. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

He nods, and just as you turn to leave, Edgar playfully nudges Hyunjin. “Damn, man. You didn’t even try to convince her to stay.”

Hyunjin ignores him, watching as you disappear into the crowd. And as much as he wishes you had stayed just a little longer, he holds on to your words—letting them replay in his head, over and over again.

You take a sip of your iced coffee as you scroll through your Lustre notifications. Most of them are the usual—likes, tips, and messages ranging from sweet to outright explicit but one message catches your attention. The one user with the purple tulips picture on his profile. You open it, your curiosity piqued.

mag.shawn: “I really liked your new photos. The silk dress suits you beautifully, but what suits you best is the smile on your face.”

You pause for a moment, rereading the message. It’s simple, kind, and—like before—different from the usual messages you receive. There’s something almost personal about it, like he actually sees you beyond just the photos. You type out a quick reply.

"Thank you! That’s really sweet of you to say. I’m glad you liked the photos. Hope you’re having a good day, sweet baby!"

Hearing the knocking on your door, you set your phone down and walk to the door to open it. You don't have to check to know that it's Hyunjin. You step aside to let him into your apartment, he walks in without hesitation, setting his bag down near the couch.

“Want to have a drink first?” you offer because he seems like he's just ran from his art school in a rush.

He uses the hair tie he carries around in his wrist to tie his hair into a low ponytail. “Maybe later. We have a lot to do now.”

The two of you don’t waste time, moving around in quiet understanding as you begin rearranging one of the spare rooms to turn it into a proper photo studio. You adjust the lighting, shift furniture, and clear out unnecessary clutter while Hyunjin sets up his camera equipment, occasionally checking the angles and backdrop.

The silence is comfortable, but after a while, you feel the weight of something unsaid pressing on your chest. You take a deep breath and break it.

“Hey…” You glance at Hyunjin, who is adjusting his camera settings. He hums in response, looking up.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay long at your exhibition,” you say softly, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

He straightens up and calmly responds. “It’s alright.” But then, after a beat, he tilts his head and asks, “Why, though?”

You hesitate, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “It’s just… safer that way,” you finally say, your voice quieter. “I don’t want to risk getting recognized by people.” You lower your gaze, feeling oddly vulnerable. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

Hyunjin frowns slightly. “Embarrass me how?”

You let out a small, breathy chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “For being... with me. For being associated with what I do.”

He shakes his head, almost scoffing. “I don’t care about all that stuff.”

“Yeah,” You lift your gaze to him and, without thinking, murmur, “But other people do.”

Hyunjin falls silent at that. His expression shifts—like he wants to argue, to tell you that it doesn’t matter what others think. But deep down, you both know that’s not entirely true.

The room stays quiet for a moment before you clear your throat, forcing a smile. “Anyway, I'll get the cake.”

He watches you as you get up from the floor and walk out of the room but the weight of your words lingers between you both.

The concept for today is simple—just you against the clean, white backdrop, playing with food as a prop. The first choice is a small, frosted cake, one that you picked up specifically for this shoot. You sit on the floor with the cake in front of you, dressed in a soft, pastel-colored outfit that contrasts nicely against the backdrop.

Hyunjin lifts his camera, adjusting the focus. “Are you ready?”

You give him a thumbs-up. “I'm ready.”

The second he aims the camera at you, you dip a finger into the frosting, bringing it to your lips with a playful smirk. The camera clicks. You swipe a bit of frosting onto your cheek, pouting dramatically, and Hyunjin chuckles before snapping another shot.

"Try smearing some on your lips,” he suggests, his voice more focused now.

You do as he says, dabbing frosting on your bottom lip before licking it off slowly. The camera clicks again.

“Perfect,” he mutters while keeping his focus on getting good shots.

The shoot continues like this—innocent yet teasing, fun but undeniably intimate. You pretend to feed an imaginary person, tilt your head back with a bite of cake on your tongue, even press a bit of frosting onto your collarbone. Each time, Hyunjin captures the moment with an artist’s precision, his eyes trained on you through the lens.

But at some point, you glance up at him, and for the briefest moment, your eyes meet—not through the camera, but directly. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, something that makes your stomach flutter. You quickly look away, dipping your fingers back into the frosting, pretending you didn’t notice the way Hyunjin swallowed hard before lifting the camera again.

As the shoot winds down, you stretch your arms above your head and let out a content sigh. “That was fun,” you say, glancing at the mess you made. There’s frosting smeared on your fingers, your face, on your chest and you’re sure there’s some in your hair too.

He lowers his camera and looks at you, his lips pressing together as if he’s holding back a smile. “Yeah, fun for you,” he mutters. “I have to clean all this up.”

You grin, swiping a bit more frosting onto your cheek just to be annoying. “Well, you’re the photographer. That’s part of your job, isn’t it?”

Hyunjin sighs, shaking his head, but he grabs a cloth and steps closer. “You’re impossible.”

The warmth of his fingers ghosts over your skin as he wipes the icing from your cheek first, his touch careful and lingering longer than necessary. You stay still, watching him through your lashes as he works his way down—your jaw, the curve of your neck, the dip of your collarbone. His movements are slow, deliberate, and you can’t help but tease him.

“You sure this isn’t part of your job description too?” you murmur, tilting your head slightly.

He briefly stops moving, his eyes flicking to yours. There’s something in his gaze—something warm, something restrained. But then he scoffs, rolling his eyes as he moves to clean the frosting from your hair. “And you have to pay me extra for it.”

You laugh softly, letting him continue. But there’s no denying the shift in the air, the tension settling between you both as his fingers linger just a little too long. Even after he wipes most of the frosting with wet wipes, you feel the remnants of sugar still clinging to your skin. "I need a shower," you announce, already heading toward the bathroom. "Order dinner while I'm in there. Get whatever you want."

Hyunjin, now cleaning the mess on the floor, nods absentmindedly. "Got it."

The sound of running water fills the bathroom as you step inside, letting the warmth wash away the sticky remnants of the shoot. The sweet scent of frosting lingers on your skin, but soon it’s replaced by the familiar comfort of your body wash. You’re halfway through rinsing your hair when you faintly hear Hyunjin’s voice outside the door.

"Hey—what do you want to drink?"

You blink through the water running down your face, unable to make out his words clearly. "What?"

"I said—" His voice comes again, a little louder this time, but still muffled by the sound of the shower.

Sighing, you shake your head. "Just come inside, I can't hear you!"

There’s a pause. A long one. Then, the door creaks open hesitantly. "I'm—uh—I'm coming in," He mumbles, clearly uncomfortable.

You smirk to yourself, picturing the way he must be avoiding looking anywhere but straight ahead. "Relax, it's not like you haven't seen me naked before."

He scoffs but doesn't comment. "I was asking what you want to drink," he says stiffly, keeping his gaze locked on the tiled floor as he stands awkwardly by the sink.

Still grinning to yourself, you peek your head out from behind the shower curtain, water dripping down your face. "Just get me iced tea or something," you say casually.

He glances at you for only a second—before his eyes go wide, and he quickly looks away, his ears turning pink. "Okay—iced tea. Got it."

Before you can tease him further, he spins on his heel and nearly stumbles out of the bathroom, shutting the door a little too quickly behind him. Laughing to yourself, you shake your head and return to your shower, amused at how flustered he still gets around you.

Steam clings to your skin as you step out of the bathroom, your hair damp and dripping onto the collar of your bathrobe. The scent of warm food fills your apartment, making your stomach growl. You pad barefoot toward the kitchen, finding Hyunjin setting out containers of takeout, his sleeves pushed up as he arranges everything neatly. Without hesitation, you reach over and snatch a crispy fry from the plate.

"Hey!" He glares at you, swatting at your hand too late. "At least get dressed first!"

You grin as you pop the fry into your mouth. "Why? Does it bother you?" you tease, clutching your robe loosely around you.

He huffs, narrowing his eyes. "No. It’s just basic hygiene. Also, your hair is dripping everywhere."

You glance down, noticing a few stray droplets landing on the table. Shrugging, you steal another fry. "Guess I'll have to eat fast before I make a mess, then."

He groans, grabbing a napkin and pressing it into your hand. "Go. Dry off, get dressed, and then you can eat like a normal person."

You roll your eyes but turn on your heel, waving a hand as you walk away. "Ugh, okay, fine. But don't eat all the fries before I get back."

The two of you sit across from each other at the small dining table, the scent of fried food and warm rice filling the space between you. With your hair still wrapped in towel, you twirl your chopsticks absentmindedly, picking at your food while Hyunjin quietly eats. The atmosphere is comfortable, a peaceful kind of quiet settling between you both—until he suddenly speaks up.

"So…" He pauses, looking down at his plate before glancing up at you. "How did your meeting with Felix go?"

You stop mid-bite, not expecting him to bring it up. "It went fine," you answer, chewing slowly.

He nods, as if contemplating your answer, before continuing, "And what do you think of the guy?"

You shrug, poking at a piece of chicken. "He's nice."

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to say more. When you don’t, he asks, "So, have you decided? Are you going to collab with him?"

You let out a small sigh, setting your chopsticks down. "I don’t know. I mean, he’s great—charming, professional, all that. But…" You hesitate, searching for the right words. "I’m not fully sure about it yet."

He stays quiet, nodding slowly but a while later, his gaze flickers to you. "Why not?"

You purse your lips, unsure of how to explain it. "I guess… I just don’t jump into things like this. I like to trust the person I work with, and trust takes time, you know?"

He hums in response, stabbing a piece of food with his chopsticks. "Yeah. Makes sense."

As you and Hyunjin clean up after dinner, the rhythmic clinking of dishes and running water fills the room. You pass him a plate to dry, your fingers brushing for a fleeting second before you turn back to the sink. You thought that Hyunjin has dropped the conversation until, out of nowhere, he speaks up. "If you're still considering," he starts, voice casual but careful, "then maybe you should do a test shoot with him."

You glance at him, surprised. "A test shoot?"

Hyunjin nods, keeping his eyes on the dish he’s drying. "Yeah. Just to see if you really have the chemistry. That way, you don’t have to commit right away, and it’ll help you decide."

You lean against the counter, thinking. "I never thought about that…"

"It makes sense, right?" He finally looks at you, his expression neutral, but there’s something in his eyes—something unreadable. "If it works, great. If not, then you won’t waste your time."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, mulling over his words. He has a point. And yet, something about him bringing it up makes you hesitate. "You think I should do it?"

He nonchalantly shrugs. "It’s just a suggestion."

You study him for a moment, trying to gauge what he's really thinking. But his face gives nothing away. Instead of pressing, you nod slowly, wiping your damp hands on a dish towel. "Maybe I will."

The night continues with the two of you settling onto the couch with cans of drinks in hands, checking the result of today's photoshoot. Your laptop balanced between you, the soft glow of the screen lights up your faces as you scroll through the photos. Some shots capture the playful chaos—the smears of icing on your skin, the mischievous glint in your eyes—while others are more poised, effortlessly seductive in a way that even surprises you.

"You did a great job," you say, nudging Hyunjin lightly with your elbow. "They all look amazing."

He hums in acknowledgment, his gaze fixed on the screen. "You made it easy."

A pleased smile tugs at your lips, and as you keep scrolling, a random thought pops into your head. "The cake was delicious by the way. Should stick to that bakery shop." You glance at him. "Which reminds me—what kind do you want for your birthday?"

He freezes for half a second before slowly turning his head to look at you, eyes narrowing. "How do you know when my birthday is?"

You grin sheepishly, caught red-handed. "Uh… I may have accidentally found out when I was at your apartment. Your mail was just sitting there, and I—"

"You went through my mail?" He squints at you, but there’s no real anger in his voice.

"Not on purpose!" you defend yourself, hands up in surrender. "It was just there, and I happened to see it. That’s how I know your birthday is next Friday."

He leans back against the couch, his legs parting apart. "Well, don’t get any ideas. There will be no cake."

You nod dramatically, pressing your lips together in mock seriousness. "No cake. Got it."

But then he narrows his eyes at you again, like he knows exactly what’s going on in your head. "And no gift either."

You gasp and then frown. "No gift? At all?"

"None," he confirms.

You pout, crossing your arms. "How come you don't want anything for your birthday?"

"Because I just don’t," he replies simply, as if that’s enough explanation. "And before you ask, no party either. No surprises, no celebrations, nothing."

You lean back against the couch, tilting your head as you study Hyunjin’s expression. He’s still watching the laptop screen, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe, or hesitation.

With a playful smirk, you decide to test him. "Okay, no cake, no gift, no party," you repeat. "But what if…" You pause, letting the anticipation build before continuing, "what if I was the gift?"

Hyunjin’s entire body stiffens. His eyes widen slightly, and he finally looks at you, clearly caught off guard. "Huh? What?"

You bite back a laugh at how flustered he looks, his ears already turning red. "I mean, if you won’t accept a present, maybe I could be the present," you tease, tilting your head. "Would you accept that?"

Hyunjin blinks rapidly, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to come up with a logical response, but failing miserably.

You scoot a little closer, watching his reaction with amusement. "What’s wrong? You look nervous."

"I’m not," he mutters, but his voice betrays him.

You chuckle. "You’re totally flustered right now."

"I—" Hyunjin abruptly stands up from the couch, nearly knocking over the laptop in his rush. "It’s, uh—getting late. I should go."

You laugh, watching as he practically scrambles to gather his things. "So that’s a no on accepting me as your gift?"

He shoots you a glare, but it’s weak at best, his face still slightly pink. "Goodnight."

With that, he heads straight for the door, leaving you grinning to yourself as you hear it click shut behind him.

You sit in your parked car, drumming your fingers lightly on the steering wheel as you wait for Hyunjin to be done with his class. With nothing else to do, you pull out your phone and open Lustre, skimming through notifications until a new message catches your eye.

mag.shawn: "I’m a little nervous today. I’m meeting someone, and I don’t know how it’ll go. But anyway, I just wanted to say I hope you’re having a lovely day."

You smile softly, touched by his honesty. Without thinking too much, you type out a response.

"I’m sure it’ll go well! Just be yourself, and everything will fall into place. Wishing you the best of luck, and hope you have a lovely day too!"

Just as you send the message, a sudden knock on your window makes you jump. You turn to see Edgar grinning at you through the glass. With a sigh, you roll down the window. "Please don't sneak up on people like that."

Edgar chuckles, resting his arms on the top of your car door. "Sorry, couldn't help myself." He tilts his head. "Waiting for Hyunjin?"

"Yeah," you reply, glancing past him as if you might spot Hyunjin approaching.

"Perfect timing, then," Edgar says, leaning in slightly. "Did you know it's his birthday this Friday?"

You nod. "I do, actually."

His eyebrows raise in mild surprise. "Oh? He told you?"

"Not exactly," you admit. "I found out by accident."

Edgar laughs. "Figures. He’s not the type to bring it up." Then, as if suddenly remembering, he adds, "A few of us are taking him out for drinks that night. Just something chill, nothing crazy. You should come."

You blink at the unexpected invitation. "I—"

"It’s at The Blue Moon, around nine," he continues, not giving you a chance to refuse. "No pressure, but I think he’d be happy if you showed up."

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. "I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try."

"That’s good enough for me," Edgar says, pushing away from your car just as you spot Hyunjin walking toward you.

Edgar gives you one last wink before stepping away, leaving you with a strange feeling as Hyunjin approaches and slides into the passenger seat.

Hyunjin glances toward Edgar, then at you. "What did he want?"

You start the engine, glancing at him with a small smile. "Nothing much."

Hyunjin tosses his backpack to the backseat of the car before putting the safety belt on. “So, where are we meeting him?”

You turn the car engine on and it roars to life. “It’s at this hotel not far from here,” you answer, showing him the route on the GPS.

