#to make the band... sigh... so sweet....

[asundering]

when i first designed/drew up the metal band au designs i didnt know who else to add as members. and since then we've had kayn/rhaasts followers in lor released soo-

[lay-z]

sugar plum promises | 1

SYNOPSIS: SIMON RILEY, WHO DISCOVERS (AND ACCEPTS) THAT HE HAS A RAGING MOMMY KINK, MUCH THANKS TO YOU.

PAIRING: SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY x CURVY!FEM!READER

WARNINGS/INFO: 18+ | Mommy kink; VIRGIN!SIMON; some physical descriptions of Reader; dom/sub dynamics; cussing; strangers to lovers; hurt/comfort; eventual smut [Please mind the warnings for each part!]

➥ BASED ON THIS BLURB × | [ SPP MASTERLIST ]

It’s Saturday, his first day off base since returning from a three month long deployment just the day before yesterday, when he meets you in the supermarket around the corner of his flat, where you click your tongue at him in reprimand, ogling him shamelessly like no one ever has before while he’s minding his business and checking out the new flavours of instant Ramen noodle cups.

And his spine goes rigid, when you suddenly address him directly.

“Big lad like you needs a proper meal,” you remark, pushing your grocery cart full of fresh meats, produce, and other healthy goodies past him. “In my humble opinion.” You add, nearly cooing at him as he dares a side glance from behind his balaclava.

Within seconds, his eyes flicker to your left hand on the cart, immediately checking for a wedding band, checking for anything that could help him figure out who you are, really.

His fingers dig into the plastic cup that looks comically tiny in his hands, fingers nearly denting the fabric as he tries to come up with a witty, dry remark to keep you from leaving, to start a bloody conversation for once, but then you hit him with a “Have a good day, love,” and his breath catches in his throat like someone punched his solar plexus.

By the time you round the corner to the next aisle over, his cock is so painfully chubbed up in his jeans, Simon fears he might faint from the sudden rush of blood down south.

And he doesn’t quite know what he’s feeling in this moment as his body decides to act on autopilot, boots squeaking on the linoleum floor as he turns on his heels to give chase like an abandoned pup who might have just imprinted on his new mommy.

Oh, perhaps this time, Simon’s going to get that proper meal, one way or another—hoping that maybe, you’ll let him have your sweet cunt for dessert.

He follows you discreetly through the supermarket like a man on a never-ending mission, silently stalking like a cat in a mouse chase down the aisles. His eyes are locked on you like a heat-seeking missile, noting every move you make, watching how every step sways your curves in the right fashion, nearly causing him to run into a display rack at his momentary distraction.

He nearly growls when some random bloke blocks his path to you and to ask you a question on top of that. He doesn’t quite manage to pick up the words, but it’s enough for him to clench his jaw and tighten his grip on the abused instant noodles cup. A deep huff escapes from behind his balaclava, and he resumes his discreet surveillance as soon as the man saunters his merry way.

Simon watches as you throw a pack of biscuits into the cart, your body turned away from him, your back facing him while you lean over. His eyes land on your round, firm rear like a magnet drawn to the iron. He can almost see the way your muscles move under the jeans fabric—

His thoughts are rudely interrupted when an elderly woman approaches the same shelf, and he has to step into the next aisle and pretend to browse, stomach twisting as he loses visuals on you.

As the woman moves her squeaky cart on wheels down the lane, his eyes flicker nervously before he catches sight of you again, chest heaving with a sigh of relief as he sees you browsing the frozen goods section, and his fingers twitch around the plastic cup, itching to touch you, to grab your hips and grind himself against—he shakes his head with a low grunt, trying to rid himself of that thought. He's already painfully hard enough.

It’s wrong, Simon knows that. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t use his skills to basically stalk you for making a nice, yet throwaway remark in his direction, but he somehow can’t keep his eyes off your body, his gaze glued to your every move—until you obviously pick up on the surveillance.

You do notice him. He’s like a looming shadow sneaking after your own, and for a moment, you wonder if you should’ve just kept your mouth shut for once when you’d spotted him initially.

He’s built like a bloody tank, wearing a balaclava and matching gloves with a skeleton pattern. What the bloody hell were you thinking?

All bark, no bite. That’s what you were thinking, and Wonder if he’s as tough as he looks or if he crumbles like a fresh scone with a few buttery words—like many other “scary dog privilege” men before him.

Slowing your steps, you eventually come to a stop, heart thudding as you glance over your shoulder, only to see him a few feet away, staring right back at you in a way that’s as adorable as it is eerie.

Simon’s feet freeze on the spot, his gaze locking with yours across the freezer cabinets, eyes wide. He didn’t expect to be discovered so easily, and he stands there like a deer caught in the headlights of a Humvee with an RPG attached to it—that he hopes will shoot him on sight.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly under the fabric of the balaclava, his mind racing for an excuse, a reason, though he comes up with nothing. The seconds feel like hours as the two of you stare at each other, before he finally blurts out:

“I...” His voice is hoarse, a low grumble that betrays his own surprise.

Oh. You almost laugh out loud at the sight before you, though you manage to suppress it, lips pursing in amusement instead.

No bark, no bite, actually.

He looks like an awkward little boy who’s been caught with his hand in the secret candy drawer in the living room.

“Yes, you?” you ask teasingly, wanting him to continue, to stammer and try to come up with a proper yet easily punishable lie. Raising an eyebrow, you turn towards him fully, keeping one hand on the shopping cart while your other rests on the curve of your hip casually.

“Well?”

Simon’s brain short-circuits as he desperately tries to come up with a plausible excuse, but all his mind supplies is a loop of caught, caught, caught like a broken record while he merely stands there like a fish washed out on the shore. He clears his throat awkwardly and straightens up, attempting to look innocent.

“I... I was just... uh...” he stammers, his voice wavering as the words refuse to come out. He mentally curses his lack of social skills, the years of isolation making him stumble like some twonk.

“Just doing some shopping,” he eventually mutters gruffly, his eyes flitting away from your gaze for a moment before darting back, unable to resist another look. There’s a hint of defensiveness in his voice, mixed with a tinge of embarrassment.

You nod slowly. “Doing some shopping,” you repeat, amusement glinting in your eyes as you glance down at the single cup of instant Ramen he’s still clutching in his hands like a lifebuoy. “Right.”

You notice how utterly still he is; no shuffling, no fidgeting, broad chest barely moving as he breathes, dark eyes flickering the slightest bit whenever your gaze catches his.

He’s a different breed of man, that one, you muse.

Clicking your tongue, you shift on your feet. “You call that shopping?” You nod your chin at his hands. “Like I said, you need to be fed a proper meal, love. Is your wife out of town or something?”

Simon bristles at your comment, his shoulders tensing as your words hit a nerve, a bit too close to home. He glances down at the cup of Ramen in his hands, feeling a mixture of shame and stubbornness.

The truth is that he’s so bloody touch–and attention-starved that your simple words, your simple presence, make him feel flustered, his frayed nerves now on edge.

“I don't have a wife,” he mutters, words edged with a hint of bitterness. He knows he’s being judged, but there’s a baser, hidden part of him that simply revels in the attention, in the fact that someone as classy and obviously put-together as you, has noticed him at all.

“And I can feed myself just fine.” He adds dryly, raising the cup defiantly as if to prove a point.

You swallow another pleased smile as he confirms what you've expected while the word brat burns on the tip of your tongue at this display of attitude.

Glancing back at your full shopping cart, you lick your lips briefly in thought, pondering and weighing the risks before looking back at him. He hasn’t moved an inch, simply keeps observing like you’re the odd ball here.

Pulling on the shopping cart, you slowly start walking backwards towards him, approaching like someone would a strange street dog.

“Tell you what,” you say as soon as you’re an appropriate distance away from him, and it’s then that you notice how tall and broad he truly this is up close. “If you help me carry these groceries to my car, I’ll cook you a proper dinner tonight.”

His mouth drops open, eyes wide and bewildered by your audacity. He simply stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded, grappling with the unexpected situation. You’re trying to coax him with a treat like one would do with an animal to gain its trust, and Simon is furious about the tiny part inside his brain that’s thrashing to jump on this opportunity.

“You... You’re serious,” he finally manages to sputter, his brain struggling to process that you, that a woman like you, a stranger, is actually proposing this to someone like him.

“Why would you do that?” His eyes narrow in suspicion, though beneath the hardness of his expression, there’s a hint of curiosity, a hint of longing for a chance at this offered piece of normalcy.

Sensing his—understandable—apprehension, you give a small shrug in return, finally offering him a tentative yet genuine smile.

“Because you look like you could use it, love.”

You let your eyes roam once more, looking him up and down from boot to mask, heart giving a curious flutter as your gaze locks with his; tawny eyes so dark, you know you could get lost in them if he lets you in.

Then you reach into your purse slung over your shoulder and you notice how his broad shoulders tense and how his fingers flex as if he’s bracing himself for an attack.

As your hand disappears into your purse, Simon’s defensive instincts kick in automatically, his muscles coiling tightly in anticipation. His sharp senses on high alert, he blinks, slightly taken aback but not surprised by his own reaction, though he can’t help it; years of experience and survival training already hard-wired into his responses.

But he relaxes incrementally, when he sees you withdrawing your hand—now holding a purple ball pen and small note pad, and the sudden burst of adrenaline fades to a steady thrum in his veins as fast as it came.

“I...” he begins, but the words feel caught in his throat, his mind suddenly blank.

Covering his little slip-up with your own feigned nonchalance, you start scribbling away on the first blank page of your notepad before ripping it out and holding it out for him to take, thus offering a different treat—secretly hoping he’ll like this one.

“My name,” you explain, deciding that it might not be as self-explanatory as it would be for any other man you’ve previously met, “and my phone number.”

When he eventually takes the slip of paper with due care, his eyes keep flickering between your hand and face as if still expecting you to pull a gun on him, until you take a polite step backwards.

“Call or text me for that meal if you change your mind,” you add confidently.

Simon’s gaze follows your hand warily, taking the note from you with a slow, measured movement, his gloved fingers feeling uncharacteristically clumsy and uncoordinated as he grabs it. He stares at the slip of paper in his hand for a moment, brows furrowing behind his balaclava as he takes in the sight of your phone number and name written in neat, cursive handwriting, reading the words slowly in an almost mechanical manner, committing them to memory as a precaution.

His fingers twitch involuntarily, and for a wild, fleeting moment, he wants to raise the paper to his nose and inhale the faint scent of your perfume that clings onto the paper. And then you take a step backward, giving him space, and he takes an unconscious step forward, like a puppet on a string, not wanting to put that space between you again while his eyes stay glued to yours with a touch of desperation.

You’re leaving the ball in his corner and he doesn’t know how what to think, how to act.

As you adjust the straps of your purse on your shoulder, you drink in his subtle reaction with a mixture of sympathy and glee.

“Alright then?”

Simon watches in awe as you readjust your purse like it’s the most interesting action he’s ever seen, and when he opens his mouth to respond, his thoughts tumble over each other like leaves in a breeze. A simple yeah or a sure would’ve been the logical answers, but none of this is logical to him right now.

“You’re not worried,” he observes, the words nearly sounding accusatory, “about having a stranger over for dinner?”

He almost wants to call you daft, reckless; giving a man like him your number and name, offering your kindness up so easily. Can’t you tell what kind of man he is? Don’t you know what he can do with the intel you’ve already provided him with so willingly?

Simon wants to reach out and shake you, but his fingers are trembling and his cock is still throbbing, still semi-hard in his pants—and he can’t quite tell which is worse.

There’s a long pause between you as you regard his question with a light crease between your eyebrows, and you catch yourself wondering again what this poor man could’ve possibly been through for him to be this bloody suspicious.

From your experience, almost every other man would’ve jumped on this opportunity already, presented on a silver plate. You’ve been flirting with him since you spotted him entering the supermarket. However, you can only admit to yourself that his cautious reactions are merely heightening your curiosity and the urge to unravel this beast of a man completely.

“Most people start out as strangers,” you answer eventually, gauging his next reaction carefully, “and usually one takes the initiative to get to know the other if they’re interested, you know?” You flash him a disarming smile. “This is me taking that initiative here, mister.”

He takes a step forward, invading your personal space, and the height difference between you two becomes more painfully (arousingly) clear. Simon towers over you, his body vibrating with suppressed tension while he looks down at you with a stare that usually has his rookies quiver in their boots—not you, though.

“And what if I’m not interested?” he responds too bluntly and not as playful as he intended to, his voice lowered, nearly growling at you. He’s picked up on how other men talk to women at pubs, has eavesdropped and heard how Soap and Gaz talk to the birds they end up taking back to the barracks, and yet he can’t quite get his own tone right.

He certainly doesn’t like the fact that you’re making his heart race, that you’ve piqued his curiosity without even trying. It feels unfamiliar, dangerous, and somehow, he finds himself craving more of it in the same heartbeat.

Tilting your head owlishly, you regard him with a half-puzzled, half-amused look.

“Then I'll go on my merry way, love,” you reply with a breathy chuckle that obviously leaves him feeling even more lost judging how his eyes widen. “And then we move on after having a basic human interaction at a supermarket. Life’s beautiful, innit?”

Something about the way you talk, with the casual pet name, ‘love’, thrown in every second sentence, or the way your laugh makes his skin prickle in some foreign, exciting way, drives him mad with primal want and the unfamiliar urge to keep you here with him, keep you talking.

But he also feels like a damn fool in this moment, and on top of that, his face feels so hot under his balaclava, too. You’re not reacting the way he expects you to, not at all, and it’s throwing him off-guard.

He clears his throat again. “You’ll just... move on,” he repeats incredulously, like it pains him to say the words. “Just like that.”

You shrug, flashing another smile. “I mean... yes. What else is there to do? I’m not running after a man who’s not interested in me. I’m too old for games like that.”

Simon’s eyes narrow again. The thought of you giving up so easily, leaving, not even giving him a second thought—it pisses him off, for some reason, because it’s making him desperate. How the bloody hell does Garrick make it sound so easy and suave every time?

“How old are you?” The words burst out without him meaning to, his tone still gruff and defensive.

You snort softly. He’s so bratty, so rude, it’s almost endearing for a man looking like him, and it pokes your curiosity, causing the urge to take care of him to blossom even more hotly behind your ribcage as you drink up the tension in his body and fatigue clinging behind his wary, bottomless gaze.

“Old enough to know what I want, love.” It’s a curt response that has the desired effect judging by the way his jaw ticks under his odd mask. You smile again as you put the pen and notepad back into your purse, turning halfway around to your shopping cart to signal your departure.

“Anyway... my ice cream is melting, so I’ll be heading to the cashier. Thanks for the chat. You have a good day now.”

Just like that.

Simon is reeling internally as you prepare to leave, and he can’t help but admire the subtle power you wield with the way you carry yourself and the nonchalance you display so bloody effortlessly. Suddenly, he is torn between letting you go and the fierce need for you to not walk away. His chest tightens and his fingers twitch, and he suddenly feels like a child lost in this bloody supermarket, scared of being abandoned again.

However, he swallows the plea festering on the tip of his tongue, the words asking you to wait, stay, and talk more. No, Simon falls back, clutching the bloody Ramen cup in one hand as he stares after you while you simply move on like you said you would, as if you didn’t just throw him off balance completely with this whole interaction.

When his other hand balls into a tight fist, he hears the crumpling of paper, and when he glances down at his open palm, his heart nearly drops with relief.

You’ve given him your number. He’s never gotten a girl’s number in his life.

It was real. It is real. Everything that just happened is real, and he wasn’t simply daydreaming it up this time.

His fingers close around that scrap of paper like a life line, his mind racing once more with possibilities, the scenarios, the what-ifs.

[simonz-angel]

simon taking gooddd care of his sweet dollie after a night out 🍆

he sets you down softly, letting your weight dip into the mattress. he’d been ravishing you up with his eyes all night, soaking up your sweet appearance as if he’d never laid his eyes upon your angelic look, as if the band strapped ‘round his finger didn’t tie him to you.

his fingers nimbly work the straps of your heels, they’d rubbed your ankles raw all night. there was evidence of it, as he slowly pulled them off your feet, your swollen joints and muscles red and inflamed.

“poor girl,” he murmured looking up at you from his knees at your feet. he was beautiful from this angle, eyes glowing up at you sweet and sincere, hands slowly kneading at your feet, your ankles. “wanna make you feel better.”

and he put his attention in your swelled up limbs, dipping his thumbs into the arch of your foot to dig the knots away. you couldn’t help but breathe out in relief, head rolling back as you succumbed to his massage.

“feels good, si, thank you, baby,” you sighed out, voice tipping just an octave higher bordering a sweet whine. everything tonight seemed to have simon on edge, balls drawing up just at your pretty voice.

that’s when his hands slid higher to grope at your calves. pressing the edges of his fingers into the fatty muscle. he couldn’t get his hands off you, his eyes. it was like he under some love-drunk spell, utterly raptured by you.

his lips met your knee, the soft pillows kissing at the smooth skin with an almost fervor. he wanted to soak in you, bathe in your sweetness for all of eternity.

your attention fell down to him, lip tucked gently between your pearly teeth. and when his lashes batted, pupils meeting yours, you knew what he wanted. you could see the desperation dancing around his expression.

so you slowly granted him, spreading your legs apart for him to get a sweeeet look under your dress, the smooth silk laying amongst the sheets cinematically.

his hands were suddenly lurching forward, weight tipping forward onto his knees as his tongue slid up the inside of your thigh, a slight redness welting the skin from the chafing.

and when his mouth hung open over your panties, breathing hot over the material, enough just to seep through the thin lace, he breathed you in and exhaled his thank you’s.

[chlorinecake]

A SUCKER FOR THE TASTE ✦— 𝐋.𝐇𝐒

▹ PAIRING — experienced husband heeseung x virgin f. reader

▹ GENRE — smut, fluff, newlyweds au

▹ SYNOPSIS — As teens, you were the uncanny duo that fell in love at first sight. Some odd years later, and you’re now a newlywed couple, spending your first night together in a fit of nerves as you navigate sex and other new feelings…

▹ WARNINGS — KINKTOBER SPECIAL, basically just pussy drunk!husband!heeseung making you squirt for hours on the night of your honeymoon, marriage themes (duh), mentions of food, dom and sub dynamics, kissing with tongue, overstimulation kink (reader cums multiple times), oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, petnames (baby, angel, pretty, sweetie), that’s all

▹ WORD COUNT: 3.3k — DAY 1

YOU AND HEESEUNG were like Romeo and Juliet; two people from totally different walks of life, and honestly, no one ever would’ve guessed you two’d end up falling for each other.

Sometimes, it’s hard to tell any time had passed between the first moment you met Heeseung with a hickey on his neck in the lunch hall to now as you sit before him on a king sized bed, ring fingers clad with beautiful bands to match as you stared into each others eyes, speaking a love song of unspoken words.

“You’re fine with waiting til marriage?” You remember asking him a few weeks after you first started dating as teens, “you won’t think I’m a prude for wanting to keep things traditional?…”

“Of course not, sweetie,” you remember him answering while cupping your face in his hands, “a girl like you is worth the wait—” He whispered in between kissing your lips, “—and so much more…”

Since that moment, you and Heeseung have stuck to your guns, not even so much as showering together to keep your purity intact until the right moment…

… That fateful day when you’d say “I do” and he the same, right before venturing off into the sunset on angel’s wings to explore another country together.

Another life, might I add, as a married couple on your extravagant honeymoon…

Everything was so magical in your head, too… but regardless of that, Heeseung was too big of a fucking dork to let himself be romantic for once.

Just an hour ago, he had told the hotel receptionist “you too” after she congratulated you both on getting married—

“Grrrrrrrrr,” he pouted, scrunching his nose at you.

“Did you just… growl at me!?”

“Yes, and I’ll do it again if you keep resisting,” Heeseung threatened playfully, pointing an accusing finger at your frame now.

Sighing, you raised your hands beside your head as a sign of compliance, parting your lips slightly as you held your head back for him.

“Alright, don't move this time, alright? We can do this!” He ordered more passionately this time, cradling a single grape between his fingers before angling his wrist backwards and launching it towards your mouth.

“Oh my gosh, I finally caught it!” You shouted with excitement, words coming out a bit slurred as you bit down into the sweet fruit, “Tastes like victory,” you continued, making Heeseung grace you with his thundering ovation.

“Brava!” He began to cheer, but the rest of his sentence was interrupted by his own burp, which only elicited a fit of embarrassed giggles from the both of you…

Two empty glasses of wine sat on the hotel nightstand beside the bed you were currently sat on, and if it wasn't obvious enough, y'all were already starting to experience the giddy effects of the alcohol dancing in your systems.

“So,” you smiled, a laugh still present in your throat as you fed him a white grape from the bowl between you two, “we're the couple that eats pie in place of dinner now?”

“Sure... but not just any pie,” Heeseung corrected, leaning closer to your ear as he whispered, “blueeeberry pieeee.”

You're not sure if it was the wine or the honeymoon high, but you can't help yourself from laughing out loud at Heeseung's behavior in this moment—

“You’re a legend for always vibing with my horrible sense of humor, y’know that?” Your husband remarked while tilting his head at you endearingly.

“Your humor is definitely one-of-a-kind, but I wouldn't want you to change a thing about it,” you returned tenderly, right before feeding him a fork-full of blueberry pie from the dish between you two, feeling your heart swell as he smiled into the bite.

The kind of smile you’d have a hard time getting out of your mind later—

“Thanks, babe,” he said, a bit of dark blue jam resting in the corner of his mouth now as his eyes sparkled with what you could bet was pure flattery.

You always liked it whenever you managed to get Heeseung all flustered before you, considering how he was usually the one to make you a blushing mess with only his words.

“You've uh...” you stammer slightly, “you've got a little something on your lip there...”

“Really?”

“Yea, just... let me get it for you real quick,” you continue, licking the pad of your thumb before leaning forward to dab at the jam on his mouth.

That's when you noticed his lips curving into a subtle smirk as he whispered in a low voice, “You got it, baby?”

“Y-yea,” you stuttered again, feeling your face heat up at his words, and if you didn't look so hot to him right now, he would've pinched your cheeks—

“Whoops,” Heeseung gasped facetiously, pouting at the streak of blueberry jam he very intentionally just smeared on your lower lip, “must be the wine making me so clumsy today...”

Your eye almost twitched at the sight of him licking his finger clean, a rush of nerves swarming in your stomach now

“I-it's okay, Heeseung,” you said while lifting your thumb to your mouth, “I've got it...”

“No you don't,” he chuckled at your shy demeanor, right before closing the space between you two, taking your face in his hand and kissing you.

And yes, you saw this coming, but it took you a few seconds to fully close your eyes, letting them flutter shut as you both sighed at the taste of each other, almost as if the contact relaxed you…

The kiss was slow at first, with you and him simply breathing against each other’s mouths as his velvety lips moved against yours.

But that pace didn't last long once Heeseung broke from the kiss to move the bowl of grapes and pie out of the way, a few of the glossy green ovals hitting the ground with light thuds as his right hand found the small of your back, pulling you even closer to him.

The kiss grew more intense from there as both your heads were tilting into each other, wet smacks filling the room now as his tongue prodded against yours with every passing second.

“God, you taste so sweet,” Heeseung groaned, desperately clinging to your waist which only made you moan in response.

You and Heeseung had made out countless times in the past, but you could tell something was different this time... you never felt this worked up with him before, and you knew it wasn’t just gonna end with a kiss—

“Can’t wait to taste other parts of you, too, baby…” he hummed, kissing along your neck while pinning your delicate wrists above your head.

And that’s when you felt it…

The twitch between your legs and the heat rushing throughout your entire body…

You were wearing a plaid pajama skirt and white top that matched Heeseung’s plaid sweatpants and long sleeved shirt, as you simply expected to only eat some dessert, discuss the rest of your honeymoon plans, and head straight to sleep right after.

Now though, you knew you wouldn't be able to get much rest with your emotions like this… at least not comfortably, that is…

You’re between his lap at first until he guides you onto your back, kissing down your neck, between your breasts, and down your stomach as he lifts your top, stopping at the waist band of your skirt given the way your body tensed up suddenly.

“Is everything alright?” He asked softly, glancing back up at you with a swollen look to his pouty lips, given all the kissing they had just done.

You knew what was happening right now..

Heeseung was doing exactly what you had asked him to do, and as much as your body craved it, your mind kept fighting it for some reason…

FLASHBACK —

“Just… don’t make it too… formal, okay?”

“Formal?” Heeseung repeated with a slight chuckle as you sat beside each other on the plane that morning.

“Well, yea… I just don’t want to make a big deal out of it—”

“But it is a big deal, baby,” he cut you off by placing his hand over yours. “We’ve been waiting a long time for this, y’know?… Not just to have sex but—” he leaned closer to you as he whispered this in your ear, “—to make each other feel good… in all kinds of ways…”

His breath tickled your ear in that moment… similarly to how his lips were tickling you now as you laid before him on the mattress, his head hovering over the space between your thighs.

“We don’t have to go any further until you’re ready, love—”

“I’m ready, Heeseung,” you said while nodding, but he waited to continue, knowing in his heart that there was still something you needed to get off your chest.

He backed away, pulling your shirt back over your stomach and sitting on the bed normally now.

“Heeseung,” you said again, drawing his sparkly doe eyes back to you.

“I’m listening, love,” is all he replied with, offering you a warm smile, “what’s on your mind?”

What’s in the way? You internally asked yourself right after, knowing deep down that you had no reason to feel so nervous with him right now…

Heeseung had never alienated you because of your inexperience with sex before, and was always very understanding of your moral and sexual boundaries.

But now, things were different; you were a married couple, and one of the many perks of that was being able to explore each others body in a comfortable way…

Turns out though, it was all just your own insecurities clouding your judgment, and you hated that you couldn’t shake the nerves bubbling in your stomach…

“It’s just that,” you started nervously, fidgeting with your manicured nails, “I… I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Yeah, I know,” your husband nodded sarcastically, trying his best to resist the urge to kiss you again—

“And…well, you have a lot more experience than me with this kind of thing,” you continued, lowering your head.

“So what?”

“What if I don’t meet your expectations?…”

“Expectations? What do you mean, ____?”

“Well, you’ve been with a lot of other girls and what if I’m not as good as them? What if you don’t like sex with me?…”

Heeseung’s heart would’ve otherwise dropped at your words, but instead, he smiled softly, taking your chin in his hand and lifting your head towards him. “You’re nothing like those girls I was with in the past, ____, and that’s my favorite part about you,”

You looked into his eyes as he continued, “I’ll be happy with whatever happens tonight. You wanna know why? Because I did it with you, and I love you with my everything, princess…”

“I love you too, Heeseung,” you replied meekly, flashing him a soft smile as he kissed your cheek.

“No expectations tonight, then… okay, baby? I just wanna please you,” he whispered, slowly guiding your body back down against the mattress with a secure hand. “I wanna make you feel so good,” he continued, placing another kiss to the center of your lips. 

Heeseung started by letting his plush lips wander all over your body again, lifting your shirt up once more to leave open-mouthed kisses all over your stomach.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured with warm breath against your skin, caressing your inner thighs with his hands until you naturally craned them open, inviting him to your pulsing core.

Your breath hitched once you felt his nose burry between your clothed folds, but your little sounds only excited him even further, and he wasted no time in removing your panties completely now.

“Heeseung,” you whined, watching him through half-lidded eyes as he spat on your cunt, toying with the moisture there using his middle and index finger.

“Just relax for me, angel,” your husband cooed with a soothing tone, and you're not sure if it was the alcohol or the petname he just called you in his bedroom voice, but your head was starting to feel very dizzy.

And if you weren't so horny, you would've felt bashful in front of him like this... half-naked, and trembling when he's hardly even touched you yet.

The coldness of his wedding band against the warm flesh of your thigh sent shivers down your spine, and he wasted no time in inviting his fingers into your sopping hole, one at a time until your walls practically sucked him in.

He then started to leave kitten licks against your sensitive bud, complimenting the pace by pumping his wrist towards your pelvis with his digits still exploring the gummy walls of your cunt.

Admittedly, you had tried fingering yourself in the past, but it never felt as good as the way Heeseung worked wonders inside you right now, but you still needed something...

Something to hold onto… something to grab, and Heeseung could immediately tell once your nails started weakly nipping at the bed sheets, your pussy throbbing more and more—

“Hee,” you moaned, feeling his fingers curl deeper and deeper inside your tight cunt, “need to touch you so bad...”

“Yea? Wanna hold my hand, pretty?”

All you can manage to do is nod desperately, making him chuckle slightly at your neediness.

“If you hold my hands, I need you to promise to keep your legs open for me on your own... can you do that for me, love?”

“Y-yes,” you stammered, and with that, Heeseung got to work on licking your slick from his fingers before finding your hands in his.

But your core was already missing the stimulation, making your hips rise up and down as if thin air would provide enough friction to ease your craving.

And that's when he licked his first stripe up the center of your pussy, and you're sure your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the sensation.

It didn't take long for the pleasure to escalate from there, either.

His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked you in like a starved out man. His tongue was applying pressure in all the best ways before sinking into your hole, filling you up just enough to have you arching your back on the bed.

You felt your first orgasm wash over you, but you knew your husband had no intention of stopping so soon.

You were mewling beneath him at the overstimulation, thankful that he at least slowed down the pace of his tongue, even though he was still very earnestly slurping at your juices…

“Could eat this pussy for hours, princess… you’re just too delicious…” he groaned, and you felt the bed shaking from the way he was rutting his crotch against the mattress, furrowing his eyebrows as his kept eating you out.

“Come on baby, let me hear you,” Heeseung practically begged, his tone sounding so hoarse, so drunk as the vibrations from his voice only tantalized you even further, “tell me how good it feels...”

“F-feels s-so fucking good, baby,” you moaned, words coming out in fragments given how cloudy your brain was becoming, and you're pretty sure you had your second or third orgasm shortly after as your hands squeezed his, so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

His tongue was licking between your folds so well, the textured muscle making your skin tingle all over but in the best way imaginable.

Heeseung didn't plan on any of this to happening, which is why it felt so good in the first place. It was natural, raw, and so so messy…

Your own cum was dripping all over his chin and lips, and he was loving every single second of it.

He was obsessed with it. The way your clit throbbed against his lips, the way you squirted your juices all over his face, the way your thighs squirmed while struggling to stay open, and your angelically desperate cries of pleasure as he drew out orgasm after orgasm after orgasm.

He wished he could watch your face contort with need as he fucked you with his face and tongue, but he couldn't look back up at you no matter how hard he tried… He had to keep his face buried between you…

Your strength eventually gave out and your grip released his hands that soon found one of your tits, gripping the mound of flesh in a way that only drew you even further over the edge.

Your hips had even developed a mind of their own, humping against his face like a bunny in heat as he whispered filthy nothings against your cunt, as well as sweet somethings that you'd hear for the next hour or two that Heesueng spent with his pointy nose brushing against your clit.

“You're so fucking wet for me, angel...”

“Love it when you come all over my face.”

“Pull my hair, baby... harder than that...”

“So so beautiful, and just for me.”

“Keep those pretty thighs open just like that, baby…”

“You taste so fucking divine...”

“Please don't tell me to stop... just one more, baby... I know you've got it in you...”

He found just as much enjoyment being between your thighs as you did in having him there, making you cream on his tongue again and again until you finally hiccuped the words, “N-no more, Hee... p-please, I can't t-take anymore...”

But your begging only made Heeseung even greedier, letting his fingers find your clit where he applied enough pressure and stimulation to break that last orgasm out of you, leaving you a shaking mess as he kissed you down, harder than a bullet in his own pants from getting to see you like this so many times and for so long in just one evening.

A series of shaky whimpers filled the room now as your husband crawled back over you, kissing you with his swollen lips while caressing the side of your fucked-out face. “You did so good for me, baby... especially on your first night...”

“Th-thank you,” you said with a weak chuckle, still feeling your orgasms fresh in your hips and thighs as he kept soothing you with his touch, your breath shaky in your chest after hours of coming undone with him…

That's when he moved over to lay beside you, and your eyes almost immediately caught sight of the thick bulge resting behind his pants, and you couldn't help but feel a little bad now given how he didn’t get much action the whole time.

“Do you want me to...” you started timidly, moving your hand to touch him up til he stopped you.

“Not tonight... we can have fun with that tomorrow,” Heeseung smiled, making you giggle again as he changed his position to make the bulge less noticeable, “for now though, let's focus on getting you cleaned up... sound good?”

“Better than good,” you replied tenderly, kissing him on the cheek before he got up from the bed and headed toward the hotel bathroom where he planned to run you a nice warm bath.

“Wait!” Your husband called out suddenly, just as he caught you trying to get out of the bed on your own.

Running over, a confused look remained on your face as he picked you up from the mattress bridal style, carrying you to the bathroom.

“I didn't forget how to walk, Heeseung,” you giggled, keeping your hands secure at his shoulder as he cradled you into the tub.

“I know,” he laughed, helping you get your top off and over your head as the water ran in the background, “I just didn't want my precious wife accidentally stepping on any of those grapes I dropped earlier...”

It went without saying that Heeseung had always been a loser, but he was your loser, and that fact alone was the bandaid that covered up every preconceived notion of him you ever created in the back of your mind…

You didn’t see him the way other people saw him… as the former man whore, troublemaker, or hopeless goof from high school, ‘destined’ to never change…

You saw him as the adorable nerd who accepted you for the things you saw as flaws… as the guy who still wore character themed PJ’s every once in a while that you now get to call “Hubby,” “lovey,” and “mine…”

⋆♱✮ Huge thanks to everyone who read this little fic of mine, which actually concludes DAY 1 of my Kinktober Event !! If you're interested in reading more works like this, feel free to check out my main enhypen masterlist or my kinktober masterlist by clicking one of these links !!

⋆♱✮ PERMANANT TAGLIST:

@squoxle, @nishiimuranights, @ashgonedash

@yourmomscuntis2tighy, @wonbinisbabygurl

@watamotee33, @addictedtohobi, @ot7sevenlvr

⋆♱✮ KINKTOBER TAGLIST:

@pasteltheghost16 @fawnpeaks @melonvrs

@mheretoreadff @skzfelixlove @inishij

@yaorzu-blog @andromedawillburyyou @ramyeonzprincess

@zaihypen @simjaeyunns @gardenwonnies @hynier

@idontknowhowtomakeusernames @enhymeowz @minhosimthings

[snail-day]

Suguru knows better than to flirt with his pretty little wife when you’re high off your ass on anesthesia.

He does. He's reminded himself countless times.

But then again, you’re blinking up at him like he’s the moon itself, all soft and slow with that syrupy smile pulling at your lips, holding onto every word he''s saying. Your pupils blown wide, unfocused, cheeks warm and a little flushed, and he’s weak for you like this. Loopy. Dazed. Sweet as honey.

He adjusts the monitor, fingertips brushing the edge of your wrist where the pulse oximeter clips gently to your finger. It’s steady. So is his hand. (Even if the rest of him isn’t)

“You flirt with just anyone like this?” he asks, low and quiet, just a hint of teasing in the edge of his voice. Violet eyes softening as they find their way to yours, lidded. Dark hair pulled back into a neat tie, though a few strands have managed to slip loose. He even wore your favorite scrubs, little kitties, an anniversary gift.

You giggle. All sticky-honey and with the sweetest smile. “Only the white-haired doctor gets it this good.”

Suguru huffs a soft laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he makes a little note on your chart. Nothing medical. A doodle. He just needs somewhere to put his hands. “Ah. Well. I guess I’ll let that one pass.”

You still haven’t noticed the silicone band glinting on his finger.

Still haven’t realized the man standing at your bedside, gently adjusting your blanket, has already kissed you good morning today. Already whispered you’re okay, I’ve got you before the anesthesia hit. Already threatened three different interns not to mess up your IV.

And then you sigh, all dreamy and lost in the soft lighting of the recovery room, eyes fluttering up to his face like it’s the first time you’ve seen him.

“My husband won’t put a baby in me,” you whisper, voice confidential and sing-song. “Maybe you would.”

Suguru freezes. Still polite. Barely composed.

But his ears go pink. Just a little. He presses his lips together. Fights the smirk twitching its way up.

“…Maybe your husband just thinks the three of you don’t have the time right now,” he murmurs, smoothing your blanket down pretending like you haven’t just turned him into hospital gossip for the evening. His warm hands, fingers long and careful as they brush over your thighs, just enough pressure to settle you, not enough to rattle.

Somewhere beyond the curtain, a familiar voice whines:

“That’s my wife,” Satoru’s saying, exasperated and loud enough for the whole wing to hear. “What do you mean I can’t be her doctor anymore?! What do you mean I can’t crawl in bed with her?!”

“Dr. Gojo,” the charge nurse says, unamused, “please leave the hallway.”

Suguru just sighs. Tucks your hair behind your ear with one gentle finger. You lean into it instinctively.

“Such a handful,” he murmurs under his breath, though whether he means you or Satoru, even he’s not sure.

You reach up for him again, fingers forming a wobbly little heart in the air. And he melts. Lets you catch his hand, lets your fingers trace the edge of his palm while you giggle and hum and blink at him. Acting as if this is the first time you've ever fallen in love.

You don’t remember much right now. Not the wedding. Not the matching rings. Not the way you cried the first time he called you his.

But it’s okay.

He remembers enough for both of you.

[nxrvqna]

newlywed!sylus who couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into your plush skin that had him entranced the entire ceremony. seeing you in white made him dizzy.

after bidding goodbye to your guests and leaving, all that could be heard in your hotel room was the sound of heavy breathing and kissing. sylus had all but molded himself to you, his hands travelling everywhere all at once. clad in your white veil, lace garter belt and stockings; sylus in his dress shirt, tie, and dress pants that were tightening by the minute.

his lips grazed the curve of your neck, his hands coming up to move your veil aside so he could latch his lips onto that sweet spot just behind your ear. you carded your fingers through his white tresses whilst squealing at his movement. he purposely pulled up to gauge a reaction from you. “leave your tie on, sy.” you whispered him, with your honeyed voice, avoiding his gaze. sylus looked down at you, a small tug of his lips. “why’s that, sweetie?”

“so i can do this.”

you pulled down suddenly on his tie to bring him back to your level and gave him a searing kiss, your grip never faltering. you felt sylus’ smile against your red lips. you broke apart and sylus looked at you with a tenderness in his carmine eyes, your lipstick smeared. “whatever the wife says.”

“i have to reward my wife for her courage, don’t you think?” he spoke aloud, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt and loosening his tie. he gently guided you until your back met the wall and he got on his knees. running a hand up your leg, his agile fingers fiddling with the sheer material of your stockings. throwing one leg over his broad shoulder so that he was met with your bare pussy, swollen and glistening under the light of the room

without warning, he glided his fingers between your folds, making sure the cold metal of his wedding band made contact. your legs buckled. his hand moved with ease, manoeuvres unchallenged from how wet you were. he sighed, warm breath fanning against your clenching hole, before licking one long stripe against your wetness. “can’t believe this cunt is mine for the rest of my life. i could die a happy man.”

sylus would put down his gun, leave his life of violence behind and write poems about you. your hair, your skin, your smile. he’d follow you to the ends of this world and the next, worshipping the very ground you walk on, the air you breath. his to hold and cherish, for better or worse, in sickness and in health.

[luvnette]

-𝑆𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑤𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚-

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: g!pSevika x fem!reader

𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡/𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: NSFW, mdni, modern au, rough but loving sex, Sevika has a dick, top!Sevika/sub!reader, cum eating, mommy kink, edging, clothed sex, teasing, fingering (r! receiving), missionary, aftercare

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: You decide to surprise your girlfriend with a sweet treat, but you two quickly forget about eating.

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠: 1.4k

It was a quiet evening. The golden sunlight fills the kitchen with a soft warmth and your favorite podcast is on while you pour the cream you just made over some strawberries.

“Sweetheart, I’m home!” Sevikas voice echoes through your shared apartment, before she walks into the kitchen and hugs you from behind, kissing your cheek gently.

“Hey honey, how was your day?” you smile, leaning into her touch.

“Hm, exhausting. You know how the council is.” she sighs. “Need help?”

“Not really, but you could set the table”

Sevika grabs two bowls, forks, and a bottle of champagne and places them on the couch table. She pours two glasses and sits down on the couch. You join her in the living room, filling the bowls with strawberries and cream. Sevika pulls you close and turns on the TV to watch some stupid reality show.

~ఌ*:・ﾟ

You don’t quite notice the cream on your face, focusing on the Television. But you do notice that Sevika was staring at you for whatever reason.

“Everything alright?” you ask, raising a brow at her.

“Just.. there’s something on your right cheek.”

“Oh”

You knew exactly why she’s glaring at you like this, her voice all low and flustered. Sevika was tipsy- and horny. And to taunt her some more, you wipe the white fluid away and slowly lick it off the back of your hand, giving her a half-lidded look.

“Damn tease..” Sevika put her bowl down and crawled on top of you, pinning your body against the couch to kiss you long and deep.

Her hardened bulge pressed against your throbbing core, making you mewl against her lips. You wrap your legs around her lower back, pulling her closer to get some kind of friction.

“Needy, huh? Use your words pretty girl.”

“Fuck me..” you mumble while giving her another kiss, but she pulls away.

“Mh mh, you can do better than that.”

“Fuck me, mommy.. please..” you beg, her lips crashing into yours once more.

Sevika pins your wrists with her mechanic hand above your head, her flesh fingers finding their way into your pants. She starts to rub your soaked panties with her index finger, making you squirm underneath her.

“God, how the hell are you this wet?” she chuckles before she adds another finger, massaging your dripping hole more eager.

“Nghh.. more-” you moan, desperately trying to free yourself from Sevikas grip.

“Such a naughty slut.. so eager to be fucked..” she huffs, biting your neck, leaving marks and hickeys.

And just when the rubber band in your tummy is about to snap, Sevika stops her movements.

“Mhhhh.. Sev..” a hitched cry leaves your throat, the now missing warmth of her fingers driving you insane.

“Shhh, be patient love.” Sevika sits up and takes your clothes off except for your panties.

She undresses herself shortly after, revealing her hard, aching length. The sight of the precum dripping out of it’s tip makes your cheeks turn red.

“Like what you see, hm?” Sevika teases, slowly stroking her big shaft.

You give her a slight nod, earning a low chuckle from her before she leans into your heat, tenderly kissing your clothed entrance.

“You taste so sweet” she humms, carefully pulling your lacy underwear aside. “Such a pretty cunt, all ready for me..” Sevika removes your panties with her teeth and brushes her thumb over your swollen clit.

“Ahh..” you moan, her teasing making your mind all hazy and mushy.

“Ohh, I know baby.” she coos in a sickeningly sweet tone. She starts to kiss up your body, first your pussy, up to your belly, further to your tits and then your lips, smirking into the kiss.

Sevika carefully starts to thrust her dick against your wet core, covering it in your juices before she shoves it inch by inch into your throbbing slit.

“Sevi.. too.. big- hmm..” you babble, a tear forming in your eye.

“Well, use your safeword then sweetie- Ngh..” she groans, wiping the tear off your cheek.

But the only thing that comes out of your mouth are whimpers, your soft walls wrapping around Sevikas cock, filling your hole perfectly.

“That’s what I thought.. Fuck, my good little girl..” she whispers, starting to thrust her hips back and forth, her dick pushing in and out of your tight cunt.

“Ahhh.. faster!” you whimper, your nails digging into Sevikas back, pressing her boobs against yours- until she carefully pulls the hair on the back of your head with her right hand.

“Ouch, Sevika!”

“Didn’t I tell you to.. mmh.. be patient? hm?” she grunts, her pace becoming rougher and rougher.

“I’m so.. sorry!.. Please, make me- ah.. cum!” you plead, your nails leaving scratches all over her shoulders.

“Mhh.. that’s right.. beg for it..”

Sevika rams into you a few more times, her tip hitting your cervix with every single thrust until you feel the torturing pleasure of your climax building up again.

“Ah- hm.. Ahh, mommy.. so.. close, nghh..”

“Doing so good.. cum for mommy..” she murmurs, her hand coming down to your lower region to rub your clit.

The added sensation sends you over the edge.

“-Vi..ka! Ahh!..” you moan, coming undone. Your walls tightly clench around Sevikas length, covering it in your juices.

“Oh.. god..” she groans and with another few sloppy thrusts, her orgasm follows shortly after yours, her hot sticky semen filling you up. “Shit..”

Sevika carefully pulls out, the emptiness inside you making you whimper. She goes down on you to lick along your sensitive slit, the excess cum that dripped out of your hole now on her tongue. She gently picks you up and kisses you deeply, giving you a taste of the mixed juices.

“Let’s get some rest, hm?” she says and carries you into the bedroom, placing you on the soft mattress.

Sevika disappears in the bathroom for a moment and comes back with a warm wet cloth. She lies down beside you, slowly wiping any stains off your overstimulated body.

“I love you, Sevi..” you whisper, tracing the scars on her chest.

“I love you too, my girl..” she smiles, kissing your forehead before you two slowly drift off to sleep.

[salem-s]

STONEPIT FINALS AND SPRING CHAOS (18+) ── RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT

── SYNOPSIS rafe's been your best friend since forever, and you thought he'd be ecstatic to see you after a three week trip; however, you overhear him telling his friends that it's been nice without you clinging to him every five minutes. so that's what you give him: space. every attempt to get you back falls short, and rafe's confusion only augments when he sees you running with a different crowd. ── WARNINGS suggestive themes, language, half smut (??? everything's over the clothes, lowkey switch!rafe), swearing, angst and miscommunication but with a happy ending. 18+ mdni. ── WORD COUNT 16.9k... That's genuinely not okay... ── NOTES edited from third person perspective to second, so let me know if there are any mistakes. ── SONGS OF THE CHAPTER guilty pleasure by chappell roan | transparentsoul by willow | misery business by paramore. we're gonna pretend these are original songs by their band, alright?

“It’s been nice to have some peace and quiet without her constantly attached to my hip.”

You've been replaying his words in your head all night.

Sure, you invited herself over with the intent to surprise him after being gone for three weeks. Coming home a day earlier than expected was a set in stone plan all along, and thought nothing of walking into one of his renowned parties like you always have.

The familiar crowd greeted you like an old friend, throwing around heys and you’re back already? and all the other surprise lingo. You truly did your best to smile and nod to all of them, however these people weren't really your friends, instead mere acquaintances in an adjacent social circle.

The one person you really wanted to see was, undoubtedly, out back smoking a joint or nursing a beer away from the crowd with his two close friends, so you knew exactly where to find Rafe Cameron whenever his six foot something height wasn’t peaking above the crowd.

So on you walked: through the yard, in through the kitchen, and out towards the back porch. 

Along the way, you bumped into his younger sister, Wheezie, who greeted you with a genuine hug and sigh of relief that, finally, she’d be able to tolerate any social gatherings held at her house, as long as you were there.

You mostly (always) sought out refuge in Wheezie's room when you didn’t feel like entertaining these rich kid assholes, or whenever you were getting bored with whatever conversations you'd been dragged into just for the sole purpose of keeping him company.

Wheezie, too, knew exactly where Rafe was and even grabbed your hand to lead you to him. 

"It’s been nice to have some peace and quiet without her constantly attached to my hip. The clinginess has really been pissin’ me off. It's like she can’t do her own thing."

And of course, Wheezie heard it, too, gripping your hand tighter out of pity - or compassion - you couldn’t tell.

Before Wheezie could do anything, you slipped her hand away and took a step back. The young girl looked mortified at her brother’s words, her mouth gaping open and closed like a fish to attempt to defend his words or spin them to make them mean something different.

But you both knew her fruitless attempts wouldn't mean anything.

They were jarring, the words he spoke.

And, frankly, they really pissed you off.

You only stuck around his hip at these things because he always told you to beforehand, something about not wanting you to wander off into trouble (which you had a tendency to do), or because you always grounded him when he was overstimulated.

Rafe was the one who held you close at night, whispering sweet nothings in your ear when he’d snuck in through the window after particularly rough fights with his father. He was the one who needed to hold you, to tether himself to someone, to something, just to make it through the night.

So why the fuck was he talking about your clinginess as he's the one who couldn't go one night without you? 

You scoffed when you heard it because, pfft, he must’ve been talking about someone else, surely. There’s no way he said that to his friends, and had the audacity to join in with their laughter.

Oh, it pissed you off.

Because if he really wanted space, sure, you could do that. No problem.

If there's one thing you prided yourself over, it was your dignity and stubbornness. You could give him space. You'll give him all the damn space and go find your own thing. 

Which is what you did later that night. 

Rafe had advised against it when the proposition was broached to you a couple weeks ago: a music gig.

Here's the sitch: you had a voice people would stop and listen to – not that you particularly liked boasting about it. It just came to you naturally, and you liked producing in the quaint privacy of your bedroom, mashing songs and creating unheard harmonies on audio software for fun.

You didn’t participate in the school plays or drama programs because, no, those were too on the nose and not the kind of music you'd like to sing (in front of people, anyway). Plus, all of the theater kids in the area are even more annoying than the preconception of the stereotype. Your voice was mainly barricaded inside the shower tiles or sitting pretty in the passenger seat of Rafe's car, or occasionally when you found yourself alone at the beach or on a walk in the dark. 

After a particularly grueling and obnoxiously abhorrent gala earlier in the summer, you found yourself separated from the party and wallowing with a stolen drink in the back alley of the country club. Rafe was off entertaining whatever girl he had his eyes on for the night and Wheezie wasn’t feeling well so she didn’t attend.

You were bored, tipsy, and feeling pathetically lonely. So, naturally, you started singing softly to yourself in the quiet solitude of the alley, thinking you were alone.

What you didn’t know was that the staff – a group of Pogues who needed a quick cash grab in the catering gig – were having their smoke break, and conveniently needed a new lead after their old one transferred schools to the mainland. They were friends with Sarah, Rafe's other sister, who you haven't been close to since you were kids.

You were weary of their proposition, the group not normally being the kind of people you'd hangout with due to them being intimidating, almost too cool, to where you thought you wouldn’t fit in.

Oh, but you did. You did well. 

Rafe's overly protective words echoed in your head as you instantly beelined for the door despite Wheezie's pleas, leaving his home and immediately driving to the Cut.

You were told where they practice, a quaint house on the far side of the island where they could riff and rehearse without a noise complaint. You found herself standing in the garage with the mock stage, with a rising sense of pride and retribution.

You told them, fuck it, you were in, that you'd do anything to take the spot that was so graciously offered to you all that time ago, to contribute to their band and to the competitions held in the rough part of the island. 

And in you were. 

Meanwhile, Rafe had never felt so fucking lost in his life. 

Not when he got into earth-shattering arguments with his dad about his spending habits, his overflowing temper, or anything he did under the sun (because anything he did seemed to piss his dad off).

Not when he’d spent those months of endless fighting in a hole of self pity, drowning himself in partying and occasional lines to numb the phantom ache in his heart.

Not when he’d lose girlfriend after girlfriend because he was incapable of doing what was expected of a boyfriend, not what was expected of Rafe himself. 

He was constantly told growing up that feelings were weak, and wearing them on your sleeve was even worse. Being sad was just an excuse to get a pass, to draw attention to get people to feel bad for you. Being sad meant being weak. Being emotional meant being weak. Caring too hard about things meant being weak. 

Normally, Rafe was able to move past these episodes because he always had you to seek solace in. But he lost you.

And he had no clue fucking why. 

He wouldn’t admit it to anyone breathing that he’d been counting down the days until you arrived back from your trip, not even his closest friends that he clung to in your absence.

Because Rafe had a reputation to uphold, and revealing such strong feelings for his best friend would definitely damage his stone cold apparatus. People would see his walls broken down for you and they would assume they were entitled to the same treatment. 

No. Rafe liked being unapproachable. Feared, even.

He liked that you clung to him at parties, at the stupid gala events their families would organize to flaunt their money in expensive garb and even more expensive donations that they announce with a bullhorn and neon sign. He liked that you clung to him because he asked you to.

He always asked you to.

And you always complied. 

Deep down, Rafe knew that you'd rather go off and stir up some trouble instead, or not attend all together and get into even deeper shit somewhere else, but that meant that you'd be away from him, not under his protective eye, and that always stirred up something ugly in him.

Rafe had to come rescue you one too many times, most times you didn’t even need to ask.

He was just there, waiting for you to be done with whatever you wanted to do, then he’d drive you home and (almost always) stay over.

You would tease him relentlessly, you and your smart mouth riling him up to tremendous heights. But he relished in it. He craved it. Because he’d rather you drag him every time you opened her mouth instead of what you were doing now, which was ignoring him. 

And the radio silence was killing him. 

Rafe was ecstatic the day you got home, waiting in your driveway to bring you to school like always. But after waiting for what felt like ages, he found himself on the doorstep yelling at you to hurry up.

Instead of being met with your pretty, Rafe had to hear it from your fucking mother that you had already left, that you got a ride from someone else. 

That was just strike one. 

Arriving at school with a rise in his temper, Rafe was already having a bad morning.

He was irritated. All week he’d been texting with you about how you both were gonna get coffee and catch up in the car before parting ways for classes. It didn’t help that he was nursing a minor hangover, and he felt even more like an idiot bringing in your coffee that he’d gotten for you anyway. 

Strike two was when Rafe saw you in the hallway, and the weight in his chest immediately lifted at the sight of you, glowing with a new gleam in your eye that had him yearning to know more about what you were up to.

The prior anger fizzled away the closer you got. You were walking straight to him as Rafe grinned and stuck out the coffee for you.

But as you got closer, Rafe's smile slowly faded as he noticed you were looking beyond him, brushing past him with that beautiful smile – the smile meant for someone else.

He spun around to see who you were ignoring him for, and scoffed when you were greeted with open arms to his sister and her friend group of wannabe rock Pogues that pissed Rafe off at any chance they could. 

Rafe was confused and irritated, and he didn’t want to be holding your coffee anymore, frankly. You fit in with them in a sick way that had him aching. 

Without thinking, he said your name quizzically with a slight edge to his tone.

A warning, almost. 

You had turned around, surprised to see him. He wasn’t sure if you were feigning naivety or just pretending you didn’t see him to piss him off. “Oh, hey.”

He felt stupid, all of a sudden, with all the eyes of your new friend group on him, Sarah even tilting her head at him quizzically.

Rafe held out the coffee. “Here. You ghosted this morning.”

“Sorry,” you smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. He hated the way it looked. You took the coffee. “Thanks.” Then you flicked your gaze over your shoulder, at them, and turned back offering him a curt nod. “I’ll catch up later.”

You spun on your heel and joined the group, walking away down the hall sparking an animated conversation as if he was just a bump in the road. 

And that’s how it started. 

You slowly fizzled Rafe out of your life.

You slowly stopped responding to his messages, stopped showing up to his parties, stopped everything in your life that involved him and, god, it broke his fucking heart.

Every time he stopped over, your parents would say that you were out with friends and he would scoff, not that they would care where you really were. Sometimes they’d say you were upstairs studying, and when they would let Rafe in to go see you, he’d be met with an empty bedroom and slightly ajar window.

Pathetically, he’d stay in your room because he was usually too embarrassed to go back downstairs and show his face to your parents. Sometimes he slept there in the spot he always slept in on nights where he just couldn’t fucking bear to go home. Sometimes he’d just climb out through the window and leave. 

Whenever he’d see you in school alone, Rafe would jump at the chance to talk to you.

You would entertain him for a walk to class or a quick chat in the library, nothing short of politeness. But Rafe didn’t want polite. He wanted you, and you wouldn’t fucking come back to him.

Instead, you would just give him the same tight lipped smile you gave all the other rich kid assholes that you hated, and then go about your day. 

God. Rafe needed you.

He needed a friend, a real friend. Someone he could trust unequivocally, without hesitation. Rafe needed to hold you, and that realization made him want to throttle something.

To be so dependent on you felt weak. It felt horrible, really, to have it suddenly stripped from him with no warning. But the longer he went without you, the more he realized he needed you to hold him. That epiphany had him pissed off more than ever.

Naturally, Rafe resorted to anger because if he didn’t, he would just wallow in sadness and that scared the shit out of him. 

But an opportunity blossoms – a real chance – to get you talking to him again, even if it’s just for one night. 

The annual fall donation gala is tonight, and Rafe knows that you won’t be able to get out of this one due to your mother’s incessant inclination to attend as a family, to uphold your image, whatever the hell that means.

Each season the wealthy families on the secluded part of the island gather in their overpriced suits and gowns, flaunt their money, spew some fake bullshit on how much they love charity and specifically how much money they were going to spend towards renovating the rougher parts of the island and the public institutions, all while they down their drinks and snort lines in the bathroom and plaster on fake smiles of grandiose.

Your family and the Camerons go together every season, being neighbors and all, pairing you off with Rafe while Wheezie and his other sister, Sarah, would stick with each other.

Sarah, being just a year younger than him, mostly always brought a random boy as a date. Wheezie often soloed, but would steal you for a better portion of the night. Rafe normally allowed it, but tonight he refuses to let his sister have the time of day.

No matter how much shit Wheezie gives him, he has to have you all night despite her premature protests, which will probably be a lot given the circumstances from the past few weeks. 

That's another thing as of late: Wheezie's been uncharacteristically cold to him, making him do ridiculous shit for her to get back on her good side, like taking her out to eat or reviewing her essay or watching a stupid show with her that he never would agree to watch in the first place.

Sure, he’ll set himself back a few pegs with Wheezie, but he has to get you back tonight. 

But of fucking course you just have to look that beautiful, so it takes Rafe a while to even say anything to you besides a pathetic hello. 

As tradition, you and Rafe lock arms as you enter the gala. He notices that you don't hold him as tight. 

You notice that he’s clenching his jaw so tight it might break, probably pissed that he has to be here in the first place. 

You loathe the idea of coming to this pathetic excuse of class performance, but public appearances are the only thing your parents are interested in.

They’ve been lenient about how much you leave to hang out with “Sarah” when in reality you're high tailing it to the rough side of the island getting up to all kinds of trouble (also with Sarah, but that's besides the point). However, they started to get suspicious of where you run off to every weekend, and god forbid they find out you sneak out basically every single night.

Things with the band are going great, too good to jeopardize.

So you figure if going to this gala will satisfy your parents’ consciousness and keep their noses out of your business, then you'll be able to deliver with elegant poise and limited back talk.

It doesn’t help that you and your band have a gig later tonight. The gig. The Stonepit finals. It also doesn’t help that you're stuck here.

But you have a plan.

Since you're here, your bandmates take on the event's catering gig so you'll all leave together an hour before the gala is supposed to end.

It’s slightly embarrassing to be walking arm-in-arm with Rafe under their knowing stares, especially since they have a vague idea of what really went down between you and the Kook prince.

They’re familiar with the island royal because of Sarah anyway, and despite not entirely liking him due to Rafe's douchebag tendencies, they’re sympathetic to you for choosing to step away from someone you once called your best friend.

Your friends, your new friends, care for you and know the hurt that came with ending things with Rafe, even if you never explicitly cried or showed any ounce of emotion when it came to him. They can just tell. And it reflects in the music, much to your dismay. 

And sitting next to him all night doesn’t help.

You're polite, saying your please and thank yous. Rafe is quiet, especially with his dad sitting on the other side of him.

One thing you both unintentionally agree on, though, is the synchronized stifled laughter on the faux-emotional speeches the PTO housewives make about the charity of their choice. Rafe and you know of the falsehoods that run through this community, that it’s all a stunt for public decency, and you always bet each year how many times they shed crocodile tears before dinner’s served. 

The last ripple of applause begins to die down after the last housewife steps down from the microphone, her lip curled up from a previous sob reforming back to a nonchalant tight lip as soon as she’s out of the spotlight. You push food around your plate with your fork, stifling a cold laugh that will undoubtedly earn a scolding from your mother. 

“I counted seven,” you say softly, indulging. 

It surprises Rafe. Immensely. His brows raise at the jab and he looks over to see if you were talking to yourself or actually to him, to see you staring at him in anticipation for his response.

Rafe's heart does a weird thump. “One of the better years, for sure.”

You laugh quietly and Rafe nearly sighs at the sound. 

Noticing a few older couples heading to the dance floor, Rafe bites the bullet, clearing his throat to get your attention as he holds his hand out. 

“Dance?”

You dart your gaze between his hand, his eyes, and the dance floor, uncertain. This makes Rafe's heart thump even wilder, and he’s certain you can hear it through his all-too-expensive suit jacket. He notices your apprehension, and he pushes down the hurt that springs to his throat. 

Despite it, he chuckles nervously. “It doesn’t have to…mean anything. Just to get away from this.”

Rafe gestures towards their table, their parents having a little too much to drink and starting to ramble on about shit they don’t care about. Sarah’s off with her boyfriend, John B., who should be working but doesn't look the slightest bit concerned about slacking off, while Wheezie talks to one of her friends off to the side, rueing the day in pre-teen style.

As much as you want to say no and stay cordial to your dignity, you're starting to get a headache from your mother’s high-pitched laughter and dad’s intolerable business talk, so, reluctantly, you accept and takes his hand.

It takes everything in Rafe to not visibly sigh in relief as he leads you to the dance floor. Your friend, JJ, smirks behind the seafood buffet table, watching them. You throw him an eye roll that Rafe doesn’t see, to which JJ just shrugs and winks. 

Slinking your hands around his neck, your heart skips a beat at the close proximity. Rafe's hands settle on your waist.

It draws in a sense of comfort, of familiarity that he’s been yearning for all this time without you. He takes a deep breath, embarrassingly deep, because for the first time in what feels like forever, he feels like he can finally breathe again despite the intoxication of your perfume and the stench of cigarettes wafting from the balcony. 

Rafe takes the time to study you up close.

You cut your hair in a more edgy way, drastically different from your previous untouched hair that he was used to twirling between his fingers under Egyptian cotton sheets. It’s different, but he likes it. You looks comfortable, like yourself. He also notices the excessive added jewelry that you've been wearing lately.

Although Rafe frowns after his inspection, noticing it’s none of the jewelry that he’s given you over the years. Your makeup is clean, effortless. 

Beautiful, he thinks. 

Fuck. 

He doesn’t realize you say something until you pinch his neck. 

“Hm?”

“I asked if you were okay. You were brooding,” you tease quietly.

It feels like old times again. “I don’t…brood,” he attempts to defend. 

You snort. “Sure.”

And that’s that. 

Rafe doesn’t really know what to add from that, nor where to start on what he really wants to talk about with you.

It takes everything in him to not scream in frustration. He’s not good with his words, he doesn’t know how to vocalize the sensitivity that he feels in fear of being perceived as weak. He’s only good at physically projecting his anger, his irritation, his emotions that make him feel strong or, more so, his actions that make people fear him and submit to what he wants.

It’s easier that way, to not have to use words to convey what he wants done and what he needs people to do. 

But not with you, never with you. 

“I…” he starts lowly, trying to calculate his thoughts but they’re just a whirlwind in his mind right now. “How have you been?”

Rafe cringes at himself. 

You frown, moving forward with caution at his uneasiness. The classical band plays something slow and melodic and so fucking romantic that it makes you want to throw up. “Good. Really good, actually. Been busy.”

“With?” Rafe attempts.

“With…stuff.”

He swallows. Of course you won’t tell him, why would you?

“How about you?” you ask timidly, noticing his sunken expression. “Are you okay?”

Rafe hesitates.

No, he’s been at his lowest. He’s been losing his mind without you at his side to anchor him to his real self. He’s been lost trying to figure out what you've been up to, why you've been running and hiding from him ever since you got back from your trip all those weeks ago. He’s especially lost in trying to figure out why you've been running with his sister and her annoyingly arrogant Pogue friends. 

Rafe assumes you tell them all your tidbits now, like what you did that day or what show you're watching, talking to them how you used to talk to him.

It makes him sick. He feels like a fucking idiot trying to figure out what he did wrong, always coming up blank on answers but never having the courage to just ask you what the hell happened that rendered such coldness from you. 

“Yeah. Been okay,” he settles on. 

Despite the strain on his voice, you manage to smile at him, but there’s an ounce of worry in your expression that throws him off.

He’s confused: do you still care about him? Is that still on the table? Are you really going to dance around the elephant in the room? Are you going to keep acting like nothing is wrong? Are you ever going to tell him what he did?