The elevator dings as you and Hyunjin step into the dimly lit hallway of the hotel, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps. Room 716—you stop in front of the door and knock twice.

Within seconds, the door swings open, revealing Felix on the other side. His warm smile is the first thing you notice, followed by the familiar brightness in his honey-brown eyes. His long bleached-blond hair is tied back loosely, a few strands framing his sharp yet inviting features.

"Hey, you made it," he greets, pulling you into a brief but firm hug that smells like vanilla and something subtly musky.

"Of course," you reply, pulling back with a small smile. You turn slightly to gesture to Hyunjin. "And this is Hyunjin—my photographer. He’s the man behind all those amazing photos."

Felix’s eyes flicker to Hyunjin, and he extends a hand. "Nice to finally meet you. Your work is incredible."

Hyunjin shakes his hand but remains quiet, only offering a polite nod. You can tell he’s reserved, but you’re not sure if it’s because he’s just naturally like that or because of the situation.

You clear your throat and turn back to Felix. "So, I just want to make it clear—this is a test shoot. Just to see how well we work together, how the chemistry flows. No pressure."

Felix’s lips curve into a confident smile, his gaze holding yours as he playfully responds, "Oh, I don't feel pressured at all."

His words hang in the air for a second longer than necessary, and you glance at Hyunjin, who remains expressionless, his camera bag slung over his shoulder. Something about this moment makes your stomach flutter—but whether it’s excitement or nerves, you can’t quite tell.

The soft click of Hyunjin’s camera echoes through the hotel room as you and Felix stand near the edge of the bed, facing each other under the warm glow of the studio light he set up.

Felix shifts beside you, then pauses, tilting his head. “Is it okay if I touch you?” His voice is gentle, respectful, his dark eyes searching yours for permission.

You nod, offering a small smile. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

With that, Felix lifts his hand, fingertips grazing your wrist before sliding up to your elbow, guiding you subtly closer. The two of you hold the pose, looking into each other’s eyes and he looks at you in a way that makes you feel nervous that you can’t help the way your lips twitch, and after a few seconds, you burst into laughter, flustered.

“Sorry, sorry!” you gasp, covering your mouth as you glance at Hyunjin, who lowers his camera slightly, his expression unreadable.

Felix chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re cute when you get flustered.”

The photoshoot continues, Felix adjusting his stance, letting his touches remain light and respectful—a hand on your waist, fingers grazing your jaw as if to brush imaginary strands of hair away. Hyunjin keeps clicking, staying quiet as he captures each moment.

Between shots, Felix leans in, his voice just above a whisper. “You have the prettiest smile,” he murmurs.

You blush, biting your lip as you try to hold your pose.

Another click of the camera. “Your skin is so soft.”

You giggle, shaking your head slightly as the warmth in your cheeks deepens. Felix just grins, enjoying your reaction. The camera keeps clicking, capturing every moment—but you can’t help but wonder what’s going through Hyunjin’s mind right now.

“That’s enough for now,” Hyunjin suddenly announces, lowering the camera from his face. His voice is steady, but something in his chest feels tight, like he’s been holding his breath for too long.

You turn to look at him, blinking as if pulled from a daze, while Felix exhales a soft hum, tilting his head in thought.

“Actually,” Felix says, still holding onto your waist, “Can we try one more thing?”

Before you can ask, Felix glances down at you, his eyes glinting with mischief. “How about a kiss?”

The camera in his hands acts as a barrier, separating him from the scene unfolding in front of him. But it doesn't stop him from seeing everything—the way Felix holds you so effortlessly, the way you laugh when Felix murmurs something in your ear, the way your body relaxes against his touch.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why he’s noticing these things. He shouldn’t be. But as he adjusts the focus, framing the next shot, he can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t belong here—like he’s intruding on something intimate, something that doesn’t need a spectator.

It’s ridiculous. He’s here for work. Nothing else. Still, he feels like a third wheel.

Felix and you—you make sense together. Felix is confident, charming, a natural in front of the camera. He knows how to play up the chemistry, how to draw reactions from you that look effortlessly beautiful through the lens.

Hyunjin, on the other hand—he’s just behind the camera. A quiet observer.

And when Felix suddenly suggests a kiss, the thought cements itself deep in his stomach.

Hyunjin stills and you freeze, eyes widening as you pull back slightly. “What?”

“A kiss,” Felix repeats, like he’s merely suggesting a new camera angle. “Just a light one. I think it would look great in the photos. Plus—” he smirks now, “—it's how we know for sure if we have that chemistry.”

Hyunjin swallows hard, fingers twitching over the shutter button on the camera. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much—the way Felix is looking at you, the casual way he suggests kissing you, as if it’s nothing more than another pose to try.

You, on the other hand, look completely flustered. “I—” You glance at Hyunjin for a fraction of a second before looking back at Felix, hesitating.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything. He just waits. And after a moment of silence, you crack a sheepish laugh and nod.

You and Felix are now sitting on the end of the bed and Hyunjin presses record. The camera’s screen frames the moment perfectly—too perfectly. Felix starts slow, his fingers tucking every stray strand of hair away from your face with a tenderness that makes Hyunjin’s stomach knot. Then, Felix’s hands cradle your jaw, his thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones.

“You’re comfortable, right?” Felix murmurs, his voice so soft that the mic barely picks it up. He doesn’t move forward just yet, just holds you like he has all the time in the world. “You can stop me whenever, yeah?”

You nod, swallowing.

Felix smiles—gentle, reassuring. “You have such beautiful eyes.” Then, he tilts forward—but not toward your lips. Instead, he kisses the corner of your eye.

Hyunjin remains calm but his grip tightens on the camera. The way you suck in a sharp breath, your lashes fluttering at the unexpected touch—it’s too much to watch through the lens. But before you can react, Felix does it again, placing a kiss on the other eye.

The moment is intimate, more than Hyunjin expected. And yet, his hands don’t lower the camera. And then—before you can process it—Felix finally presses his lips to your slightly parted mouth. It’s gentle at first. Barely there. Just the soft press of his lips against yours, his hands steady on your face as if holding something delicate. Hyunjin feels something crawl up his throat as he keeps his hands steady.

Felix pulls back, searching your gaze. “Can I continue?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You blink up at him, wide-eyed, lips slightly parted. And then—you nod.

Hyunjin swears he sees the exact moment Felix’s expression changes—from gentle to something else entirely. Because this time, when Felix kisses you again, it’s deeper. More insistent. He watches—forced to watch—as the kiss grows, slow and unhurried, but still more intense with every second.

Felix tilts his head, his fingers slipping down to your neck, pressing you closer. Your hands finally move, fingers clutching at his sleeves.

Hyunjin doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the burning in his chest forces him to exhale and for the first time since picking up a camera, he wishes he wasn’t here. He clears his throat. Loud enough. Sharp enough. Enough to cut through whatever moment was unfolding between you and Felix.

“That’s enough,” he says, his voice flat, carefully void of emotion. He lowers the camera, stopping the recording. “I got what we needed.”

But Felix—he doesn’t let go. Instead, he keeps his hands steady on you, his thumbs absently brushing the skin of your jaw. His gaze lingers on your lips, like he’s not ready to pull away just yet. Then, finally, a slow grin spreads across his face.

“You’re a good kisser,” he muses, his voice low, filled with something teasing but also… something else.

It takes you a second to react, like you’re only just registering what happened. Your eyes widen and warmth spreads across your face.

Felix chuckles at your flustered expression, his hands finally releasing you. “You okay?” he asks, amusement lacing his tone.

Despite still dazed, still feeling the ghost of his lips on yours, you nod. You scoot to the edge of the bed, walking toward Hyunjin.

“Can I take a quick look on the photos?”

The three of you sit together on the sofa, scrolling through the shots and the video, the room quiet except for the occasional click of Hyunjin’s camera as he reviews the footage.

Felix leans in slightly, his shoulder brushing against yours. Then, softly, just for you to hear, he mutters, “Told you. We have chemistry.”

You glance at him, catching the smirk playing on his lips. It’s confident—almost knowing. You exhale a small laugh, shaking your head, but you don’t deny it.

Felix leans back, stretching. “So, how about I treat you both dinner? My way of saying thanks.”

You smile but shake your head. “I appreciate it, but we should get going.”

Felix pouts dramatically. “Not even a quick bite?”

“I’ll take a rain check,” you say. “Besides, you have another shoot, right?”

Felix sighs, pretending to be put out, but there’s an amused glint in his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Work never stops.”

You stand, and Felix follows suit. Before you leave, he pulls you into a quick, warm hug, his arms squeezing lightly around your shoulders.

“I’ll be waiting for your call,” he murmurs.

You smile. “I’ll think about it.”

Felix tugs at your elbow and says, “Any kind of call.”

You smile as you step back, and as you turn toward the door, Hyunjin—who had remained noticeably quiet—only gives Felix a brief, wordless nod before heading out.

During the car ride home, Hyunjin keeps his eyes on the road ahead, but his mind is elsewhere. He glances at you briefly before saying, “I have to admit, I was a little surprised you turned down the dinner.”

You smirk, keeping your eyes on the road. “Oh? Are you disappointed?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “No. Just… surprised.”

“Well, if you want, I can buy you dinner instead,” you offer, sparing him a quick glance. “But I can’t tonight. I have somewhere to be.”

That piques his curiosity. He tilts his head slightly. “Where?”

You only smile mysteriously. “That’s a secret.”

Hyunjin narrows his eyes at you, watching as you pull up in front of the apartment building. Before he can ask again, you unlock the doors, silently telling him to get out. He hesitates for a second, still wondering where you’re going, but he knows you won’t tell him even if he asks. With a sigh, he steps out of the car and carries his backpack in hand.

“See you later,” you playfully say to him just before he shuts the car door

As you drive away, Hyunjin stands there, hands in his pockets, watching your car disappear down the street and he can’t help but wonder.

Hyunjin has never liked celebrating his birthday. It’s not that he hates it—it’s just another day to him, one that he doesn’t see the need to make a big deal out of. Growing up, birthdays were quiet affairs, just a simple meal with his family, sometimes a cake if his mom had the time. Now that he’s older, he prefers to let the day pass without much attention. No parties, no gifts, no unnecessary fuss.

So when his class ends and he slings his bag over his shoulder, he’s already planning a quiet evening—maybe sketching, maybe watching something mindless until he falls asleep.

But as soon as he turns the corner, Edgar is waiting for him, grinning like he’s up to something. “There you are! Come on, we’re heading out.”

Hyunjin tightens his grip on the strap of his backpack. “Heading where?”

Before he can take a step back, Edgar throws an arm around his shoulders, steering him toward the exit. Two more of their friends appear, flanking him on either side like bodyguards.

“The bar, of course!” one of them chimes in.

Hyunjin groans, knowing well what Edgar planned for him. “I didn’t say I was going—”

“Too bad,” Edgar cuts him off. “We’re celebrating your birthday, and you don’t get a say in it.”

Hyunjin sighs, already regretting not taking a different route out of the building. “You guys planned this?”

“Obviously,” Edgar says, rolling his eyes. “Did you really think we’d let your birthday pass without doing anything?”

That’s exactly what Hyunjin had hoped for. But seeing the determined looks on his friends’ faces, he knows there’s no escaping this. “Fine,” he mutters. “One drink.”

Edgar smirks. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what they all say.”

With that, they drag him out of the building, and Hyunjin resigns himself to the fact that his quiet night is officially ruined.

The second you step into the bar, you weave through the crowd, scanning the room until your eyes land on Hyunjin. He’s standing by the bar, drinks in both hands, his expression neutral as he waits for the bartender to return with the rest of the order.

A smile tugs at your lips as an idea forms. Without a second thought, you close the distance between you and, just as he turns slightly, you throw your arms around him from behind. “Got you!”

Hyunjin tenses for half a second, startled, and nearly spills the drinks in his hands. You hear a sharp inhale, a quiet grunt of protest, but before he can say anything, you take full advantage of the fact that his hands are full. Leaning in, you press a quick, sweet kiss to his cheek.

“Happy birthday!” You cheerfully whisper into his ear and you can feel his whole body stiffens in reaction.

You pull back just enough to look at him, grinning as you meet his eyes. He stares at you, his lips slightly parted, clearly caught off guard. The dim lighting of the bar does nothing to hide the way his ears redden.

Hyunjin shifts the drinks in his hands and glances at you, still looking slightly flustered from the surprise hug and kiss. “Why are you here?” he asks, his tone more curious than accusatory.

Before you can answer, he exhales sharply and mutters, “Wait. Let me guess—Edgar?”

You grin and nod, confirming his guess. Right on cue, Edgar appears beside the two of you, a wide smile on his face as he claps Hyunjin on the back before turning his attention to you. “You made it! I knew you wouldn’t miss it.”

You chuckle. “I wouldn't miss a little fun.”

“Now, what are you drinking?” Edgar gestures towards the bar. “First round’s on me.”

Before you can reply, you shoot Hyunjin a playful look. “See? Edgar’s offering me a drink. Meanwhile, the birthday boy didn’t even ask.”

Hyunjin scoffs, rolling his eyes as he finally sets the drinks down on the table nearby. “You showed unannounced and ambushed me. You barely gave me a chance.”

You scoff and dramatically roll your eyes at Hyunjin. “Excuses.”

Edgar laughs. “Alright, alright, let me get you something. What’s your poison?”

The bar is alive with laughter and clinking glasses, everyone in high spirits as they celebrate Hyunjin’s birthday. The moment someone starts singing the birthday song, the rest of the group drunkenly joins in, their voices off-key and words slurred from all the alcohol.

Hyunjin groans, lifting a hand. “God! Please, shut up already.” His protest only makes them sing louder, and you laugh as you watch him shake his head in defeat.

Once the song ends with a chaotic cheer, the night continues with games, and somehow, you and Hyunjin end up locked in an intense match of darts. The two of you stand side by side, taking turns as the others watch and place bets on who will win.

“You’re going down,” you tease, lining up your shot before releasing the dart. It lands close to the bullseye, and you turn to Hyunjin with a smug smile.

Hyunjin clicks his tongue, picking up his dart. “We’ll see about that.”

He lines up his shot, eyes locked on the dartboard with unwavering focus. His fingers grip the dart, his stance firm as he calculates the perfect angle.

Smirking to yourself, you step closer, just enough to lean in near his ear. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you blow a soft puff of air against his skin.

Hyunjin instantly flinches, his body jerking as a shudder runs through him. “What the—?!” His grip on the dart slips, and it flies off-course, landing embarrassingly far from the bullseye.

You burst into laughter, covering your mouth as you watch him slowly turn to glare at you.

“That was sabotage,” he mutters, jaw tightening as he runs a hand through his hair.

Before he can even think about payback, your phone buzzes in your pocket, pulling your attention away. You look at it to check caller ID. “I need to take this,” you say, stepping back.

Hyunjin watches you go, still looking slightly flustered, a dart in hand, but his eyes linger on you for a moment before he finally turns back to the game.

Stepping out of the bar, you take a deep breath of the cool night air. The muffled sounds of laughter and music fade as you slip into the quieter back alley, away from the chaos inside. You glance at your phone screen before swiping to answer.

"Finally," Felix sighs dramatically on the other end. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

You smirk, leaning against the brick wall. "And what if I was?"

"Then I'd have no choice but to call you every hour until you gave in," he teases, his voice warm and playful.

You roll your eyes. "You sound desperate."

"Of course, I’m desperate," he admits easily. "You still haven’t called me back. A lesser man would take the hint, but not me."

"You’re persistent," you muse.

"And charming," he adds smoothly. "And funny. And—"

"Annoying?" you finish for him.

Felix gasps in mock offense. "I was going to say irresistible, but sure, let’s go with annoying."

You chuckle. "Did you even call to talk about the collab at all?"

Felix hums. "Nope. I called because I wanted to."