“It’s a busy time of year, I wouldn’t-” you start nonchalantly, but Rafe suddenly scoffs at your attempt to small talk with him. This earns a pointed glare. “Is something wrong?”

Rafe scoffs again. “Of course something’s wrong." No going back now. "Everything’s fucking wrong. We’re standing here making useless bullshit small talk as if you haven’t been ignoring me for weeks.”

Curse him and his temper, he wants to immediately apologize for his tone. But you frown even further and loosen your grip around his neck but Rafe tightens his.

“No. We're talking about this. Stop running for a second.”

“Running?” you hiss. “I’m not…I haven’t been-”

“Yes, you have,” Rafe says, trying to stay even but his voice betrays him as it shakes. “I don’t know what’s going on with you but I’m losing my mind because you won’t talk to me, shit, you won’t even look at me anymore.” He shuts his eyes for a moment, gathering himself. “I just…need to know.”

Your frown turns into a thin lipped line. Isn’t this what he wanted? Space? 

Your mind is reeling. On one hand, you're pissed.

How dare he act ignorant to the fact that he was bitching and moaning for some peace and quiet to his friends, how desperate he was to have some space from your oh-so-overwhelming clinginess, how you couldn’t even do your own thing due to how much you depended on him for everything: friends, a social life, style, a personality. Like, what the fuck?

But on the other hand, you sees Rafe. Your Rafe.

The Rafe who climbs through your bedroom window in tears from his father’s vocal bullets, searching for solace and warmth that he simply can’t get in the comfort of his own home. The Rafe who rarely knows how to express himself in anything other than rage because that’s how he was taught to deal with his emotions: through instilling fear. The Rafe who would truly do anything for you if you asked nicely. The Rafe who, behind closed doors, is kind, loving, and sweet when he cares, like getting you your favorite ice cream after you failed your exam or staying up until sunrise with Wheezie finishing the show she’s been raving about.

You sees Rafe, a boy who needs answers. 

“Please.”

His tone of desperation pulls you from your thoughts, a tone he only saves for late night confessions under starlight, just for you. 

You can’t help but teeter between the two hands. 

“Rafe,” you start carefully, “I came home a day early from my trip.”

He frowns. The music is too slow, too beautiful. He’s confused. “You did?”

You nod. “Yes. I wanted to surprise you.”

The gesture is so fucking sweet that it makes Rafe melt in agony. What did he ever do to deserve your love and friendship for as long as he had it?

“I walked around looking for you, and assumed you were in the back with Top and Kelce. You were, but I heard what you said. All of it.”

Rafe reels back in confusion.

What?

What are you talking about?

You notice his confusion and scoffs lightly, the sound heavy with hurt instead of bitterness. “Of course you don’t remember.” You take a breath, replaying the words that have been on repeat in the back of your mind for weeks. “‘It’s been nice to have some peace and quiet without her constantly attached to my hip. The clinginess has really been pissing me off. It's like she can’t do her own thing.’ You don’t remember saying that?”

What?

Rafe's mind is spinning because. What. 

“I…” he starts, but then stops, piecing it together. No, he couldn’t have. 

But you nod, confirming it. “I heard it. So did Wheeze. I didn’t want to make a scene and just figured it would be easier to give you what you wanted. So I backed off. Gave you your space. Found my own footing.”

Rafe stares at you in disbelief. The words come back to him, each one hitting him harder than the last. 

“It’s okay,” you say before Rafe can get a word in, noticing his internal conflict.

He hates the small, understanding smile you're wearing. You should be hitting him or cussing him out.

Instead you're fucking smiling at him, even though it's laced with sadness, it's still a smile. “I’ve…come to terms with it. I just wish you told me I was being too clingy instead of complaining to your friends about it. I would’ve backed off if you asked.” 

Rafe shakes his head, because of course you would do something if he asked you to without any hesitation.

He can’t believe it, how you heard him say something so horrible (and completely untrue) and aren't cursing him out or going around telling people his deepest darkest secrets and demons. He deserves worse. He deserves nothing good after making you feel so unwanted, like you had to completely remove yourself from his life in order to give him what he – seemingly – wanted. 

Rafe can only say your name.

“Really, Rafe,” you say after he can’t form the words he wants, “it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not,” Rafe snaps, chest heaving. “It’s not fucking… I didn’t mean it.” 

Okay. Now you scoff and he frowns.

You're not gonna sit here and listen to him spew out excuses, bullshit excuses, so he can get back on your good side. You're not gonna forget how those words made you feel. If there's one thing bigger than your ability to hold a grudge, it's the need to defend your dignity.

“If you didn’t mean it, then you wouldn’t have said them – fuck – you wouldn’t have thought them in the first place.” You try to loosen your grip once more to escape but he holds you tighter. You huff. “Rafe, let go. Seriously. I said it was fine. Let me go.”

It isn’t fine, you both know that, but you personally don't want to entertain his fragment words.

But Rafe can’t let you go. Not like this. 

“No, I need to– fuck…” Rafe curses.

Why can’t he just say he’s sorry? Own up to it? Push his pride down? No, because that would mean admitting defeat. That would mean admitting something he’s tried to push down for years and years in fear of ruining your friendship. 

Well, he’s already ruined it, so what’s left to lose? 

You, he realizes. He’s losing you, and he’ll lose you forever if he doesn’t get his shit together at this given moment. 

His chest is heaving, he realizes.

His heart feels like it’s in his throat and he’s gripping you as if you're going to disappear if he lets go. Rafe doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that the world keeps spinning around them. Couples keep slow dancing, people keep laughing and drinking, the song still plays. No one knows what’s going on within your bubble right now, the emotional turmoil sizzling between you both speaking in hushed breaths. 

“I’m sorry,” he says low and heavy with emotion.

You take that as irritation. “You’re sorry you got caught.”

Rafe shakes his head, furrowing his brows as if that’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “No. No. I’m sorry for saying that stupid shit. I didn’t mean it, Snips. Not really.”

The nickname makes your heart leap to your throat, but you swallow it. “Not really?”

Rafe curses. “No, I…fuck-”

“You what? What, Rafe?”

“I–”

“Wanted to impress your friends?”

He grimaces. “No–”

“Needed to brag about how I’m always at your beck and call? Your bitch waiting at your disposal?”

“No!”

You laugh humorlessly. “Then what-?”

“Because I need you more than you need me, and it scares the shit out of me.”

You freeze, your next retort dying in your throat as you look at Rafe's desperate expression.

His eyes bore into yours, those piercing bright blues, and you don't notice until now that his hands have been shaking, his chest is falling up and down rapidly, how the crease in his brow is more prominent than ever. You study him, looking for any signs of duplicitousness but coming up short.

Instead you see how broken he really is. 

Rafe notices your pity and hates the expression, so he shuts his eyes. “I…I think I said it to pretend it was the other way around. That…maybe if I said it and put it in words, I could pretend that you needed me in the same way. I hated the way I felt for those three weeks without you, and it scared the shit out of me.”

Silence. 

Your hand travels from the back of his neck to caress his cheek, which makes him open his eyes to meet your gaze. 

“It doesn’t make it okay,” he quickly adds. “What I said wasn’t okay. At all. I hate that you heard it.”

Rafe leans into your touch instinctively, your palm boring into his cheek. His heart thumps for a different reason now, for your silence. He doesn’t know what to make of it. The tension is thick and he hates the way you don't say anything.

Something foreign pricks in his chest, an unsteady murmur.

“Please, say something,” he pleads pathetically, feeling stupid at the desperation. 

You feel flustered from his words, speechless.

Your heart lurches in your throat at the confession that probably ached in his soul all these weeks, that gnawed at him every time you brushed him off or ignored his messages and did exactly what he was afraid of: leave.

What Rafe said was wrong, very wrong, you know. There’s no if, ands, or buts about it.

Your heart sinks, though, at the thought of him pushing down his feelings, his real feelings, so deep to the point where he was drowning in his own mind. This is the boy you grew up with, who held you when you were upset, who knew your every thought before you could formulate it, who begrudgingly took you to prom after your date stood you up.

Your Rafe, sharing something so raw and scary. 

You hold him with such lightness, such care, murmuring quietly, “Rafe–”

Suddenly, a throat clears next to you.

Rafe's anger flares back up when he sees fucking JJ Maybank looking at you, feeling tidal waves of stupidity and irritation that he confessed something so raw to you. He wants to rip you away from this crowd, from JJ, to talk somewhere in private, to even sit in silence if it means he can hold onto you like this for a little while longer.

Call him selfish. 

“Sorry to…interrupt,” JJ says, darting his gaze between the two of you, finally settling on you after a moment of taking in…whatever was happening here. “We gotta go. Now. Rumlow pushed our slot up.”

Your hand falls from Rafe's cheek and he gets even more irritated. What business does JJ Maybank have with you? Who the fuck is Rumlow?

You step away from Rafe and, this time, he lets you. “What? You’re kidding.” You groan and curse, “The whole deal about winning Greengate was that we’d get first pick of the Stonepit slot.”

JJ huffs. “Freddie slid him a fifty to make sure we go right after his band, so second to last.”

Band? Rafe furrows his brows. 

His confusion is put on the back burner as you ball your fists tight at your side. “Damn it.” Then, you take a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s go out the back.”

JJ glances at Rafe wearily, whose stare couldn’t be more piercing. “Uh, what about your stuff?”

“It’s at the table. My mom will definitely ask too many questions.”

“Blame the period?”

You snort. “You still clearly know nothing about women. Not believable. Best chance is to just slip out. I’ll deal with my mom later.” 

JJ moves to leave, walking a few steps away until he notices you aren't following. You hesitate, looking up at Rafe who has been awfully quiet and confused, watching your conversation happen in front of him. His blue eyes bore into yours, a twinge of pain hidden within his features that makes your heart lurch.

You have the sudden inclination to grab his hand, to comfort him for a moment more. 

Silence. 

Clearing his throat once more, JJ rubs his forehead at the tension between the two. “Uh, I’ll give you guys a minute.” He shoots Rafe a warning glare, one that makes Rafe narrow his eyes, before turning his attention back to you. “Meet us out back when you’re done.”

And like that, JJ walks off the dance floor and disappears through the staff doorway.

His absence is felt, the air thick between you and Rafe as unspoken words yearn to come into fruition. The slow, romantic melody continues to play as couples sway around you and the emotion behind it makes your tummy feel weird. 

“You’re leaving?” Rafe manages to ask thickly, the words feeling like lead in his throat. "With...Maybank?"

You look up at him once more, and this time, you actually do grab his hand.

He gazes down at your intertwined fingers as your other hand comes up to graze his knuckles, fingertips smoothing over his rough, calloused skin in such a delicate manner it allows him to breathe for a moment. Your cool rings feel like ice against his hot skin, and he nearly flinches from the contrasting feeling. 

Your next words are cautious and slow. “You’re truly sorry?”

“Yes,” he immediately answers. “More than you’ll ever know. More than I’ll ever be able to say.” Rafe squeezes your hand. “Let me make it up to you. Please.”

You meet his gaze.

His pretty blues no longer glisten with sadness, but instead hold their own. Promising. Genuine. Home. You find herself suppressing a smile because, fuck, you missed him more than you'd like to admit. 

Glancing back towards the family’s table, you notice your parents are still talking to Rafe's, the waiter coming over to top off their drinks as they obnoxiously laugh over something that probably wasn’t very funny. Nevertheless, they’re distracted for the night and clearly not caring about the whereabouts of their children. 

An idea - a really stupid idea - pops into your head when you turns back to Rafe, a newfound determination gleaming in your eye that he only knows as trouble. 

“Come with me.”

Rafe's lips part in confusion. “You want me to?” Then, more uncertain. "With...them?"

Pushing down the impending fight night that'll probably happen between him and the Pogues, you quirk a brow as you teasingly squeeze his hand.

“Thought you wanted to make it up to me.”

“‘F course.”

“Then let’s get into some trouble.”

He finds himself narrowing his gaze, but there’s no real strictness behind it as he tries to suppress a smile. “Snips, what are you getting me into?”

You tilt your head to the side and bite the inside of your cheek, taking one last glance at your parents – more occupied than ever – before you start pulling Rafe off the dance floor, dragging him through the crowd and through the same staff door that JJ disappeared into earlier.

You don't let go of his hand as you swerve past the catering staff and waiters, beelining for the backdoor leading to the alley. 

Noses scrunch at the smell, reeking of garbage, cigarettes, and gas. It’s not the worst thing out there, no, because Rafe tries his best not to grimace when he sees your new group of friends, the Pogues he oh-so despises, hanging by their clown minivan as they all change out of their catering uniform into their own clothes, their performance clothes, just shamelessly half naked and laughing as if it isn’t ridiculously intimate. 

Sarah is slipping her ripped jeans on under her dress and shimmying on a tank, a cigarette poking through her plump lips. Kiara is applying lip liner in mirror, perched in the passenger seat. John B. finishes buckling his belt, taking the cigarette out of Sarah's mouth to take his own hit. Pope is sitting in the driver’s seat, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel and checking the time on his watch anxiously. JJ's putting on a shirt when he sees you and Rafe emerge, hand in hand. 

“Country Club, you comin’ with?” JJ teases as he throws his ratty t-shirt on, wearing a smirk that Rafe wants to smack off his stupid face. 

You speak before Rafe can start an argument. “Guys, Rafe's gonna tag along tonight. Any issues?”

Everyone stops what they’re doing to stare between you and Rafe, and he squirms under their judgemental stare. He knows he hasn’t been the nicest to them, and vice versa, as their social circles often clashed with ferocity. He also knows that they’re aware of the previous animosity with you based on the way the girls, Kiara and his own damn sister, are glaring at him with such a deep warning that it makes him shiver. 

It’s Pope who breaks the silence. “I don’t give a fuck if he shits gold. We need to go now if we want to warm up.”

JJ snorts. “We’d be lucky to make curtain call.”

“Have some hope, Jay,” Kiara mumbles to not mess up her lipliner. “Pessimism gives you crows feet.”

Sarah hums low as she steals the cigarette back from John B., who looks Rafe up and down. The two of them have had their fair share of qualms. Rafe truly can't keep track of how many times he's gotten a black eye from his sister's boyfriend, and vice versa.

But, no, he can't be getting into fights tonight. Not while he's on your probation.

Pope groans and rolls his eyes. “Crows can’t drive. Now, can we please all get in the car before that shitbag gives our slot away?”

It's muscle memory when Rafe lunches forward to snatch the cigarette from Sarah's mouth, throwing out the cigarette butt onto the concrete with a narrow gaze. She sends him an eye roll, but wordlessly climbs into the minivan with John B. behind her, and to Rafe's surprise, all of the back seats are folded down so they all sit in a circle in the trunk.

His mind races at the hazardous set up.

You notice his concern as you sit down next to him, stifling a laugh and squeezing his hand once out of comfort, pulling it back before Rafe can even process what is happening. 

“We throw all the instruments back here, so the seats stay down,” you say softly, just to him. Rafe straightens up a little, feeling a sense of pride that you're only talking to him. “You get used to it after a while.”

But that beaming pride doesn’t last long as JJ sits on the other side of you, a little too close for his liking, smirking at the two of you.

Rafe bites his tongue as the blond grins toothily at him. “Don’t worry, Country Club. You can hold my hand if you get scared,” JJ teases, wiggling his fingers at him. 

Rafe rolls his eyes and fights the urge to jump him right here and now. The only thing pulling him back to reality is the sound of your laughter.

“Fuck off, Maybank,” is all he manages to pathetically muster up in response. 

Pope drives sporadically, ranting about how they’re not gonna make it now that their slot is moved up, how the lights are never green when he needs them to be, how John B. didn’t fill up the gas tank since he was the last one to drive, and so many more complaints that Rafe loses count.

In the back circle, however, they’re talking business and spewing vocabulary Rafe's never even heard of.

John B. is going on about JJ needing to remember to wait a beat before the chorus on their first song, and how Kiara needs to be a second step harmony above you, not just one, and how he himself wants to remember one specific rhythm in a riff he’s been practicing.

Rafe feels a little outdated due to his outright confusion, feeling like he’s at a tennis match just watching them pull out notes back and forth and back and forth. 

It isn’t until Sarah tosses you a bag where Rafe truly short circuits.

Your confusion is apparent when you hold up the bag, raising a pointed brow.

Sarah gestures to the bag. “Change. You won’t have time when we get there. I put in some cute earrings for you.”

Such a Plan A girl, you think, smiling at her as you open the bag: a sultry tank top, black mini skirt, and your mile high boots that you know and love. At the bottom there’s a little baggie full of jewelry.

“Thanks, Sare.” You shuffle to slip your heels off, nudging Rafe's shoulder on accident as you do so. 

He nearly winces when you take the black mini skirt and starts to roll it on under your long, expensive dress, catching a glimpse of your dainty underwear. Next, you let the shoulder straps slip down your goosebump covered arms.

Then, with complete fucking nonchalance, you turn your back to Rafe, cheekily looking over your shoulder at him.

“Zip?”

Rafe stares wide-eyed back at you, his gaze flicking between your dress zipper and your smug expression.

His heart races in his ribcage at the thought of you changing in front of all of these people with no question. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but the fact that you're ready to completely undress in the back of this dingy van has his head spinning. 

JJ snorts, bringing him back down to Earth. “She asked you a question, Country Club. Angel, want me to do it?”

That snaps Rafe out of his trance. His nimble fingers immediately go to the zipper, delicately pulling it down. “Don’t play around, Maybank.”

“CC, you’re my favorite person to play around with.”

“Watch it.”

You roll your eyes at the two. “Alright, brats, let’s simmer. Now, I was thinking–”

Rafe tunes out the rest of what you say when you let your dress slip down off your shoulders, exposing a strapless bra barely fucking covering anything as your long dress pools down on the dirty van floor. Continuing to yap about whatever notes you have, you grab the sultry tank top from the bag and pull it over your head, not breaking your thought process while Rafe's thoughts have been completely broken to begin with.

He coughs quietly to himself to get his shit together, especially when you unapologetically adjust your bra and tank top to how you want it. 

Now dressed, you shift again to sit back down on your ass, brushing Rafe's shoulder once more.

But Pope takes a wild turn, everyone shifting from the force of it. John B. smacks his head on the window as Sarah plummets into him, JJ holds his own as he grabs onto the door handlebar, and you fly into Rafe's lap, his hands instinctively thrown up to catch you, or at least attempt to, as you scramble to get up. 

“Fuck, sorry,” you murmur, placing a hand on his thigh to push yourself up. “You good?”

But JJ's laugh interrupts. “Oh, he’s great.” He holds his fingers up to wiggle at Rafe again, wearing a shit eating grin that, pathetically, turns the tips of Rafe's ears pink. 

He ignores it. “You wanna see great?”

You sit back down on the floor in your original spot, sliding on your socks and boots. “Boys, play nice. You’ll have to get used to each other at some point because you’re both not going anywhere.”

Kiara pipes up from the front seat. “Maybe we can lock them in a closet together. That’s what John B. and Sarah do whenever they fight.” 

“Usually we end up fucking instead of actually making up, but, who knows? That could probably work for you guys, too,” John B. chides, earning a slap to the chest from Sarah.

Rafe rolls his eyes so hard it kickstarts a migraine. 

He feels your hand brushing his thigh as you laugh and, despite his rising temper, it manages to relax Rafe just a fraction. Especially when you lean more into his arm. Christ, your perfume scent is the only thing he can think about. 

Then, Pope makes a screeching halt and everyone is thrown around once more. Before you can fly across the van into Sarah, Rafe grabs you by the waist and pulls you flush against him.

Everyone waits a beat, then two, then sigh in relief when they realize the van isn’t going to be moving anymore. 

Pope turns around with a giant grin. “We’re here, andiamo!”

Everyone blankly stares at him, hair askew and clothes out of place. He frowns at the crowd. 

“What? At least I got us here with ten minutes to spare!”

It only takes one minute for shit to hit the fan. 

It’s already unnerving enough for Rafe to realize where they are: in a dingy basement nightclub in the shitty part of the Cut where he normally wouldn’t even think about coming to.

A slice of anger rises in his throat, to cuss you (and Sarah) out for being so reckless if this is where you've been spending all of your time, in a place that doesn’t feel safe to him in a part of town that isn’t meant for girls like you.

He hates thinking like that, knowing damn well you're capable of protecting yourself – Henry Kennedy's permanently crooked nose can attest to that – but there’s a sliver of primitive instinct in him that wants to constantly protect you, shield you from everything and everyone. If he ever found out something happened to you in a place like this, there's no question that he'd burn it to the ground.

Rafe's hand ghosts over the small of your back when they enter the venue, which earns a finger wiggle from JJ, teasing him. Thank god you don't see it, or Rafe would’ve really had to punch the fucker in the face. 

But the play time’s over when the group watches the slot before them get on stage, the Pogues (including you) collectively booing them and flipping them off. Rafe looks around to see if anyone’s pissed at the Pogues for, once again, creating a public disturbance, but they just sort of let it happen.  

You nudge Rafe, nodding to the lead singer who all but gropes the microphone. “That’s Freddie.”

Rafe studies Freddie: tiny, skinny, shaggy hair and a crooked smile that’s directed right to you. It sends a shiver down his spine, and he immediately straightens up protectively, sizing the scrawny guy up and down, narrowing his fixated gaze as Freddie grabs the mic and introduces their band with a deeper voice than Rafe expected to come out of him. 

“You know,” JJ nudges Rafe as if they’re best buds and he darts his gaze from the spot JJ nudged back up to the blond boy to try and find the audacity in the space between, “Angel here beat him up once. It was one of the greatest things I’ve ever seen in my life. I won ten bucks out of it.”

Rafe quizzically looks between JJ and you, stunned. 

JJ laughs. “What? You didn’t think his teeth are naturally that fucked up, did you?”

But his attention leaves the nuisance and solely focuses on you. Rafe snorts, suppressing a beaming grin. “Snips, how hard did you hit the guy?”

“What?” You feign innocence, shrugging as if the thought of it doesn't make Rafe's head spin. “I hit him as hard as he deserved. He did touch my ass.”

Rafe stills. 

“He what?”

“Easy, Rafey. I took care of it,” you joke. Then you notice the stone cold glare in Rafe's eye as he sizes Freddie up and down, suddenly frowning and grabbing his hand to pull him out of the trance. “Rafe. Jesus. Don’t actually kill the guy.”

JJ's cackle just pisses Rafe off even more, especially when he claps a big, audacious hand on Rafe's tense shoulder. “You know, I wasn’t sure what part Country Club would play in our show tonight. But I think we just found our new bodyguard.”

You squeezes Rafe's hand once. Twice. He relaxes his shoulders, shrugging JJ off but still keeping his hold on you. 

The glue of the group, Pope, claps his hands together. “Personally, I don’t give a fuck about Freddie’s set. Before I get up there and strangle Rumlow myself for being shady, let’s go backstage to–”

All of a sudden, Freddie's band starts playing their set, and the first few notes cause the group to freeze, including you.

“Are they–?” John B. starts in disbelief.

Sarah gasps so dramatically it gives Rafe whiplash. 

Pope grips his hair so hard it might rip out. “I knew it. I knew something was up. Those cock sucking, donkey bastard motherfuck–” 

John B. slams his hand against the wall, cursing. Sarah tilts her head back in frustration. JJ and Kiara attempt to wrangle Pope from jumping on stage from throttling the lead singer. Each Pogue crashes out unexpectedly, though their actions and waterfall curses are drowned out by the amplified music. No one even bats an eye.

Rafe glances from the scene happening with your friends, to the stage, and down to you, brows furrowing in confusion as to why everyone suddenly started crashing out as soon as they stepped in the building, the band on stage playing a song he vaguely recognizes. 

“Uh, what’s going on?”

You watch the stage, unnerved. “They stole our set.”

Rafe follows your gaze beyond the stage, to a burly guy standing behind the curtain, shrugging at you mockingly in a way that makes Rafe straighten up and fight the urge to pull you to his hip.

“What?”

“Our songs. Fuck.” You curl your hands in a fist. “Of course Freddie paid for us to get bumped. He knew our setlist, and paid Rumlow to bump us so we wouldn’t have time to figure something else out.”

Rafe places a cautious hand on your shoulder, testing to see if you'll shake him off. You don't, so he keeps it there and gives a gentle squeeze. “Why would he…do that?”

“Because he’s an asshole, Country Club,” JJ jabs, walking into their conversation with a struggling Pope under his bicep in a headlock. “He knew we’d beat him so he fucked us over.”

John B. joins the circle, clenching and unclenching his fists. “What’s our play?”

“Kill Freddie with a gun,” Pope quips from his headlock, trying to break free but failing. 

Kiara places a hand on Pope's head and Sarah follows, as if they’re trying to summon something. “Use that brain of yours. Think about something other than murdering Freddie for one second.”

It’s JJ who speaks up. “What about using the same set from Greengate?”

“We can’t reuse those songs, Jay,” Kiara murmurs, lost in thought. “We’d get points off.”

“What about ‘I’d Rather Die’?” Sarah suggests, rubbing Pope's head like a crystal ball. 

Kiara's face upticks in disgust. “That song is way too outdated. The ratio between boys and girls is too drastic, we need more girls here for that song to hit.”

“Pink Floyd?” John B. suggests. “Or even Zeppelin. Something to get people on their feet.”

Rafe watches the group like a tennis match, gaze shifting from person to person as they spew out ideas that ultimately get rejected due to some reasonable excuse. He can feel their anxiety radiating off of them, bubbling in the air between them. He hates the way your brow is permanently furrowed, lost in thought yet pinched a fraction in worry.

Sure, he has no idea what’s going on, nor can he really offer any help, but he hates the dejected look on your face. 

Before he can speak and embarrass himself, Pope squeaks from underneath JJ's arm. 

“What about our originals?”

The group ceases their arguing, freezing as the only sound heard is Freddie’s not-so-bad singing voice, singing their songs. They gawk at each other, waiting for someone to bring up a counter argument but no one offers one.

Noticing the contemplation, Pope wiggles to free himself from the headlock and JJ eventually lets him, joining the circle and stretching his neck from the kinks. He shoots JJ a glare that has him throwing his hands up in surrender. 

“It could work,” Pope defends cautiously. “I have the hard drive with all the backing vocals on it. We’ll still have Sarah, Kie, and JJ on backup vocals, but I can relay Angel's adlibs and prerecorded harmonies during the performance.”

Pope's the tech guy, Rafe realizes. The guy behind the curtain, and it suddenly makes so much sense why his anxiety was severely heightened on the drive here: he has to manage the sound check, the back tracks, the entire performance. Despite the guy being a little crazy, Rafe can’t help but nod in respect despite the tense moment. The group is right to elect him as the brains of the group. 

You speak up so quietly Rafe barely hears you. “We’ve never shown anyone our originals.”

Nerves prick at your voice, straining it.

It doesn’t take an idiot to notice your apprehension, even Rafe, who has no idea what’s happening. You don't even want to look at him, at the concerned look you know he’s wearing.

There’s a lot of fear surrounding the originals, mainly because they’re your originals that you wrote sporadically in journals over the last few months, never expecting the words to actually see the light of day. Recording and creating their own originals was more of a passion project, something never meant for the general public to hear.

Especially when the words on the page were mainly about the guy standing next to you. 

What if they’re not as good as your friends say they are? What if the recordings don’t match up with the live audio? What if the judges and crowd hate it, ruining their chances of winning the competition and getting the money? 

Kiara is the first to move towards you, gripping your hand so tight it hurts. “We should. We all worked really hard on them.”

“Kie’s right,” Sarah pipes up. “Plus, it kind of gives us an advantage. Shows people we actually give a shit, and we’ll surprise them.” She leans against John B., who wraps an arm around her and holds tightly. 

Pope holds his arms out in a well? gesture. 

JJ beams, latching one hand onto Rafe's shoulder and the other on John B's, shaking them as he whoops.

Rafe almost shoves him off with his death glare alone, annoyed with his assumed immunity since you'd break up any sort of fighting that could happen. Plus, he's really trying to be on your good side, to get back in your good graces, even if this blond fuck is making it really, really difficult not to drop everything and deck him across the face right now.

“I’m all in. I vote we do ‘Guilty Pleasure’, ‘Transparentsoul’, and ‘Misery Business’. Those will get the crowd bumping.”

You snap her head up. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. And in that order.”

Pope nods. “That works. I can do that.” His anxious gaze darts from the stage and back to the circle. “I need to know right now so I can start setting it up. Pinkies?”

JJ holds his left pinky up first, his hand still resting on Rafe's tall shoulder. He attempts to tickle Rafe's ear until he gets shoved off. John B. holds up his pinky, actually sticking it in JJ's ear. Sarah and Kiara follow, wiggling their pinkies at you, who hasn’t held up anything yet.

With a sigh of great reluctance, your eyes meet Rafe's for a fraction of a second before you hold up your own pinky, grimacing when JJ whoops. 

“Country Club, you in?”

Rafe blinks out of his daze of staring at you, looking up to face the group who are all looking at him in expectation. His heart skips a beat. “Uh, wh–?”

JJ nods towards his hand. “Bodyguards get a say too. What’s your move?”

Rafe hates the way his face feels warm, and he thanks the world silently for making it dark in this venue. He clears his throat to push away the feeling, holding up his pinky without much convincing as he looks over to you, gazing up at him with your big pleading eyes that makes the room spin. 

Pope claps. “Okay. Good. You guys head back and go to our room, the guitars are in there and so are John B's sticks. CC, you stay with me.”

You grab Rafe's hand quickly, giving it a reassuring squeeze and you're not sure if it’s for him or yourself. Your palms start to grow sweaty due to the pressure of the upcoming performance, so you drop his hand as fast as you grabbed it. Rafe nearly whines at the loss. 

Everyone except Pope starts to move, and instinctively Rafe follows you like a lost puppy, but a strong hand backhands his bicep and Rafe stops, looking at Pope, the culprit who wears a confused look. 

“You’re CC now, you hear me?” Pope commands.

Rafe nearly laughs in his face at this five foot something spitfire barking orders at him, but his smirk slowly fades when he sees the craziness behind Pope's eyes.

He remembers the way he drove the band here, nearly killing all of them, as well as how he was seconds away from jumping the stage and taking out everybody in his line of sight, an aura of scrappiness surrounding him that makes Rafe believe he would rough up anyone in his path as a street rat would protect its food.

He decides that Pope is not the kind of guy you want on your bad side, not because of physical strength but because his mind would probably come up with something deeply concerning to torture you with. 

Rafe straightens, expression turning serious as he just nods stupidly.

That satisfies Pope. “C’mon. We need to set up.”

To say that the tech stuff is confusing is an understatement, it’s a foreign language.

But Pope seems to know what he’s doing, and all Rafe can do is watch, ask questions that he probably assumes are stupid due to the way Pope snorts as if there’s an obvious answer, and scan the crowd looking for you. He’s unnerved that he doesn’t know where you are, especially when he knows you've been hit on quite ferociously before, which makes his cheek hurt from the way he’s biting it. He doesn’t have a great view of the crowd but tries to crane his neck to see out from the side of the stage. 

All he sees is Freddie’s band exiting the stage, right towards them. His black beaded eyes meet Rafe's piercing blues, and he straightens up, fury bubbling in his chest after remembering what he did to you. His girl.

Freddie sleazily sizes Rafe up and down before clapping Pope on the shoulder. “You guys hire a guard dog?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Pope mumbles distractedly, his eyes not leaving his computer and sound board panel in front of him. “Nice set, by the way. Sounded familiar.”

“Ah, that old thing?” the douchebag laughs. “Came up with it all on my own. Just another stroke of my ingenuity.” He then pauses, noticing Rafe's button down rolled up to his elbows and dress pants, which makes him chuckle darkly. “Lookin’ pretty Kook-y for a lap dog. Wanna twirl for me, pretty?”

“Careful,” warns Pope, still fumbling with his sound board. “He bites.”

Freddie holds his hands up in surrender and it takes everything in Rafe not to knock the guy out cold where he stands. Noticing the gleam of unbridled fury in Rafe's gaze, Freddie takes a step back, partly in fear. “Alright, I’ll heel.” He finally looks at Pope as he stalks away. “Can’t wait to see what you guys planned.”

His words fade as he disappears into the crowd, Rafe noticing he's immediately handed a drink and a girl saunters into his other arm. He scoffs, fingernails digging so harshly into his palms he’s sure to draw blood.