Your stomach flutters slightly at his honesty, but you keep your voice light. "How bold of you."

"Always." He pauses, then asks, "So, when can I see you again?"

"As a good girl, I have to refuse the first time," you say teasingly. "You have to ask me again in two days."

Felix groans. "Two days? That’s cruel."

"You’ll live," you reply with a smirk.

"Fine," he grumbles. "But can I at least call you tomorrow?"

You pretend to consider. "You can… but I can’t promise you that I’ll pick it up."

Felix lets out a dramatic sigh. "Playing hard to get. I see how it is."

You grin. "Goodnight, Felix."

"Sweet dreams, beautiful," he replies smoothly before the call ends.

Your heart is still racing as you turn back toward the bar’s entrance, shaking off the uneasy feeling that Felix’s call had left behind.

Just as you’re about to step inside, you nearly bump into Edgar. The smell of alcohol clings to him, and his smile is loose, his movements sluggish. "There you are," he says, his voice slightly slurred. "I was looking for you."

You force a small smile. "I just stepped out to take a phone call." You move to walk past him, but before you can, he grabs your wrist.

"Stay with me for a bit," he says.

Your shoulders stiffen. He’s drunk—you can see it in his unfocused eyes. Keeping your distance, you shake your head. "I'd better go back inside."

Edgar frowns. "Hey, come on, just stay with me for a minute."

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to play it off. "I don’t want to make Hyunjin waits."

But then, before you can step back, Edgar’s grip tightens, and he pulls you closer. You freeze. "Edgar, please let go," you say firmly, trying to pull away.

Instead, he pulls you in even tighter, his face dangerously close to yours. "Come on, why are you so shy?" he chuckles.

You twist in his grip, but he only holds you tighter. Your stomach churns with unease. "You’re drunk," you tell him, keeping your voice as calm as possible. "Please, let me go."

Edgar only smirks. "Just one kiss."

You shove him—hard. He stumbles back, his back hitting the stacked crates of empty beer bottles. For a second, you think it’s over, but then he looks at you, his expression darkening. "How much?"

Your brows knotted. "What?"

Edgar tilts his head. "How much should I pay you for a kiss?"

Disgust and disbelief surge through you. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

He scoffs. "Don’t play dumb. I know who you are." His voice drops lower, more sinister. "So how much to fuck you?"

Your body goes rigid, the word alone making your skin crawl. "You're disgusting."

Before you can move, Edgar lunges toward you. Your back slams against the brick wall as he pins you there, his hands gripping your arms. Panic flares in your chest. You struggle, trying to push him off, but he’s stronger than you expected. "Get off me!"

And then, suddenly—The back door flies open with a loud bang.

"Get the fuck off her!"

Hyunjin’s voice is sharp, furious. He’s standing in the doorway, his whole body tense, his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes burn with anger as he takes in the scene before him—Edgar pinning you against the wall, your expression twisted in fear.

Edgar only scoffs, barely glancing at Hyunjin. "Relax, man—"

Before he can finish, Hyunjin strides forward and roughly grabs him by the shoulders, yanking him away from you and shoving him backward. Edgar stumbles, cursing.

Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate—he turns to you, his expression shifting. He reaches out, his hand grasping yours, pulling you up and steadying you. His touch is gentle despite the rage in his eyes.

Then Edgar laughs, low and taunting. "Why are you friends with a whore like her?"

The words hit like a slap and it makes something in Hyunjin snaps. He lunges at Edgar, landing a hard punch straight to his face. Edgar barely has time to process it before Hyunjin punches him again—once, twice. Edgar collapses onto the ground, but Hyunjin doesn’t stop. He gets down, grabbing Edgar by the collar, and raises his fist again.

"Hyunjin!" you cry, rushing forward.

Hyunjin is still breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements. His fists remain clenched, his knuckles already turning red from the force of his punches. Edgar groans on the ground, a hand pressed to his bleeding nose, but Hyunjin doesn’t seem satisfied yet. His body is still tense, ready to throw another punch.

Without thinking, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, holding him back. "Hyunjin," you plead, your voice quiet but urgent. "Please stop."

His whole body is trembling, heat radiating off him, but at your touch, his breathing hitches. He doesn’t move right away, as if still caught in the grip of his anger.

You tighten your hold, pressing your cheek against his back. "Let’s just go," you murmur.

Hyunjin’s fists slowly loosen. His breath is still uneven, but the tension in his body begins to ease. For a moment, neither of you move. The only sound is Edgar’s groaning and the distant noise of the bar inside. Then, finally, Hyunjin lets out a slow, shaky breath and nods.

You release him, stepping back just enough to see his face. His jaw is tight, his eyes still burning with anger, but he’s calming down. He turns away from Edgar without another glance. You take his hand—gently, reassuringly—and lead him away.

Hyunjin sits on the couch, his hand resting in yours as you carefully dab at his bruised knuckles with a damp cloth. His skin is raw, swollen, and angry-looking, but he barely flinches. Instead, he watches you. The way your brows knit together in concentration, the way your lips press into a tight line, the way your hands—gentle yet firm—move with such care.

“You shouldn’t have fought him,” you murmur, your voice laced with both scolding and concern. “What if you seriously hurt your hand? What if you couldn’t paint anymore?”

Hyunjin has been trying to hold himself together, trying to push down the emotions still swirling inside him, but hearing you go on and on about him—worrying about him instead of yourself—something inside him snaps.

"Why do you keep worrying about me?" he suddenly bursts out, his voice sharp. “You should worry about yourself!”

He immediately regrets it the moment the words leave his mouth. He watches as your lips part slightly, your breath hitching, and then—your eyes get red. His heart clenches.

Shit.

He inhales, forcing himself to calm down before his voice softens. "Are you okay?"

Your gaze wavers as you stare at him. For a second, it seems like you’re trying to hold it together, but then, barely above a whisper, you shake your head. "Honestly, no," you admit as tears spill from your eyes, "I'm not okay."

He reaches for you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. You don’t resist—instead, you bury yourself against him, your shoulders shaking as you finally let yourself break. He holds you tight. "It’s okay," he murmurs. "I’ve got you."

The two of you stay like that with Hyunjin holding you close as if he tries to absorb part of you sadness. He doesn’t let go even as your sobs quiet, even as your breathing evens out, he keeps holding you, his arms wrapped securely around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip. His hand moves gently over your hair, smoothing it down, while his other rubs slow circles against your back. He doesn’t say anything—he just lets you cry, lets you release everything you’ve been holding in.

Minutes pass like this, the silence filled only by your uneven breaths. Then, finally, you stir against him. You pull back just enough to look at him, your face still wet with tears, eyes glassy and tired. Hyunjin meets your gaze, his heart aching at the vulnerability written all over your face.

"Can you stay with me tonight?" you ask, your voice small, fragile.

Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate as he nods. "Of course," he says softly.

Your lips tremble, but you manage a tiny, grateful smile.

He brushes his thumb over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "Come on," he murmurs, guiding you gently toward your bedroom. "Let’s get you to bed."

You and Hyunjin lie side by side on your bed, neither of you saying anything at first. Just breathing, just existing in the same space. Then, after a while, you break the silence.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

He turns his head slightly, though he can barely make out your face in the dim light. "For what?"

"For… causing what happened."

At that, Hyunjin tenses. He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, all you can hear is the faint hum of the city outside. Then, finally, he exhales.

"Why are you apologizing for getting assaulted?" His voice is quiet, but there’s a sharp edge to it, like he’s trying to hold back his frustration. "That wasn’t your fault."

You don’t say anything, just stare up at the ceiling.

"If anything, what happened only showed me what kind of person Edgar really is," he continues. "And I don’t want to be friends with someone like that."

Silence settles between you again. Then, after a long pause, you shift closer to him. He feels the mattress dip under your weight, feels the warmth of your body inching toward him. When he looks over, he catches the faint gleam of your eyes in the dark, watching him.

Then, softly, you whisper his name. "Hyunjin."

He hums in acknowledgment. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," you say, your voice barely more than a breath.

Hyunjin swallows. He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just nods, even though you probably can’t see it. Another stretch of silence follows, before you whisper again, "Goodnight."

He watches as your breathing evens out, your body relaxing as sleep slowly takes over. He tells himself he’ll leave once you’re asleep. He should go. He should get up, go back to his own apartment, and try to put everything that happened tonight behind him. But he doesn’t move. He stays.

Hyunjin wakes up to the unfamiliar weight of a blanket draped over him and the soft glow of morning light kissing his skin. His mind is slow to catch up, disoriented by the unfamiliar scent of the sheets and the way the bed feels different from his own. Then it hits him—he’s in your apartment. His eyes snap open fully, and he turns his head toward the space beside him, only to find it empty. The warmth lingering on the sheets tells him you must have been there not too long ago.

Hyunjin sits up, running a hand through his messy hair as he blinks away the remnants of sleep. His body feels heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the events of last night. Still, he forces himself to get up, his movements sluggish as he fumbles out of bed.

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. He steps out of your bedroom, his bare feet padding against the floor as he looks around. His gaze sweeps over the small living space, searching for you. For a second, a strange unease creeps up his spine—until he finally spots you.

You’re perched on the window sill, one knee pulled up to your chest, a steaming mug of coffee resting in your hands. You look lost in thought, your gaze fixed outside, watching the world slowly wake up.

He lingers in the doorway, unsure if he should say something or if he should just leave quietly. But then, as if sensing his presence, you slowly turn your head to the side.

Your eyes meet his, and then, just like that, you smile—soft and warm, like the morning itself. "Good morning," you greet, your voice still laced with sleep.

Hyunjin debating whether he should stay or make up an excuse to leave. But before he can make a decision, you tilt your head toward the kitchen.

“Are you hungry?” you ask, taking another sip of your coffee.

He shakes his head almost immediately. “I should probably go—”

Before he can finish, you slide off the window sill, setting your mug down on the counter. “At least have some breakfast first.”

Hyunjin hesitates. He’s not really in the mood to eat, but before he can refuse, you’re already walking toward him, placing a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder as you steer him toward the dining table.

“Sit,” you say, your tone leaving no room for argument.

He exhales through his nose but doesn’t fight it, dropping himself onto the chair. His fingers drum idly against the tabletop as he watches you move around the kitchen.

A few moments later, you place a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. “Here. This should help wake you up.”

He glances at you, then at the cup. He hesitates for a second before finally wrapping his fingers around it, letting the warmth seep into his palms. He takes a slow sip, the bitterness grounding him a little.

You smile in satisfaction. “Good. Now sit tight while I make breakfast.”

Hyunjin hadn’t planned to stay, but now, with a warm meal in front of him and the air feeling oddly peaceful, he finds himself grateful that you insisted. As he takes the last bite of his toast, he feels your gaze on him. He glances up and catches you staring, your expression unreadable. His brow lifts slightly.

“What?” he asks, setting his fork down.

You hesitate, like you’re debating something internally, before finally reaching for something on the chair next to you. Hyunjin watches as you pick up a small, neatly wrapped package and place it on the table between you. His eyes flicker to the gift, then back to you.

“I didn’t get the chance to give this to you last night,” you explain, sliding it toward him.

“You got me a gift?” His voice comes out more hesitant than he intended.

Before he can say anything else, you quickly add, “I didn’t spend much money on it or anything. I made it myself.”

That catches his attention. His fingers twitch against his coffee cup as he stares at the package. He hesitates to reach for it, unsure if he deserves something so thoughtful. Seeing his reluctance, you gently nudge it closer. “Go on. Open it.”

He swallows, then carefully picks it up and begins unwrapping it. His fingers move slowly, peeling back the wrapping until he uncovers a leather-bound case. He unfolds it, his curiosity piqued when he sees the compartments inside. It takes him a moment to process—until realization dawns on him. It’s a paintbrush case. He runs his fingers over the stitching, taking in the effort that went into it.

Before he can say anything, you quickly interject, “I know it’s not perfect—”

“I like it,” He cuts you off, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. His eyes meet yours, sincere and unguarded. “Thank you.”

Hyunjin barely has any words left to say after that. He just sits there, running his fingers over the smooth leather of the paintbrush case, admiring the craftsmanship and the effort you put into it. Every stitch, every fold—it’s clear that you made this with him in mind. He doesn’t know how to express what he’s feeling, so instead, he keeps his gaze on the gift, hoping you understand his silence for what it is: gratitude.

A smile slowly blooms on your face at his words, and something warm unfurls in his chest at the sight. Then, you break the quiet, your voice gentle but casual. “And don’t forget that we have that shoot tomorrow.”

He looks up at you, your expression easy and composed, as if nothing had happened the night before. His brows furrow slightly. “Shouldn’t you be… slowing down and maybe take a break?”

You shake your head and absentmindedly stabbing pieces of scrambled egg with your fork. “Nah. Making content takes my mind off things.”

Hyunjin watches you for a moment, studying the way you say it so lightly, like you’re brushing everything off as if last night didn’t shake you to your core. He wants to say something—maybe push you to take a break, to take care of yourself—but he can tell you don’t want to talk about it. He still doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but if this is what you want, he won’t argue. So instead, he just nods. “Alright.”

The air still humming with the energy of the shoot as you lie on your stomach on the thin mattress, your bare legs lazily swinging behind you as you scroll through Lustre notifications. The sheets beneath you are slightly rumpled from all the movement earlier.

Hyunjin is across the room, busy checking the result of the shoot. You let yourself get lost in your notifications, tapping through comments and messages until one catches your eye.

mag.shawn: I really liked your new set. You look beautiful as always. But I think what I love the most is your smile. Whenever I see it, it makes me wish for you to always be happy. That way, I get to see you smile every day.

There's something about his message feels different from the usual compliments you receive—more genuine, maybe. Less about desire and more about… you.

You: That’s really sweet. Thank you for your message. I appreciate it.

You hit send and glance up, only to find Hyunjin standing by the tripod, watching you with an unreadable expression. You don’t know how long he’s been looking.

“What?” you ask, propping your chin on your hand.

He shakes his head, turning away to grab his jacket. “Nothing.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, tilting your head at him, “Dinner?”

“Sure, I'll order,” he calmly responds, taking his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and begins tapping on it.

“And how about we watch a movie after?” you ask out of a whim.

Hyunjin looks up from his phone to look at you and casually says, “Sure.”

The soft glow of the living room lamps mixes with the flickering light from the movie playing on the screen, creating a cozy atmosphere. Hyunjin sits on the sofa, his plate resting on his lap as he absentmindedly takes small bites of his cake. His plan had been simple—stay a little longer to keep you company, maybe distract you for a while. But somewhere between the hearty dinner, and now, sitting here in the warmth of your apartment with you beside him, he realizes something he hadn’t expected. He’s enjoying himself.

It’s not just the food or the movie, though both are nice. It’s the easy, unspoken comfort of the moment. The way you’re curled up next to him, completely immersed in the film, your spoon slowly scraping against the plate as you savor each bite. The occasional hum of satisfaction you make. The way he feels… at ease. He had meant to leave. He always does after the shoots. But now, he isn’t in a hurry.

You suddenly nudge him with your elbow, breaking him out of his thoughts. “It's good, right?” you motion toward his plate.

He glances down at the half-eaten slice of cake before looking back at you. A small smirk tugs at his lips. “Yeah. It’s good.”

Then your phone rings, shattering the comfortable silence. You don’t hesitate to pick it up, casually bringing it to your ear as if you’ve been expecting the call. At first, he doesn’t think much of it, keeping his focus on the movie, but then he can't help but catches glimpses of the conversation.

Your voice, soft and teasing, the slight lilt in your tone as you speak. A light chuckle here, a playful hum there. It doesn’t take much for him to piece together the kind of conversation you’re having.

He doesn’t want to care. He really doesn’t. So he keeps his eyes on the screen. By the time you finally hang up and set your phone aside, he barely lasts a second before blurting out, “Who was that?”

You glance at him, completely unbothered. “Felix.”

He keeps his expression neutral as he asks, “What did he want?”

“He asked if I’ve decided about the collab yet,” you say, stretching your arms above your head before settling back against the pillows.

Hyunjin hesitates before asking, “And… do you want to do it?”

“I think it’s a good opportunity to start something new.”

He frowns. “After what happened?”

You sigh, knowing exactly what he’s referring to. “I know,” you meekly admit.

“Then do you have to do it?”

“Not necessarily,” you say, meeting his gaze. “But I can’t just keep doing the same content and expect a different result.”

He exhales through his nose, still uneasy. “Do you trust him enough to do this with him?”

A small smile plays on your lips as you tilt your head. “The only man I trust to do this with is you.”

And then, before he can even process that, you add, “But since you obviously don’t want to, that means I don't exactly have any options.”

“Let’s do it.” The words slip out of him before he can stop them.

You freeze for a second. “What?”

He swallows, his grip tightening around his plate. “Do it with me.”

You stare at him for a second before laughing, shaking your head as if he just told the funniest joke. "Yeah, right," you scoff, waving a hand dismissively.

But Hyunjin doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even crack a smile. His expression remains serious, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your laughter waver. “I mean it,” he says, setting his plate down. “I want to do it.”

You arch a brow, still unconvinced. “You? Hyunjin, are you actually serious?”

“Yes,” he insists. “If you want, we can do it now.”

That only makes you laugh harder. “Oh my God, stop,” you say, pressing a hand against your forehead. “This is funny, okay, you've got me.”

His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of offense crossing his features. His brows pull together as he watches you laugh at him. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” you chuckle, wiping at your eyes. “You saying all that with a straight face.”

He exhales sharply. “I don’t see what’s so funny about it.”

You sigh, finally regaining your composure, and shake your head with a small smile. “Even if you want to do it, we can’t just jump into it immediately.”

“Why not?” he challenges, tilting his head.

You lean forward slightly, resting your elbow on your knee. “Because,” you say, meeting his gaze, “there’s something else you have to do first.”

You remember, almost absentmindedly, that your friend’s wedding is this weekend. The realization comes as you sip your morning coffee, scrolling through your phone. A few mutual friends have posted about their excitement—outfit choices, travel plans, well wishes.

That’s when you glance toward the kitchen counter and spot the wedding invitation, half-buried beneath a pile of unopened mail. You set your mug down and pick it up, running your fingers over the elegant gold lettering. The date is clear. It’s happening in just a few days.

But instead of excitement, a heavy feeling settles in your chest. The memory of their engagement party resurfaces, uninvited. The way the night had ended for you. The way you had driven home with a lump in your throat, gripping the wheel too tightly. The way you had collapsed onto your bed, drowning in emotions you couldn’t quite name. You exhale sharply and set the invitation down. You already know your answer. You’re not going.

Turning away, you head toward your closet, pulling out the dress you had bought specifically for the occasion. It’s still in its garment bag, tags still attached—a waste, really. You take it out, letting the fabric slip between your fingers, admiring it for a moment before shaking your head. There’s no point in keeping it now.

Grabbing your phone, you check the return policy. Still eligible. Good. You drape the dress over your arm, grab your keys, and head for the door.

The store is far from crowded when you arrive. You step inside, the dress slung over your shoulder, and make your way straight to the customer service counter. A staff member greets you with a polite smile, and you return it as you place the garment bag onto the counter. “I’d like to return this,” you say, unzipping the bag to reveal the dress inside.

She nods and begins the process, asking for your receipt. As you dig through your bag, you hear footsteps approaching the counter beside you. Then, a familiar voice. “Uh—same here, actually.”

You freeze for a second before turning your head to the side. And there he is—Felix, standing next to you, looking just as surprised to see you. He’s holding a neatly folded tie, still in its box. His brows raise. “What are you doing here?”

You gesture toward the dress on the counter. “Returning this. You?”

A small laugh escapes him. “Returning this,” he says, lifting the tie slightly.

Before you can say anything else, the staff member turns her attention back to you. “May I know what’s the reason for the return?”

You hesitate, not exactly in the mood to explain the real reason behind it. Instead, you go for the easy answer. “I... don’t really like the cut.”

The staff nods, then looks at Felix. “And how about you?”

Felix grins, eyes glinting with mischief as he shrugs. “Yeah, same. Don’t really like the cut.”

It takes a second for the words to settle in before you both burst into laughter. The staff watches, clearly amused but keeping professional as she processes the returns. You shake your head, still chuckling, as Felix leans slightly against the counter. “Guess we both had second thoughts,” he muses, still grinning.

You and Felix found a cozy café not far from the store, the two of you sit by the window, your drinks in hand, watching people pass by outside.

Felix stirs his iced coffee lazily, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “You know,” he starts, “I’ve been holding myself back from calling you again.”

You raise an eyebrow, sipping your drink. “Oh? Now I can't help but think that maybe returning your tie was just an excuse to see me.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Damn, you caught me.” Then, with a small sigh, he leans back in his chair, fingers tapping against the side of his cup. “But for real, my mom’s been pushing me to go to these job interviews. That’s actually why she got me the tie.”

You tilt your head. “Job interviews? For what?”

“Office jobs. Boring ones,” he says, rolling his eyes. “The kind where you sit at a desk all day and pretend to care about spreadsheets and meetings.” He takes a sip of his coffee before continuing. “I know she means well, but it’s just not for me.”

You nod in understanding. “So, you didn’t even go?”

“Nah,” he admits, grinning unapologetically before adorablg scrunches his nose. “I told her I’d think about it, but I don’t really want to. I like what I do. I don’t care what people think about it. It makes me money, I enjoy it, and that’s enough for me.”

Hearing that, you feel a flicker of understanding settle in your chest. You know exactly what he means. “Yeah,” you murmur, tapping your fingers against your cup. “I get that.”

Felix props his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you. "And how about you? Why’d you really return the dress?" he asks casually before taking another sip of his coffee.

You shrug, keeping your tone light. "Didn’t like the color."

He hums, unconvinced. "All colors suit you. Please find a better answer. "

You roll your eyes at him but let out a small laugh. He sees right through you. There’s no point in dodging the question, so you sigh, setting your cup down. "Fine," you admit. "It’s for a wedding this weekend… my friend's wedding."

Felix nods slowly, waiting for you to continue.

"I was supposed to go," you say, fingers tracing the rim of your cup. "But I think I'd better not."

His expression shifts slightly, more attentive now. "Why?"

You exhale, looking out the café window for a moment. "I went to their engagement part and it wasn’t exactly a fun experience for me," you say with a wry smile. "People whispering, looking at me like I don’t belong there, some even making comments loud enough for me to hear. I just…" You shake your head. "I don’t want to deal with that again. I don’t want to cause any inconvenience at their wedding."

Felix frowns as he absentmindedly stirring his iced coffee with the straw. "Inconvenience?"

You nod, finger fiddling with the handle of your coffee mug. "It’s their special day. The last thing they need is people gossiping about me in the background."

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, leaning back in his chair. "That’s bullshit," he says, blunt as ever. "If your friend invited you, it means they want you there. You shouldn’t have to miss out on something just because some people don’t know how to mind their own business."

A part of you knows he’s right, but another part still hesitates. You give him a small smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. "It’s easier this way."

Felix studies you for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. "Easier, maybe. But is it what you really want?"

Hearing no answers from you, he leans forward, resting his arms on the table, his warm brown eyes locked onto yours with an almost mischievous glint. "I think you should go," he says firmly. "Screw those people. It’s your friend’s wedding, not theirs."

You exhale, shaking your head. "Felix—"

"I’m serious," he cuts in. "And if you don’t want to go alone, then I’ll go with you."

That makes you pause and then snort in disbelief. "You’d do that?"

"Of course. I’ll be your date. Your supporter. Your personal hype man. Whatever you need." He gestures at himself dramatically. "I’ll make sure no one says a damn thing to you. And if they do, I’ll just blind them with my dazzling presence."

You let out a soft laugh, but something about the way he’s looking at you—so eager to help, so understanding—makes your chest feel warm. Felix is just that kind of person. Confident, carefree, and unapologetic about who he is. And that confidence? It’s infectious.

You find yourself nodding before you even realize it. "Okay," you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I’ll take you as my date."

Felix beams at that until you add, "But," you tilt your head playfully, "I get to pick the tie."

His grin only widens. "Fine. But in that case, I get to help you pick the dress."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Deal."

He raises his coffee cup. "To proving people wrong and looking damn good while doing it."

You clink your cup against his with a quiet chuckle, a strange but pleasant feeling settling in your chest. Maybe this wedding won’t be so bad after all.

Lately, there’s been one message you always expect—one you’ve started looking forward to more than you’d admit. You take a slow sip of your smoothie, the cool sweetness spreading across your tongue as you scroll through your Lustre notifications. And, as expected, there it is.

mag.shawn: I can’t wait for your new post. But what I look forward to the most is seeing your beautiful face—it always brightens up my days.

A small smile tugs at your lips as you read it. You type out a quick reply, letting the warmth of his words settle over you.

You: That’s so sweet of you to say. I’ll do my best to keep brightening your days then ❤️

Just as you’re about to take another sip of your smoothie, a sudden knock echoes through your apartment. You stare at the door for a second longer before unlocking it and pulling it open.

Hyunjin stands there, his long dark hair slightly disheveled as if he had run his fingers through it too many times. One hand grips the strap of his bag, the other tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. His gaze flickers to yours, then away, before he clears his throat. "Hey," he says. "Can I come in?"

You don’t say anything, just step aside and open the door wider. He takes it as an invitation and walks in, dropping his bag near the couch. Without a word, you walk to the fridge, grab a can of drink, and hand it to him. He takes it with a quiet thanks, cracking it open but not taking a sip yet. Instead, he glances at you, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face.

"Can I use your laptop?" he asks. "I need to check something."

You raise a brow but nod, grabbing your laptop from the coffee table and passing it to him. As he opens it and starts typing, you settle beside him on the couch, bringing your smoothie to your lips.

For a while, the only sounds in the room are the soft clicks of the keyboard and the occasional sip of your drink. You don’t press him for details, simply letting him do whatever he needs to do. Then, after a few minutes, he exhales through his nose and turns the screen toward you.

You glance at him before looking down at the laptop. The moment your eyes land on the screen, your breath catches. Displayed in clear text is the result of his STIs test. Negative.

The confirmation settles something deep in your chest. You had asked him to do this before the two of you could make content together, and now here it is—the proof that he actually went through with it. Your gaze lifts back to his, and for the first time since he arrived, Hyunjin looks directly at you. His expression is unreadable, but his fingers drum against the side of the can in his hand, a telltale sign of his nerves.

“Well?” he asks, voice quiet.

“Well,” you echo, taking another sip of your smoothie, swallowing slowly before answering.

A while later, you set your smoothie down on the table, eyes still locked on Hyunjin as you tilt your head slightly. "I just have to ask you one more time. Are you sure you really want to do this?"

"Yeah," he answers without a beat.

His answer is immediate, but you don’t let it slide that easily. You lean back against the couch, crossing one leg over the other as you study him. "You know there’s no turning back once you do, right?"

He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You keep saying that like I haven’t already thought about it."

"Have you, though?" You arch a brow, unconvinced. "Because I’m not just talking about the content itself. I’m talking about everything that comes with it. The comments, the assumptions people will make about you, the way this could change things—"

"I don’t really care." His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. A certainty that makes your stomach twist.

You watch him for a moment, searching for any hint of doubt in his expression, but there’s none. He holds your gaze, unwavering, and it’s only then that you realize—he’s already made up his mind. Still, you hesitate. "...Why?"

Hyunjin exhales, running a hand through his hair before leaning back against the couch. "Because I want to help you." He pauses, looking away for a second before glancing back at you. "And maybe I just want to do it with you."

That last part makes your heart skip a beat, but you push past it, keeping your voice light. "You say that like you don’t have better options."

Hyunjin scoffs as he rubs his lower lip with his finger. "You say that like I care about other options."

You stare at him, lips pressing together. He stares back, waiting. Then, finally, you sigh and shake your head, a small smile pulling at your lips. "Okay, let's do it then."

At this point, Hyunjin treats your apartment like his own, he moves around with practiced ease, pulling the sheer curtains open just enough to let the afternoon light spill into the room. The soft glow is exactly what he wants for today’s shoot—natural, warm, and intimate. He glances over his setup, adjusting the white cloth draped over the couch, smoothing out any wrinkles. The space is nearly ready.

The sound of your footsteps draws his attention, and when he looks up, you’re walking toward him with two cans of drinks in hand. Your hair is slightly tousled, and there’s a relaxed air about you as you offer him one of the cans.

Hyunjin steps forward, wiping his hands on his jeans before taking the drink from you. His fingers brush against yours for a split second, and he wonders if you notice. "Perfect timing," he murmurs, bringing the can to his lips for a quick sip. The warmth seeps into his fingers, and he exhales softly. "Thanks."

You nod, taking a sip of your own before glancing around the setup. "So... everything ready?"

"Almost," he says, rolling his shoulders. "I want to play with the light a little, see how it looks on camera." He steps back, scanning the room, his mind already piecing together the angles and shots. The sunlight highlights the shapes of the couch, creating soft shadows. It’s exactly what he envisioned.

You lower your can of drink and glance at Hyunjin, who is still surveying the setup with a focused look on his face. “So, what’s the plan for today?” you ask, shifting your weight onto one leg.

He turns to you, his dark eyes settling on yours. “I want to use the light as much as possible. It’ll create a really soft effect, like…” He gestures vaguely with his free hand, trying to find the right words. “Like something dreamlike, almost natural. I’ll direct you, but I also want you to move how you feel comfortable.”

You hum, tilting your head as you process his vision. “So, more candid, less posed?”

He nods, sipping his coffee. “Exactly.”

You shift closer, peering at him over the rim of your cup. “And… Do I have your consent for the part after?”

Hyunjin blinks, then a slow smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “You have my consent,” he says smoothly, his voice steady, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—anticipation, maybe.

You let out a short laugh, arching a brow as you tease him, “You sound so eager for today’s shoot.”

He rolls his eyes, but the way his fingers tap against his can of drink betrays him. “I’m just committed to making this look good,” he says, feigning nonchalance.

You grin, stepping past him toward the couch. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”

Hyunjin adjusts the camera in his hands, his fingers instinctively finding the right settings as he looks through the lens. The natural light floods the room, casting soft shadows across your skin. You’re draped across the couch in nothing but a loose white sweater and matching underwear, your body relaxed, effortlessly beautiful.

He’s done this before—countless times now—but there’s something about this moment that makes him pause. Maybe it’s the way the light caresses the curves of your body, or how the sweater slips just enough off your shoulder to reveal more of your skin. Or maybe it’s just you. No matter how many times he’s taken your pictures, Hyunjin realizes he never gets tired of looking at you. Admiring you.

You shift slightly, pulling one knee up and resting your head against the back of the couch. The motion is so natural, so effortlessly alluring, that Hyunjin forgets to press the shutter button for a second. When he finally does, he exhales a quiet breath.

"You’re staring," you tease, your voice light but knowing.

He lowers the camera slightly, meeting your gaze. There’s amusement in your eyes, but also something else—something softer. He swallows, rolling his shoulders like he can shake off whatever this feeling is. "Why? Are you shy now?" he teases, bringing the camera up again.

Done taking your pictures, Hyunjin moves around the room for the second time to set the cameras to their tripods at different angles, making sure everything is set up just right. He’s meticulous about it, double-checking each frame, making small tweaks to the lighting. When he’s finally satisfied, he steps away and joins you on the couch.