The thought of that douchebag laying so much as a fingertip on you makes his blood boil, his heart lurching in his throat in regret that he didn’t lay out the bastard while he had the chance. 

“At ease, CC,” Pope murmurs. “You’ll get a crack at him one day. But not right now. Here, I need you to hold this button for me.”

After completing Pope's various tasks, the lights dim on stage. It piques Rafe's attention as he sees five silhouettes sneak onto the platform, noticing the glittery undertones of your top as you march right up to the mic.

The lights fade in ever so slowly, but the crowd recognizes them instantly as they begin to hoot and holler and cheer in a way that surprises Rafe. He reels and suppresses a beaming smile that, holy shit, his girl is…kinda famous? 

“Hi Gally’s,” you purr into the mic, the vibrato making Rafe's heart skip a beat. You look so goddamn pretty it hurts. “Didn’t expect to see us so soon, hm?”

The crowd jeers at your improv. You twirl the mic chord and whimsically stalks back and forth on stage, playing into the bit. 

“Now, I know you guys love to hear the stuff we usually play, and I only know that because of all the free drinks we get after we finish.” 

Someone in the crowd whistles, causing you to breathlessly chuckle into the mic. 

“And as much as we appreciate your love, we thought we’d do something a little different tonight. Instead of covers, we’ll be singing our own stuff. Hope you enjoy.”

Rafe catches a glimpse of Freddie’s face in the crowd and stifles a laugh. There’s no longer teasing amusement coating his eyes, instead it’s fear.

And if you're nervous, Rafe can’t tell because you carry yourself as a beaming enigma that can’t be brought down, a supernova. Your cheshire cat smile is enough to pierce through any heart willing to give into you. 

JJ's on guitar and he meets Pope's gaze, who counts down on his fingers, three, two, one, then Pope hits a button as JJ plays the opening notes to the song. Rafe realizes Pope cued backtrack vocals, a soprano yodeling fading into the audio. It starts slow, the spotlight beaming onto you as you start to sing low and sultry.

You get to a particular line that has Rafe raising his brows: “I fantasize what we would do, and how would it taste and the way you move–”

His breath hitches.

“--Oh, but some good girls do bad things too,” you sing slowly. 

Damn you, because you find Rafe's eyes and throw him a quick wink that has his knees nearly buckling.

You spin around to face the crowd as the lights beam on, coating the entire stage as everyone gets cued in. John B's on drums, Sarah's on backing vocals and keyboard, Jackie’s on his guitar, Kiara's on backing vocals and the bass. 

“I want this like a cigarette. Can we drag it out and never quit? And, oh my god, you are heaven sent with your dirty mind, yeah, you’re perverted.”

The song is good. Too good. The people in the crowd are feeling it, cheering and jumping and clinking beers. It could also be the way you're bending over and twirling on stage like you own the place, regardless of rhyme or reason or anything under the sun. 

Rafe watches you with a stupid grin that he can’t suppress, because here you are in all of your glory.

He can’t believe this is what he was missing out on, this is what you've been up to: looking too damn fine in a mini skirt and boots with a voice like honey, spice, and nothing nice, especially with that glint of trouble in your eye that means you're up to no good. 

“Feels like pornography watching you try on jeans,” you sing after the guilty pleasure chorus, and it has him reeling. 

You've totally been jean shopping with him before on multiple occasions. You always claimed to know what style was trending so you insisted on accompanying him whenever you felt his pants were getting a little outdated.

Rafe never thought anything of it, as you both went out and bought stuff together all the time, tried on clothes in the same dressing room, gave opinions on items and then went about their day as if nothing was intimate about it.

“You’re a pothead, you’re a cinephile, it’s been a while since you turned up the dial.”

Jesus, he knows he’s wearing a ridiculous expression on his face as his mind catches up to the notion that, shit, is there any way this is about him?

Rafe's head spins with two distinct things: is this about him, and if the answer is yes, then, holy shit, do you like him? Is he your guilty pleasure? Do you feel the same? Have you suppressed years of a school-girl crush like he has in fear of fucking up the one good thing in his life? Have you both been wasting all this time dancing around each other, caught up in the will-they, won’t-they?

Then he freezes. He doesn’t know if you wrote this one. It easily could've been Sarah or Kiara. Why would you? Why would he automatically assume that?

Rafe sucks in a breath of clarity. He shouldn’t assume it’s about him just because you're the one singing it. Maybe Sarah did write it about John B.. Disgustingly, Rafe wouldn’t be surprised, with the way that they look at each other. 

After a whole chorus of disassociated reeling, Pope nudges Rafe, shaking him from his trance as you keep on vexxing. "Chill. It’s about you. No need to stress.”

Rafe coughs, covering up his dumbfounded expression as he watches you in a different light now, a deeper one.

The bridge is just a vocal array of chaos, Sarah and Kiara and even fucking JJ belting yeahs as you fucking yodel, voice breaking in and out of pitch as you shut her eyes, avoiding looking in Rafe and Pope's direction. You belts your last hey, the chords in your neck prominent as you pour your soul into the note.

The backing vocals, the prerecorded harmonies, your powerful belt– it’s all too much and the realization hits him like a truck. 

He’s in love with you. 

You suck in a big breath after your long note, diving right back in. “You give me guilty, guilty pleasure.”

You repeat the line, over, and over, and over again until you build up to the end, “Pleasure, pleasure.”

Then you suck in a big breath, practically moaning, “Pleasure!”

The crowd wastes no time roaring their applause, hooting and hollering tremendously louder than they did for Freddie’s performance. You're spinning, as you can barely see three feet in front of you with the spotlight being so bright.

You instinctively looks backstage to Pope to see when he’s cueing the next song, but instead locks eyes with Rafe's piercing blues, wearing a smile so fucking big it makes your heart melt. You feel your cheeks burning red, that song written from the confinements of your journal, not that you'll ever tell him that.

But with the way he’s beaming, you have a feeling that he already pieced it together. 

You jump right into ‘Transparentsoul, starting off with a crazy drum riff that John B. formulated when he was drunk off three margaritas. It’s manic, but fuck, it works too well. You get right back into it, riffing and belting as if your life depends on it. John B's performance is one to note for the books, helping craft a nearly impossible song for drummers to replicate. He switches back and forth from double time, half time, and then free styling in the short breaks in-between right before the chorus. 

The three thumps of the drums and the lingering note from you end the song, sucking in a big breath to steady yourself. The crowd goes crazy, most people pointing to John B. and cheering for him. Sarah walks over to him, placing a messy kiss on his lips that leaves a red lipstick mark on his grinning smile, to which Rafe involuntarily rolls his eyes.

They take their places for the last song, ‘Misery Business’, and you nod to Pope to start the track that begins with a non-instrumental lead. 

Then JJ and Kiara jump into the riffs, this song being more punk rock that allows you room to show some attitude, and attitude you'll give as you see the dejected look on Freddie’s face, angrily sipping his beer with a blonde bimbo hanging off his arm. 

You wrote this one, the lyrics and melody originally being slower and more of a sad ballad.

Pathetically, it’s about Rafe and one of his past girlfriends that you just couldn’t fucking stand for the life of you. She’d ice you out, make you look stupid in front of your friends, belittle you, cling onto Rafe as if he was going to fly away with her and start a life in a different country.

She couldn’t handle being Rafe's second girl, so you showed her what it means to be his first choice, always.

It was originally slower, pitiful, and regretful. But when JJ read them during their pitch meeting, he said it feels angry, vengeful, hateful, and you liked the idea of making it a power ballad. Sure, it strains your vocals on the practical screams, but it’s all for the show. All to emulate the emotion. 

And, god, if Rafe doesn’t smirk the entire time.

He knows this one’s about him because you've fully said to him once that his misery business is finally over, when he told you that he broke up with Ada, his girlfriend of eight months.

Usually he’s the one dripping in jealously when it comes to you, shit, he could barely handle you spending all your time with different friends that weren’t him, but here you are – wearing green like it’s meant for you. And, dammit, if you don't rock green. 

They hit the bridge, and JJ and Kiara absolutely shred it for a few bars until you get real nice and close to the microphone.

“Whoa, I never meant to brag, but I got him where I want him now.” 

Your vocals riff up the line, throaty and raw and angry. 

Oh, and Rafe cannot wait to tease you about this one. He gets (and deserves) an eyeroll when he turns to Pope with a stupid smirk. “This one’s also about me.”

“Congratulations,” Pope deadpans before focusing back on the board. 

You belt out another note, then delivering your last line with that same sultry tone you began the night with. There isn’t even a moment of silence between the end of the song and when the crowd starts cheering – no – roaring in applause.

You linger in it for a moment, taking a breath of relief when you see that they like it. They actually like your stuff. You feels JJ clap a hand on your shoulder, shaking it back and forth in excitement, as Kiara comes up to bow while Sarah ambushes John B. 

You can barely see out in the crowd anyway, the spotlight being unbearable. Taking a step back from the front, you glance over to Rafe and Pope.

Pope prays up to the sky like he always does when he orchestrates another successful performance. And Rafe...

Rafe just stands there with his arms crossed, a cheeky smirk splayed on his lips. That dress shirt does him wonders, and you have to physically roll your eyes in order to tear your gaze away from him. 

Finally, finally, they exit the stage towards Pope and Rafe as the announcer comes up to say that there’s one more band going on before they pick the winners for Stonepit.

Rafe murmurs a good job to everyone – even JJ – as they pass by him. Realistically, he’s waiting for one person who happens to exit the stage last.

And for someone who was so confident and sultry on stage, you sure look sheepish as you approach him. 

Rafe tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, feeling a fresh sense of confidence that he certainly didn’t have before the performance.

“You could’ve warned me that you were some kind of rockstar.”

“Stop,” is all you can muster, fighting a smile. 

“What? Don’t get all shy on me now.”

You playfully shove him away, but you both know there’s no true malice to it.

The group walks through backstage back to their dressing room. Rafe trails you, this time firmly placing his hand on the small of your back as you weave through other bands and stage managers, and he admits the notion is nothing short of wildly possessive, but he doesn’t care.

You just sang about wanting him twice on stage, so, yeah, he’s gonna make sure they all know who it was all about. 

The group enters their private room, two giant couches and an open space with empty guitar cases and bags full of clothes and makeup. JJ puts his guitar back in the case and collapses on the couch with a dramatic sigh, his grin wide as day. 

Kiara sits next to him, nudging his dropped head so he can readjust for her. “We’re so fucking winning this thing!” she yells, JJ whooping and hooting next to her.

John B. and Sarah shack up on the opposite couch as she practically sits on his lap. Pope squeezes in next to them with an annoyed eye roll but knowing smirk. You move to sit on the couch with Kiara and JJ, and motions for Rafe to sit first since there’s only room for one more. 

So he does. And when you moves to sit on the arm, he grabs your hips so you're planted firmly on his lap.

You roll your eyes and smack his chest. The act is nothing short of normal, there’s been plenty of times where you've sat like this at one of his parties, at family gatherings, on his boat, you name it. But now there’s a new underlying meaning, especially with the way his fingertips are light as feathers against your hips, almost teasing you.

You decide this is your favorite place to sit. Your throne. 

John B. shamelessly fondles Sarah and no one bats an eye. “We have fifteen minutes until we find out. I dapped Sean up before we came in here, so he should be bringing us drinks.”

“Thank god,” JJ groans, letting Kiara mess up his hair and Pope's hair reluctantly. Her boys, happy as sinners in church. 

“You guys were fucking crazy,” Rafe finds himself saying before he can stop himself. You turn your head to look at him softly. “Way better than that piece of shit who went on before you.”

Pope snorts while everyone looks to Rafe in surprise for even saying anything, Sarah looking lovingly at her brother's words. “Country Club scared him away without needing to say anything.” He leans over Kiara to look at JJ. “JJ, I support your decision to elect CC as our official bodyguard. It was great. I didn’t even have to look up or throw a punch or take out my knife or anything. He just…fucked right off.”

JJ hums in satisfaction. “Ah. See, CC? You fit right in.”

Rafe rolls his eyes, but surprisingly there’s no poor intentions behind it. Just mild irritation and a bit of swelling pride. 

Suddenly, the door opens and in comes a buff looking guy with a platter full of beers, Sean, Rafe assumes. Sean sets the beer down on the table between the two couches, wordlessly dapping John B. up one more time before exciting the dressing room. 

You lean forward to grab two, one for you and one for Rafe, and his grip tightens when you bend down enough for him to see a sliver of underwear peeking through.

But you sit back within a second, back flush against his chest as you hand him a beer. He reluctantly takes a hand off of you to grab it, clinking the bottle to yours and taking a sip. 

The group gets lost in conversation about the show, but your gaze focuses on Rafe's, faces inches apart.

Despite the chaotic and irritatingly loud conversation happening in front of them, it’s as if you're the only two in the room.

You look into his piercing blues, his gaze softening when he realizes you're not gonna look away and contribute to your friends’ conversation. His hand is searing hot against your hip, especially when his fingertips play with the hem of your top with eased nonchalance that it makes your head spin.

It’s like a second nature to him, to touch you like this, like you're the only thing that matters in this given moment.

To him, you are. 

God, you missed this. It’s embarrassing how much you do. You know you shouldn’t have, but your dignity is already out the window because you, frankly, forgave him as soon as he brought you on that dance floor. 

“What’re you thinkin’, Snips?” he murmurs, a contrast from the yelling going on around them. 

You purr, the adrenaline from earlier starting to wear off. “I’m happy you came tonight,” is all you say without giving in that easy, even though he probably knows how much you missed him from that performance alone. 

His gaze alternates from looking into your eyes and your lips. He hums, almost distant. “Thank you for letting me. Thank you for sharing it with me, even if it’s just for tonight.”

Your posture straightens when you feel his hand smoothly running up your back, leaving your hip and making it all the way to your flaming cheek, brushing that stray piece of hair away from your face once more and tucking it behind your ear, careful not to brush against any of the piercings that he definitely hasn’t noticed before. Rafe's hand comes back down to ghost over your cheek, his palm barely caressing it, almost afraid.

But you lean into his touch, making the contact for him. He hums low in his throat, almost in praise. 

Rafe's next words send shivers down your spine. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you tonight. Especially when you were singin’ about me.”

Your cheeks unabashedly turn a deep shade of red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Out of embarrassment because, fuck, you got caught, you go to pull away from his hold but he slides his thumb to your chin and grabs your face gently, holding your gaze to his. 

“Baby, if watching me try on jeans got you all hot and bothered, you could’ve just said so. Instead of, you know, writing a song about it,” he teases as you groan, trying to pull away again but he tightens his grip just slightly. Then, softer, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Probably had a girlfriend at the time,” you mumble right back, but a knowing smirk forms on your lips. “Wrote another one about that, too. Maybe you’ve heard it?”

Rafe hums in acknowledgement, running his thumb down your chin to the column of your throat, then back up to ghost over your bottom lip.

“Mhm. I have. Might need to hear it again, though. The girl who sang it kept distracting me the whole time. Could barely even think straight,” he admits, his eyes flickering to your lips for a fraction of second before meeting your eyes. 

“Yeah?” you challenge quietly.

“Yeah,” he confirms immediately. “Could barely even stand up knowin’ you feel the same way.”

You quirk a brow. “Hmm? And what way is that?”

“The way I can’t breathe when I’m not with you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at the confession, the cool-girl facade fading as you take a second to look at him, to really look at him. Your brows furrow when you take note of the sincerity of his tone, or how his eyes don’t leave yours.

Or how his brow furrows and his lips barely part when he shifts his hips and you can suddenly feel him. 

Suddenly you're the only two people in the room, everything else drowning out besides the sound of your syncopated breaths and heartbeats thumping out of ribcages.

Rafe's hand lowers from your face and stalks down your spine, taking its rightful place back on your hip and squeezing ever so slightly. Your beer-free hand instinctively comes up to the back of his neck, fingers splaying on the nape to intertwine with the ends of his longer hair. His chest raises with a particularly deep breath, brushing against your ribcage for a fraction of a moment that sends a shock through your body. 

“Fuck, they’re starting the announcement,” Pope interrupts, causing you and Rafe to jump away from each other of surprise. 

Everyone in the group stands, excitedly bouncing towards the door and running out to the backstage. The last one to leave is JJ, who looks back to hold the door open for them but notices you and Rafe unmoved from your position, looking sheepish as if you've already been caught in a scandal.

After a moment of silence, JJ's face changes from confusion to understanding, and he barks out a short laugh. 

“Ahh. Okay. I get it,” he teases, quickly glancing at the group leaving before turning back to them with a wink. “I’ll put my sock on the doorknob.”

And with that, JJ shuts the door, leaving you and Rafe in the same emotional position as he did when he left you on the dance floor, the thick tension in the air growing between you as you take a moment to stare at the door, prolonging the inevitable.

Eventually, you move your gaze from the door back to Rafe, who’s already staring at you. 

You're nervous all of a sudden, the consequence of flirting and fooling around catching up to you. Months of assuming there were unrequited feelings – feelings you buried deep down to maintain the strongest friendship you've ever, and probably will ever, have – being disproved in the matter of the last twenty minutes.

But now he’s here, sitting pretty in front of you with such a serious expression on his face that it makes you suck in a deep breath at the intensity of it, the gravity of the situation and where it’s about to lead to.

Rafe notices immediately. “Hey,” he says softly, running the pad of his thumb over your hip bone, this time out of comfort. “We don’t need to do anything.” Then, he manages a genuine chuckle. “I just got you back. Being with you is enough f–”

He doesn’t get to finish before you're pressing yourself forward, taking the leap of faith and pressing your lips to his.

Rafe makes a noise of surprise, the words dying in his throat as he stays still for a moment, processing that, holy shit, this is happening. 

You, however, take his apprehension as rejection, and sheepishly begin to pull away.

But Rafe doesn’t let you as he leans forward to kiss you again, leaning far enough to place his beer on the floor without breaking contact. His new free hand allows him to caress your face, greedily pulling your body closer and closer to his to which you let out a noise of surprise.

He swallows the sound, his hand leaving your chin to slowly trickle down your arm and to your hand, where he takes the beer away and reiterates the same action he did with his bottle, allowing you to have your hands free to roam and touch and feel as you shamelessly make out like your lives depend on it.

Your fingers instantly grasp at his dress shirt, wrinkling the nice material as his other hand smooths up your thigh to grip the base of your ass, shamelessly fondling it like he has every right.

And, fuck, you whine so quietly that he barely hears it, but it makes him twitch underneath you.

The sound is music to his ears, so he does it again, and this time you lift your hips off of him, swinging your leg over to straddle and press back down against him, a sensation that sends warmth to your core and makes your eyes roll back. 

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he murmurs against your lips before hungrily taking you back in as he shifts underneath you. 

Hips stilling, you focus on kissing him fervently first, to which he gladly accepts. Rafe manspreads so god forsaken arrogant that it allows you all this room, but also forces your hips to spread wider.

You test the waters, gradually pushing your thighs down to further mold into his body. The act causes your skirt to push up your legs, your underwear shamelessly meeting his slacks right at the zipper as you grind down into him. 

You both moan at the sensation, you stilling with worry that you went too far.

But Rafe death grips your hips as he guides you down again, teasingly urging your body back and forth against him that has you quietly moaning into his mouth. He seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue to meet yours, kisses getting messy, sloppy, dirty. But neither of you seem to care, solely focusing on the high you're both chasing. 

Rafe grips your ass and hips so hard it’ll probably bruise, refraining from letting his hands do what they normally do and dive in recklessly.

He wants to do this right the only way he knows how – by slowing himself down. For you, he needs to be patient. The last thing he wants is to scare you off.

But you sense his reluctance, his hesitation, and nearly groan in frustration. You slow down your pace and find his right hand, putting your hand over his.

Rafe tenses in fear of hurting you, but instead you grip his hand and guide it up your body, over the curve of your ass, under your shirt and up your tummy, fingers splaying over your rib cage and, finally, just stopping under the swell of your breast. 

His breath hitches, then he hums quietly. “Gonna let me touch you there, baby?”

You nod against his lips. “Yes. Anywhere, Rafey. All yours.”

“All mine?”

You nod again, squeezing his hand to wordlessly assure him it’s okay. He mirrors your action, giving your breast a test feel and you sigh in relief.

Jesus. He nearly groans at the sound, the feel, the everything that’s happening right now. He doesn’t have a moment to process it because your hands are traveling further and further down his chest until they toy with the belt of his pants.

You tease him, running your fingers delicately under the waistline of his underwear, cool hands smoothing over his warm skin. Rafe unintentionally bucks his hips up at the sensation, his lips parting all pretty in a way that makes you cheshire-cat smile. 

“Am I yours, pretty?” you mumble, low and teasing, relishing in his fucked out gaze at the mere thought of you touching any lower.

He nods dumbly and you reel with the sight of it. It makes your tummy pool with anticipation.

“Will you let me?”

“Fuck, always,” he manages pathetically, chest heaving as he watches you undo his belt and zipper. Rafe nearly whines when your fingers ghost over his length, barely even touching him and you've got him a writhing mess. “Makin’ me go crazy, looking at me like that.”

You frown, feigning naitivity. “Like what?” you pout, pressing your thumb to his tip through his boxers that has him gasping in the shell of your ear. “Am I gonna have to ask nicely? Or will you be good?”

Slowly feeling him up over his boxers, Rafe bites his lip so hard he’s sure he’s gonna draw blood.

“You’re being a real fucking brat right now.”

“Hm? Am I?”

You squeeze around his length, causing him to huff, getting sick of the anticipation and just wanting to pin you down on this couch and make you eat your words. “Yes.”

Then you tilt your head so you can meet his gaze, taking note of his brows furrowed in frustration, and you can’t help but smile for knowing every trick in the book to push his buttons. 

“So punish me then,” you purr, sending chills down his spine. 

Before Rafe can pick you up and throw you down on the dingy couch, the door swings open and his irritation sky rockets as your friends hoot and holler obnoxiously, flooding the room.

Your pretty little fingers leave his boxers and settle on his tummy, your arm shielding the compromising hand placement.

Pope holds an envelope, undoubtedly filled with the money the first place winner is promised, while JJ thrusts a makeshift trophy in the air as if it’s the Stanley Cup. John B. holds Sarah bridal style, settling in on the couch across from you. Kiara runs over to the pair, ignoring the scandalous scene in front of her and gripping you by the shoulders and shaking you in such ferocious motion that it makes Rafe wince. 

“We fucking won!” she shrieks. “The whole damn thing!”

You beam, ignoring the fact that your skirt is pushed past your hips and that Rafe's hand is settled on your ass and how his belt is unbuckled. “You’re kidding?”

Pope waves the envelope in your face. “You should’a seen Freddie’s face. I wish I had a picture of it, I’d print it out and leave it on his doorstep every day for the rest of his life. Stupid fuckin’ prick.” He waves the envelope once in front of your face then in front of Rafe's face, then pulls back and starts doing it to everyone individually. 

What makes this whole situation worse for Rafe is that JJ decides to sit right next to you both, exhaling as if he’s had a long day at work.

In his nimble fingers, he admires the trophy that looks like a third grader made it, sighing and smiling. You make no effort to move or conceal what you were doing, so Rafe tries to push down your skirt to cover up a little bit with a huff, irritated even further that JJ's arm is brushing against Rafe's.

Oh, the audacity-

“Oh! Hey, guys. Didn’t see you here,” JJ says. He holds up the trophy. “You see this? Pretty fucking sick, right?”

“It would still be pretty fucking sick if you were three feet away from us,” Rafe spats, gripping onto you so tight to hold back from knocking his teeth in.

JJ pushes his luck by gasping and nudging Rafe's shoulder. “Aw? You like it, too? I knew you had a soft spot, Country Club.”

You laugh, chest bumping Rafe's in the process. “JJ, you could’ve at least knocked to let us know you guys were back,” you scold playfully, wrapping your arms around Rafe's neck and smushing your cheeks together, which makes the situation a little better.

Besides, it gives Rafe a better grip on your skirt, pulling it down over your ass successfully.

“Oh, please,” JJ chuckles. “No one gives a shit if you were fist deep in here. Sarah and John B. basically fuck all the time in front of us. We’ve seen more scandalous stuff than this, guys.” JJ gestures to their position. “Honestly, it’s a bit prude in comparison. We were brainstorming that there would at least be an ass in the air,” he teases, then wiggles his fingers at Rafe, “whose ass, we didn’t specify.”

Rafe seethes. “Anybody ever tell you to shut the fuck up and mind your own business?”

“All the time, actually.”

Rafe rolls his eyes and you hum in contentment, knowing that this is going to be their version of getting along from now on. 

The group lingers in the room for another hour or so, as you remain in your rightful place on Rafe's lap with the exception of getting up to use the bathroom with Sarah.

During your absence, JJ relentlessly teased Rafe when he fixed his slacks and belt to zip them back up. John B. jabbed that, hey, at least he was getting some, and for that he earned Rafe's slight respect.

Pope had complained that it wasn’t anything they weren’t used to seeing, then shooting John B. the most diabolical glare he could muster. Kiara had cooed that it was nice to see you so giddy and smiley, and Rafe liked the way it made him feel. 

Rafe can, truly, complain all he wants, but your friends aren’t that bad.

With the exception of JJ being the most annoying human being to grace the planet, but the others are situationally tolerable, including his sister who he (really) enjoys spending time with.

Plus, Rafe likes the smile that you wear when you're around them, a smile once reserved just for him. As much as he wants to be selfish and have it all for himself, he knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end of one. It’s glorious. He likes that you share it with the people you care about, even though he really hates sharing. 

You come back with Sarah and retake your seat on his lap, Rafe wrapping his arms around your middle to pull you back flush against his chest. He places a gentle kiss on your exposed shoulder, relishing in the moment.

You turn to look at him, a soft look in your eye. 

“Hi,” you say quietly, bringing your hand up to brush some hair out of his face. 

“Hey, Snips” he responds even quieter, resting his chin against your shoulder. He notices your sleepy expression and manages a small smile. “Tired?” 

You nod slowly, mirroring his smile. “Had a long day, if you could imagine.”

He hums. “Hm. No. Wanna tell me about it?”

You yawn, and before you can say anything, someone claps.

“That’s our cue,” Pope interrupts, suddenly standing. “Everyone in the van.”

Everyone groans, JJ louder than everybody else. “No! C’mon, man we’re just getting–” he interrupts himself with his own yawn, “--started.”

Pope simply shakes his head.

Minutes later, they’re all in the car packed to the brim with bodies and equipment. A little while later, the van stops in front of your house, the low whir of the engine being the only thing heard on the quiet street. Pope shuts the lights off and puts the car in park, John B. opening the heavy door with ease. 

Pope turns around to look at Rafe awkwardly. “You, uh, going home? I can drop you off with Sarah.”

You stand and exit the van, speaking before Rafe can. “He's staying with me,” you say, shooting Rafe a knowing look. 

Rafe quietly sighs in relief, since the idea of going home alone crossed his mind more than once and he did not like the thought one bit. So, without further coaxing, he exits the van behind you and slides an arm around your waist. 

“Uh, congrats on tonight,” Rafe says awkwardly. “It was great.”

“Such enthusiastic words, Country Club,” JJ taunts. “We were serious about that bodyguard offer if you’re up for it. Unless you’re scared of jackasses like Freddie.”

“You just can’t get enough of me, huh, Maybank?”

You roll her eyes, lazily pushing Rafe towards your house. “Okay, recess is over. I’ll see you guys on Sunday for the fire.”

The group choruses a goodbyes to Rafe, goodbye Country Club to Rafe (along with a quiet yet grateful 'bye, Rafe' from Sarah), and the two of you head up the driveway towards your house. 

You both sneak in the way you've always snuck in, climbing up the porch gate and onto your balcony (with Rafe's help, of course), as you quietly slip into the confinements of your room. Granted, your heavily decorated bedroom is on the opposite side of the house from your parents’ but you're always extra careful to avoid any suspicion. 

Standing in the dimly lit room, you sigh and shut your eyes, fatigue coming over you more harshly than you'd prefer, swaying gently when you feel Rafe's cool hands steadying you on your hips.

Then, you feel him hug you, his broad shoulders caging you in as he rubs his hands up and down your back soothingly, placing a chaste kiss on the crown of your head. God, it feels so nice and your knees nearly give out at how much you missed this, missed him.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

You nod against his chest, drunk off the way you feel in his arms, letting him gently push you to sit on the edge of the bed while he grabs your favorite pajamas from the bottom drawer.

He comes back over to you, kneeling in front as he sets the pajamas down next to you. First he unzips your boots, delicately pulling your feet out of the shoe and rolling your socks off over her heel and past your toes. 

Once they’re off, Rafe gently taps her knee. “Hey. Your pajamas are ready.”

You pout. “Can you do it?”

Rafe lazily grins, his hands running up and down your thighs gingerly. “Of course, baby. Arms up.”

You do as you're told, raising your arms over your head as Rafe pushes your tank top up past your rib cage, over your bra, and up over your shoulders until it’s off. It leaves you in your bra, one that he caught a glimpse of earlier in the van, but he doesn’t move to pull it off.

Instead, Rafe grabs your pajama shirt, pulling it over your head and covering your torso protectively, then he reaches behind and unclasps the strapless bra, which falls into putty in his hands. He tosses it carelessly to the side.

Rafe pats your thigh gently. “Can you stand for a second?”

You whine in protest, but again do what you're told, pushing yourself up to stand while Rafe stays on his knees. He pushes your mini skirt down your thighs until it pools at your ankles, making him eye level with your core for a fraction of a moment. It doesn’t last long before he’s coaxing your feet to step through the pajama shorts, pulling them up your legs until they rest comfortably on your hips. 

He presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand before standing, making his way into your en-suite bathroom to rifle through the drawers, looking for makeup wipes. When Rafe finally finds them, he brings it out to you and gingerly rubs circles on your cheeks, forehead, neck, all over to get the remnants of tonight off your pretty face.

Discarding the wipe in your bedside trash bin, Rafe pushes stray hair pieces out of your face. “All done. You ready?”

You nod gratefully, crawling onto the bed and slipping under the covers on your usually side of the mattress. Rafe quickly undresses out of his dress shirt and slacks, leaving him in his underwear – his normal attire for whenever he sleeps over – turning off the bedside lamp before sliding in next to you, practically caging you in. 

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you hum when you notice the lights are off. Although the befuddlement doesn't translate, because Rafe settles in, wrapping an arm around you and slowly rubbing circles on your back as he slowly gets comfortable in a bed he missed so damn much. 

“Wait, hang on,” you murmur against his neck, “the light’s off.”

“And?”

“Well, I…”

“You wanna sleep with the light on?”

You nearly groan in frustration. “Are we not… finishing what we started earlier?”

Instead of initiating like you want, Rafe simply chuckles, the vibrato rumbling your nerves. He pulls you flush against his chest. “No, baby. Get some rest.”

“But…” You trail off pathetically, almost whining. “I want to.”

“You’re tired.”

You fight a yawn. “No, I’m not.”

“Snips,” he warns. “Sleep.”

“Ugh, Rafe.”

He says your name mockingly, his tone insinuating he’s wearing a lazy grin. 

Your shoulders sag against him as you huff, fanning hot breath over his chest. If you were standing, you probably would’ve stomped your foot, and he definitely would've poked fun at your desperation. 

But not tonight, because the way he’s holding you, shit, you can feel yourself sinking into the mattress.

Nonetheless, you reach out to press a palm on his chest, yawning once more but gently slapping him for emphasis on your next promise.

“Fine. But in the morning, I’m giving you the best head of your life.”

Rafe chuckles, amused at your determination. “Brat. Go to sleep.”

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work without permission. mdni.

notes this was a long spiel of absolute brain garbage, genuinely. if you understood the snips nickname, shoutout. hope you somewhat enjoyed????

[cutehoons02]

After concert!

*pairing: idol Heeseug x fan Girl

*trope: opposite attraction

*synopsis: What would happen when your best friends for your birthday give you the ticket to the concert of your dreams as well as the Enhypen with the VIP option? You were in seventh heaven to go see your favorite band especially your favorite idol Heeseung, But what happens when he never stops looking at you during the concert and during the VIP meeting and finally a member of the staff asks you with an excuse to follow him because a band member wanted to see you?