As soon as he sits down next to you, you turn to him, your gaze soft but playful. Without a word, you reach up and tug the hair tie from his dark locks, setting them free. His long hair falls around his face, a few strands brushing against his cheek.

You hum in approval, lifting your hand to run your fingers through his hair, smoothing it back before letting it slip through your fingers. There’s something intimate in the way you touch him, something gentle that makes his breath catch for just a second. A smile tugs at your lips as you look at him. “Are you ready?”

Hyunjin swallows, his dark eyes locked onto yours. He doesn’t answer right away, just watches you for a moment before exhaling through his nose, a small, knowing smile appearing on his lips.

"Yeah," he finally says, his voice lower than before.

You lift your hand and rest it on Hyunjin’s stomach, feeling the subtle rise and fall of his breath beneath your fingertips. His muscles tense for just a second before he consciously relaxes, his dark eyes still locked onto yours, watching, waiting.

Slowly, you lean in, closing the small space between you until your lips are just beside his ear. You can feel the warmth of his skin, hear the soft hitch in his breath. "Get comfortable," you murmur, your voice soft yet firm, your lips nearly brushing against the shell of his ear. "And follow my lead."

Hyunjin exhales, a quiet, shuddering breath. His hands press into the couch beside him, fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to touch you. His jaw clenches for a moment before he gives you a small, almost amused smile. "Alright," he breathes out, his voice barely above a whisper.

You move with unhurried confidence, shifting onto his lap and settling yourself comfortably as you straddle him. His hands instinctively find purchase on your hips, but he doesn’t grip—just rests them there, warm and solid. Your hands trail down his chest, fingers grazing over the fabric of his shirt. You take your time, carefully unbuttoning each button one by one, your touch light and deliberate. He doesn’t rush you—he simply watches, his lips parting slightly when you finally part the fabric open and slip the shirt off his shoulders, exposing the lean definition of his torso.

Laying your palm flat against his chest, you let your fingertips trace over his skin, feeling the warmth radiating from him, the subtle twitch of his muscles under your touch. Hyunjin exhales sharply, his breath hitching just slightly, and you feel him shiver beneath your fingertips. His hands on your hips flex subtly, his gaze flickering between your face and the way your hands explore his skin. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, voice lower than before when he finally speaks.

“You’re really taking your time with this,” he murmurs, a teasing edge to his tone, but there’s something else underneath.

You simply smile, letting your fingers trace a slow, featherlight path over his collarbone. “Of course,” you say softly. “What’s the rush?”

You tilt your head, watching the way his gaze lingers on your face before dropping lower, his hands still resting on your hips as if he's trying to ground himself. Then, with a soft smile, you murmur, "Aren't you going to help me too?"

His hands tightening slightly before he reaches for the hem of your sweater. His fingers brush against your skin as he gathers the fabric, and he hesitates just for a moment, his dark eyes flickering up to yours as if silently asking for permission one last time.

You give him a small nod, and with that, he slowly lifts the sweater up, savoring the moment as he peels the soft fabric from your skin. His touch is gentle, careful, as he pulls it over your head and lets it slip from his fingers, tossing it aside.

Now bare before him, you feel the cool air graze your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating between you. Hyunjin’s eyes trace over you, his gaze slow and reverent, like he's taking in a painting he's never seen before, committing every detail to memory. His breath is unsteady when he finally meets your gaze again. His hands remain on your waist, but this time, they grip just a little tighter, like he's afraid to move too fast.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The only sound is the soft hum of the camera in the background, recording every fleeting touch, every unspoken exchange.

You take Hyunjin’s hands in yours, guiding them up your body, over the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs, and then higher, letting him feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. His hands are warm, his touch hesitant but eager, and you can feel the way his fingers tremble slightly as you place them exactly where you want them, cupping the underside of your breasts. Then, slowly, you let go.

His hands remain where you left them for a moment, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the expanse of skin beneath his palms. When he finally moves, it's deliberate—his hands tracing over you, reveling in the way you feel. He drags his fingertips lightly over your skin, tracing lines only he can see, and the way he does it, so careful, so in awe, makes your breath shallow.

You rest your arms on his shoulders, letting your fingers trail along the nape of his neck, playing with the strands of his dark hair. Hyunjin tilts his head back slightly, his long hair falling away from his face as he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable at first, but then—he smiles. Not a smirk, not a teasing grin, but something softer, something real.

His eyes drink you in, as if seeing you this close, this bare, makes you even more breathtaking to him. And for a moment, he just lets himself admire you, his hands still exploring, mapping out every curve, every line, like he’s afraid he’ll forget how you feel beneath him.

He continues his exploration. His fingers trail up from your shoulders, over the curve of your neck, his touch featherlight. He maps out your skin with delicate strokes, tracing along the slope of your throat, the line of your jaw. His fingertips glide over your cheekbone, then dip lower, ghosting over the bridge of your nose before finally brushing against your lips.

Then, gently, he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, smoothing it away from your face. But instead of letting go, he keeps his hand there, holding your hair in place as his thumb idly caresses the side of your neck.

You watch him closely, your own hands moving to explore him in return. Your fingers drift up, brushing through his soft dark hair before trailing down to his face. You trace the arch of his brow, the sharp yet delicate bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheekbone. Then, without thinking, your thumb sweeps across his lips.

His lips are soft beneath your touch, plush and warm, and they part just slightly as your thumb glides over them. You meet his gaze, your own fingers lingering against his mouth as you softly ask, “Do you want to kiss?”

Without answering, Hyunjin leans in, his dark eyes locked onto yours, but just as his lips are about to brush against yours, you pull back ever so slightly. A teasing smile tugs at the corner of your lips as he instinctively follows, chasing after the kiss you’ve withheld. He exhales sharply through his nose, catching on to your game. His head falls back against the couch, and he lets out a dramatic sigh, his bottom lip jutting out in a soft pout. His hands rest on your waist, fingers idly pressing into your skin as he looks up at you with mock betrayal.

Despite his sulking, you giggle. There’s something so endearing about seeing Hyunjin—usually confident, effortlessly charming—reduced to a pouting mess just because of you.

Still smiling, you cup his jaw, your thumbs tracing the shape of his cheekbones. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he holds himself still, waiting. Then, slowly, you lean in and press your lips to his.

Hyunjin kisses you back like he’s been waiting for this, like he’s thought about it more than he’d ever admit. His lips move against yours, soft at first but it doesn’t take long before his desire seeps through. He sucks on your lower lip, teasingly slow, before tugging it between his teeth, just enough to make you shiver. Despite the bite, you sigh into his mouth, the sensation sending warmth through your body.

Hyunjin swallows the sound, his grip on you firm but never forceful. His lips move against yours with a growing hunger, hungry for the taste of you. He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. His warmth engulfs you, and the way he holds you—tight yet careful—makes your heart pound just as much as his kisses do. His lips move against yours with more urgency now, deepening the kiss, his breath mixing with yours. Then, without warning, he drags his lips away, trailing a path down your jaw to your neck. The first press of his mouth against your skin is soft, almost teasing, but then he sucks lightly on the spot just below your ear, making your breath hitch.

A gasp escapes you as he continues, alternating between kisses and gentle bites, marking you in ways that feel both dangerous and thrilling. His hands explore your body, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine, skimming over your sides, pressing into the small of your back. His touch is everywhere—palms smoothing over your bare skin, thumbs brushing over sensitive spots, sending shivers coursing through you.

The room feels smaller, hotter, as the two of you stay tangled together, lips and hands lost in each other. Hyunjin has his hands splayed across your back as his lips continue their path down your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, sending a shiver through you as he lingers just above your collarbone. You shift slightly in his lap, adjusting your position, but the movement draws a quiet, unbidden sound from deep within him.

Your hands tangle in his dark hair, threading through the soft strands as he buries his face against you while you decide to continue to tease him, rubbing yourself against his growing erection. His lips brush lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin. The warmth of his mouth makes you exhale shakily, your fingers instinctively gripping his shoulders. As you continue slowly grinding on him, the friction between you both grows, drawing an almost involuntary reaction from him. His breath hitches, his fingers flex against your sides, and when you roll your hips just a little more, a quiet curse slips past his lips.

Hyunjin's hands slide down, gripping you gently but firmly, guiding you as though he wants you closer—if that were even possible. His lips part against your skin, and you feel the soft pull of his mouth, a teasing scrape of his teeth that has you gasping.

For a moment, the two of you simply move together, unhurried yet undeniably in sync. It’s intoxicating—the way he holds you, the way his body reacts to yours, the way the warmth between you seems to build with each slow grind against his swollen bulge.

You kiss him again, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss that deepens with every second. Hyunjin responds just as eagerly, his hands roaming your body, his grip tightening when you roll your hips against him again. His breath stutters when you pull away, but before he can protest, you tilt your head and press your lips to his jawline, then lower—to the sensitive spot beneath his ear, to the column of his throat where you can feel his pulse quicken.

His fingers dig into your flesh as you trail your lips down his neck, your mouth leaving a warm path over his collarbone, his chest. His skin is hot beneath your lips, his breath uneven as you continue your slow descent. You can feel the way his body tenses, anticipating your next move. And then you shift, slipping off his lap with deliberate slowness, your hands skimming down his sides as you lower yourself to the floor. Standing in front of him, you press your palms to his thighs, feeling the subtle tremor in his muscles before you gently part his legs, making space for yourself between them.

Hyunjin looks down at you, his dark eyes clouded with something heavy and overpowering, his lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something—but he doesn’t. Instead, he swallows hard, watching you intently as you kneel between his legs, your hands still resting on his thighs. A quiet beat passes between you, charged with tension. Then, you lift your gaze to meet his, your fingers trailing slowly along the denim of his jeans.

"Still comfortable?" you ask, your voice light, teasing.

Hyunjin exhales a soft, breathy laugh, though his voice is rough when he responds. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Very."

Your fingers begin to move, tracing the waistband of his jeans before dipping lower. Hyunjin's breath hitches as you work the button open, then the zipper, the sound cutting through the silence in the room. His hands, which had been resting on his thighs, twitch—like he wants to touch you, to stop you, or maybe to urge you on. But he doesn’t move. He just watches, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly, his lips slightly parted as if he’s forgotten how to breathe.

You take your time, easing the fabric down just enough, and when you finally free his member out of its confine, his head falls back against the couch, a quiet groan slipping past his lips. "Are we good?" you ask softly, fingers teasing, barely touching his erection.

Hyunjin exhales a shuddery breath, his lips curving into a crooked, breathless smile. "Yeah," he murmurs, voice rough.

For a moment, you do nothing—just let your fingers ghost along his hardening length, featherlight, teasing. You hear the sharp inhale he takes, see the way his stomach tenses as you rub your thumb around the crest of his cock. He’s beautiful like this—vulnerable in a way that makes warmth curl in your stomach, his dark hair tousled, his lips red and kiss-swollen.

"You're so hard, so big..." you sigh, slightly tightening your fingers around him.

You glance up at him through your lashes, meeting his gaze as you begin giving his cock slow, deliberate strokes. His eyes are dark, half-lidded, filled with something heady and unspoken. You take your time, watching him, waiting until he meets your gaze before lowering yourself, you press a kiss to his hip, then another, trailing lower, savoring the way his body reacts to your touch. He lets out a quiet groan when your lips finally brush over the tip of his cock.

The first sound he makes when you take his cock into your mouth is something between a sigh and a moan, his head tipping back against the couch. His hand finds your hair, not pushing, just resting, as if he needs something to hold onto. You hollow out your cheeks and give him a good suck before slowly pulling away. You quickly replace your mouth with your hand to keep the stimulation going.

With your lips wet from saliva, you ask, "Does it feel good?"

"Yeah," he breathlessly answer before letting out a shaky exhale.

You lick your lips before taking him in again, little by little until half of his length disappeared into you. Then, you beging moving, moving your mouth to testing, to tease while watching the way his stomach tenses and his lips part with every careful motion.

"Fuck..." he breathes out, voice wrecked.

His breaths grow uneven, his grip tightening slightly, and when you flick your gaze upward, the sight of him—eyes heavy-lidded, mouth parted, completely undone—sends a wave of satisfaction through you.

You hum against him, reveling in the way he shudders beneath you, completely at your mercy. You give him a second to gather some senses and using your hand to pump his cock.

"Don't tell me you're going to come just from this," you tease, dragging your lips down the underside of his length before putting him into your mouth again.

Hyunjin’s breath stutters, his fingers tightening in your hair as you continue your slow, teasing pace. His body is completely at your mercy, and he knows it—you can feel it in the way he trembles beneath you, in the soft, choked sounds that slip past his parted lips. His other hand moves to the back of the couch, gripping it like he needs to anchor himself, his head tilting back as he exhales a shaky breath. "You're—" He cuts himself off with a groan, his body tensing for a moment before melting back into the cushions.

You glance up at him through your lashes, taking in the way his chest rises and falls with each unsteady breath, the way his brows knit together as he fights for control. There's something intoxicating about watching him like this, unraveling under your touch, his usual confidence slipping away little by little.

"What do you think? Am I doing good?" Your lips graze the tip of his cock as you speak.

"You're too good at this," he finally manages to answer, his voice breathless, rough.

You smile, dragging your hands up his thighs as you pull back just enough to whisper, "Just let it go when you feel like it. Swallowing is not a big deal to me "

His eyes snap open, dark and hazy as he looks down at you. There's a pause, his lips parting slightly, and for a moment, you think he might actually hesitate. But then his fingers tighten in your hair, his gaze burning into yours as he rasps, "I–I can't do that."

A thrill rushes through you at his words, at the sheer need in his voice. You hum in satisfaction, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against his hip before resuming your pace, taking your time, savoring every reaction he gives you.

Hyunjin curses under his breath, his hand slipping from your hair to cradle the side of your face instead, his thumb brushing over your cheek. His gaze never wavers, never strays from you, even as his breaths turn ragged, even as his body tenses beneath your touch.

"I'm about to come" he murmurs, his voice strained, almost desperate.

You glance up at him again, meeting his gaze with a knowing smile before pushing him just a little further, just enough to make him lose himself completely.

And when he does—when his body stiffens and his lips part in a silent gasp, his head tipping back as pleasure overtakes him—you know you've won.

You feel his release floods your tongue, hot and distinctly salty, filling your mouth. Then, silence. The only sounds left in the room are your steady breathing and his own ragged exhales.

When he finally dares to look at you, his eyes widen in horror as he sees you sticking your tongue out just enough to show him the white sheen of his seed before you swallow it all down your throat.

The sight stirs something deep within him that he reaches for you and roughly presses a kiss on your lips, his tongue pries open your mouth until you let him taste the remnants of himself on your tongue. Once he pulled away from the kiss, reality dawns on him. His flushed face deepens in color, and he quickly brings a hand to his face, covering his eyes as if that would make the situation disappear.

“Oh my God—” he mutters, voice filled with mortification as he sees a drop of his release landed on your chin. “I— I didn’t mean to—”

You blink at him before breaking into a soft laugh, reaching for a tissue nearby. “Hey, it’s fine.”

But he groans, shaking his head, clearly struggling with embarrassment. “No, it’s not! That was— I should have warned you—”

You smile, dabbing at your skin, before tilting your head at him. “You were a little too lost in the moment. I get it.”

Hyunjin groans again, this time burying his face in his hands. “I can’t believe this…”

Shifting closer, you gently pull his hands away from his face, meeting his flustered gaze with warmth. “Relax. It’s not a big deal.”

He exhales slowly, still clearly embarrassed, but your reassurance eases him slightly. He watches as you clean up without a hint of discomfort, and for some reason, that makes his heart squeeze a little.

You nudge his knee playfully. “If anything, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

You simply grin, standing up and holding your hand out at him. “Come on, let's shower before you start overthinking this to death.”