*tags: A lot of tension, Heeseung is perverted but also sweet, fluffy moments, needy Heeseung, needy protagonist, a lot of kisses, suckers, finger sucking, masturbation, protected sex,cowgirl, possession, pet names (baby,pretty girl,good girl) (Hee)

8.7k(🎤) 💌The request and ideas were written by @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby for this story (thanks a lot for your help)

(English is not my native language)

You were looking at yourself in the mirror for the umpteenth time, trying to ensure every detail of your outfit was perfect. Behind you, your best friends were lying on the bed, giggling as they teased you. — You’re more nervous than if you were about to step on stage with them— Stella joked, tossing you a pillow. You sighed, crossing your arms with a pout. "Can you believe it? I’m about to see Enhypen live! Not just live, but up close! It’s been my dream for years!" You were wearing a black skirt, paired with a custom T-shirt for the occasion: a red heart with the words "If you say" printed on it. Your hair was loose, with two braids framing your face. On your feet, a pair of comfortable shoes—because sure, you’d be sitting in the VIP area, but you already knew you’d be singing and dancing nonstop. 'You should bring us with you,' Emma said, pretending to pout. "At least one of you! Come on, join me!” you tried to convince them, making your classic puppy-dog eyes, hoping they’d give in. But the two friends burst out laughing. — Stop with the big eyes! You know there were no more tickets! But don’t worry, you’ll make friends with someone else. Enhypen fans are everywhere,— Stella reassured you. You let out a dramatic sigh, but in the end, you smiled. They were right. After all, that night was an incredible gift, and even if you were going alone, nothing could ruin your mood. Before leaving, you hugged them tightly. "I love you. You’re the best friends in the world." 'We know,' Emma replied with a little grin. 'And remember: take videos of everyone, not just Heeseung! I want to see Sunoo, got it?' — And don’t forget Jay for me!— added Stella, winking at you. You burst out laughing. "Okay, okay, I’ll send you all the videos you want!" Then, with your heart racing from excitement, you grabbed your bag and left the house. What you didn’t know was that once you passed through the stadium gates, your life would change forever.

The sunset illuminated the stadium, and the soundcheck was almost finished, with all the members interacting with the audience. You were in the front row, and you could see them so closely it didn’t feel real. The girls next to you screamed every time a member appeared, and you shot them a disapproving look. When it was Heeseung’s turn to walk toward you, you admired him carefully without shouting or taking videos—you just wanted to observe him more closely. You had seen him everywhere on metro screens for various ads and even in some bars, while the fans next to you kept screaming and acting like fools. You rolled your eyes and shifted your gaze to Heeseung, and he started laughing as you glanced at the girls sitting next to you. You smiled shyly at him because he had singled you out in the crowd. When Heeseung moved to the other side of the stage, everyone screamed his name and started filming, but then some girls began pushing and yelling to get his attention. However, his focus remained on a girl sitting down, carefully watching him but also throwing glances at the other girls. He scanned you from head to toe and thought you were really cute—no, scratch that, beautiful. You were wearing a skirt and a T-shirt with a print from an old summer album, your hair was loose with two small braids, and your gaze had been fixed on him for a solid few minutes. He licked his lips as if it were the most natural thing in the world—an instinctive gesture, normal for him. But at that moment, with thousands of phones pointed at him and you looking at him with those deep eyes, it seemed anything but innocent. And you? You didn’t know whether to sink into the ground out of embarrassment or smile again. The girls next to you kept screaming, trying to get his attention in every way possible. You exasperated, rolled your eyes, and looked away from him for a moment. But just then, Heeseung burst out laughing. Surprised, you turned your head again, only to find him staring at you with an amused expression. He had noticed you. Among thousands of people, his gaze had landed on you. Embarrassed, you flashed a shy smile.

The stadium lights, the rhythm of the music, and the energy were simply electric. The concert was a dream come true.

Enhypen was incredible. Every detail—from their perfectly curated looks to the inhumanly synchronized choreography—showed the dedication and hours of training behind it all. You were there, completely captivated by their presence on stage.

You sang, danced, recorded videos, and took photos, without being able to stop for a second. It was impossible not to get swept up in it. Every song flowed through your veins: Moonstruck, Pass the Mic, Polaroid Love… all etched in your mind and on your phone’s memory.

But amid all the emotions of the night, there was one that made your heart race in particular.

Heeseung.

Was it just your impression, or… did he linger just a little longer every time he passed near your section?

The girls next to you screamed whenever he came close, desperately trying to get his attention. But you had the feeling that, among all of them, his gaze always returned to you.

No, it couldn’t be, you thought, trying to rationalize. There are thousands of people here—why would he look at me?

And yet, it happened again.

Another song, another lap around the stage, and Heeseung found another reason to pass by your area. This time, as he danced, he shot a glance in your direction. A second, maybe less. But enough for your heart to race uncontrollably.

If he could make you feel this way from a distance… what would happen when you met him at the meet & greet with your VIP pass?

The thought made you catch your breath.

And for the first time since the concert began, the thought of what might happen next excited you even more than the show itself.

The concert had just ended, and you were still buzzing with adrenaline. Slightly sweaty, heart pounding, you made your way to the VIP area to meet Enhypen.

As you entered the area, you took a few minutes to freshen up: fixing your braids, touching up your makeup, and spritzing a bit of your favorite perfume. Around you, other girls were doing the same. After all, in just a few minutes, you’d be seeing Enhypen up close, with only some barriers separating you from them.

Each fan had an assigned number and had to remain in their spot. While you waited, you began chatting with the girls around you, talking about the experience you’d just had, your favorite songs, and, of course, who your bias was.

Suddenly, a wave of excited screams filled the room.

You leaned forward slightly and saw Enhypen coming down to interact with the fans. They were right there, in front of you.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

Since you had one of the last numbers, you had to wait a bit longer before they reached you. In the meantime, you kept talking with the girls next to you to distract yourself from the growing anxiety.

A few minutes later, the first member to reach you was Jay.

<<Hey!>> he greeted with his usual confident smile.

Timidly, you asked if he could sign a T-shirt for your friend.

He grabbed the marker, but before signing, he looked at you with a mischievous grin. <<And where’s your friend? Didn’t she have the courage to come?>>

You chuckled, already feeling your cheeks warm. “She has an exam tomorrow… but she loves you!”

Jay nodded theatrically. <<Then we forgive her. I hope this signature brings her good luck>> he joked, signing the shirt with his neat handwriting.

One down.

“If they’re all this friendly, I can relax a bit,” you thought.

After Jay, it was Sunoo’s turn. His radiant face looked even more stunning in person, and he wasted no time signing the album you brought. 'Shall we take a photo?' he asked enthusiastically.

Of course, you agreed. You took a quick selfie, and he made a heart with his fingers before moving on to the next person.

Next up was Sunghoon. With his calm and mysterious demeanor, he took the marker and signed the T-shirt you were wearing, next to the event logo. -This T-shirt looks great on you,- he said, giving a smile while writing his name.

A chill ran down your spine and that was just the first three.

There were still four members left, including him. Heeseung.

And with each passing second, the wait became even more nerve-wracking.

When Jungwon and Niki arrived at your turn, instead of asking for the usual photo, you threw out a different idea.

“Let’s do a BeReal?” you suggested with an amused smile.

Jungwon’s eyes lit up with excitement. --Oh, that’s a cute idea!-- he exclaimed, moving closer to get into the shot. Niki nodded right away and pulled a funny face before the photo was taken.

You chatted a bit more with Jungwon, finding him easygoing and sweet. He asked you about your experience at the concert, your favorite performance, and even what had brought you to study in Seoul. He seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you, which surprised you.

After a few minutes, Jake arrived.

As soon as he approached, it seemed like all the fans around you lost their minds. With his usual sunny smile, he chuckled and exchanged a few jokes with you while signing your T-shirt.

But then something happened that made your blood freeze.

Behind him, almost as if he had been waiting for his moment, Heeseung appeared.

And from the very first moment, his eyes were only on you.

A shiver ran down your spine.

Jake made a joke to Heeseung about how much he was in demand with the fans, and Heeseung responded with a sarcastic comment that somehow seemed directed at you.

'I want to sign the T-shirt too,' he said, slightly shifting his gaze toward you with that sly smile of his.

You stood up slightly, ready to make room for him to sign the top of your T-shirt, just like Jake and Sunghoon had signed your shoulders.

But Heeseung did something unexpected.

He crouched down slightly and, through the gap in the barrier, reached out his hand. He grabbed the hem of your T-shirt and gently pulled it toward him to get a more stable surface to write on.

But in doing so, his fingers brushed your skin, right on your stomach.

A light touch. Almost accidental.

But enough to send a wave of warmth to your cheeks.

The fans around you held their breath for a second. Some recorded the scene with their phones, while others exchanged incredulous glances. It was just an autograph… or was there something more?

You, frozen, watched him as he was almost kneeling in front of you, focused on writing his name on your T-shirt.

When he stood up, he locked eyes with you and, with his usual flirty expression, asked:

'Shall we take a photo together?'

You, still slightly shaken, nodded without saying a word.

He took your phone and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, lowered the screen to check the saved photo of him on your background. A mischievous little smile appeared on his lips. 'Oh? What’s this?' he asked, showing you the picture of him you had saved.

You felt like dying of embarrassment. Had that just happened?

'So, am I your favorite?' he asked, his voice a little lower and more playful.

Other fans were waiting, and you had to let him go. But before he took the photo, you decided to tease him a bit.

“Maybe… or maybe I change the screen to a different photo of all seven of you every day,” you replied with a smile, trying to recover from the tense moment.

He looked at you for a second, squinting as if he were trying to figure out whether you were lying or not.

Then he took the photo with you and finally moved on to the next fan.

But still… every time he could, he would glance back at you.

As if, for some reason, he just couldn’t stop looking at you.

You were both stunned and ecstatic at the same time.

The evening had already been incredible on its own, but what had happened with Heeseung left you in a state of complete confusion. Was it just a game to him? A way to entertain the fans?

Lost in your thoughts, you were leaving the stadium when a big, burly man, clearly part of the security team, approached you.

-Excuse me, miss, we found your ID on the ground. Could you follow me for a moment?-

You looked at him, surprised. My ID?

Maybe it fell out when you showed your tickets at the entrance…

"Oh, sure!" you replied, following him without asking too many questions.However, as you ventured deeper into a more restricted area, anxiety began to rise. Why is he taking me here?

When you reached a side door, a staff member, with a kind demeanor and a sweet smile, greeted you.

'Hi! Could you check if your ID is really in your bag?' she asked. Confused, you opened the notebook where you usually kept your documents... and the ID was there.

You stared at it, puzzled. "But..."

She smiled even more. 'Actually, it was just an excuse. One of the members asked to meet you.'

Your heart skipped a beat.

"...What?"

'Heeseung asked to meet you after the concert.' You burst out laughing, more from shock than anything else. "You're joking, right?"

The girl shook her head. 'No, it's all true. If you want, you can go into that room. But first, you need to sign a confidentiality agreement and leave your phone with us.'

You swallowed hard. An agreement?

"Can I read it first?" you asked, growing more nervous.

'Of course, take all the time you need.'

She handed you a tablet with the document, and you began scrolling through the text, making sure to understand every point.

Main points of the agreement:

Total confidentiality – You couldn’t share any details about the conversation or the meeting with Heeseung, nor talk about it online or with friends.

No recording – No photos, videos, or audio. You had to hand over your phone before entering.

Duration of the meeting – It was specified as a private meeting, with no commitments or obligations.

Termination of the agreement – If you felt uncomfortable, you could leave at any time.

Number of fans he had met – 0, no names were listed, and you had to write yours at the top of the box along with your phone number.

You read it carefully. Nothing seemed strange or dangerous, but it still felt surreal. Why does Heeseung want to see me?

In the end, after taking a deep breath, you agreed and signed the contract.

The staff member took your phone and sealed it in an envelope, then smiled. 'You can go in.'

She opened the door, and as soon as you stepped inside, you saw him.

Heeseung was sitting on a couch, legs slightly spread, a cold drink in hand, and his hair still damp. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was fixed on you. Slowly, he set the bottle down on the table beside him and, with a sly smile, said the first thing that made your legs shake.

'I thought you wouldn’t accept.' You approached slowly, almost with fear and disbelief.

Heeseung rose from the couch with a smooth movement, leaving the drink on the table. He was tall and relaxed, but his gaze was hypnotic. He extended his hand with a slightly mischievous smile.

'Maybe you already know my name... and maybe you know everything about me,' he said in a low, slightly amused voice.

You immediately blushed but you didn’t want to seem like a shy, fan-girl with no character. So, you looked up and, with a somewhat timid but bold smile, replied: "I know all about Enhypen, not just about you."

He chuckled, raising an eyebrow as if he hadn’t expected such a response. 'Oh? So, I’m not your favorite?'

Without lowering your gaze, you confidently extended your hand toward him, palm open. "Y/N."

As soon as your hands touched, both of you felt a sudden shiver. A flash of something unexplainable, electric.

He stayed for a moment, staring at you, his thumb gently brushing your skin, and said, 'Nice to meet you, Heeseung.' Then, almost as if he wanted to mask it, he ran a hand through his hair and briefly looked away.

'I wanted to meet you because…' he paused, almost as if considering how to say it. 'I couldn’t stop looking at you.'

Your heart skipped a beat. You swallowed, trying to remain calm, but your voice came out a bit more uncertain than you intended. "So… it wasn’t just my imagination?"

Heeseung laughed, tilting his head slightly. 'No. I really was always looking at you.' The way he said it, so simple and direct, left you speechless for a moment.

'In fact,' he continued with a smirk, 'I always looked for a reason to go to your side of the stage.'

You stared at him with a skeptical expression. "Oh, so it was all calculated?" you teased, crossing your arms.

He laughed again, a low, captivating sound, before shaking his head. 'Maybe yes… or maybe no.'

Now that he was right in front of you, so close, you could truly observe him. His skin is still slightly damp from the concert, his dark eyes seemed to glow, the way his lips always curved into that expression halfway between playful and provocative.

And then, without thinking too much, he did something that completely threw you off. He took your hand and placed it on his cheek. The warmth of his skin against your palm made you hold your breath. Your fingers brushed the edge of his jawline, the slight roughness of his post-concert skin tangible beneath your fingertips. It was real.

In a barely audible whisper, the words escaped your lips. "You... you’re real." Heeseung closed his eyes for a moment under your touch, then slowly reopened them. 'Yes. I’m real.'

Then, he lowered his voice a little, his gaze turning more serious and intense.

'And we can do whatever we want.'

You burst out laughing, a light and innocent sound, even though the atmosphere in the room had turned electric, charged with something dangerously intense. "So, Heeseung…" You tilted your head slightly, watching him with a provocative smile. "What do you want to do with me?" For a moment, he seemed taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected your boldness. Then he lowered his gaze, biting his lip slightly before letting out a low laugh, almost amused but also pleased. 'You’re bolder than I thought.' His finger brushed the edge of your shirt, exactly where he had signed his name just moments ago. A light touch, almost imperceptible, but enough to make you hold your breath. You didn’t move and when he noticed, something in his gaze shifted. With a slow and calculated movement, he slid his finger along the hem of your skirt, his fingertip tracing a small circle on your exposed skin. Then, without breaking eye contact, he lowered his finger to your thighs, barely grazing them, leaving you breathless and with a racing heart. You stared at him, trying not to be overwhelmed by his game, and teased him with a mischievous smile. "So?" Your voice was barely a whisper. "Is that all?" His eyes darkened slightly, his lips parted as though he was about to say something, but then he hesitated. Finally, in a low, husky voice, he whispered against your skin. 'I want to kiss you.' Your lips curled into a slight smile, your heart pounding in your chest, but you wouldn’t make it easy for him. 'Is that it?' He stiffened for a second, as if your question had caught him off guard, then tilted his head to the side, eyeing you with a mix of amusement and authority. Did he seem shy? Maybe for a second. But only for a second. 'Don’t joke with me.' His voice had deepened, turning more dangerous. You bit your lip, amused by his reaction, but inside, you felt an ever-increasing surge of tension, almost unbearable. "I’m just trying to understand…" you shrugged, feigning innocence. "What else do you want from me? Why me, out of all those girls?" He narrowed his eyes, his jaw slightly clenched, and then, with a pout that almost seemed cute, answered with disarming honesty: 'I want to touch you. I want to have you for myself.' And in that moment, you realized he wasn’t playing anymore. The tension in the air was so thick, it almost felt like you could touch it. Your eyes locked with his as, without hesitation, you whispered: "You can kiss me." Heeseung tilted his face slightly, his gaze moving from your lips to your eyes, as if memorizing every one of your reactions. His hand slowly rose to your cheek, brushing it with a delicacy almost unnatural for the desire you saw in his eyes. Then, slowly, he lowered his face toward yours. His lips met yours in a kiss that started light and soft as if giving you time to get used to the sensation of him so close. But you didn’t want caution; you wanted to feel him for real. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. His scent enveloped you, his presence seemed to consume you. After a few seconds, you felt him smile against your lips, and then, with a slow, almost cruel motion, he bit your lower lip. A soft moan escaped you, and that was exactly what made him lose control. With a fluid motion, he slid his tongue against yours, deepening the kiss without hesitation.

His fingers glided across your skin, his hand resting on the small of your back, pulling you even closer to him.

You lifted yourself slightly onto your toes, trying to bridge the height difference between you, and he noticed immediately.

'You’re really small,' he murmured against your lips, chuckling as he traced small circles with his fingers on your exposed stomach.

He teased you, his tone provocative, amused. You pulled away slightly, catching your breath, and lifted your gaze to meet his.

"And you’re bold," you shot back, but your voice sounded more innocent than you had intended.

Heeseung chuckled softly, his eyes shining with dangerous satisfaction.

Your back hit the wall with a dull thud, your breath caught by the intensity with which Heeseung had pushed you against it.

It wasn’t violent; it was desperate.

His eyes burned with a barely contained desire, and before you could say anything, he lowered himself to you, his mouth finding your neck.

A shiver ran through your body as his lips brushed the sensitive skin beneath your ear, leaving behind slow, provocative kisses.

Then, the first bite, you moaned softly, your fingers instinctively gripping his shirt. Heeseung smiled against your skin, his warm breath caressing you as he continued to torment you with gentle bites and sucks, alternating them with sweeter kisses.

Between breaths, you barely found the strength to whisper a question that was consuming you from the inside:

"How many times have you done it?" You felt his smile curve against your skin before he even spoke. He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of genuine shyness.

'It’s the first time with a fan.'

Your expression must have betrayed your skepticism because Heeseung chuckled softly, leaving another kiss just above your collarbone.

'I don’t really like these kinds of things,' he continued in a lower, rougher voice. 'But when I saw you under the stage... I wanted to get to know you. I wanted to have you all to myself.'

Your heart skipped a beat."I don’t believe you."

You just couldn’t trust those words. A guy like him? The flirt, the idol who drove millions of fans crazy?

Heeseung barely shook his head, as if he had anticipated your reaction. Then he sank his teeth into a more sensitive spot on your neck and sucked hard enough to make you flinch.

'Did you read the contract?' he whispered with a hoarse voice, his lips still pressed against your skin.

"Yes," you replied with difficulty, trying to catch your breath.

'And how many fans was it written that I had been with, before you?'

Your mind quickly went back to the contract you had signed. There was a number. Zero. You stiffened slightly. Heeseung pulled back just enough to look at you, a cocky smile on his lips.

'It was true.' He was teasing you.

And without thinking, you reached a hand into his hair and pulled slightly, making him groan softly against you.

His eyes darkened when they met yours.

'You’re cute when you do that.'

"I’m not cute."

'Are you jealous too?' he chuckled softly, his voice full of amusement.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the frantic beating of your heart.

You would never give him the satisfaction of a response. But Heeseung didn’t seem willing to let you go.

He moved closer again, his mouth back on yours—and this time, the kiss was even deeper. His lips came back to you, hungry and sure, while a shiver ran down your spine. He chuckled against your skin when his hands moved more decisively down your sides, tracing the curve of your body with an audacious touch.

A barely audible groan eluded you when you felt the touch of his hands creep under your skirt. He giggled against your neck, the hot breath making you shudder. "So sensitive already?” he whispered, his fingers sliding light on your butt as if to test your reaction.

You looked down, your cheeks on fire, and he seemed to enjoy it even more. With a sharp movement, he squeezed you by the hips.

'Jump up' he ordered, his voice lower, almost hoarse. You hesitated for a second, embarrassed, but the intensity with which she looked at you made you give in. You clung to his shoulders, and he lifted you up with ease, gluing you to himself. Your back crashed into the wall with a light thud, while his hands clasped you tightly against his body.

You felt its length press against your warm center, even through the layers of clothing, and your breath stuck in your throat. 'Baby,' he muttered with a crooked smile, the tone barely darker, 'you're so fragile... I could bend you as I want.'

A shiver ran through your back, but instead of backing away, you looked at him with a spark of defiance in your eyes. “And what stops you?”

He laughed quietly, his eyes shining with something dangerous. Then his fingers found the edge of your panties, stroking them with slow, deliberate movements. He felt how soaked they were already and raised an eyebrow, amused.

'So wet just for me?' You bit your lip, trying to hold back a reaction, but he wouldn't let you. With an expert touch, she pushed her thumb against your sensitive clitoris, making you arch your body instantly. "H-Heeseung..." you gasped, holding on to him more.

'Shh,' he whispered, bringing one hand under your butt to hold you still while the other continued to explore you. When you felt the first finger slip inside you, you gasped and he giggled again, pleased to see you so lost in his touch. 'So tight... ' he whispered, her voice full of desire. 'I'll ruin you.'

Heeseung walked slowly around the room, holding you firmly in his arms. Every step was safe and controlled, while his fingers moved inside you with maddening slowness. The contrast between his firm grip and languid touch drove you crazy. Your hands clung to her dark hair, pulling them slowly in a desperate attempt to have more friction, more intensity. He laughed against your skin, his warm breath caressed your neck.

'So impatient,' he whispered, nibbling softly at your earlobe. 'Look how you hold me. Do you like it that much, mh?' The heat that spread through your body was overwhelming, and you looked away, your face turned red. Feeling your embarrassment, Heeseung smiled amused.

He sat on the big bed, keeping you above himself without ever stopping the movement of his fingers inside you. When he added another, deeper, your body flinched at him, snatching another low, smug laugh.

'Oh? Do you like this too?' he asked, his voice full of malice.

'Don't say you're shy when your body is practically begging me to continue.' He blatantly teased you, and you, in an attempt to regain at least some control, lowered your head towards her neck, leaving a light kiss on his skin before nibbling it softly. You could feel him stiffening for a moment, before his free hand grabbed your hair firmly, pulling you back slightly to make you meet his gaze.

'What a good girl...' he muttered, dark irises shone with desire.

'But do you really think you can provoke me like that and get away with it?' Your mouth opened to respond, but a sudden movement of his fingers, faster, deeper, made you gasp faintly against his lips. Heeseung laughed again, his tone authoritarian but amused.

'Oh, you're so sensitive... Tell me, do you like it when I touch you like that?' You looked down, biting your lip. You didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

'Don't you want to answer?' he murmured, increasing the pace without any mercy. The increasing pressure made you grab the fabric of his T-shirt with trembling fingers.

'No need, baby. Your body is already speaking for you.' You knew you couldn't resist him much longer. Your legs began to tremble around his hips and the feeling growing in your belly became overwhelming.

"Hee... I -”

'I know,' his voice was a whisper against your ear. 'You're so cute when you try to hold yourself back, but I want to hear you let go for me.'

One last, precise movement of his fingers was your end. The pleasure exploded inside you in an uncontrollable wave, and your body squeezed around its fingers as a moan escaped from your lips. Heeseung watched you with dark eyes full of satisfaction, his breathing heavy as he pressed you against himself.

'So beautiful,' he whispered, leaving a slow kiss on your temple. 'And all mine.'

Heeseung watched your flushed face, breath still broken by the former pleasure. With a satisfied smile, she brought her wet fingers close to your lips, gently tracing the outline with her tip before whispering in a low, hoarse voice: 'suck.'

You stiffened slightly, the heat rose from the chest to the cheeks. Heeseung's eyes shone with malice as he waited, patient but dominant, for me to obey. “I ... never did, " you muttered, looking down slightly.

He laughed softly, that low, enveloping laugh that made you vibrate inside. With his other hand, he gently stroked your chin, forcing you to look at him.

'Oh, how cute,' he whispered, tilting her head slightly.

'You are so shy, but look how well you took my fingers before...' Swallow empty, feeling even more embarrassed under his intense gaze. But part of you wanted to please him, wanted to see him satisfied. So, hesitantly, you slowly squinted at his lips, leaving him room to push his fingers between them. You wrapped them with your tongue, savoring the slightly sweetish and salty flavor of your essence. You sucked them gently, licking softly while he watched you with dark, piercing eyes. His chest rose with a deeper breath, and his free hand crept through your hair, stroking it with slow, relaxing movements. 'Good girl,' he muttered, the tone low and velvety.

The compliment made you cringe, and you nodded quietly, maintaining eye contact with him as you continued to suck softly. When he felt it was enough, Heeseung withdrew his fingers from your mouth slowly, leaving a thread of spit connected between them and your slightly swollen lips. Before you could say anything, he pressed his lips against yours in an urgent, ravenous kiss. His hands went down to your hips, squeezing you with more force as he drew you even closer to his warm body.

The kiss was deep, almost possessive, and you couldn't help but get carried away, responding with the same intensity. In the brief moment when you took off to catch your breath, you whispered against his lips, short of breath: "You taste of me...”

He smiled at your lower lip before biting it flat, pulling it slightly before releasing it.

'And I like it,' he replied with a grin. Then, without giving you time to replicate, he began to slowly move his hips against yours, rubbing himself slowly with slow but firm movements. The contact made you gasp, a muffled groan escaped from your lips as he continued to kiss you, swallowing every sound you could make.

'You're so responsive...' he whispered between kisses, his voice charged with desire.

'You like it when I move like this, don't you?' The heat in your belly became unbearable, and all you could do was hold on to him even more, completely lost in his touch. The rhythm between you became slow but full of tension, your bodies moving in unison in an increasingly pronounced rocking. With every slightest movement, you could feel his excitement growing beneath you, the hardness pressing against the light fabric of your little skirt. The warmth enveloped you, and a little amused smile grazed your lips as you looked at him with eyes full of mischief.

"Do you like it, Hee?” you muttered, tilting your head slightly as you continued to move slowly over him. He raised an eyebrow, his smile widened into a smug grin.

'Are you kidding me?' he asked, his voice low and veiled with desire. You didn't respond right away, biting your lip as you moved just a little harder against his thick cock that by now your poor pussy felt so good under him. A subdued growl escaped from his lips, and in an instant his hand slid under your butt, grabbing you with a firm grip that made you wince. He lifted you slightly, forcing you to stop, and his gaze became darker as his thumb traced small circles on your exposed skin.

'You know' “he began, tilting his head as his eyes slowly slid over you,

'I've always liked this little skirt of yours'

Your breath became shorter when his hand slid down the light cloth, stroking your hips before stopping on your thigh. 'Every time I came to the side of your sector to see you dance and sing my songs...' he paused, letting his fingers graze the edge of the cloth. 'He always got up too much for my taste.'

A shiver ran down your back at his tone, so confident, so authoritarian. But before you could answer, you felt a little slap on the bare buttock. Nothing strong, just a light blow, more provocative than punitive. A little gasp escaped from your lips, and your eyes opened wide as you looked at him, surprised. He smiled, clearly amused by your reaction.

“Why did you do it?” asked slowly, the voice a little uncertain. Heeseung lowered his face until he touched your ear, his voice now a warm and possessive whisper.

'Because from now on, these beautiful legs will only be seen by me.' Your heart beats faster in your chest, and your body responds to his statement more than you want to admit. And yet, in the next moment, his attitude changed slightly. His eyes, still intense, seemed for a moment sweeter, and his hand, which just before had grasped your skin firmly, now gently stroked your back.

'Baby..' he muttered, his voice lower, almost uncertain. 'Do you want to take my pants off?' The contrast between his authoritarian tone from just before and the slight hesitation with which he asked you for that gesture sent you completely into a tailspin.

The heat on the cheeks became oppressive, and you slightly lowered your gaze, biting your lip. You couldn't answer right away, but at the end, you nodded quietly, your voice a shy whiff.

"Yesp” A satisfied smile curved his lips. 'Good girl.' Heeseung lifted slightly, leaving you room to pull off his pants. With slightly trembling hands, you grabbed the edge of the fabric and lowered it flat, when the pants slid down his legs, your eyes stopped on her tight-fitting boer Your breath stopped for a moment, and the heat on your cheeks became even more intense. Heeseung immediately noticed your fixed gaze, and a mischievous smile painted on his lips as he leaned towards you.

'That's the effect you've been doing to me... since the first time I saw you sitting at the soundcheck.' His voice was low, and deep, as if he were confessing a forbidden secret. You looked at him, biting your lower lip with a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction. Part of you still felt shy under his intense gaze and you lowered his hand and brushed his erection over the hot boer Heeseung breathed sharply, your abs twitching under the gentle touch of your fingers.

The sound that came out of his lips was deep, and throaty, and for a moment you seemed to lose control. "I can...?" you asked slowly, your fingers moving just above the cloth. He did not hesitate for a second before answering, his voice more hoarse than usual.

'Yes ... please.' A little amused smile eluded you as you gently grabbed the edge of his boer When the fabric slipped away, his breathing became heavier. Your gaze rests on his cock, imposing, slightly curved, the warm skin crossed by light veins and covered with a thin moisture of whitish liquid. Without realizing it, you slowly licked your lips, and Heeseung did not let it slip.

'Do you like what you see?' he whispered, his tone provocative but loaded with expectation. You just lowered your hand, slowly touching him, savoring the way his body reacted under your touch. Heeseung closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw clenched as a subdued groan escaped from his lips. 'Continue...' he muttered, his voice slightly trembling. Heeseung seemed completely lost in you.

His eyes were ajar, his lips slightly open as his chest rose in irregular breaths. Still, all you were doing was slowly moving your hand along his cock, exploring it with a mixture of curiosity and shyness. His voice, deep and broken with pleasure, filled the room.

'Not—' he gasped, slightly clutching the sheets under himself, 'not too hard... go slow.'

Nod slowly, biting your lip as you followed his command, your hand moving more gently. Now and then, his voice became more authoritarian, as if he wanted to regain control of the situation, but his own pleasure seemed to betray him.

'Yes, so...' he whispered between heavy breaths, his hand resting on yours, guiding you in the rhythm he preferred. 'Good girl.' Those words made you feel even hotter and you felt your poor pussy even more stimulated and dripping from seeing the guy of your fucking dreams make him feel good with just one hand of yours, and the way he was looking at you - lost, vulnerable, completely at your mercy - made you unconsciously squeeze your legs.

Every deep moan of his, every sigh of his body under your touch, made you feel like you were discovering a side of him that no one else had ever seen. After a while, his breathing became even more irregular and you felt his body vibrate under your hands. Heeseung gently grabbed your wrists, holding you for a moment as the pleasure overwhelmed him altogether. A throaty moan left his lips as his body arched slightly, the heat of his excitement pouring over his taut abdomen and you watched him spellbound as he cleaned out in his abdomen the splashes of his cum and stood motionless for a moment, his chest rising and lowering heavily as he tried to recover. Then, he opened his eyes and looked at you with a sly smile. 'You're such a good student.'

The blush on your cheeks increased, and you slightly lowered your gaze, fiddling with your fingers. ” Today I'm trying a lot of new things... "

You admitted softly, your voice shy but sincere. He laughed softly, his expression sweetened as he watched you with a mixture of affection and amusement. Then he came up and, with extreme sweetness, kissed your forehead. 'Then let's see what else I can teach you.'

His hands grazed your skin with a delicacy that contrasted with the way he looked at you—his dark eyes, burning with desire.

'Do you want it?' he whispered against your lips, his voice hoarse and deep. You nodded quickly with a barely hinted smile, raised your hand and gently took your chin between your fingers, forcing you to look straight into your eyes.

'Tell me,' he ordered in that authoritarian tone that made you tremble. Inhale slowly, feeling your body getting warmer and warmer under his intense gaze. "Yes, I want you."