With a sigh, he follows, shaking his head as if he can’t believe what just happened—but there’s something else in his eyes too. A flicker of something deeper, something more than just physical attraction. And as he watches you head toward the bathroom, he realizes just how dangerous it is to let himself feel that way.

It's a successful first shoot with Hyunjin.

Even though he handled the camera like a pro, guiding you through poses and capturing you in the most flattering ways, the moment things shifted—when you turned the tables on him—he completely fell apart. And now, despite how smooth he usually tries to be, he can't stop being embarrassed about how he lost control, especially about how he came in your mouth and your face.

You think about it as warm water cascades down your body, the memory playing in your mind like a highlight reel. The way his breath hitched, the way his hands trembled against your skin, and especially the way his face turned crimson afterward, looking utterly wrecked yet so, so cute. You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.

Hyunjin—always composed, always confident—reduced to a flustered mess because of you. You’ll never let him live this down.

After finishing your shower, you throw on something comfortable and head out to the dining area, where Hyunjin is already setting the table. His hair escaping the loose ponytail, and he's deliberately avoiding your gaze, focusing too hard on arranging the plates.

You slide into your seat, watching him for a moment before smirking. "You know… technically, I already had an appetizer before dinner."

He freezes mid-motion, his shoulders tensing. He slowly looks up, eyes wary. "Huh?"

You take a sip of your drink, feigning innocence. "I mean, I had a little taste of you before we sat down to eat."

His entire face turns red. He immediately drops his chopsticks, groaning as he buries his face in his hands. "Oh my God."

You burst into laughter, unable to help yourself. "Why are you acting so shy now? You weren’t shy earlier."

Hyunjin peeks at you between his fingers, shooting you a look of pure suffering. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," you tease, grinning. "If anything, you loved it."

He groans again, leaning back in his chair dramatically. "You're not going to let me live this down, aren’t you?"

Despite himself, Hyunjin breaks into a helpless smile, shaking his head. As you both settle into comfortable conversation, the teasing lingers in the air—a reminder of just how much the dynamic between you is shifting, whether either of you is ready to admit it or not.

As you finish cleaning up after dinner, you grab an envelope from the counter and hand it to Hyunjin. "Your pay for this month," you say with a smile.

Hyunjin takes it, grinning as he flips it between his fingers. "Ah, my hard-earned money," he jokes, tucking it into his pocket. Then, with a playful glint in his eyes, he leans forward slightly. "Since I’m less broke now, how about I treat you to a movie tomorrow? There’s this screening I wanted to check out."

You chuckle at his enthusiasm but shake your head. "I’d love to, but I already have plans for tomorrow."

He tilts his head, curious. "Oh? Where are you going?"

You set your chopsticks down, wiping your lips before answering, "I'm going to my friend’s wedding."

His expression shifts slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Is it the one friend you were avoiding back at the restaurant?"

You nod. "Yep. That one."

He blinks, clearly surprised. "I thought you weren’t going."

You shrug. "At first, yeah. But then I thought… why not?"

Hyunjin nods slowly, as if processing your words. But you don’t miss the way his shoulders drop slightly, or how he suddenly seems more focused on the remaining food in his bowl. He’s disappointed. You don’t point it out, but you notice it.

"Sounds fun," he says, his voice light, but there’s something subdued in it.

You watch him for a moment, then smirk. "You sound like you’re sulking."

He scoffs, sitting up straighter. "Me? Sulking? Never."

You arch an eyebrow, amused. "You’re literally stabbing your rice right now."

He looks down at his bowl, realizing how aggressively he’s been poking at the food. Clearing his throat, he sets his chopsticks down and leans back in his chair. "I just think my plans sounded cooler, that’s all."

You laugh, shaking your head. "I’ll make it up to you, okay?"

Hyunjin pouts slightly, but the teasing glint in his eyes gives him away. "You better," he mutters, stealing one of your dumplings as revenge.

The morning sun shines through the high windows of the apartment building as Hyunjin walks back from the farmer's market, a bag of fresh produce in one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other. The scent of them—sweet and delicate—lingers in the air, and he glances down at them, suddenly second-guessing himself.

Was this a bad idea?

He doesn’t know what compelled him to pick them up. Maybe it was the way they reminded him of you. Maybe it was just a habit—bringing home something nice, something that adds a little warmth to a space. Either way, he now stands in front of your door, unsure if you've already left for the wedding. A part of him hopes you have, just so he doesn’t have to go through the embarrassment of handing you flowers like some lovestruck fool.

Before he can turn around and retreat to his apartment, the door swings open. You're standing there, already dressed for the wedding, a bright smile greeting him.

"Oh, morning, Hyunjin!" you say, sounding rushed yet cheerful as you step aside to let him in.

He planned to just hand you the flowers and go. But now, with the door wide open and you ushering him in without a second thought, he finds himself stepping inside, still holding the bouquet a little awkwardly.

You move back toward your vanity, where your makeup is halfway done, brushes and compacts scattered across the table. "Sorry, I’m running a little late," you say, adjusting your earrings in the mirror. "What’s up?"

Clearing his throat, Hyunjin lifts the flowers. "I, uh… brought these for you."

You turn, eyes widening in surprise before a teasing smile tugs at your lips. "Flowers? For me? What’s the occasion?"

He shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. "No occasion. Just thought you’d like them."

You take them from his hands, inhaling their fresh scent before flashing him a soft, genuine smile. "They're beautiful. Thank you, Hyunjin."

Seeing you flustered for once makes him feel a little less embarrassed. "I'll put them in a vase for you," he offers, not wanting to stand there while you get ready.

"That’d be great," you say, turning back to the mirror to finish up.

As Hyunjin moves around your kitchen, filling a vase with water, he sneaks glances at you. The way you carefully apply the last touches to your hair, the way the dress hugs your figure just right—it all captivates him. Then, you turn around, smiling brightly at him.

"How do I look?" you ask.

Hyunjin quickly averts his gaze, setting the vase down on the counter as if that requires all his attention. He swallows. "You look… beautiful."

Your smile softens. "Thank you."

Before the moment lingers too long, your phone rings, breaking the air of quiet admiration. You pick it up quickly, saying, "Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute," before ending the call.

Hyunjin assumes someone is picking you up and he also takes that as his cue to leave.

As you both step out of your apartment, he lingers for a moment before saying, "Have fun at the wedding."

You flash him one last grateful smile. "I will. Thanks again for the flowers, Hyunjin."

Hyunjin steps into his apartment, closing the door behind him with a quiet sigh. He toes off his shoes and runs a hand through his hair, shaking off the lingering feeling of something he can't quite name.

But as he walks toward the window, curiosity tugs at him. He tells himself he's only looking to see what kind of car picks you up—maybe a fancy one, maybe not. But when he spots the vehicle pulling up in front of the building, what catches his attention isn't the car at all.

It's the person stepping out of it. Felix.

Hyunjin hadn’t expected that. You’re going to the wedding with Felix?

The thought alone stirs something uneasy inside him, but he pushes it aside, watching as you step out of the building. He tells himself that’s the end of it, that he should look away, go about his day. But then—

You walk straight into Felix’s arms, slipping into his embrace like it’s second nature. Despite the tightening feeling in his chest, Hyunjin watches as Felix leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek before opening the passenger door for you. You slip inside easily, smiling up at him before he shuts the door and rounds the car to the driver’s side.

Hyunjin lets out a sharp breath, rubbing his hand over his face as if to wipe away the thoughts creeping into his mind. What was he even expecting?

A part of him wants to shake it off, to go about his day like this means nothing. But another part of him—one he’s not quite ready to acknowledge—already knows that today, for the first time, he’s feeling something he shouldn’t.

Jealousy.

He scoffs under his breath, shaking his head at himself. Then, without another glance at the window, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving the room in silence.

✨ Chapter III of Cam is available on my Patreon page ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

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#stray kids smut #skz smut #Hyunjin smut #Hyunjin x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz fics #skz fanfics #kpop smut #kpop fics #kpop fanfics #seospicy smut #cam series

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sturnioz · 3 months ago

Text

tw. obsessive behaviour. please read with caution. credits for obsessive!chris. @bernardsbendystraws

☆. . . CHRIS OBSESSES OVER THINGS AND gets attached pretty quickly. if there's a new game he likes, he'll continuously play it as if there's no other game in the world. if there's a song he likes, he'll have it on repeat so much that he memorises the lyrics and the instrumentals. if there's a new food he likes, he'll only eat that until the thought of consuming it makes him violently sick and he finds something different.

with people he crushes on, chris does everything and anything to be around them—forcing his way into their personal bubble and interests.

and you were his next target.

he first met you during a morning class you shared together, and you were made to sit next to him due to a minor inconvenience with another college student—bare faced, covered in an oversized red sweater, smelling like fresh strawberries and vanilla.

chris froze up in his seat, unable to draw his gaze away from the side of your head. his favourite colour is red, his favourite fruit is strawberries, and he loves the scent of vanilla candles. what a coincidence?

it's clear you did this for him.

you're perfect.

you're his.

his staring wasn't subtle, which made you feel even more annoyed than you already were from being forced to move seats, and you turn to look at him to confront him. but you see the look in his eyes—filled with want, desire, need.

a smirk slowly slithers across his lips, and he leans his elbows on the table as his eyebrow raises at your own unfiltered staring, but you tear your gaze away from him in an instant, focusing elsewhere in the room.

you begin to slowly notice the appearances chris starts to make in your everyday life; sitting near your table during lunch, studying at the library while you're there, following you on all your social media accounts, liking all your posts on instagram, and even posting stories with your favourite music attached.

he isn't slick, and he knows it.

you eventually end up cornering chris the next time you see him, especially when you catch him sitting in one of your favourite restaurants eating one of your favourite meals—which, by the way, you've never posted or hardly spoke about it in public or on your socials. you've gatekept it for so long than even your friends don't know.

chris is beaming from ear to ear when you plant yourself down in the chair opposite him, practically demanding him to answer all your questions about him knowing so much about you in such a short amount of time, but chris doesn't care, not when he finally has your attention after craving you for so long.

how you end up in a five hour long conversation with him is beyond you. you expected to be gone after confronting him on his obsessive behaviour, but you end up completely captivated by his smile and the way he talks to you, so you don't have it in you to get up and leave just like that.

he's already got you wrapped around his fingers, and he feels his obsession grow a little stronger when he manages to get a raw confession out of you.

your virginity hardly meant anything to you. you never actively went out looking for someone to hook-up with, and you weren't really saving it for that 'someone special'. it was just there, and it didn't bother you.

but somehow, you're home, your clothes thrown carelessly on the floor in a cluttered mess with chris between your legs, desperate lips biting and sucking at your skin like a starved animal, savouring the way you taste on his tongue—he's always been curious.

chris feels like he's on cloud nine once he's finally sheathed inside of your tight gummy walls, buried to the hilt with his balls pressed to your puffy folds that stretch around his cock, and his body flush against yours—sticky and sweaty.

chris could cry from delight as he cradles your cheek, a smile slipping onto his lips as he watches your face contort from pain to pleasure, feeling your nails dig into his skin and creating raw scratch marks that he can't wait to admire in the mirror later.

his grip tightens around your jaw, thumb stroking your plush bottom lip before pushing through the small gap of your mouth, pressing his thumb down on your tongue as he rolls his hips forward, sliding his cock in and out of your warmth, relishing in the sounds of your squeals and moans that fill his ears.

he's got you.

you're his.

you're all his.

divider credits. @/enchanthings-a

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dippindaz · 4 months ago

Note

Would you be willing to do a Billy x Reader (Eddie’s younger sister/sibling). I just feel that Billy and Eddie would hate each other so the dynamics could be fun to play with. Is Y/n just like Eddie or quiet and a bookworm? I feel liked they’d have the same curly hair, maybe same eye colour. I listened to something similar on YT recently, thought it was cool.

thanks xx

Of course!! And I definitely think they have the same hair, no way you escape those curls.

I uh—I also got a little carried away with brainstorming an idea for this request so this is gonna be a multi-part thing now!! lol, I hope you all enjoy. (Also If you'd like this request to be executed differently as I know I went a little off the rails with it, I'd be more than happy to do it just send in another ask if that's the case :) )

Masterlist here

Mentions of drug baggies and Billy being Billy, (I think) are the only necessary warnings.

The trailer door creaked as it swung open, and Billy stepped inside without hesitation, letting it fall shut behind him. The place was dimly lit, cluttered with old magazines, half-empty beer cans, and random junk Eddie never bothered to clean up. Typical. Billy barely glanced at the mess, his attention locked on the guy slouched on the couch, counting out a handful of baggies like it was just another boring Tuesday.

Eddie barely spared him a glance. “You’re early.”

Billy shrugged, smirking as he leaned against the doorframe. “And you’re slow.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, tossing one of the baggies onto the table. “Gimme a sec. Gotta grab something from the van.” He pushed himself up with a grunt, shoving past Billy and out the door without another word.

Billy let out a scoff, but as his eyes flicked around the room, they landed on someone else—someone unexpected.

Sitting cross-legged in the recliner across the room, nose buried in a dog-eared paperback, was you. Eddie’s little sister. He’d seen you around school before, always on the outskirts, never in the thick of things. You had that same wild hair as Eddie, though without the dramatics. Quieter. More reserved. Talking was Eddie’s thing.

Billy tilted his head, a slow grin creeping onto his face.

“Well, shit,” he drawled. “Didn’t peg Munson for the type to keep secrets.”

You didn’t look up. “Didn’t peg you for the type to knock.”

Billy chuckled, stepping further inside. “I don’t. Doors open for me.” His voice was thick with arrogance, the kind that made most girls stumble over themselves. You just turned a page.

“Huh.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, studying you. “Didn’t know Munson had a sister. Guess you don’t get out much.” He did know, he just wanted to jab at you, you were sure.

This time, you did glance up, just briefly. “Or maybe you just don’t pay attention.”

Billy grinned. “Oh, I’m paying attention now.”

He let that hang in the air, watching for a reaction. Most girls at school either giggled around him or avoided him like the plague. You just seemed… uninterested.

Before he could push further, the door swung open again, and Eddie stomped back inside.

“Alright, let’s wrap this up,” Eddie muttered, tossing another baggie onto the pile. Then his eyes landed on Billy—no, on the space between Billy and you.

His expression darkened instantly. “The hell are you doin’ talking to my sister, Hargrove?”

Billy didn’t take his eyes off you. “Didn’t realize she needed permission to talk.”

Eddie grabbed the baggies, shoving them into Billy’s hand. “Yeah, well, now you know. So don’t.”

Billy smirked, slow and taunting, before finally tearing his gaze away from you. He lifted the baggies in a lazy salute. “Pleasure doin’ business, Munson.” Then, with one last glance at you, he strolled out, whistling under his breath.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Eddie spun around. “Don’t talk to him.”

You rolled your eyes. “I know who he is, Eddie.”

“Then you should know better.”

You sighed, waving him off. It annoyed you, but you were used to Eddie’s protective side. “It’s not like I’m gonna fall for him or something. He’s just a guy.”

Eddie scoffed. “Yeah. A guy who’s bad news.”

You just shook your head. It didn’t matter. A crush was harmless, right?

Harmless.

Right.

———————————————————————————

Later the next day you find yourself being dragged to the arcade with the kids. Arcades were okay, a bit too loud and overwhelming for you, but you’d go if it made the buttheads smile. The bells above the arcade door jingle as Dustin and the others rush inside, already chattering about high scores and token strategies. You’re about to follow when a voice stops you in your tracks.

“Didn’t take you for the arcade type, Munson.”

You freeze for half a second before turning, already bracing yourself.

Billy Hargrove is leaning against the side of his Camaro, cigarette dangling from his lips, one arm draped lazily over the car door. The setting sun glints off his silver chain, making the smirk on his face look even more infuriating.