A smug smirk made space on his lips as he picked up a condom and unrolled it over himself with a confidence that made you bite your lip. Your gaze remained glued to his gestures, and he immediately noticed.

'All yours, Baby. You can do whatever you want.' His confidence made you feel thrilled, but he also wanted to test you, and make you give in completely to him. His hands rested on your hips, stroking the light fabric.

'Get up a little bit so that I take off this fucking skirt and this little t-shirt, I can't wait to see you completely naked around my cock!"

You burst out laughing, hitting his chest lightly with your hand, but he took the moment to grab the edge of your shirt and lift it over your head, revealing your body little by little. His eyes lowered on your curves with admiration and desire, and his breathing became heavier. "You are incredible..." he muttered, letting his fingers slide slowly down your skin. Then, with a mischievous grin, he added: 'Perfect at every point.'

You felt the heat rise on your cheeks as he ducked down to leave a warm kiss on your skin, right there where your heartbeat was most frantic. His hands clasped around you more firmly, and in an instant he lifted you slightly, supporting you in his arms as your breaths intertwined.

When you felt him finally pushing himself inside you your warm walls began to wrap his cock inside you, and a subdued moan escaped from your lips, immediately followed by his. His eyes met yours, dark and burning, while his body moved against yours with an almost unnerving slowness.

'Is everything okay?' he whispered, his thumb stroking your side gently. Nod slowly, clinging to him as the wave of sensations swept over you. "Yes ... continue." His hips rose slightly and you turned more violently on his cock while your vaginal walls completely excited and covered in slime took him almost completely inside you, your breasts ribboned every time his cock entered you; every time you pushed against him, a thrill of pleasure ran down your back, and your moans came out involuntary.

He, with a mischievous smile, mocked you for your reaction, but even he did not seem able to resist. His body trembled under yours, responding to your every movement. Every time you approached, he would bend down to kiss you on the breast, his kisses becoming more and more intense and full of passion. His hands caressed your skin with a sweetness that contrasted with the strength of his desire.

'You're amazing,' he whispered between breaths, his voice hoarse and low. 'I didn't think you'd be so... beautiful and good at taking my cock.' The pleasure grew, and with each movement, you felt the wave of pleasure enveloping you more and more. When he finally touched the right spot, a scream of pleasure eluded you, and his eyes became even more intense.

'Do you want them to hear you?' he asked.

"Yes, yes...Hee is too much' He smiled with a smug air, gently caressing you.

'You're not as shy as I thought you were,' he muttered, your every movement getting faster, more intense, and you felt that the pleasure was overpowering you. With a last gasp, you whispered to him that you were about to arrive. He gently took you in his hands, touching both of you and making you feel even closer to him. When his breathing became even more frantic, he leaned toward you, kissing you with impetus, his tongue exploring yours with an intensity that gave you goosebumps.

'Feel how much I am inside you,' he muttered against your lips, the tone warm and deep.

'Feel what you make me feel.' His words made you falter, but the passion and desire you felt made you stronger. You responded with a groan, pushing at him with greater intensity, your body instinctively reacting to his unspoken commands. Every word, every whisper, made you feel like you were experiencing something unique, and intense, and all you wanted was to let go completely. "Don't stop," you whispered to him, your body trembling with desire. "Let me come, please Heeseung."

Heeseung held you tight against him, his eyes dark and burning with desire. 'You're so small compared to me...' he whispered with a cheeky smile, the tone low and provocative.

'I could break you at any moment, you know?' His voice made you shudder. You knew it was just a provocation, but the way he said it, with that disarming confidence, made you lose your mind. His movements became deeper and deeper, more intense, each push sending waves of pleasure down your back. You stuttered broken words, unable to formulate coherent sentences, and this seemed to amuse him.

'What are you trying to say, baby?' he laughed softly, with that mocking, charming tone.

'Can't you even talk? Am I making you feel so good?' You nodded weakly, biting your lip to hold back the moans, but he didn't seem willing to let you hide anything.

'No, no ... I want to hear from you.' His hand slid between your bodies, finding your most sensitive spot. A single expert touch was enough to make you gasp and let slip a louder groan. "Hee-I'm going to -"

He smiled, stroking you with slow, torturing movements.

'I know, baby ... come for me.' And when the wave of pleasure swept over you, a scream of ecstasy filled the room. Your body shook above him, your hands clinging desperately to his broad shoulders. Heeseung didn't stop moving, dragging you through orgasm as his breathing became more erratic. With one last deep moan, he completely immersed himself and doused all his condom with his cum that he absolutely wanted to squirt into you but he didn't know you and he knew exactly how much he was risking, his body straining as he let go.

He held you close to him, his face tucked against your neck, his warm breath on your skin. You stayed like this for a few moments, hearts beating in unison, the silence broken only by the labored rhythm of your breaths. Then, when you finally got up slightly, you felt a sudden feeling of emptiness that left a shiver on your skin. It was a reality that you should not forget: he was Heeseung, an idol, a star that everyone admired.

You ... just a student who loved it. Yet at that moment, in his arms, none of this seemed to matter.

The idea of seeing him everywhere, wherever you looked, made you feel a little trapped as if fate was playing a bad joke on you. Every time you crossed his eyes, even on a giant screen, there was something that struck you deep, as if it had left an indelible mark on you. And yet, you knew that for him you were just one person among a thousand others, one night among many, one of the many experiences that he could easily forget, while you remained to brood, to try to come to terms with your heart that did not seem to want to know to "forget"

It had been a month since that magical night and that afternoon you were quietly working in the bar outside the university campus until you saw him come in, but you were not ready for that voice that made you stop suddenly.

That voice that had tormented you in your dreams and in your days, like a melody that you could not get out of your head, but that now seemed even more real, closer. Your colleague, with her innocent smile and a little complicit, had no idea what was going on inside you.

He had no idea how much that simple request for ' an iced coffee' had made you falter.

Your colleague asked Heeseung his name and he said to write,

'Do you want to go out with me?'

and he had thrown it at you as if it were a game as if he had no idea of the effect it had on you, the world around you seemed to have stopped. Your mind was trying to reason, but your feelings were a whirlwind difficult to contain. How could you answer that? How could you pretend that everything was normal, when the guy of your dreams, the guy you had seen everywhere and tried to avoid, from the first moment he entered the bar was looking at you with that challenge in his eyes?

You made that coffee, put the ice in it, and wrote those words on the glass... everything seemed so simple, but inside you, there was a total confusion. Every move seemed executed in a dream, every gesture you did as if automatic, but your heart was completely out of control. When you turned around to pass the glass to your colleague and stood in front of him, it was as if the whole world had stopped again. His eyes were on you, and his smile, with that slight air of defiance, hit you right in the chest.

He passed the marker to you as if he wanted to continue that game, but his look told you everything: he was waiting for an answer.

It was all so surreal. You looked at him, your heart pounding in your chest, and with a smile, you couldn't hold back, you turned a little more toward him.

And your question... 'Is it a yes or a no?' it struck you as a small provocation, but also with a sweetness that almost made you melt.

taglist: @stwrlightt @hearts4cheoll @lovenha7 @in-somnias-world @heeseungxo @luvyeni @jayjw16enxp @jvngwnii @jooniesbears-blog @gguk-n @cloudykim @enhaverse713586 @stormy1408 @jakesw82 @misssparklyprincess @bamguetismee @jaylajakey @arclviie @strxwbloody @steddie-steddiee @jungwoosbaey @laurenmia65 @tasnemluvs @lovellydisasterr @rikiscupid @simj4k3 @numnommzz @sspidermansss @vixialuvs @smlbch @m3wkledreamy@xylatox @ikeulove @nishikio @ancnymcnzjy @sofiafromvenus @kayjiguki @annovaz @kkamismom12

Rebblog and comments are appreciated

©cutehoons02 all rights reserved 2025.

[jks1uv]

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝐸𝑥𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 ; mark grayson / invincible

summary: in every universe, mark grayson turns into his father and seals his destiny as a true viltrumite. what if things are different this time?

pairing: fem!reader x mark grayson.

trope: childhood best friends to lovers + fate gives love a chance.

genre: fluff + angst + slow-burn romance + hurt / comfort + some comedy.

warnings‼️: crude language + spoilers for s3 (mark’s variants) + amber & eve never get w mark but r goated wingwomen & friends for reader + william, rick & rex r goated wingmen for mark + 2 jealous!mark moments + the tiniest moment of tension + multiverse talk + a mention of the chicago incident feat. scott / powerplex + REX LIVES 🗣️‼️🔥🔥 + a short & sweet kiss scene.

word count: 9,966.

random disclaimerrr: when eve said “you don’t deserve this” 😞 like he always just out here suffering 💔 kate, immortal, cecil & scott pmo so bad like bruh can y’all just pls stfu pls 🙏🏽 I CANNOT BELIEVE MY GOAT REX IS DEAD LIKE BRUH HOW 😭😞💔 but the 2 ppl majority of the fandom hates get their happy ending… mkay… happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jks1uv

Mark Grayson has always liked you.

It was the first day of school, 2nd grade homeroom. The first day of school was always nerve wracking but this time was different.

His desk was next to you per the seating chart and you were the last kid to come in.

You were wearing a black t-shirt with some white bows on it and sky blue jeans with pink flowers embroidered on the pockets. White twinkle toes with pink and purple rhinestones.

Your hair was styled in 2 ponytails with cute bows on the bands.

Your eyes bright and a shy smile on your lips.

“Hi.” You bashfully said to him.

“Hi.” He said back in a daze.

His seven year old heart was fluttering and he was as red as a tomato when he realized it was you! You were the girl whose empty desk he was seated next to!

You always shared homeroom, if not, recess with him in elementary school.

Then came middle school, where you had at least 2 classes with him.

High school was a bit easier as you saw him 3-4 times a day, and that’s not including clubs or other extracurricular activities.

He spent 11 years like that. Seeing you in class, in the hallways, at lunch or after school.

Your relationship with him never wavered. Your character was still the same even after new chapters and opportunities for development.

He’s endured some insane shit, but he’s so happy the one constant in his life remained consistent.

“You still have a crush on her?!”

“Shut up, William. Or do you want the whole world to know.” Mark chides.

William snorts like it’s the most obvious thing in the world (it is). “The whole world already knows, it’s just your dumbass that’s somehow oblivious.”

“Give the lover boy a break.” Amber lightly teases.

Mark sighs and rubs his face with his hands, trying to hide the redness creeping up on him without his consent.

“Is that her?” Rick points towards Mark’s dream girl.

But what he forgot to mention was the living explosion (literally) walking alongside you.

“What’s he doing here?” Eve’s surprised Rex decided to step foot on college campus willingly.

William subtly side-eyes Mark and makes a desperate attempt to hold in his laughter by squeezing Rick’s hand.

Mark slowly stands, a confused look on his face.

“I’ll… go find out.” He says it like a question, like he’s unsure if that’s what he should do.

Amber and Eve share a knowing look.

“You’re funny.” You say as you catch your breath.

Rex shrugs nonchalantly and smirks. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

You’re shaking your head and are about to say something when you see Mark in front of you.

“Mark.” Your eyes crinkle as you smile.

You go in for your usual hug and Mark accepts it.

Unbeknownst to you that he’s making wide eyes among other facial expressions in a desperate attempt to make contact with the other male.

The hug lasts for a second longer and you ignore the butterflies that swarm your belly, deducing that he probably just wanted to hug you a bit longer.

No big deal you think as you’re screaming inside the longer you feel Mark’s arms around your waist.

When you meet Mark’s face, he allows himself to give you a tight-lipped smile.

“Mark, this is-”

“Rex! Heyy, how’s it going?” He chuckles nervously and rubs the back of his neck.

Your eyebrows furrow and you tilt your head a bit. “Yeah… wait, you guys know each other?”

Rex is enthusiast with his reply. “Fuck yeah! This is my best bro.”

He slaps Mark’s back with a confident grin and the “bro” laughs awkwardly.

You know, one of those ‘ha ha ha’ type laughs.

“Okay. So, um, Mark?”

“Yeah?” Aaand his voice cracks.

You politely ignore it but Mark wants to die inside.

“I was wondering if you were still down to go to the mall?”

Mark knows you’re attentive and take your friendships seriously, which isn’t old news. But he can’t help feeling special that’s you remembered a thought from a couple days prior.

“Only if you’ll buy me boba.”

Mark never lets you buy him anything if he can help it, and that’s how it’s always been.

You insist, he’ll deny; but that doesn’t mean his sentiment isn’t nice.

You blink and softly smile at his bargain. “Deal.”

Rex hums thoughtfully, a hand at his chin and his gaze on the sky.

“Can I join? I don’t have anything going onnn~” He suggests in a sing-song manner.

“No, you can’t!” Mark suddenly yells.

You look at Mark with furrowed brows. “Mark, don’t be rude.”

“Yeah, Mark, don’t be rude.” Rex repeats with a sly expression.

Mark deeply exhales through his nose and puts on a fake smile. “Rex, can I talk to you? Alone.”

“Sure!”

He follows Mark about 15 steps away from you.

You decide to sit down on a bench nearby and watch some TikTok to pass the time.

“Hey, so, um- quick question: what the hell are you doing here?”

Rex scoffs. “What, I can’t come visit my bro?”

Mark quirks an eyebrow and crosses his arms, unimpressed.

Rex puts his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll be honest. I was here to talk to you about Cecil,” He looks over at you and sighs dramatically.

“But?” Mark presses when he sees Rex eyeing you.

“I see a hot girl and I can’t help myself, you know?” He smirks knowing he’ll rile Mark up and get the exact reaction he wants.

Mark immediately gets in his line of sight, making Rex back up a bit from the fast and unforgiving wind.

“Woah, man! A little warning next time before you almost blow me away?”

Mark ignores him. “Don’t call her that.”

The truth is, Rex came to campus with a purpose.

Mark never talks about you, but Eve may have let your name slip into conversation a few times.

Rex may be aloof and jerk-ish but he’ll be serious when it’s time.

He’s seen the way Mark’s face changed every time Eve mentioned you; his head would tilt slightly, he’d have a small, unnoticeable smile on his lips.

Rex suspected a crush and he was right! Of course he was, look at the way he’s being defensive of you.

There was just one problem, he didn’t know how you looked. He asked Eve and she was suspicious, but when he revealed his own suspicions, she indulged him.

So, the two of them made a plan with Amber, William and Rick; Operation: Get Mark To Man Up and Admit His Feelings Before You Slip Away.

- FLASHBACK -

“She’s wearing a PINK t-shirt with ripped blue jeans. Oh, and a black backpack.” William directs.

“Pink shirt, black backpack, ripped blue jeans. Got it.”

“PINK as in the brand, not the color.” Amber reminds.

“Wait, what? So what color is the shirt?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s dark green..? And the logo is an even darker shade. ” Eve remembers.

Rex is so unimpressed.

“So, let me get this straight; she’s wearing a shirt from the brand PINK, but it’s just dark green?”

“I’d say you’re on the right track.” Rick chimes.

“This shit is ridiculous. I mean, seriously. Why can’t you girls just wear stuff that warrant normal descriptions?”

“Shut up, Rex.” Amber and Eve say simultaneously.

- FLASH FORWARD -

“Alright, her unwanted, meddling knight in shining armor.”

Mark is about to defend himself against that true baseless allegation when William and Rick find him.

“What’re we gossiping about?”

There’s a glint in William’s eyes, the kind you don’t miss if you’re paying attention to the very specific lilt in his tone.

“Oh, I was just telling Marky boy here,”

Mark side-eyes Rex at the ridiculous nickname.

“How he’s Y/n’s unwanted, meddling knight in shining armor.”

William claps his hands together. “That’s actually an accurate assessment.”

Mark’s offended. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

Rick clears his throat as a guise to hide the very subtle laugh itching his throat.

“Sassy.” William says impressed in his best friends comeback skills.

Rex gets a phone call and excuses himself, giving William a crisp high-five and Rick a chest bump.

“Go get your Juliet, Romeo!” He cheers.

William shakes his head as he guffaws at the man.

“Dude, he's hilarious. How come you've never introduced him to us before?”

“Do I really have to answer that?”

William rolls his eyes at him.

“Anyways. When are you gonna tell Y/n you love her, again?”

“William!” Mark whines.

Rick smiles and expands his thinking.

“He meant to say, you should tell her soon. Before she's with someone else and leaves you to collect the pieces of your broken heart.”

“Not gonna lie, that's exactly what he needs to hear right now.”

Mark can't lie either. “Yeah. You kinda ate with that.”

William cringes and Rick winces with embarrassment.

“Hey! So, uhh, never say that again. Hope this helps.” William makes a finger heart.

“Wha- but I used the phrase correctly! Oh, come on guys, seriously?”

- MEANWHILE, WITH AMBER & EVE -

Amber and Eve thought it’d be a good idea to have a quick chat with you while you were waiting on Mark.

They casually brought up relationships and basically implied that ‘men ain’t shit’, but you disagree with that attitude.

“I dunno... Mark’s a good guy.”

“Oh yeah, for sure! Mark’s one of the good ones.”

Eve nods along to Amber’s statement.

She reminisced on her fair share with toxic relationships. She deliberately left out how it was with Rex but that’s okay, you don’t need to know that…

“Are you and Mark..?”

You feel your cheeks warm at the thought but you’d be lying if you deny your feelings for him.

“No.” You state with your head down and hands in your lap, playing with a ripped thread on your jeans.

“Huh. That’s a shame.” Eve comments.

That gets your attention.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that you and Mark seem…”

“Ideal.” Amber completes smoothly.

Your wide eyes and mouth agape give you away.

“You've never thought about him like that?”

You have, but how do you admit this to Mark’s coworker and friend without it getting back to him?

You think Amber and Eve are cool, they’re nice to you; but they're more Mark’s friends.

To you, they're friends of a friend.

Amber senses your hesitation and sat down next to you.

“We won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Eve locks her lips with an imaginary key and throws it away.

That elicits a small laugh out of you, making you feel a bit more confident to share your secret.

You look over and see Mark and Rex still talking, now joined by William and Rick.

You contemplate for a moment before admitting it.

“Yeah.” You breathe out.

Eve hums in thought. “Let me guess, you don’t want to say anything in case it’ll fuck up the friendship?”

You gasp lightly at her spot-on description. “How’d you know?!”

She just shrugs nonchalantly and Amber bites her tongue to point out how obvious the entire situation is.

“I do like him, a lot... but what if he doesn’t feel the same? I would've ruined something special for something selfish and it would stay with me forever.”

You rant to the 2 girls you’re closest with and somehow, it feels right. You dismiss the thought of them turning out like the average mean girls in a teenage rom-com.

“But what if he does like you back?” Eve proposes.

“Then he’ll have to make the first move.” You shrug obviously.

“I know that’s right.”

You feel giddy from Amber’s approval.

She’s always been the type to keep it short and sweet but once you get her talking? She’ll always keep it real.

“We gotta go but we’ll see you later?”

Eve's already planning on the next hangout because she likes you enough to wanna help. She doesn’t like a lot of people so consider yourself special!

“Oh! Uh- yeah! Sure, that works with me.”

“It’s settled then.”

“See ya, Y/n.”

Coincidentally, you see the boys leave, leaving Mark to come to you.

“Shall we?”

“We shall.”

“Just let me try it.” Mark whines.

You shook your head and stood your ground. “It'll be gone in under ten seconds.”

He gasps dramatically, a hand to the heart like a lady of the opera. “You don't have faith in me?! I am a superhero-”

“I'm sure that's what they say.”

Your sarcasm isn’t foreign but he grows quiet at the remark.

It just slipped out so easily, without care or regard. You immediately try to make it right.

“I’m sorry, Mark.”

“No, no. It’s okay. You didn’t mean it like that.”

Ever the sweetheart but you refuse.

“No, it isn’t.” You stop walking. “I was careless with what I said and it’s not right.”

He looks at you with appreciation and gives you a smile. “Thank you, Y/n. It feels nice to be seen as I am.”

That both warms and saddens your heart.

You know how much he’s been through and even though you’ll never truly understand, you know he can still count on you. You’ll be there for him and that’s gotta mean something.

“Of course.”

You and Mark spend the next hour chatting and idly checking out things in the stores.

You wander into the dress and gown section and are completely in awe of the collection. Every color you can think of in every style: silky, thigh cut, halter top, strapless.

Your hands run through the material and you’re reminded of the spring formal coming up soon.

Not everyone gets the chance of going but you have a friend who extended the courtesy of inviting you and a plus one.

You recall the last time you went to a dance: your senior year of high school's prom. It was memorable. You were a part of a small group that went together; consisting of your friends.

You took photos with Mark and danced with him for a bit but not like anything you wished. There's nothing romantic about screaming club anthem lyrics while getting twerked on but since it was Mark's ass, you didn’t complain.

That was the first and last time he accepted drinks from William, by the way.

You chuckle quietly to yourself in memory of that glorious night when Mark comes up behind you.

"You ready to go or do you wanna try some of them on?"

You take another look at the gorgeous dresses and think.

Mark's hoping you say yes.

He won't admit it anytime soon and despite him already thinking you're the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, prom night solidified that for him.

You had him starstruck.

His hear stuttered, adrenaline rushed through his veins and conjured up a swarm of butterflies in his stomach.

SImply put, every feeling and action that describes a man in awe of a pretty lady was an accurate depiction of him.

“Nah, maybe some other time.” You decide.

Mark nods, looking forward to the future dress tryouts. “Okay.”

Later, you have dinner with Mark, Oliver and Debbie.

Mark flew out and brought home some authentic pasta and garlic bread from Italy.

You rolled your eyes playfully and claimed he was being “extra” but reevaluated your statement when you thought about it.

If you could move that fast, you'd go to another country to have their finest food as well.

“It's so good to have you, honey.”

Debbie was always so nice to you, it made you feel happy and proud of yourself knowing someone's mom wholeheartedly accepts your presence in their kids life.

“It's good to be here.”

“Are you gonna stay the night?!” The purple little boy asked full of hope.

You didn't want to let him down but you had no choice.

“I'm sorry, Oliver, but not tonight.” You ruffle his hair and give him an apologetic smile.

You know he's bummed out when he doesn't sound that infectious laugh and tell you you're messing up his hair.

“Oh.”

You feel Mark's gaze on you and when you look up, he offers a sympathetic smile.

“I can stay until it's time for you to sleep.”

You know you've got him, it's an offer he can't refuse.

He's all smiles now and hugs you by the waist, his head laying on your chest.

You smile and hug him back, your head laying on his.

Mark cleans the table and Oliver takes out the trash while you help Debbie with the dishes.

“It doesn't matter how many times I say “no”, does it?”

You hum and shake your head. “Nope.”

You make small talk while you dry after she scrubs and rinses. About college, your plans after college, Mark.

“What about him?” You wonder.

“I mean, how has be been since...”

You see a look of helplessness on her face.

Debbie may be his mother but even she is not immune to the conflict of secrecy in her son's life.

You instantly feel bad.

Mark always tells you everything but to have his own mom ask you things about her son makes the situation complex.

You turn your head over your shoulder and see Mark playing a video game with his baby brother.

When Mark told you about Nolan, what happened to them on Thraxa and the events that unfolded afterwards, you didn't know how to respond.

As if hearing Nolan reveal his plans for Earth and call Debbie a “pet” wasn't heartbreaking enough, you were there with Debbie when Mark was brutally assaulted by his own father.

Then you hear of Nolan's second family he while the first one was still trying to keep it together and deal with the devastating aftermath of the biggest betrayal.

You almost cried when Mark broke down about Angstrom Levy hurting Debbie and Oliver.

You were out of the country on a field trip with your classmates when that happened. Devastated was an understatement for how you felt to hear both Mark and Debbie in the hospital from William.

Mark shamefully admitted to killing Angstrom, thinking that would sever the bond between you two. He expected you to be afraid of him, no matter how awful he’d feel about doing that to you.

It was the total opposite, you embraced him and let him cry on your shoulder. You let him feel everything but you also let him feel your hand in his.

You looked him in the eyes and told him that he did what he had to do and if killing Angstrom was the solution, then so be it.

“Mark told me everything. From seeing Mr. Grayson—”

You see a flash of hurt in Debbie's eyes at the mention of his name and almost forget that before he was known as Omni-Man, he was Mr. Grayson. He was Mark's dad.

“—again and about Oliver. Up until Angstrom and how the last thing he did was hurt you and Oliver.”

Debbie drys her hands and looks out of the window above the sink.

You can tell she’s disassociating. Her eyes seem so far away and crestfallen.

You don’t know if she’s getting much sleep but you also can’t imagine getting any if you were her.

You put a hand on her shoulder and she’s visibly shaken out of her thoughts.

“He’s gonna be okay, and so are you.”

She looks at you like you’ve lit up a candle at the end of a very dark tunnel.

Debbie leans in for a hug, eliciting a small sigh when you strengthen the embrace a little.

You figured she should feel taken care of for once.

“Thank you.”

You hear her sincerity and make a mental note to talk about this with Mark later on.

Oliver is tired out from having a “good playdate” with you and his older brother.

You tuck him in for the night per his request and can't help but feel the warmth from taking care of him touch your heart.

He's a growing boy but despite the many changes one goes through due to that constant stage of life, his feelings for you don't change.

Mark loves how much Oliver loves you. He loves seeing 2 of the most important people in his life get along so well, secretly admiring the way you've grown a soft spot in his mother's heart, too.

“They grow up so fast.” Mark attempts to humor.

You hum and try your best not to cry dwell on the bittersweetness of that phrase.

“Yeah.”

You're sitting on Mark's bed, looking fondly at the one of many drawings the kid made for you.

You softly exhale and bring up the conversation you had earlier with Debbie.

“Mark, I have something I want to talk to you about.”

He looks at you knowingly. “I know.”

Your eyes widen a bit at that revelation. “You do?”

He nods, a pursed smile on his face. “I have super hearing, remember?”

How did you forget that?

You close your eyes and exhale sharply, feeling silly for forgetting that power of his. “Right, duh.”

You don’t want to push the conversation if he’s not feeling it but you want to know if you did the right thing.

“I... didn’t overstep… right?”

“Oh, no. No, you didn’t.”

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I… haven’t had the best time talking to her about the things I say to you.”

You nod in understanding.

“I felt bad when she asked you how I’m doing. She should be able to ask me that.”

He’s guilt-stricken and it makes you feel dejected.

“Mark.” You put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s hard talking to your mom about your inner turmoil but you’re all she has.”

Who does Debbie go to when she wants to discuss the matters of her heart? Who’ll listen when she wants someone to talk to?

“You give her the strength to carry on so let her give you some peace of mind, hm?”

Mark’s eyes shine with a strong fondness for you, his mind wiped clean of all things difficult and heart ten times lighter.

You’ve always understood him, whether he explains himself or not. You could always just know.

Your heart and emotional intelligence are perhaps his favorite things about you.

“You okay?” You ask, worried you’ve overstepped again.

“Never been better.” He promises.

A soft smile graces his lips as he leans in to hug you.

You accept it with an equal gentle expression and when you feel his arms wrap around your middle, you feel good.

Mark is invulnerable but not when it comes to the war between his mind and heart, that’s when you step in. And when you do, there’s always a resolution found in great clarity.

You feel his heartbeat above yours and unconsciously, they sync. His breathing evens out with yours.

It feels intimate, this hug.

You’ve hugged him a million times before but none of them have felt quite like this.

A heavy weight on his shoulders has evaporated and you can feel his gratitude.

“I don’t know how to thank you.” He murmurs.

You tilt your head back a bit so he can see you. “Then don’t.” You shrug, like it’s the most obvious answer.

He chuckles lightly and blinks at you, a tight-lipped smile on his face.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of his arms loosening around you and replacing the warmth with his hands on your hips.

You subconsciously gulp and watch his eyes flicker towards your eyes, lips then back to your eyes.

You don’t know if it’s your mind playing tricks on you, but you swear he moves his head a little closer to you; just enough to barely touch noses.

Your stomach is in a frenzy and your hands feel clammy.

Is this really happening?

But then, like a switch being flipped off; he gingerly clears his throat and backs away.

You blink, catching yourself in a daze and he gets up to put on a movie.

He acts like he wasn’t just about to kiss you, as if that chemistry was just a figment of your imagination.

You don’t have the guts to say anything, to ask the obvious. So, you also pretend that you two weren’t just about to fulfill your biggest ‘what if?’ scenario.

“Oh, wow… that’s crazy.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.”

It was nice to hear sympathies from the only people who you could afford to talk about this with. They’re also the only people who wouldn’t go and spread the telltale truth of the most embarrassing moment of your life.

“I can’t believe he fumbled this badly.” Amber facepalms herself in disbelief.

She sighs in exasperation and plops down on your bed with an arm covering her eyes.

Eve doesn’t move from her position; leaning on your wall with her arms crossed and her face in thought.

“What if he doesn’t like me like that?” You wonder aloud.

Amber peeks an eye out from under her elbow and Eve shakes her head.

“No, no, no. Trust me, that’s not it.”

“Don’t seem so sure.” You grumble as you pick at your nails to distract yourself from the heartache.

Eve sits down beside you and thinks about her words carefully. “Mark… well, I won’t defend him; he is kinda stupid.”

“Kinda?” Amber argues.

That makes you grin a bit.

“But he’s also your best friend, and you’re his. Maybe he doesn’t know how he feels but he does know that you’re not worth the risk of something he’s unsure will ever happen.”

Somehow, she put things into a perspective you’ve never thought about before.

“I never thought about it like that.”

You feel Amber sit up.

“That’s because it’s a confusing situation. Seeing both sides of the story might help you make some sense, give you consolation.”

You nod, already having potential answers to your unanswered questions. If not real answers, you’ll settle for theories. It’s still something.

“Thank you, guys.”

Amber winks at you. “Anytime.”

“Of course. We're rooting for you both.”

You shyly smile when Eve nudges your shoulder.

“So," She claps her hands together. “what should we do to commence our very first sleepover? Omegle?”

Amber is concerned for the first time at Eve’s expense.

“Umm...” You pout your lips to the side.

“I don't find the idea of accidentally getting flashed the most... thrilling.” Ambers grimaces.

“Yeah.” You nod.

Eve has a sly look on her face, one that says her proposition comes with an entertaining twist.

“Trust me, I have an idea.”

“Okay, that was pretty fun.” Amber concedes.

You laugh softly to yourself, remembering the events from the previous night.

The 3 of you decide to go out for lunch, finding the night an excellent moment for bonding.

“What was fun?”

Mark pulls a seat up at the table you're occupying.

“Mark? How'd you know we were here?” You query.

Mark looks just as confused as you but before he could answer, Eve does it for him.

“I invited him.”

“Oh. Okay.”

You don't have a problem, it's just that you thought this was gonna be “girl time” as you like to call these moments.

It would've been nice to know, at least.

Amber attempts to start up a conversation but little did you know; this conversation was a part of Eve's “idea” she mentioned the night prior.

“We went on Omegle last night.”

Mark's eyebrows raise in surprise. “Did anything happen?”

You understand the underlying message to be, “Were you victims to any unsolicited sexual advance?” and find it kind of sweet that Mark cares enough to have that be his first train of thought.

“Yeah, actually.” Eve notes as she takes a bite of her burger.

“Y/n's got herself a loverboy.”

You choke on your drink. Exploding into a fit of coughs, you hope it kills you.

Mark is quick to pat your back and try to aid in helping.

When you catch your breath, you look over at him awkwardly and thank him.

“Don't mention it.” He humbly said.

You make it a personal mission to never bring it up. Ever.

Amber continues to fuel the fire.

“Yeahhh.” She sighs. “He's Russian and was all, like, ‘Your eyes are like the ocean and I am a merman.’.” She puts on her best Russian accent and giggles when she nails it.

“Mm!” Eve makes a noise of enthusiasm, adding on to the punchline. “And then he said, ‘They are so deep, I can drown in them.’.”

“The fuck?” Mark grunts under his breath. “But mermen can swim.”

Honestly, he thought it was fucking stupid. Even if this guy was a “merman”, he'd be able to swim. Drowning is totally out of the question.

“Yeah, but it was the thought that counts.” Amber spoke before eating a fry.

“It was pretty corny.” Eve seemingly agrees with Mark.

“See?! I knew I wasn't the only one.” Mark nods to himself.

“But...”

His smile drops.

“I gotta admit, it was kind of romantic.”

Mark can't believe this.

Is romance really dead? Aren't punchlines supposed to make sense?

He knows it's only romantic because the guy's Russian. Okay, so he has an accent. So what? That should pardon his inadequacy of flirting?

“You guys only ate it up because he has an accent.”

Mark narrows his eyes as he takes a curly fry from your plate.

Amber and Eve side eye each other with mischief as they see you enter the ring.

“I thought it was kind of sweet, you know? At least he tried.” You counter.

Mark tilts his head, clearly bewildered. “You mean to say that you actually liked that?”

You don’t like his accusatory tone. “It wasn’t that bad, Mark.”

He rolls his eyes and begs to differ. “Wasn’t that bad- it made no sense! He definitely pulled that shit out of Google’s top thirty best flirty lines.” He puts air quotes around best.

“Oh, would you look at that? I actually have to go do that... thing.” Eve slowly rises from her seat.

“Yeah, me too.” Amber flashes a sweet smile.

They’re gone before you can impose.

“They really just left.” You say to no one.

Mark is still somehow going. “I just… I dunno.” He says, defeated.

“Mark, it wasn’t that deep. He liked my eyes and said some line that made me feel nice. That’s all.”

He nods like he understands but he really doesn’t.

“He’s no Mr. Darcy.” You settle as you take a sip of your milkshake.

Mark smiles at that and you’re confused.

“Why’re you smiling?”

“I knew it! I knew you couldn’t possible swoon over that ridiculous, nonsensical one-liner.”

You laugh incredulously. “Seriously, what’s your problem?”

He raises his hands in surrender. “I just knew he couldn’t be your type after that. Sure, you like them romantic but with genuine thought.”

He says that so confidently, with such attention, it makes you feel nicer than the Russian’s compliment. He makes you feel seen with that keen observation.

You nod to yourself, lowkey impressed.

“Mkay.” You simply say.

His gaze flickers towards you at the seemingly confusing, neutral response.

“What.”

“What, what?”

“You said that like you’re not convinced.”

You deeply exhale, not wanting to argue anymore. “Mkay.”

His eyes widen a bit and he snaps at you like he’s just discovered the phrase: ‘eureka!’.

“That, right there. That’s what I mean.”

You rub at your head as if you’ve got a headache but you doubt you won’t get one soon.

“Elaborate.”

You’re sticking with as little words as possible if it means to get to the point.

“Are you mad at me?” He asks with worry coating his tone.

You shake your head, unsure of what’s happening. “I just don’t know what’s gotten into you today. You’re in this strange mood to argue.”

He blinks.

You’re right.

Arguments are a rare occurrence in this relationship.

“We never argue.” He realizes regretfully.

Your eyes trail up his form and you see the uncomfortableness etched onto his outline.

“I’m sorry-”

“Sorry-”

There’s a pause, one that melts the lingering awkwardness into friendliness.

You see the hints of a smile creep up on him and instinctually, there’s one in yours.

“You first.”

Ever the gentleman.

“Sorry for making it awkward.” Your fingers interlock with each other and you give him an apologetic look.

Mark immediately shakes his head. “No, you didn’t make anything awkward… It was me. I got-”

He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, trying to find another way out of this as two thirds of his sentence has already been put out.

“You got..?”

He puts on a tight-lipped smile but it looks pained. “I just wanna say that I’m sorry for getting defensive for no reason.”

He thinks that was a good excuse for his detour but you’re smart.

“Jealous.” You say firmly.

“Huh?” He squeaks and immediately clears his throat.

“You got jealous.” You shrug your shoulders and move the whip cream in your milkshake around with the straw.

He scoffs with the intention of obscurity. “That- I- What? Pfft, jealous. Who, me?! Yeah, right.”

His stuttering erupts a snort from you, an “I told you so” fresh on the tip of your tongue.

He wanted to spout declarations of how incorrect you are but he couldn’t. The cat had his tongue.

“Whatever.” He bites with little heat.

He crosses his arms over his chest and appears to look unaffected by your ability to see through him.

“Mkay.” You hum to tease him.

Your best friend groans and you giggle at him slouching down in his seat, his hands covering his face and in turn; a sheepish grin.

You’re in your home when your TV bears awful news.

“Breaking news: intruders that look like multiple Invincibles are wreaking havoc across the globe.”

As soon as you hear that, a loud boom is heard from across the city and sends shockwaves to where you are.

“We urge you to stay in your homes and hide. Do not make contact, I repeat; don’t engage with them.”

You’re scared.

How the hell are you supposed to stay hidden in your home when there’s the start of destruction visible outside?

How can they tell you to stay inside when there’s a chance you can die in there?

It’s not like the variants aren’t gonna come inside. Who’d stop them from hurling your place of residence like a football?

Despite all of those thoughts, you stay inside.

You hide in your living room. You sigh to yourself as you hide inside a spare closet, leaving a sliver of space open to breathe.

You turn your phone’s ringer off but feel the vibrations in your pocket. You look to see who it could be and feel so much relief flood your stomach when it’s Mark.

“Mark?” You say shakily.

“Y/n? Oh, thank god. Where are you?”

Your eyes water but you keep them at bay. No point in crying over spilled milk.

“I’m in the spare closet of the living room, what’s going on?”

He starts to explain when the call abruptly cuts.

So fucking cliche you think as you the see the dead battery sign.

The sound of a window opening makes you heave out a sigh of relief.

You get out and are about to hug him but the first thing you notice when you open the door is his face. Er, the lack thereof.

“Is… this a new costume?” You ask wearily.

You didn’t know Mark had a black mask installed. It covered his whole head and the lens was turquoise blue instead of white.

He just stares at you, unflinching and scarily still.

You gulp as the realization sets in your stomach.

This isn’t the Mark of your world. This isn’t the Invincible you recognize.

The masked stranger can sense your irregular heartbeat and hear the small panicked breaths that well up in your chest.

He slowly stalks towards you; like a predator to their prey, except there’s nothing dangerous about his stance. He doesn’t radiate harm or anger and he puts his hands up, as if to show you he won’t harm you.

For your own sake, you don’t believe that. You can’t believe that’s what he wants.

You’re frozen, wide eyes filled to the brim with fear and shock.

You grip your phone tight in your hands, ready to turn it into a weapon if you must.

He’s interrupted when another one shows up.

This one has a black and yellow suit with a yellow cape.

Your eyes dart to his figure and you’re sure this one’s gonna do the honors.

“You’re alive.” He says to himself.

His eyes are covered with white lenses but you know he’s looking at you.

His hands ball up into fists and he walks to you with an urgency in his stride.

You instinctually back up and hit a wall when the masked variant gets in between you both.

“She’s scared.”

The tone in his voice almost makes you think he cares. Almost.

“Get out of my way.” The bright-caped intruder basically spat his face.

“And let youuu have all the fun? I don’t think so!”

What the fuck?

You see what looks like Mark… in a mohawk.

His lips spread into a smirk, a cocky tone in his words.

Your nails press into your arm to prevent you from sputtering out a giggle.

How are you supposed to take him seriously when he’s willingly sporting a mohawk? Right.

If you knew there was going to come a time where your home is used as some sort of Invincible convention, you would’ve moved out a long time ago.

“You’re here.”

This one scares you a little.

His demeanor may be softer but his eyes, they’re wild with a fire furling around his pupils.

What makes the fear prick at your heart is the fact that he’s wearing the Viltrumite uniform.

Wherever he came from, he became his father.

That fact chills your bones and you think, how could that happen? Why did that happen?

His wild eyes are wide with surprise and there’s the ghost of a relieved smile on his face.

Very quickly have you gone from 0 to 100.

There are 2 seemingly decent Invincibles and 2 Invincibles that give off evil vibes.

What’s better news is that they all have some sort of fascination with you.

Awesome! Fantastic, even!

Your adrenaline has taken a back seat but you’re still unnerved by the destruction just outside your neighborhood.

You’ve never wished for a quicker death as this cat and mouse game is becoming all too much. The anticipation will kill you if they don’t.

“Alright,” Mohawk Mark yawns. “Enough dickin’ around.”

The 4 variants surround you, encasing you in an otherwise unbreakable square.

“You’re coming with us.” Decides the caped crusader.

He puts his hand out to grab you but is thrown through a wall by an unstoppable force.

It feels a bit blurry after that.

You feel yourself being lifted and moving at an alarming speed, your body lurching forward and side to side by the breeze taking you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He murmurs.

He hugs you close to his chest, a hand cradling the back of your head and the other clutching your back protectively.

“M-Mark?”

You find your voice amongst the dizziness clouding your head.

He holds your head and tilts it towards him, kissing the crown and meeting your eyes.

“Yeah, it’s me. You’re okay, you’ll be fine. Just stay here.”

You hold his wrists and blink, looking around you to find yourself with Debbie and her boyfriend, Paul.

“Please.”

Mark’s desperation appeals to you. His voice cracks with an urgency for your life. One that is begging you to listen, and you do.

“Okay.” You agree.

He nods and kisses you once again, a sweet promise pressed against your forehead.

You may have had the wind knocked out of you but that doesn’t mean you’re unaware.

Oh yeah, that kiss sobers you up real quick.

Your eyes are wide and cheeks are warm; you’re flushed and hope he doesn’t detect the jump in your heart rate because of his tenderness for you.

“Be careful.” You blurt out.

Mark looks back at you with a smirk on his face.

“I will.”

He kept his promise for the most part.

“Ow.”

“Maybe don’t move around a lot?”

“…Sorry.”

He winces as you treat his facial wounds.

Mark got pretty banged up; his left eye was swollen and purple from Conquests fists. He has similar shades of bruising on his face and a nasty cut on the bridge of his nose, another on the corner of his lip.

His arms and leg are almost fully healed.

It’s been a grueling 2 weeks.

Oliver helps out as much as he can.

Eve and the rest of the heroes are helping piece the cities back together but no matter how much they help rebuild, the atrocities committed won’t be forgotten.

Conquest was here on a personal mission and almost leveled the state because of it and roughed up Oliver pretty badly.

“I don’t know what to do.”

You hear him, you hear the things he wants to say and the things he doesn’t say out loud.

You feel so bad, so awful for him. He’s still a kid trying his hardest, doing his best.

Why can’t that be enough?

“It isn’t fair.” You respond.

His gaze turns to you.

“You do your best and when you think it’s over, the worst is still yet to come.”

Your fingers lightly touch the one of many bruises on his cheek, his eyes close at the contact.

“I can’t imagine how many times you’ve had pieces of you broken for us but it’s a sacrifice that unfortunately comes with the job.”

It hurt your heart, saying the second part.

Hard truths are a pill you’ll always find difficult to give.

He sharply inhales and the tears he tried so hard holding, come pouring down. Soft sobs and wails plague his throat.

His head falls atop your chest and his hands wrap around your middle, clinging to your shirt.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders and you do your best to ground him, to be his anchor.

His mental state is unimaginable, the thought of him slipping away has been a reoccurring nightmare for you but you push through. You have to.

“So many people died.”

The death toll worldwide was into the hundreds of thousands. That was the doing of the variants but Mark was inadvertently responsible, too.

It breaks your heart at how unfair this all is.

A Viltrumite’s personal vendetta against Mark resulted in such catastrophe.

Scott -also known as Powerplex- fried his only family left and somehow thinks that is also Mark’s fault.

As if the Chicago Incident wasn’t enough, there was almost a Chicago Incident Part 2 had it not been for Eve.

“You can’t blame yourself Angstrom’s doing.” You try to reason.

Mark shakes his head and gets up.

“I thought I killed him, but I should’ve been sure. I should’ve finished the job.”

Mark palms at his wet eyes, sniffling lightly as he calms down.

You don’t know what to do, you don’t know what to say.

You don’t want him to wallow in this pain by himself but you also don’t want to say something wrong.

“You should leave.” His cold tone and neutral face really sells it.

You’re confused. “What? I’m sorry, was it something I said? Or did?”

You’ve never seen him like this and are worried the wretched day you’ve been imagining is finally here.

“No. I just want you to go.”

You watch his fists bunch up the material of his joggers on his knees and the veins protruding from his hands.

“I…”

You want to say something, you want to stay for him but you can’t. You know it’d only make things worse.

So you just nod and whisper a meek, “Okay.”.

Mark still isn’t looking at you when you make your way to the door. His face still expressionless, calculated, distant.

Your fingers reach for the handle when you hear him.

“Y/n?”

It’s embarrassing how quick hope flashes in your eyes at the sound of him saying your name.

You try to suppress the obvious reaction as much as possible.

“Yeah?”

It still seeps through your voice but you’re human.

Your emotions are a part of you, even if they end up being a helping hand to your disappointment.

You don’t see the pool of guilt swirl around in his almost annoyed eyes but maybe it’s for the better.

He stares at you and feels bad but after everything that’s happened, is it worth keeping you in his life?

He wants to tell you so badly what’s making him push you away.

Sure, William is his best friend but you’re so much more. You’re a part of him, you’re his soulmate.

Mark wants nothing more than to see you happy but he ultimately decides that it’s nothing compared to seeing you alive.

“Can you close my door all the way?” He begrudgingly says.

The average person would blame him for pushing you away, him getting your hopes up only to crush them so inadvertently cruelly.

But you only chastise yourself.

You want him to know that despite people like Scott or Angstrom; who put the blame on wrong people for their circumstantial demise, there's people like you and Debbie.

He has a support system ready to recharge him but maybe you were overcharging him?

You go to sleep in tears, crying silently to yourself over how fucked life is.

Mark doesn't sleep the whole night, knowing he can hear your heart break.

It's been a slow week.

You don't talk to anyone or do things you used to; only getting up to go to class and eat, do some occasional grocery shopping.

You make an excuse for Amber and Eve when they text you to meet up and watch their caller ID's flash across your phone before it rings all the way through.

Mark hasn't spoken to you at all. No call, no text.

Despite him quitting school, you used to see him all the time on campus. Whether it be for you or William or Rick.

Now, you don't meet with anyone.

“She doesn't wanna talk to me or Amber anymore.” Eve voiced one day.

"Nor us." Rick pointed towards him and William.

“Something’s wrong. I'm worried about her.” Amber adds as she comes across the last message you sent in the group chat with her and Eve.

hey guys, just going through the flu rn. i’m fine tho! no worries :)

But of course they worried. They're your friends and that's what friends do.

Which is exactly what they said when they arrived at your doorstep, so you can't afford another excuse.

Your duo sits on your bed, trying to come up with a solution to best help you out.

“He’s closed off and maybe that was expected, but it's been a week.” Amber says.

“Yeah, you'd think he'd open up by now.”

You sigh pitifully and look out your window and down the street.

You’re a 10 minute drive and he’s a 1 minute flight away, yet nobody is willing to close that distance.

“It should be him, though.” Eve says.

“Hm?” You hum absentmindedly.

“Mark should be the one to come talk to you, not the other way around.”

Eve gauges for a reaction from you, one that will oppose her idea.

“Maybe you should go.” She switches up.

You look at Eve hesitantly, like it's a flop idea.

“You tried, Y/n. You did your part and he let you know but this isn’t the way things between you should end. Should he want it to end.”

It's like Amber knew what you were thinking and tried to dismiss the thought for you.

You weren't gonna lie and say that you haven't thought about blowing up his phone, driving to his house and banging on his door to open up to you.

But would he even want to? Would he even listen?

“It's not about what he wants, it's about what he needs.”

“And what he needs right now, is you.”

- MEANWHILE, WITH WILLIAM, RICK & REX -

“Come on, man. Don't be like this.” William tries.

Rick can see how much Mark is beating himself up over everything that’s happened.

With the fight against Liu’s dragon and Powerplex. And now recently, Conquest.

Mark never complained, it was the job. But you made getting back out on the field a bit easier.

“It's not worth losing her.” Rick gently reminds.

Mark's trio of lending hands have come to his service but it's unwanted, and Mark lets them know.

“Look, I don't need this. Especially not right now.”

This makes Rex mad.

“Oh you don’t need this? Well, excuseee me! We don’t need you to be so goddamn stupid, especially not right now.”

Mark narrows his eyes, visibly agitated. “Stupid? I’m being stupid?”

Rex widens his eyes, his pitch growing higher. “Yeah! That’s what I said.”

“Okay, I think we’re elevating the situation so let’s all just calm down.” William suggests nervously.

Mark has other thoughts as he rises from the bed. “And how exactly am I being stupid?”

Rex knows he shouldn’t be egging him on, he shouldn’t be encouraging his anger; but if this was the way to make his friend see his foolishness then so be it.

“By distancing yourself from the one woman who’s nice enough to let you, instead of manning up and telling her how you really feel.”

That stung.

“You don’t get to tell me how to handle my love life.”

Rex smirks lazily, a hardball on the tip of his tongue. “You don’t even have the balls to have one.”

“Rex.” William warns.

The cheeky bastard ignores him and continues on, a bit excited to see where this would all lead.

“I think she’d want a man who sees her, who doesn’t hurt her by ignoring her entire existence.”

Rick facepalms himself and wonders where the line between bravery and stupid was drawn.

Mark’s knuckles are white from how hard his fingers are curling in on themselves, his fists ready to pound into the explosive asshole.

Rex steps closer, now toe-to-toe with Mark and ignorantly unafraid. “I wouldn’t make her wait.”

Mark punches him right in the mouth, hard.

“Mark!” The yell of his friends fall on deaf ears.

Rex grunts as he stumbles back a bit, expecting this outcome.

“You don’t know her. You don’t know what’s good for her.” Mark spits bitterly.

Rex spits some blood out, sighing heavily. “You do.”

That makes Mark soften up.

He blinks like he’s snapped out of a trance. His fist wavers and is set down beside his thigh, a deep sigh exiting his nose. He looks at his friend and witnesses the ugly truth; his jealousy won.

“What am I doing?” He whispers.

Rex coughs lightly, the cut on his lip stinging.

“Talk to her, Mark. Don’t let her live with the regret of not knowing.”

Rick puts a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, hoping this will finally tip him over the edge.

Rex comes off the wall, slapping Mark’s back with a warm pat.

“I’m sorry, Rex. I shouldn’t have-”

He dismisses him with a wave. “Nah, I was being an asshole. An asshole on purpose, but still an asshole.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You’re gathering the courage to mull over the most impactful relationship in your life.

Is there even a correct way to do that?

You don’t know, but what you do know is that you have to try.

You look yourself in the mirror and feel the weight of your younger self.

She’d be devastated. you think. If she were here in the flesh to see this, you don’t think she could withstand it.

A sharp knock to your door pulls you out of your head.

You’re not expecting anyone, and you’re unsure about the one person you did want to hear from.

Regardless, you walk over and open the door and your heart drops out of your ass. Not in fear, but in surprise.

“Mark.” You breathe.

Here he is; in the flesh and without the scowl you picture. In fact, he looks guilty.

His once glee-filled eyes are now empty of it, making you reminisce the time before last week.

“Can I come in?”

His voice resounding of forlorn hope. He expects you to deny him, to make him walk away with his hands held in a helpless prayer.

Instead, you show him mercy and welcome him inside your place of refuge.

Tentatively, he makes his way inside and awkwardly stands beside your desk.

You’re quiet, still trying to process his presence after an entire week of radio silence.

You don’t know how to feel. Should you be happy? Ecstatic? If anything, frustrated and hurt are also a great couple of options.

“Y/n?”

You look up at him and see his concerned face. “Hm?”

“I asked if we can talk.”

“Now you want to talk?” It came out before you could even think about it.

Your annoyance seeps through and he shuffles the weight on his feet a bit uncomfortably.

“I know-”

“No, you don’t.”

He looks at you like you just told him to kill himself.

“Y/n, please. Just hear me out.”

Your arms are crossed over your chest in a defensive position, he clocks that. He also notices the way you make eye contact with him throughout your sentences.

You were really hurt, he gathers.

He takes your silence as a sign to continue talking.

“After I left you at Paul’s, I went back out there and fought off the rest of those… variants. While I was fighting them, they told me about you.”

Your interest is absolutely peaked now.

“What do you mean?”

“They... they said that you existed in their world but-” He cuts himself off with a vexed sigh.

“But what, Mark.”

You want, need to know what was worth hurting you for days on end.

Mark looks at you and it's the most disheartened he's looked since that night he told you to leave.

“You died, Y/n.”

It all makes sense now. You grapple with the stomach-churning epiphany of the century.

The different Invincibles that wanted to take you was simply because you ceased to exist in their worlds.

“I... I died in every single universe.”

He takes some steps in your direction, not wanting to overwhelm you.

“You either died on accident by being murdered among civilians or you killed yourself.”

“Why would I commit suicide?”

He deeply inhales. “Because you'd rather die than join the other me.”

That sounds on brand.

“I couldn't live with myself knowing I'd lose you in this world, too.” He admits raspily.

That touches your heart.

You want to hug him, to comfort him but you're still kind of confused. You needed more answers.

“I was so scared, I had never felt fear like I did when I saw them with you.” He whispers.

“Why'd you tell me to leave?” You ask gently.

“Because I love you.”

His confession is so light, said with such helplessness, that you tear up.

Mark maintains eye contact with you, tired of hiding his true self. He wants you to see him.

“So many people have died because of me, it may not be directly my fault, but it still had to do with me.”

He comes a little closer, just a couple of steps away from touching you.

“What if I was too late that day? What if they managed to take you away?” He mutters in a hushed tone.

Mark shakes his head as if to get rid of those thoughts.

“If anything happens to you, it will be because of me.”

“So, you thought it was best to create such a large gap between us, that there'd be a sinking hole inside of me. Is that it?”

Your eyes well up against your will but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when he can finally see just how much you've been suffering.

“You think I wanted to do that?” He asks defensively.

You scoff indignantly. “I think you could've told me from the jump. That's what I think.”

You know it's a little unfair given how vulnerable he's being right now but he was unfair when you were vulnerable, too.

He shakes his head, eyes closing in on themselves as his tears threaten to fall. “I can't risk your life, Y/n! Why don't you understand that?”

You messily wipe your tears, your lashes wet and nose tinged with the lightest of reds.

“All this time, you didn't have a problem with how close we were. Now that you saw how close I was to something dangerous, it got too real for you?!”

He's in your space now, his chin set down and eyes on yours.

Contrary to how mad he looks, he relays his message in an low tone. “Yeah. It did.”

Your eyes widen a bit at the length he's cut between your bodies and you're back in time. You go back to the moment he almost kissed you.

“Don't push me away, Mark.”

You beg him and you don't care if you look pathetic. You love him and don't want to lose him like this.

Mark just presses his forehead against yours and shuts his eyes, he concentrates on you. Your smell, your hushed breaths, your heartbeat.

You feel his hands slide up and down your arms, grounding you.

Even when he's opening up to you, Mark still chooses to comfort you. He still wants to calm you down, to make you feel better. He still chooses to have your best interests at heart.

“I came here to tell you the truth, that you deserve better.”

You wordlessly deny his idea, shaking your head once.

He grabs ahold of your head, making you look at him.

You see it all, you see all of his pain, grief, anger.

“I love you but you're not safe with me.”

“You don't get to make my decision for me.” You stubbornly point out.

“Y/n-”

“I love you.” A shaky whisper snuck into the air between your lips.

His wide eyes stare back at yours in surprise.

“I've loved you for a long time and I don't wanna be in love with another.” You wrap your hands around his, feeling the warmth bloom onto your cold ones.

“Please. Please don't ask me to stay away from you.” You cry.

He kisses your head and brings you close, your head on his shoulder and slotting between his bicep and forearm. He curls his other arm around your waist and lays his head on yours.

“Okay, fine.” He fondly agrees. “You win so stop crying.”

“Fuck you.” You jab.

He airily laughs and brings your face close to his, pressing an equally feathery kiss to your lips.

You timidly kiss him, shying away a little to breathe but Mark wants you to take his breath if you must. He pulls you in, hands gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him, wanting to shape a new mold from your figures.

Your fingers nervously brush his hair and he groans at the contact.

You chuckle at the sound and he pulls away leaving a soft peck.

He's in a daze and has hearts in his eyes but he ultimately decides; he wouldn't want it any other way.

[gloomwitchwrites]

I'm in a roll....

The 141 in grey sweatpants. 🥵

You're in a roll? Me too. A brioche roll. Or maybe a Hawaiian roll. Or rolled inside one of Price's many cigars. Kidding (not really). I knew what you meant.

And grey sweatpants...yes please! I am salivating over here. Literally drooling. And it's only grey sweatpants. No shirts. No shoes. Just sweatpants and muscle. (my god I need to go touch grass).

These are...spicy. How could they not be? It's our favorite men in nothing but grey sweatpants.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, suggestive themes, swearing, invitations for sex, dirty thoughts, sexual situations, married life, fade to black

Word Count: 2k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“It’s bedtime. Bath. Pajamas. Teeth.”

“But Dad! Lucy and I—”

“Bed.” You grin into your glass as John ushers the children out of the living room. “Come on you two. I want to kiss your mother.”

“Ew. Gross!” the kids screech in unison.

The trio disappears down the hallway. You hear water running and the laughter of your children. John eventually emerges thirty minutes later. He runs his hand over the top of his head, sighing heavily.

When he enters the living room and notices you, he grins mischievously. His body is on full display. Broad chest with a lovely dusting of dark hair that trails downward to disappear beneath the band of his grey sweatpants. John is all thick muscle. A wall of strength. You’ve always loved that about him. How he seems to take up so much space or the way he crushes you with his body when he goes in for a snuggle.

John plops down on the sofa beside you. The moment his ass hits the cushion, John grabs for you. You giggle, playfully pushing at your husband as his weight tips you back, pinning you to the sofa.

“The kids,” you protest with a whisper.

“They’re sleeping,” he replies just as softly, keeping you pressed beneath him.

John goes in for a kiss. It is sweet. Slow. Deep. Completely indulgent. There is so much of him. And his scent is everywhere. It fills your lungs. Makes you weak.

Your lips part and John slips his tongue inside. You start to soften, to lean into his kisses. Each is salt-laced passion. A tease for later. He might have you pinned against the couch, and his tongue down your throat, but John will move this behind a locked door.

As John goes in for another kiss, the sound of a door unlatching comes from the hall. John freezes and you go still beneath him.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters.

Pushing up to a more seated position, John addresses the offender with a raised voice. “You best be in bed.”

There’s a gentle squeak, and then a door closing.

John sinks back down, resting his forehead against yours. He sighs heavily, and you give him a quick kiss. He returns it, and then snakes an arm under your back. He hauls you up and into his lap. You straddle him, hands pressed against his firm chest.

Through the sweatpants, you can feel his hardness pressing against your thigh. John’s hands roam downward to cup your buttocks, squeezing.

“Ready to take this elsewhere?” he asks, grinding his hips upward.

You have to stifle a moan.

“Please, John.”

With a light slap to your ass, he lifts you off his lap and onto your feet. The ground is solid. Steady. But then John’s hands return, and then you’re away, being guided down the hall to your bedroom.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You snuggle into the couch and crack open your paperback book.

Everything is in order. You have a glass of wine, a bowl of snacks, the tableside lamp on, and a cozy blanket. It’s late, but it’s officially the weekend. There will be plenty of time to relax.

“Reading out here?”

You glance up, and find Kyle in the entrance of the hallway, leaning against the wall. He’s shirtless. Without shoes. Just him, his freshly showered skin, and a pair of grey sweatpants. Kyle absently scratches at his chiseled stomach, head slightly tilted as he waits for your answer.

You can’t help but focus in on every line of muscle.

“Babe,” he prompts, laughing.

“Sorry?” you reply, blinking.

Kyle laughs again, the sound sweet. He strides forward, coming to a stop beside the sofa. He taps the side of his mouth. “Got some drool.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you giggle, checking with a quick wipe with the back of your hand.

Kyle’s smile is infectious. You can’t help but match it.

“Can I join you?” he asks, already lifting the blanket.

“You’re not going out with the boys?”

Kyle shakes his head. With one hand he lifts the blanket, and with the other he grabs your legs and lifts. He slides in, and drapes your legs over his lap before returning the blanket to drape over your body. Keeping one hand under the blanket, Kyle rests his hand on your inner thigh. It stirs heat in your core.

“Tomorrow,” he yawns. “Simon has a sick kid.”

“Bummer.”

Kyle shrugs, draping his over arm over the back of the couch. His hand on your thigh is a brand, and it’s only made worse when he starts massaging.

“Is it a spicy one?” asks Kyle, nodding toward your book.

Yes.

“Maybe,” you say slowly.

Kyle smirks, and then the book is out of your hand.

“Kyle!” You reach for it, but he twists, blocking your forward momentum.

He examines the pages in front of him. Heat rushes into your cheeks. As he reads, his eyes widen.

Kyle’s mouth drops open.

“What?” you prompt. You try to snag the book but he blocks you.

He glances at you. “Are you aware of where he’s putting that gun?”

“It’s fictional.”

“When you ask me to recreate things—”

“Kyle—”

“—is this what you’re talking about?” His gaze goes from you to the book and then to you again. “I’m down for a lot of things, love, but I’m not sure I’m down for that.”

Pushing off from the couch, you snatch the book out of Kyle’s hands. He surrenders it easily, a smile on his perfect face. The blanket is a crumbled mess beside him, but that’s not what you’re focused on.

The grey sweatpants have shifted, exposing more of the deep v of his pelvis. But it’s not just that. Kyle is hard. That is very clear.

He leans against the back of the couch, throwing both arms out to rest over the top. Flexing his hips, Kyle puts himself on display.

“I’ve got something else I can put inside you.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

A delighted shriek comes from the kitchen.

Johnny emerges, completely unbothered even with the two children in his arms. He has the oldest child, who just turned five, sideways and tucked under one arm. The boy has a wicked smile of his face even as he wiggles, trying to free himself from his father’s grasp. It’s fruitless.

The other child, a boy of three, keeps shrieking with delight even as Johnny lifts him into the air by his ankle. He is upside down, arms flailing, his brown hair hanging below him.

Johnny doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t even break a sweat. He carries the two of them like it’s nothing.

He’s almost completely naked except for a pair of grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips. They show off the deep v of his pelvis, and the dusting of dark hair that spreads over his chest and descends downward. You’ve touched that chest so many times. You know it as well as you know yourself.

Johnny’s gaze is on the television, watching the football match. The kids still shriek and playfully claw at him. But he remains unbothered.

Sitting there on the sofa, you consider that a third kid might not be so bad. You’d give him a small army if he asked.

Johnny glances away from the television, and when his gaze lands on you, it is entirely knowing. Heat curls in your belly, and his smile widens.

“Found these gremlins digging in the pantry,” he says, indicating the kids by hoisting the three-year old higher into the air and squeezing the other tighter against him.

Both kids giggle manically.

“After brushing their teeth.” Johnny tuts. “What’s to be done?”

Both children continue to giggle, not answering their father.

“Sounds like it’s time for bed,” you muse.

The children groan.

“But I’m not tired,” moans the five-year old.

“Too bad,” laughs Johnny. “Come on.”

He doesn’t put them down. He carries them like that all the way to their bedroom. Even from your spot on the sofa, you can hear their manic giggling. After a while, it quiets down, and Johnny emerges from the hall.

Instead of sitting down on the couch next to you, he grabs the remote and shuts off the television.

“Not interested in the game?” you ask.

“Nope. Want something else.”

His sultry smile tells you enough.

Slowly, he approaches, coming to a stop in front of you. He offers his hand, and you take it. With little effort, Johnny brings you to your feet, and hauls you close. Your free hand immediately rises, pressing against his chiseled stomach.

“What is it that you want?” you murmur, already knowing the answer.

His hardness presses against your belly, his voice going low and gravelly as he speaks. “I’d like to spend some time between those gorgeous thighs.”

“Doing what?”

“Whatever I very well please.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

This is agony. A terrible joke.

Simon is right there. Sweaty. Shirtless. In nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants.

He’s completely in the zone. Heavy metal blares through the stereo’s speakers, drowning out the sound of his gloved fists striking the punching bag. Morning light pours in from the open window, giving Simon an ethereal glow.

You watch from the doorway, chewing on your bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to pounce on him. Simon is all muscle, and not in a gym rat way. He is thick everywhere. You want to lick the sweat from his skin, to drop to your knees before him, and tug those grey sweatpants down.

You know what you’d find. And it sounds delicious.