You school your expression. “Not often.”

Billy exhales a slow stream of smoke, eyes dragging over you with interest. “Then what’s the occasion?”

You cross your arms. “Why do you care?”

His smirk deepens. “Just makin’ conversation, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder, where the kids disappeared inside. A distraction would be nice right about now. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Maybe a mirror to admire yourself in?”

Billy chuckles, pushing off the car. “That was the plan,” he admits, taking another drag. “Then I saw you.”

You roll your eyes. “Lucky me.”

Billy grins like you just handed him a prize. “Yeah, lucky you.”

You shift on your feet, debating if this conversation is even worth the effort. But Billy takes another step forward, the amusement in his eyes sharpening like he’s enjoying every second of this.

“Y’know,” he muses, tipping his head, “didn’t expect Eddie’s little sister to be so—” He drags his gaze over you, slow and deliberate. “—cute.”

Your breath hitches before you can stop it, and heat creeps up your neck.

Billy notices. Of course he does.

“Not much of a talker, huh?” he teases. “That’s alright. I like a challenge.”

You force out a scoff, hoping it covers the way your pulse kicks up. “You’re wasting your time.”

Billy flicks the ash from his cigarette, watching you like he’s already decided that’s not true. “Nah. I don’t think so.” He takes another lazy step closer, lowering his voice just slightly. “I bet if I asked real nice, you’d keep me company.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why would I do that?”

His smirk curves into something slower, more deliberate. “Because you’re curious.”

Your stomach flips.

And he’s right.

Before you can decide whether to snap back or just ignore him, the arcade door swings open, and Lucas steps outside. He barely glances at Billy, his focus locking onto you instead.

“You coming?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

You exhale, grateful for the interruption. “Yeah.”

Billy’s smirk lingers as you turn away. “See you around, Munson.”

You don’t look back.

But even as you step inside, you can still feel his eyes on you.

———————————————————————————

You didn’t see Billy for the rest of the weekend, and though you saw him today you thankfully hadn’t talked to him. Only issue? He’s in your class. You’ve been keeping your head down, eyes glued to your notebook, willing yourself to focus. The teacher is droning on about something—probably the Cold War, or maybe Nixon—but it’s hard to tell over the sound of Billy Hargrove’s constant, low-voiced disruptions from the seat beside you.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning in slightly. “You don’t have to pretend to be so into this. Bet you’d have way more fun if you—”

You don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him. “Shut up, Hargrove.”

He lets out a short, amused chuckle, unfazed. “Feisty,” he muses. “I like it.”

You grip your pencil tighter, refusing to take the bait. He’d started this the second he strolled into class late and took the empty seat next to you. Just your luck. You weren’t sure if he even belonged in this class or if he just did whatever he wanted and no one stopped him.

Billy shifts again, slouching in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers. “You know, ignorin' me doesn’t make me go away.”

“No, but it makes me feel better.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “That so?”

You don’t answer. Across the room, your teacher gives an exhausted sigh, rubbing his temples. “Mr. Hargrove, unless you’re going to contribute something insightful, I suggest you keep quiet.”

Billy raises his hands in mock innocence. “Just tryin’ to have a conversation, sir.”

The class snickers, but you just exhale slowly, willing the clock to move faster.

By the time the bell rings, you’re out of your seat in an instant, shoving your books into your bag as fast as humanly possible. But you should’ve known better.

Billy’s already leaning against the lockers when you reach yours, arms crossed, that same smug smirk playing at his lips.

“You always this fun, or just in class?”

You glance at him briefly, but you don’t stop twisting your locker dial. “What do you want?”

“What, can’t a guy say hi?”

You roll your eyes, pulling the door open. “Hi. Bye.”

Billy doesn’t move. If anything, he seems more amused. “Eddie put you up to this?” he asks, tilting his head. “The whole avoiding-me-like-the-plague thing?”

You huff, shoving your books inside. “No one has to tell me to avoid you.”

“Ah.” Billy nods, like that confirms something. “Right. So you just listen to every word your big brother says?”

“I have my own brain, thanks.”

“Yeah?” He leans in a little, and for the first time, you hesitate. He notices. “So what’s stoppin' you?”

You blink. “Stopping me from what?”

“From having a real conversation with me.”

You scoff, slamming your locker shut. “Maybe I just don’t want to.”

Billy studies you, eyes flicking over your face, your stiff posture, the way your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag. He smirks—but it’s different this time. Less cocky. More… calculating.

And that’s what makes your stomach twist.

Billy Hargrove was a lot of things—reckless, arrogant, charming when it suited him—but he wasn’t aimless. If he was talking to you, pushing your buttons, keeping you on edge, it was because he wanted something. And Billy Hargrove always got what he wanted.

But why you?

That was the part that didn’t make sense. You weren’t stupid. You knew what people like him were like, knew the way he treated girls at school—like conquests, like challenges, like something to pass the time. You’d spent years keeping your head down, staying out of the drama, and ever since he moved to Hawkins, out of his orbit, and yet now, for some reason, he had decided to step into yours.

And the worst part?

A tiny, traitorous part of you didn’t entirely hate it.

Billy watches you carefully, waiting for something—a crack, a slip, a reaction he can use. When you don’t give him one, he exhales, clicking his tongue. “Shame.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What is?”

“That you’re so damn stubborn.” He takes a step back, like he’s already won something. “But don’t worry, sweetheart. Like I said, I enjoy a challenge.”

You roll your eyes, pushing past him without another word.

Billy chuckles under his breath as he watches you walk away.

You shake off the lingering feeling of Billy’s eyes on you as you weave through the crowded hallway. The last thing you need is to be thinking about him, but the interaction still clings to you, like cigarette smoke that won’t wash out.

It doesn’t help that your next class—English—feels like a blur. You’re barely paying attention as you slip into your usual seat near the middle of the room.

“Jesus, you look like you saw a ghost.”

You blink, snapping out of it. Robin Buckley is staring at you from the next desk over, eyebrows raised in amusement. She twirls a pen between her fingers, already halfway slouched in her chair. “Or, like, had an existential crisis in the hallway.”

You snort, rubbing a hand over your face. “More like the second one.”

Robin perks up. “Ooh, do tell.”

You hesitate, but before you can come up with a reason not to, the words are already slipping out. “It’s Billy.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Hargrove?”

“No, Billy Joel,” you deadpan.

Robin shoots you a look. “Okay, first of all, don’t sass me when I’m trying to provide moral support. Second of all, what did he do now?”

You sigh, tapping your fingers against the desk. “Nothing… technically. He just keeps—" You pause, struggling to put it into words. "—I don’t know. Talking to me.”

Robin’s eyes narrow. “Talking how?”

You shift uncomfortably. “Like… I don’t know, like he’s testing me or something. Seeing how much he can get away with.”

Robin hums, tapping her pen against her notebook. “Lemme guess. The classic Hargrove moves? Smirking, standing too close, saying weirdly suggestive things but in that way where if you call him out, he’d act like you’re the crazy one?”

You blink. “Yeah. That’s… disturbingly accurate.”

Robin leans back, shrugging. “I’ve seen him do it before. He’s got a type.”

Your stomach twists slightly at that. “And what’s his type?”

She gives you a knowing look. “Girls he thinks he can mess with.”

You make a face. “Great. Love that for me.”

Robin tilts her head, considering you. “So… what are you gonna do?”

You exhale through your nose. “Ignore him.”

Robin snorts. “Yeah, good luck with that. He’s like a cockroach—impossible to kill and way too smug about it.”

You groan, resting your forehead against your desk. “This is so stupid. Why is he even bothering?”

Robin shrugs. “Could be a few reasons. Maybe he’s bored. Maybe he wants to piss Eddie off.” She pauses, then smirks. “Or maybe he’s just got the hots for you.”

You whip your head up to glare at her. “Shut up.”

Robin grins. “I’m just saying! You’re cute, he’s an asshole—it tracks.”

You roll your eyes, but your face feels warm. “He’s not interested in me. He’s interested in annoying me.”

Robin shrugs. “Eh. Sometimes those things overlap.”

Before you can argue, the teacher calls for everyone’s attention, starting the lesson. You sink lower in your seat, pretending to take notes, but Robin’s words stick with you.

What if she was right?

And worse… what if a tiny, irrational part of you wanted her to be?

The rest of the school day drags, but you do your best to push Billy from your mind. Robin’s words still linger, though—He’s got a type. You tell yourself she’s wrong. That Billy’s just messing with you because he’s bored, because you’re Eddie’s sister, because it entertains him to get under your skin.

But then, like clockwork, he finds you again.

You’re at your locker, swapping out books, when you feel it—someone hovering just close enough to be intentional. You don’t have to look to know who it is.

Billy Hargrove leans casually against the locker beside yours, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place. “Miss me?”

You huff, slamming your locker shut. “Not even a little.”

“Ouch,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “And here I thought we were bonding.”

You roll your eyes and turn to walk away, but Billy easily matches your pace, strolling beside you down the hall.

“Relax, Munson. I’ll behave,” he promises, voice lighter than before. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Scout.”

He grins. “True. But I’m thinkin’ maybe you don’t hate me as much as you pretend.”

You scoff. “What gave you that idea?”

Billy shrugs. “Just a feeling.” He glances down at you, his smirk shifting into something less predatory, more amused. “So, what do you do for fun, Munson? Besides avoid me, of course.”

You hesitate, caught off guard by the normalcy of the question. “Why do you care?”

“Just tryin’ to figure you out.”

You steal a glance at him, expecting the usual smugness, but for once, he just looks… curious. That’s what makes you pause.

Billy Hargrove doesn’t ask questions just to ask them. Everything he does is deliberate—he pushes, he pulls, he tests the waters. And right now? He’s testing you.

Before you can decide how to respond, the warning bell rings. You pause, gripping the strap of your bag.

Billy clicks his tongue. “Guess you’re off the hook—for now.”

You shake your head, stepping away. “Whatever, Hargrove.”

But really, it wasn’t whatever. You couldn’t lie—to yourself, at least. Since the day Billy appeared in Hawkins, you’d found him attractive. How could you not? But you also knew exactly what he was. Trouble. And you had enough of that in your life. You weren’t interested in being another notch in his bed frame, another girl he’d charm just to discard.

The rest of the school day feels like a blur. You can barely focus on the lessons, your thoughts drifting back to Billy. The way he keeps popping up, his questions that always seem to lead somewhere you’re not quite sure of, the way he looks at you like he knows exactly what buttons to push. By the time the final bell rings, you’re more than ready to leave.

You grab your bag and head out the door, trying to ignore the heavy feeling of being watched. The halls are crowded with students streaming out into the parking lot, eager to start their weekends. But you don’t get far before you feel it—that familiar presence. Someone too close, too intentional.

Billy. Again.

That same infuriating smirk plastered on his face. “Well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

You exhale sharply. “Yeah, it’s almost like we go to the same school.”

Billy chuckles, pushing off the car to fall into step beside you. “Y’know I like your attitude.”

You shake your head, already regretting engaging, but it doesn’t matter, Billy doesn’t give up easily.

“So,” he says casually, hands slipping into his pockets, “how come I never see you at any of the parties?”

You snort. “Because I don’t go to them?”

“Tragic,” he muses. “You’re really missin’ out.”

“Pretty sure I’m not.”

Billy tilts his head, studying you. “Lemme guess. Not a fan of loud music? Drunk assholes?” His smirk grows. “Or just worried big brother Munson wouldn’t approve?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re obsessed with Eddie, you know that?”

Billy chuckles. “Nah. But it’s fun gettin’ under his skin.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you approach Eddie’s van. Billy follows, stepping in front of you just before you can reach the door. “Y’know,” he muses, “you keep actin’ like you don’t like talkin’ to me, but you never actually tell me to leave.”

Your lips part, but before you can find a response, another voice cuts in.

“What the hell is this?”

Eddie.

He’s standing a few feet away, arms crossed, a deep scowl etched into his face.

Billy grins. “Hey, Munson.”

Eddie ignores him, eyes locked on you. “You good?”

You sigh. “Yeah, Eds. We were just—”

“She was just enjoyin’ my company,” Billy interrupts smoothly, flashing a grin.

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, sure she was.” He looks at you again, more serious now. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

You huff, glancing between them, then finally step around Billy toward the passenger side of the van.

Billy doesn’t stop you, but as you open the door, he calls after you. “See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

You don’t respond.

The van door slams shut behind you, and as Eddie pulls out of the parking lot, you can’t help but glance back out the window at Billy’s retreating figure. Something about the way he’s been acting lately nags at you. It’s different from how he’s treated everyone else; he’s not pushing you away, not provoking Eddie, not throwing his usual taunts.

The second Eddie pulls into the street, he lets out a sharp scoff.

“Seriously?” He shoots you a look, eyebrows raised. “Billy Hargrove?”

You roll your eyes, already exhausted. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, really?” He snorts. “’Cause from where I was standing, it looked an awful lot like he was trying to work his slimy little charm on you.”

You huff, shifting in your seat. “He was just talking, Eddie. You’re acting like I was about to jump into his car.”

Eddie groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s how it starts, dude. First, it’s just talking, then he’s got you riding shotgun in that stupid Camaro, then—” He shudders dramatically. “God, I don’t even wanna think about it.”

You cross your arms. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being smart,” he counters, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Hargrove’s a dick. And I don’t mean in a ‘he’s kind of an ass but deep down he’s okay’ way. I mean in a ‘he’s a total, no-redeeming-qualities, king-sized douchebag’ way.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, staring out the window.

Eddie sighs, his voice softening just slightly. “Look, I know you think I’m overreacting, but I’m serious, alright? He’s not good news.”

“I know that,” you mutter, because you do. Everyone does.

Eddie shakes his head. “Then why the hell were you even talking to him?”

You hesitate, fingers fiddling with your bag strap. “I dunno. It just… happened.”

Eddie exhales heavily, drumming his fingers against the wheel. “Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t,” you say automatically.

But something about the way Billy looked at you lingers in the back of your mind. He was charming, you’d give him that.

The drive back to the trailer is quiet. Eddie’s hands grip the steering wheel tight, and his fingers tap the rhythm of a song you can’t quite make out. You steal a glance at him, the tense set of his jaw making it clear that he’s still fuming about Billy. You know he’s just trying to protect you, but there’s something in his posture that hints at more than just concern—he’s pissed. It’s not like he hasn't made it obvious, but there’s an edge to his anger now, a frustration that’s starting to gnaw at you too.

As the van rumbles down the road toward the trailer park, you lean back against the seat, eyes trained on the world outside the window, your thoughts still lingering on the brief encounter with Billy. What the hell was that about? He hadn’t been his usual smug self. Something about it felt different, almost… normal. But you knew better than to let that pull you in.

When the van turns into the gravel lot, you finally sit up straight, looking out the window at the trailer. The silence is thick between you and Eddie, but it’s not uncomfortable. Neither of you is really ready to talk, but eventually, Eddie pulls the van to a stop outside the trailer.

He kills the engine, then turns to you, eyes still intense. “You sure you’re good?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to come out steady.

He’s quick to catch it, though, his brows knitting together. “What’s goin’ on with you and Billy, anyway?”

You sigh, pulling the door open and stepping out into the cool evening air. “Nothing,” you say, though you don’t even believe it yourself.

Eddie’s eyes follow you as you move around the van and up the steps to the door of the trailer. You can feel his gaze on you, but when you look back at him, he’s already turning away, clearly ready to call it a night.

It’s quiet inside the trailer, the soft hum of the fridge being the only sound. Eddie slams the door behind him, and you hear the familiar clink of him tossing his keys on the counter. The normalcy of it settles over you, but your mind can’t let go of Billy. You try to shake it off, but the lingering look he gave you, his sudden charm, nags at the back of your mind.

Eddie’s voice breaks through your thoughts. “You know, if Hargrove’s gonna keep trying to mess with you, I’m not gonna sit by and watch it happen.”

You stop in your tracks, looking back at him. His expression is hard now, serious.

“You don’t have to protect me, Eddie,” you mutter, though you can feel the familiar prickling of tension creeping up your spine.

“I’m your brother. It’s what I do.” He shrugs, trying to look casual, but the anger is still there, simmering. “Just don’t do anything stupid with him, alright? He’s a real piece of work, and I don’t trust him for a second.”

You want to argue, to tell him you’re fine, but something about the way Eddie looks at you stops you. You just nod, even if you’re not sure you’ll follow through.

The truth is, part of you is curious about Billy—curious in a way that makes you uncomfortable. And for all of Eddie’s warnings, the pull Billy’s subtle charm has on you is harder to ignore.

But you can’t let it happen. Not with him.

It’d be stupid. You’re the responsible one, the careful one. Eddie’s future didn’t look the brightest, but yours was looking okay right now and you needed to keep it that way. To take care of your uncle when he was older, to make sure Eddie had a roof over his head. You didn’t have time to screw up. Which meant you didn’t have time for stupid high school romances, especially not with someone like Billy.

Eddie flops onto the couch, kicking his feet up on the table. “So, what’s on the agenda tonight? Homework? Overthinking? Staring at the ceiling and contemplating existence?”

You snort, pouring yourself a glass of water. “All of the above.”

He grins, but it fades after a beat. “Hey,” he says, more serious now. “You know I’m not trying to be an ass, right? About Billy?”

You sigh, setting your glass down. “I know.”

“I just—” He sits up, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t want you getting caught up in something you’ll regret. You’re smarter than that.”

You press your lips together, nodding. “I know,” you repeat.

Eddie watches you for a second longer, then sighs, leaning back again. “Alright, well. If you start getting brainwashed by his stupid pretty-boy hair, I’ll stage an intervention.”

You roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. “I thought you only considered Steve a pretty boy.” You tease.

Eddie holds up a finger as if he’s about to inform you of something major. You chuckle as he drops it back to his lap. “Touché.”

The night passes in the usual rhythm. You finish up some homework while Eddie strums lazily on his guitar, eventually getting caught up in his D&D notes. By the time you both call it a night, the house is quiet except for the low hum of the TV in the background.

But as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, you can’t seem to stop your mind from thinking about Billy. His stupid face, stupid smirk, and yes, that stupid pretty-boy hair. You’re not used to it. You’re not the kind of person who has a lot of crushes or interest in people. And it frustrates you to no end that you can’t seem to control your thoughts.

———————————————————————————

Tuesday morning feels like a repeat of yesterday, and yet, it feels heavier somehow. You walk down the hall with your books clutched tightly to your chest, hoping for a quiet start to the day. But when you turn the corner, you spot Billy. Leaning against the lockers with that infuriating, cocky smirk plastered on his face.

He looks up at you, eyes narrowing playfully as you stop in your tracks. For a brief second, he just stares, like he's trying to figure out your next move.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says, his voice too smooth for your liking. “You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

You stare at him, suppressing the instinct to roll your eyes. He’s not really concerned. It's just part of the game he plays. "Not interested in playing your little games today, Hargrove."

Billy chuckles lowly, pushing off the lockers to step closer to you, his gaze not leaving yours for a second. "Oh, I don’t know about that. You played them yesterday."

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just trying to go about my day,” you mutter, stepping to the side to walk past him.

But Billy’s too quick, blocking your path with a casual lean against the lockers. “C’mon, Munson. I know I’m irresistible, no point in pretending you’re not interested.”

You swallow hard, already feeling that familiar knot of frustration building. Why could he seem to read you effortlessly? “I’m not interested in anything you’ve got to say.”

Billy’s eyes glimmer with something dangerous, and he tilts his head just slightly. "Really? ‘Cause you’ve been looking at me a lot for someone who isn’t."

You force yourself not to react. He’s fishing for a reaction, and you’re not going to give it to him. "You have no clue what you’re talking about," you reply, trying to sound steady, but your heart is racing.

Billy takes a step forward, lowering his voice, as if sharing a secret. “You know, I can tell when someone’s just pretending. You’re not as good at hiding it as you think, sweetheart.” He leans in even closer, his face inches from yours. “Why don’t you admit it? You’re intrigued.”

For a moment, part of you wants to push him away, to tell him to get lost. The logical part of you. But instead, you freeze. He’s not backing down and not deterred by you brushing him off. And part of you is happy he isn’t. Part of you is almost enjoying his attention.

“I don’t care what you think, Billy,” you say, the words coming out a little shakier than you intend. "You’re not worth my time."

Billy smirks again, his eyes lighting up in that annoying, self-satisfied way that makes your skin crawl. “Sure, Princess. You keep telling yourself that.”

He steps aside, finally letting you pass, but not before his hand grazes the side of your arm. The touch sends an involuntary shiver down your spine, and it takes everything in you to keep walking. You try to shake it off as you keep walking down the hall, but you know he’s watching you, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back.

By the time lunch rolls around, you’re exhausted—mentally, mostly. You spent half the morning trying to ignore the way Billy Hargrove had been getting under your skin, and the other half pretending like he hadn’t been in your head since yesterday. It was stupid, really. You knew what kind of guy he was. And yet, here you were, letting it bother you.

You drop into your usual seat at the lunch table, across from Robin and Steve. Eddie’s already there, poking at his food with disinterest while Robin chatters about some new movie she and Steve saw over the weekend. You try to listen, but the weight of Billy’s gaze from across the cafeteria is making it difficult.

“You’ve been a little quiet today,” Robin suddenly says, snapping you out of your thoughts. She nudges your tray. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing,” you say automatically, but even you don’t sound convincing.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m not buying that.”

Eddie, who up until now has been ignoring the conversation, suddenly glances up. He follows your gaze across the cafeteria and scoffs. “Jesus Christ. Again?”

You snap back to reality, tearing your gaze away from Billy, but it’s too late. Eddie saw.

“I thought we talked about this,” Eddie mutters, stabbing a fry into a glob of ketchup.

“We did,” you reply tightly.

“And?”

“And nothing,” you huff.

Robin, sensing the shift in tension, leans in with an interested smirk. “Alright, so are we gonna pretend like Hargrove isn’t staring at you from across the room, or…?”

Steve groans. “Seriously? The dudes a dick,” He says as if you don’t know. “We knew something was up, you’ve been looking weird all day.”

“I have not been looking weird,” you argue.

Robin grins. “You kinda have.”

Eddie lets out a sharp exhale and turns to you fully. “You told me you were done with this already.”

“There’s nothing to be done with,” you snap, voice sharper than you meant it to be. “I’m not doing anything.”

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah? Well, he sure as hell is.”

Robin watches the exchange with an amused expression, but Steve looks a little more cautious. “Listen, I don’t like the guy either,” he says, glancing toward Billy. “But maybe let her handle it?”

Eddie looks at Steve like he just suggested something insane. “Oh, sure, let’s just let her walk straight into that disaster.”

You slam your fork down. “Eddie, enough.”

The table goes quiet.

You rub your temples, exhaling hard. “I know what he’s like. You don’t need to keep lecturing me about it.”

Eddie blinks, caught off guard by your tone. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” you cut him off. “And I get it, okay? You don’t trust him. I don’t trust him either. But I’m not an idiot, and I don’t need you hovering over me every five seconds about it.”

Eddie looks like he wants to argue, but for once, he doesn’t. Instead, he exhales heavily and mutters, “I’m just looking out for you.”

Your shoulders slump slightly, some of the fight draining out of you. “I know.”

Robin clears her throat, cutting the tension. “Sooo, we all in agreement? Hargrove is an actual demon, but it’s not our job to beat the idea into her head?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I still think it’s our job.”

Steve nudges his arm. “Let it go, dude.”

Eddie grumbles under his breath but says nothing else.

You poke at your food, your appetite all but gone. Across the cafeteria, Billy is still watching you, and despite everything you just said… you don’t look away this time.

The last bell finally rings, and you exhale, relieved to be free from the suffocating halls of Hawkins High—at least for the day. You gather your things, moving quickly to avoid getting caught up in the post-class rush, but it doesn’t take long before you feel it again.

That familiar, lingering presence.

You don’t even have to look to know who it is.

Billy falls into step beside you, hands in the pockets of his worn leather jacket, looking effortlessly smug. “You got a habit of starin’, princess,” he muses, voice dripping with amusement.

You blink, thrown off. “What?”

“Lunch,” he clarifies, smirk widening. “Caught you lookin’ at me.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you walk faster. “You’re delusional.”

Billy matches your pace with ease. “Am I?” He tilts his head, studying you. “’Cause I could’ve sworn you were watchin’ me. Like you couldn’t help yourself.”

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you keep walking, refusing to look at him. “You’re full of yourself.”

Billy hums, clearly entertained. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

You stop at your locker, spinning the dial harder than necessary as you try to keep your expression neutral. “If I was looking, which I wasn’t, it’d only be because you make it hard to ignore your obnoxious ass.”

Billy leans against the lockers beside you, unbothered. “Yeah?” His voice drops lower, smooth and teasing. “That why you’re all flustered right now?”

You slam your locker shut, glaring at him. “I’m not flustered.”

His eyes flicker over your face, reading you too easily, like he knows he’s in your head and is enjoying every second of it. “Whatever you say, Munson.” He pushes off the locker, stepping back but not leaving just yet. “Maybe next time, don’t be so obvious.”

You huff, adjusting your bag as you start to walk away, only for his voice to call after you one more time.

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

You don’t look back.

But damn it, you feel his eyes on you the whole way out.

———————————————————————————

You’re exhausted—from school, from Eddie’s constant hovering, and most of all, from Billy’s persistence. He hasn’t done anything outright, nothing you could point to and say, see, this is why he’s trouble. But he’s there. In the halls, in your periphery, throwing casual smirks your way like he knows something you don’t.

At lunch, you’re at your usual spot with Eddie and his friends, Robin perched on the other side of the table, half-listening to Steve complain about work. You’re mostly tuned out, too aware of the weight of a particular gaze from across the room.

Billy is sitting with his douchebag friends, lounging back in his seat like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But his eyes keep flicking to you. Not constantly—just enough that you know it’s deliberate. Just enough that it’s distracting. Again.

“You spacing out or something?” Robin nudges your arm, making you blink and tear your gaze away.

“What?”

Robin follows your line of sight, eyes narrowing when she spots Billy at his table. When she looks back at you, her expression is unreadable. “Are we seriously doing this again?”

You frown. “Doing what?”

Robin leans in, lowering her voice. “Whatever weird, unspoken thing that’s happening between you and Hargrove.”

“There is no thing,” you insist quickly, too quickly.

She snorts. “Right. And Steve suddenly enjoys working retail.”

You shoot her a look, but she just shrugs. “I’m just saying—if you’re gonna go down that road, at least be smart about it.”

You don’t respond, mostly because you’re not even sure what to say. There’s no thing between you and Billy. There can’t be.

And yet, when you glance back across the room, you catch Billy smirking at you, like he knows something you don’t.

You look away this time.

The day starts like any other—school, classes, Eddie making sarcastic comments at every opportunity. But you can’t shake the feeling that something is shifting, like the inevitable pull of a current you’re not sure you want to fight anymore.

At lunch, you and Eddie are sitting with Robin, idly picking at your food when Steve Harrington appears, dropping his tray onto the table with a loud clatter.

“Alright, losers,” Steve announces, pointing at each of you in turn. “You’re coming to the game tomorrow.”

Robin groans dramatically, flopping onto the table. “Ugh, do we have to?”

“Yes.” Steve stabs a fry in her direction. “Support your school, Buckley. And besides, the team’s doing good this season. It might actually be fun.”

Eddie snorts. “Yeah, no. I’ve got a very important Hellfire meeting tomorrow. Sorry, big guy, but D&D takes precedence over sweaty jocks running around in circles.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Figures. What about you?” He turns to you, and you open your mouth to refuse out of instinct—until an image of Billy flashes through your mind.

You hesitate. Billy will be there.

You shouldn't care. You know that. But the thought plants itself in your brain, an unshakable little itch. You tell yourself it's curiosity, nothing more. It’s not like you’re going for him. It’s just… an excuse. A reason to see if he acts the same outside of school, if he’ll even acknowledge you when he's with his friends, when he’s not leaning against your locker and throwing smug comments your way.

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “I mean… I guess I don’t have anything else going on.”

Robin sighs, giving you a look. “Fine. But if it sucks, I get to complain the whole time.”

Steve grins, triumphant. “Deal.”

Eddie shakes his head, unimpressed. “You’re really gonna go watch Hargrove stroke his own ego for an hour and a half?”

You nudge him with your elbow. “It’s just a game, Eds. Not the end of the world.”

He mutters something about falling to the dark side, but the conversation moves on, leaving you with the nagging realization that, despite every logical reason not to, you want to see Billy play.

You don’t expect to run into Billy after school, but of course, he finds you.

You’re walking toward the parking lot when you hear the unmistakable click of a lighter, followed by the sharp scent of cigarette smoke. Turning your head, you spot Billy leaning against a tree near the edge of the lot, one foot crossed over the other, watching you like he’s been waiting.

“You stalkin’ me, Munson?” he drawls, taking a slow drag of his cigarette.

You scoff. “Says the guy who’s always conveniently around.”

Billy smirks but doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods toward you. “So? You gonna be there tomorrow?”

Your heart stutters for half a second before you recover. “The game?”

He hums in confirmation, flicking ash onto the pavement.

You cross your arms. “Why do you care?”

He exhales a long stream of smoke, eyes flickering over you like he’s assessing something. “Maybe I just like an audience.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitches before you can stop it. His eyes catch the movement, and his smirk softens—just slightly.

“I’ll be there,” you admit before you can overthink it.

Billy tilts his head, looking vaguely pleased. “Good.”

He doesn’t push for more, doesn’t gloat like you expect him to. Instead, he flicks his cigarette away, pushing off the tree with an easy roll of his shoulders. “See you tomorrow, doll.”

And just like that, he’s gone, walking toward his Camaro like it was just another casual conversation.

You watch him go, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter.

It’s just a basketball game. It’s just curiosity.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

———————————————————————————

Friday drags, each class feeling longer than usual. You go through the motions—taking notes, exchanging sarcastic remarks with Eddie, rolling your eyes at Robin’s exaggerated groaning about having to endure the game later. But underneath it all, there’s something… off.

Billy hasn’t sought you out once.

No lingering at your locker. No smug comments in the hall. No interruptions in class with whispered teasing in your ear. It’s almost unsettling.

You shouldn’t care. It should be a relief, really. Maybe he lost interest, moved on to some other poor girl to taunt and charm in equal measure. That’s what you should want.

And yet, every time you pass him in the hall, your stomach twists just a little when he doesn’t even glance your way. He walks with his usual swagger, laughing with his friends, exuding the same effortless confidence, but it’s like you don’t exist.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. But a small part of you—a part you don’t want to acknowledge—already misses the attention.

By the time the final bell rings, you’re more than ready to leave, eager for a distraction. Robin finds you at your locker, shoving her books into her bag with a dramatic sigh.

“I cannot believe we’re voluntarily going to this thing.”

You snort. “You act like it’s torture.”

“It is torture,” she insists. “Loud gym, sweaty dudes, and an entire student body acting like they suddenly care about school spirit? Pass.”

You shut your locker, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Well, too late now. Plus we’re supporting Steve.”

Robin groans, but she follows you anyway, because despite all her complaining, you both know she doesn’t actually mind.

As the two of you make your way toward the gym, you can’t help but wonder—will Billy keep ignoring you? Or was this whole day just a setup for something else? Regardless, you didn’t like it.

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