But he is in the zone. And you won’t disturb him.

Pushing down the naughty thoughts, you start to turn away, to return to the kitchen and find something to eat for breakfast.

The music abruptly cuts off.

“See something you like, love?”

Simon’s raspy voice draws you back to the room. With one hand on the doorframe, you meet his gaze, and promptly melt into the floor. He has a cocky grin on his face, and his shoulders heave slightly from exhaustion.

You lick your lips. “Always,” you reply, fingers digging into the wood.

Simon’s gaze scans you. You feel exposed, like he can see through your clothes. It’s knowing. Amused.

“What is it?” you prompt, staring just as hard as he is.

Simon removes one glove and then the other. He tosses them to the side, never taking his eyes off you.

“Come here,” he says.

You don’t move.

Simon arches a single eyebrow. Instead of repeating himself, he gestures with one finger, indicating that he wants you to come to him.

Heat rushes from your cheeks down to your toes. Slowly, you peel yourself away from the door, heading for him. Simon’s natural swagger is alluring, and those sweatpants sit so low.

Just one tug. That’s all it would take. And you’d be able to take him in your mouth.

As you approach, Simon reaches out, grabbing your waist, tugging you close to him. You instinctually hook your finger in the waistband of his grey sweatpants.

Simon smirks.

You inhale deeply, savoring the manly musk of him.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Not for breakfast,” you sigh.

“For something else then?”

You nod.

Simon leans in but doesn’t kiss you. He holds back slightly, lips curved into a hint of a smile. “Want to hear what I have in mind?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

Simon presses his thumb on your bottom lip. “I can fill that mouth.” His thumb drops away from your lips, and trails over your chin before brushing over your stomach. “And belly.”

His gaze stays on you. “What do you think of that, love?”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@taysarchive @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im

[dearlenore]

JUST LIKE DADDY • S.REID

SUMMARY: most people are delighted when their children take after their spouses, however none of them had a child with Spencer Reid. In your case, having two smart asses around is giving you a headache. A very adorable, sweet, headache.

PAIRING: mom!reader x dad!spencer

tags: PURE FLUFF, reader wears sundresses, no mentions of pregnancy (so u can imagine baby is adopted) , team doesn’t know about your or your daughter, mentions of autism and ableism (no hate crimes , just ignorance) season5!spencer

a/n: dad spencer is all that’s in my pea brain rn I should probably study tho… also you guessed it, peds surgeon reader 🥹

w/c: 1.8k

“HARPER COME HERE,” you called, glancing over your shoulder as you finished plating breakfast.

The sound of small footsteps pattering against the hardwood floor followed, but she didn’t respond right away. Instead, she wandered into the kitchen, her little nose buried deep in a book, turning pages with quiet fascination. You sighed, shaking your head with a knowing smile.

“Harper,” you said again, a little firmer this time.

She finally looked up, blinking at you with the same wide-eyed, unfocused expression her father wore whenever he was deep in thought. It was uncanny—like looking at a mini version of your boyfriend.

“Come here, baby,” you chuckled, reaching for her. She barely acknowledged you as you lifted both her and the book in one smooth motion, hoisting her onto your hip.

“Are you hungry?” you asked, shifting her weight so you could grab a forkful of scrambled eggs from your plate.

Without hesitation, she opened her mouth, happily taking the bite before reaching for more. You laughed, sitting her on the counter as her father finally wandered in, rubbing his eyes and stretching with a yawn. His hair was a mess, the result of a night spent tossing and turning, and he still looked half-asleep.

You smirked. “I forgot about the boy band you joined.”

Spencer frowned slightly, confused in his sleepy state, before realizing his hair must be sticking up in every direction. He attempted to smooth it down with one hand as he walked over to the counter, where you slid a plate of eggs in his direction.

“Daddy!” Harper beamed, momentarily abandoning her book to reach for him.

But instead of waiting for him to pick her up, she grabbed a handful of your scrambled eggs and stuffed them into her mouth.

“Wow, okay—yep, you know what? Enjoy that, honey,” you sighed, watching in amusement as she happily devoured your breakfast with zero shame.

Spencer sat beside her, sipping his coffee with a small smile as he watched her eat. You shook your head, adjusting your scrubs and tying your hair up as you muttered, “I’ve never seen a baby eat so much…”

Spencer, ever the encyclopedia of knowledge, didn’t miss a beat. “Actually, at this age, children experience growth spurts that can significantly increase their appetite. The brain alone uses about 50% of a toddler’s energy intake, which makes sense considering how much she’s learning and developing every day. So, really, it’s not just eating—it’s fueling her cognitive expansion.”

You shot him a blank stare. “Spencer, she just ate my breakfast with her bare hands.”

He smirked, ruffling Harper’s hair as she reached for another bite. “And at this rate, we might need a second fridge.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Remind me to get on that one.”

Leaning over, you kissed him softly, savoring the warmth of the moment before glancing at your watch. Reality settled in as you sighed. “I gotta go—one of my patients just had another seizure, which means surgery got pushed up.”

Spencer’s expression shifted immediately, concern flickering in his eyes as he reached for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll do great,” he murmured.

You squeezed his hand back before pulling away, ruffling Harper’s curls on your way out. “Love you both. Try not to let her talk you into giving her ice cream for breakfast again.”

“No promises,” Spencer called after you, Harper giggling beside him.

As you left, you could already hear Harper asking, “Daddy, can we read now?”

And, of course, you knew what his answer would be.

“Enjoy your special day off with daddy Harper, you’re very lucky,” you giggled, kissing Harper on the nose. “Promise to try and get out before dinner?” Spencer frowned.

“Oh, Baby…I have interns. After this surgery I leave whenever the hell i want, should only take 7 hours,” you shrugged. “So I can expect you by 3-4PM?” He smiled, Harper on his hip.

“Fingers crossed!” You called out to him, closing and locking the door behind you.

THANKFULLY, LUCK MUST’VE been on your side. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were home on time. You quietly unlocked the door, hoping to surprise your fiancé and daughter, and were immediately greeted by the soft sound of giggles echoing from the kitchen.

You smiled to yourself, slipping off your shoes as you followed the sound.

“Whoa, is that me?” Spencer’s voice was full of delight.

Standing in the doorway, you saw him leaning over Harper’s small frame, his hands gently resting on the edge of the counter as he studied her latest masterpiece. In front of her was a cookie slathered in colorful frosting, a wobbly yet unmistakable attempt at drawing their little family. Harper beamed proudly, nodding as Spencer adjusted a tiny smudge of icing with his fingertip.

“And is that you and Mom?” he asked, his smile widening as he pointed to two smaller figures beside the taller one.

Harper nodded again, her curls bouncing with the movement.

Your heart melted at the sight.

For a long time, you and Spencer had worried about Harper’s speech. She had been a quiet baby, slow to start speaking, and for months, you’d both second-guessed yourselves, wondering if you were doing something wrong. And then—one day—she had started talking, and she hadn’t stopped since.

Often times people would comment in stores, they’d question if she was autistic, in their words ‘like her daddy,’ which pissed you off to no end. Not that you were ashamed of either of them but for the sole fact it wasn’t their business.

“Is that for me?” you gasped, stepping into the kitchen.

Harper turned toward you so quickly she nearly knocked over a bowl of sprinkles. “Mommy! Look what I drew!” she giggled, holding up her cookie proudly.

You raised a brow as you inspected the chaotic yet adorable frosting mess. “That’s beautiful, baby. You even gave Daddy his new haircut”

Spencer let out a soft laugh, running a hand through his already-messy curls as Harper nodded eagerly. “We’ve been going over proper grammar all day,” he explained with amusement.

That made you smile knowingly. You and Spencer had agreed early on not to use baby talk with Harper. He had read several studies on how children learned language through immersion, picking up sentence structures and vocabulary from full, adult-level conversations.

“In order for her to develop a strong linguistic foundation, it’s important that she hears full sentences and proper word usage,” Spencer had once told you, mid-ramble, as you rocked a six-month-old Harper to sleep. “Children’s brains are like sponges. The more complex language they’re exposed to, the more their neural connections develop. It’s how they build cognitive associations—”

And yet, despite all his research, Harper still loved to test his patience by making up her own grammar rules.

“I drawed it myself!” she announced proudly, smearing frosting on her cheek in the process.

Spencer sighed dramatically, though the fondness in his eyes was unmistakable. “Drew, sweetheart. You drew it yourself.”

Harper scrunched up her nose, contemplating that for a moment before repeating, “I drewed it myself.”

You snorted as Spencer let out a defeated sigh.

“Close enough,” he muttered, kissing the top of her head.

You leaned against the counter, watching the two of them with warmth spreading through your chest. “I think it’s perfect,” you said, pressing a kiss to Harper’s frosting-covered cheek before turning to Spencer. “And clearly made with love by a little artist”

Spencer nodded, wrapping an arm around your waist as Harper reached for more sprinkles. “An artist and a linguist, apparently.”

Harper looked up at you both, eyes twinkling. “I’m a genius,” she declared.

Spencer chuckled, squeezing your waist. “Well, she’s definitely my daughter.”

“Don’t get me started. It’s like there’s two of you.” You scoffed playfully. Spencer’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” He crosses his arms and leans on the counter.

You raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-sip of the coffee you’d just taken from your boyfriend. “Spence. Seriously?”

He blinked at you, waiting. Oh, he was serious.

You set your mug down with a sigh, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter. “Okay. Well, for starters, she walks around with a book in her hands everywhere—to the point where I’ve had to physically guide her away from furniture so she doesn’t run into things. Sound familiar?”

Spencer tilted his head, processing.

“And let’s talk about her memory. The other day, I told her we could get ice cream if she took a nap, and when I picked her up from daycare two days later, she said, ‘Mommy, you owe me ice cream.’ TWO. DAYS. She remembered the exact words I said, which, by the way, is something you do all the time, and it’s terrifying.”

Spencer opened his mouth, probably to say something about the hippocampus and memory retention, but you held up a finger. “Nope. I’m not done.”

Harper, now licking frosting off her fingers, was watching you both with amusement.

“She uses logic to try and win arguments. Do you know how hard it is to reason with a toddler who says, ‘But technically, you did say I could have another cookie yesterday’?” You waved your hands for emphasis. “She technically me’d into giving her another cookie, Spencer. She’s FIVE.”

Spencer rubbed his hand thoughtfully, as if considering his own genetic responsibility in this matter.

“Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that she infodumps—about things she just learned. The other day, I made an offhand comment about birds flying south for the winter, and now she’s been telling everyone about migratory patterns. The cashier at the grocery store did not ask for that information, but she sure got it.”

Spencer’s lips twitched, clearly amused. “So what you’re saying is… she’s highly intelligent, observant, and logical?”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Oh my God. Yes, Spencer, your genes are very strong.”

Before you could say more, Harper perked up, pointing a frosting-covered finger at you. “Mommy, did you know some birds don’t actually migrate, they just move to different parts of the same area?”

Spencer’s grin widened as he leaned toward you. “See? She’s just expanding on a topic she finds fascinating.”

You huffed, shaking your head before leaning down to kiss Harper’s sticky cheek. “You two are gonna drive me insane.”

Harper giggled, and Spencer simply pressed a kiss to your temple. “But you love us.”

You sighed dramatically before melting into his embrace. “Yeah, yeah. I love you both. Even if you’re teaming up to outsmart me.”

Harper beamed. “It’s ‘cause we’re genies, Mommy.” You snickered.

“So how many wishes do I get?”

[catchastarorten]

—Hair tie

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho x lover!fem!reader

Summary: why hunt down his own hair ties when he could just steal yours instead?

Content: fluff, kisses, no games au, Dae-ho being a hair tie thief, english isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, sorry!

Word count: ~ 0.9k

The drawer was almost empty again.

You frowned, pulling it open further, as if the motion would magically summon the missing hair ties back into existence. But no, there were just two lonesome bands left. Your favorite blue one—gone. The black one that never snagged—gone.

You always kept your hair ties in a little wooden drawer, nestled among your earrings. But now, as you reached for one to tie up your hair with before washing your face, you only found there were two left.

You were meticulous about these things, always buying extras and keeping them in neat little rows. And yet, they seemed to vanish.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. You figured you might’ve misplaced them or accidentally lost a few. But then, you saw him—Dae-ho, the sweet, clingy man you adored—sitting on the couch with one of your black hair ties securing his messy ponytail.

You stared for a moment, confused. “Is that… mine?”

Dae-ho looked up from his book, his lips parting slightly as he realized what you were pointing at. Then he grinned sheepishly. “Oh… yeah. I couldn’t find mine, and, well, yours was just there…”

“Dae-ho!” you laughed, more amused than annoyed. “You could’ve asked.”

“I was going to put them back,” he said, looking so guilty you almost felt bad for teasing him. Almost. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Of course I’d notice. My stash is gone because of you.”

He frowned softly, putting the book down and opening his arms, as if begging for a hug after being scolded by you.

His hand reached up to tug at the tie in his hair, looking up at you as you made your way over to him with a small sigh. “Do you want this one back?” he asked softly, worried you might actually be upset at him.

You shook your head as his arms wrapped around you, unable to resist when he started spreading little kisses on your forehead and temple. “No, you can keep it.” you hummed.

From that moment on, it became a habit—one you found a bit endearing, if you were being honest. Whenever Dae-ho needed a hair tie, he’d raid your wooden drawer without a second thought.

Sometimes he tried to be sneaky about it, but he wasn’t exactly subtle. You’d catch him rifling through your things, his broad shoulders hunched like a child caught stealing cookies.

Other times, he didn’t bother hiding it at all, simply plucking one from the drawer with a soft grin and a quick kiss on your lips—then a kiss on your face, as if that would make you forgive him. And it always did.

He didn’t mean to always steal your hair ties, not really. It was just... easier for him to snatch one from the drawer than to hunt down his own.

You didn’t really mind. Not on most days, anyway.

One evening though, you did need a hair tie—desperately.

You were halfway through making dinner when a gust of wind from the open window sent a strand of hair into your face. Cursing under your breath, you tucked it behind your ear, only for another strand to escape. The kitchen was too hot, the recipe was more effort than you’d anticipated, and your hair, usually manageable, felt like an uncooperative child refusing to behave.

“Dae-ho!” you called, wiping your hands on a dish towel.

He appeared in the doorway a moment later, his expression somewhere between apologetic and guilty, as if he already knew what you called out to him about. His hair was tied back, as usual, and you could see one of your missing hair ties keeping it in place.

“Yes... love?” he asked, his voice so soft and warm it nearly melted your resolve.

“I need a hair tie,” you said, folding your arms. “And it seems you’ve taken all of mine.”

He blinked, then glanced down at his wrist. You hadn’t noticed before, but he had a spare hair tie looped around it—your hair tie. Without hesitation, he pulled it off and handed it to you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Here,” he said. “I always keep an extra for you. Just in case.”

For a moment, you were too stunned to speak. You stared at the hair tie in his hand, then back at his face. He looked so earnest, his eyes warm and full of love. It wasn’t just that he had thought to keep a spare for you—it was the fact that he had done it so naturally, so effortlessly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, even if he had taken it from you in the first place.

You took the band, your chest tightening with a wave of affection. He stepped closer to kiss the top of your head, his arms looping around your waist. “Don’t be mad. I love you.” he murmured softly, his nose buried in your hair as he nuzzled against you.

“I love you too, you thief,” you muttered, though there was no bite to your words. How could there be, when he was wrapped around you like that? Adorable and impossible to be mad at.

[bi-writes]

sweet as simon's sugar-mommy <3 (18+) PREVIOUS

you trace a line down the side of his mask. he looks so peaceful when he sleeps, and he sleeps like a rock with you. snores all thick and low. you needed a nap after work, and you just curled up right here on the couch, and he just followed your lead. now it's dinner time, and you're hungry, but you don't want to wake him when he looks so cute.

as your hand falls over his lower stomach, you're reminded he's not so cute everywhere. nope, not cute...but delicious.

you wake him up with soft kisses to his cheek. you tease the band of his sweats, smoothing a palm over his happy little trail, and when he blinks his eyes open and turns his head towards you, you pucker your lips and slide a hand between his thick thighs.

"can i?" you purr, and simon sighs deeply. his blushes always show on his chest, pale skin burning a little pinker, and you giggle when he nudges his nose against yours.

it's heaven with you. you look so cute. bobbing your head, pretty lips wrapped around his cock, suckling on his tip all sloppy and wet. you pay special attention to the underside of him, wrapping your hand around the tip and tugging gently until he spurts hot cum onto your tongue.

it's all worth it when he cups your face to kiss you and you feel the sting of the ring he's wearing, white gold band on his thick finger on his left hand⏤just where it's meant to be.

you sit like that beside him at the dinner table, same smile on your face as you load his plate with veggies (you need more greens, baby) that you did putting his dick into your mouth not even an hour earlier.

he takes you to work now. you hate the manner in which he does, that obnoxious motorcycle that makes way too much noise, but you couldn't help yourself when his birthday came around. you saw the helmet in the boxes when he finally moved in (just until you get back on your feet, yeah?), and you woke him up that morning naked with the keys to the bike between your teeth.

if you fucked him with the helmet on later that day, too, well...no one had to know about that.

he's getting better at receiving your gifts. at first, you had to pretend they weren't gifts. when he came out of the shower, you'd hand him some new clothes, or he'd touch something on the shelf at the shops, and somehow he'd find it in the bags once you got back home. he learned slowly that giving him things was your love language; the shine in your eyes when you saw him using something you gave him made him warm all over.

you're still getting him used to baths, too. your bathroom has a magnificent tub--white porcelain, wide and large, jets, gold detailing. the first time you tried to get him to take a bath, he couldn't find it in himself to sit still like that and relax. he doesn't know how to relax.

your new strategy seems to work, though. you kick off your heels from work. simon's in the living room, his tools laid out on the coffee table. there's a disassembled handgun there, and he's oiling up one of the chambers when you lean over the couch and wrap your arms around his big shoulders. you kiss the side of his mask, watching him, getting a little too distracted watching a thick finger push into the cylinder slowly to clean it.

"hey, hot stuff," you coo in his ear. he grunts, looking away, but you hear the heavy swallow in his throat as he tries to be anything but bashful. "i'm exhausted. gonna get in the bath. wanna join me?"

simon doesn't say anything at first. he's still feeling it out, the relaxing part, but when he turns to look at you, you're unbuttoning your blouse and shimmying out of your work skirt. both fall at your feet, and when you unclasp your bra and toss it, the drop of your tits is enough to have him on his feet and following you into the bathroom.

simon always gets in first. he settles with his back against the far side, and then you get in. you make a show of bending over to sit, and simon snarls a little when he's facing the curve of your ass for just a beat too long. you lean back against his chest, letting the warm water and bubbles cover you both. his arms circle around your middle, and you close your eyes once the water has settled.

"feel nice?" you mumble. simon just shrugs, and you turn over a little until your chin rests on his shoulder. you cup the back of his neck, scratching as his cropped blonde hair with your nails, and he hums a little. your new manicure is simon-approved, it seems, and he leans into your hand as you drag the tips of your nails across his head and soothe him that way. "you deserve it, baby."

it's hard for him to hear it, but you try to say it anyways. there's good days and bad days. some days, it's failed cake recipes and good takeout and hours spent on the couch watching movies. he'll be smiling all day, enjoying the quiet and peace of his new life, and then you'll make love and take a long walk and sleep in the next morning.

other days, the pain in his back seems to hit him tenfold. the spasm in his knee acts up, and he'll falter a little, and he'll look ashamed when he has to take a seat, even if it means sliding down the nearest wall until he's sitting on the floor and cupping under his knee with a hiss. those days, you see a little less of simon riley, and a little more of something else. he looks defeated. you know he must feel useless. his body betrays him, but his mind knows better, and you know it kills him inside because he'll spend the rest of the day quiet and in another headspace.

it doesn't matter how much of himself he is that day. simon deserves it, you know he does. he deserves good food and expensive wine and nice things. he deserves hot baths and hydrating moisturizers and as much chocolate as he can stomach. he deserves messy kisses and more than one orgasm, and if you can give him even a fraction of it, it's money and time and love well-spent. simon has always been dealt the worst hand⏤he's earned this life of luxury.

"my..." simon clears his throat as you sit in his lap at your vanity, draping a cool face mask over his face. you're listening still, just concentrating on smoothing the edges of the face mask over his nose and along his cheeks, massaging the excess product into his neck. "my team is gonna be around next week. goin' to the pub. if..." simon swallows, and you meet his eyes. "if y'd like t'come..."

you smile a little.

"is this...your little task force?" you tease, and simon just purses his lips.

"just...they want t'meet you."

you put your hands on his shoulders, giggling. he looks so cute with the face mask on, and he's even cuter when he's being shy. those eyes are deadly--a killer's eyes, you know this deep down, but simon will never scare you. he's your big, soft teddy bear, and he sleeps in thousand thread-count cotton sheets now.

"you told them about me?"

he gives you that dead stare, but all it does is make you laugh. you scoop out a generous amount of body butter from a container on your vanity and start to massage it into his shoulders.

"you are so adorable, simon," you murmur, watching and feeling as the tension in his shoulders starts to melt under your warm touch. already, your fingers are working the knots out of his neck, and he leans towards you as they touch a particularly tender area. "right there, baby? oh..."

the conversation quiets. you're much too busy concentrating on pampering your sweet lieutenant.

simon's never been nervous seeing his team before, but he's also been out of service for more than a year now.

they have experiences without him now. life or death situations that they've survived together, without him. jokes and hours spent sleeping on dirt floors, places they've seen and people they've met, and simon's been here, sleeping in a king bed and learning about how much better his skin feels now that he uses that hyaluronic acid serum you gave him a few weeks ago.

he's got a ring on his finger now. there's a credit card in his new wallet (no more velcro, baby) that he doesn't pay for, and even his mask looks different now that you insist on daily rotations of them and frequent washes.

he's a pampered fucking prince, and he doesn't know whether they will laugh at him or not be able to recognize him.

which is worse?

they look the same. his captain still looks like a tired bear, and he still wears that awful hat. johnny still has a giggly grin on his face. kyle still is the one to retrieve the drinks so he can try and talk up some bird that he'll definitely take home later.

they still leave the spot closest to the corner with the wall to his back open for him.

"where's the missus?" john asks. he's nursing a warm drink, ice long melted, and simon scratches the back of his neck.

"workin'. she'll be 'ere soon."

you're on the phone when you walk in. hair clipped up out of your face, perfectly manicured hands holding the phone to your ear as you make your way inside. you walk very assertively, expensive purse over your shoulder, and johnny leans back to look you up and down as you finally come into view. you're wearing a perfectly tailored work suit, blazer over your forearm as you talk animatedly.

your eyes light up when you see simon. you wave at him, blowing him a kiss, and simon shuffles in his seat a little.

"bloody hell," kyle mutters, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "tha' her?"

"tha's her."

you get to the table just as a server brings drinks. he sets down the beers for the sergeants, another whiskey for their captain, but you put the phone aside as you pick up the bourbon and take a whiff of it.

"what is this?" you ask.

"bourbon."

you raise a brow. "really?" you laugh a little. "that's bottom shelf, honey. open up a good bottle, and⏤i'm sure he asked for it on the rocks, did you ask for it on the rocks, baby?"

"he did," johnny grins, and you smile at the server.

"and bring it on the rocks."

you tuck a few notes into the server's shirt pocket and look at captain price expectantly.

"you gonna move, captain, so i can sit next to my fiancé, or should i sit in your lap?" you raise a brow. "great to meet you, by the way. i've heard so much about you."

john chuckles, slipping out of the booth, and you hop up onto it after him. you cup simon's masked face and kiss him softly over it, rubbing a thumb under his eye.

"you alright?" you coo, and simon just nods. "you ate dinner, right? it looks like you didn't eat dinner⏤" the server comes back with the bourbon, on ice, and you hold up a finger, "⏤do you have a menu? you know what, it doesn't matter, just bring us some fish and chips. whatever you have."

johnny can't wipe the smile off his face. he nudges kyle with his elbow, looking at him with wiggly eyebrows, and kyle just chuckles.

you pick up simon's bourbon and take a sip of it, humming low.

"finally. some good fucking liquor."

you pass it to him with a wink before turning back to his team.

"alright, what did i miss?" you ask. you put your phone on silent, sticking it back into your purse, and you assume a relaxed place there in the booth, nails scratching along the back of simon's balaclava as you pay attention to the conversation. simon nearly purrs as you scratch him, leaning into your hand as his eyes flutter a little.

you are enchanting. johnny's enamored with the way you pay such attention to simon even when you're enraptured in conversation. you always keep a hand on him somehow, always showing him you're actively thinking about him with your fingers rubbing circles in the back of his hand or smoothing a touch over his head or leaning your cheek against his shoulder. always touching, always soothing him, always checking in even without words.

kyle notices the way simon is so relaxed. his shoulders are low, his eyes are lidded, and he doesn't fidget like he normally does. he's just leaning into you, completely at ease.

john adores the way you take charge. you always have an answer to everything, and you know exactly what you want. from just the drink you order to the way you talk about your new life, there is nothing timid or questioning about how you feel, about yourself or simon.

where you live? you have places in manchester and london, you come back and forth. are you really getting married? you've never been more sure about anything in your entire life. is simon really that pretty under the mask? he'd be in more magazines if he was out of your bed more often, probably.

on the way out, you pay the tab. you slide a heavy credit card over the table, and you don't even look at the receipt, just sign it quick and take simon's hand when you get outside, waiting for your car.

"you're always welcome at our place," you tell them, smiling wide. "got plenty of guest rooms, don't we, simon?"

"plenty," he echoes, and simon opens the car door for you when it pulls up to the curb. "give me a minute, love."

you duck your head and slide inside, and simon turns back to his team, shrugging his shoulders as he looks at them.

"so?"

"mighty fine, LT," johnny grins.

that's all he really needed to hear.

his belly and his heart are equally full when you ride him that night. he's naked on your bed except for his mask, tattooed arm anchored around your waist as you throw it back, pussy squeezing his cock as your thighs meet his all languid and heavy. your mouth is open, hot breaths leaving you as your dig your nails into his shoulders, and he grunts as he feels his balls tighten up every time you gasp his name.

"what would i do without you?" you whine, and simon grips your ass tight with the other hand, shaking his head.

"i should be askin' tha'."

"n-no," you kiss him, tongue wet against his, and he groans into your mouth as you wiggle your hips, until his cock nudges against your cervix, and you can feel him in your stomach. "i need you, simon. i need you⏤"

"bloody fuckin' hell⏤"

"you deserve it," you babble, fisting the sheets beside his head. you move your hips quicker, cupping his cheeks, and the part of his face that you can see flushes pink at your words. "deserve m-more, simon, y-you deserve⏤"

your breath gets knocked out of you when he flips you onto your back. ankles hanging off his shoulders, back bowed, mouth fallen open, you melt right into the sheets as simon fucks you straight into them. he's so heavy, a big weight pushing him even deeper, and the angle has your toes in a tight curl as he throws you over a cliff's edge as his pelvis stimulates your clit just enough, right there, just like that⏤

his cum between your thighs is warm. you bite your lip when you feel his thick fingers cup your pussy, sliding through your folds before he pushes two fingers into you, soft and slow. you whine from the overstimulation, but your hips push into his hand anyway.

"you spoil me," simon mutters in your ear.

"how's that?" you whisper, nudging your nose against his. he props himself up on his elbow, pushing his fingers into you to the last knuckle. your legs shake a little, and your back arches again, pebbled nipples pressing against his taut chest as you give into him.

"olways givin' me wot i want," simon hisses. "olways sayin' yes ta me. keepin' me fat 'n happy...think i don't know wot y'r doin'?"

you giggle, touching his lips. he's fighting a smile, dark eyes trained on your own, and you trace his bottom lip as he pulls his fingers out and swipes an eager tongue over them.

you pinch his hard jaw between a few fingers and bring him closer. when you kiss, he relaxes, and the thought of simon having just another good night's sleep in your big, comfy bed makes your heart clench.

seeing his team tonight made you think, and while it hurts to admit it, you are happy simon will never go back with them. he'll never join them again. he'll always be here, his head on your silk pillow. he'll always be home, eating good food, getting the attention and the care he so desperately needs.

what he's so desperately owed.

simon would've died for king and country, and they don't deserve it. they can't have him.

he's mine.

"thanking you for your service is all, lieutenant."

it's the truth, even if he doesn't want to hear it. he's warranted this kind of life, even if he doesn't believe it, even if he rejects the soft hands and the comfy cushions and the filling food. simon is an abused dog; he's not violent to his core, he isn't a biter or a fighter by nature, but when you are forced into a corner for all your life, it's the only thing you understand⏤it's all you know.

you don't want that kind of life for him. you don't think it was the one meant for him. simon's been looking over his shoulder for his entire life, but it's over now.

it's time for him to lay his head down. it's time for him to rest.

"do you miss it?" you ask. you know he's not asleep; his heartbeat hammers under your ear, and even though it's dark in the room, you know he must be looking at you. you can feel his eyes, even though you can't see them on you.

do you miss them? do you wish you were there and not here? is there a part of you still stuck there, finger on the trigger, mind over matter, life in-between death?

"no."

simon tells you this with ease. his voice doesn't waver. his hand anchors itself to your back, where you know it will stay⏤where you know it will be tonight and even into the morning.

[goaskangel]

pussy job w perv!toji and his sweet virgin gf !

cw :: overstim, slight dubcon, use of 'kid', sexy pussyjob !!!!

toji holds you through the night like you’ll slip right out of his hands if he even thinks about letting go. he loves ending the day with you spooning in bed beside him. either facing him so he can kiss your pretty face to sleep, and feel the way your tits press up nicely on his body through your thin tank top. maybe you're facing away with your body snug up against him so he can smell the aromatic scent of your shampoo and lotions, and how your ass pushes back on him subconsciously. 

he cannot get enough of it, seriously. especially when you're so willing to take this time to let him touch you. 

you’re comfortably laying in your dimly lit bedroom with toji assaulting your neck with quick pecks, taking your tied up hair and exposed skin to his advantage. he’ll stop when your fit of giggles turn into small slaps on his arm that’s curled around you. 

“can’t help myself, baby,” stroking that hand on your soft jaw, “you’re just too pretty.” 

you turn to face him and snuggle up, your face rubbing perfectly on his chest. warming up on him like a cat, your hands finding their place rubbing his stomach. you can’t help but think he’s so perfect like this, domestic and resting in a shirt he’l take off later in the night and plain boxers. he sighs when you plant kisses on his clothed chest. 

you look up to him and scoot up to kiss him, toji’s hands coming to keep your head straight as he practically kisses all the breath from your lungs. keeping a steady pace before you squeeze the sides of his body. he pulls away just inches away from your face and slowly turns you to your back, his big body hovering right over you. 

“now? toji—” 

“mhmm. told you, can’t help myself, pretty.” digging back in your neck, he takes deep inhales of your sweet scent before lapping like a dog. the heavy breathes he takes and the groans he lets out, god, the feeling of his wet tongue licking at some of your most sensitive spots makes your virgin cunt spill excessively behind your panties. 

“toji—”

“i’m getting there, kid, don’t worry.” he presses a couple of softer kisses on your blushing face and hooks his fingers on the band of your panties. he tosses them and admires your slick little cunt in the dim light he has before running fingertips gently from your puffy clit to your soppy hole. he leans down a bit and spits obscenely at your waterfall of a pussy, chuckling to himself at the vulgarity. you almost whine at him while bucking your hips before he holds you down and interrupts, 

“trying somethin’ new. trust me, alright doll?” 

you nod and watch him toss his shirt, the slight weight gain he’s putting on hypnotizes you. a good amount of pudge sitting at his lower stomach with more on his arms and thighs. hell, if he decided to fuck you now, you couldn’t complain. he discards the boxers as well, giving himself a few strokes as he places wet kisses on your twitchy clit before kissing your face again. distracting you from feeling the hefty weight of his cock—a sudden weight you couldn’t ignore—slipped right between your folds. 

“mmm! oh god..” whimpering right into his mouth as he whispers gentle praises right back, kissing you softly as he moves his hips slightly, just to feel the precious perfection of your cunt. until you start moaning longingly, he keeps a steady pace and finally speeds up. 

he grinds his cock between your puffy folds, coated and drooling with slick and saliva. groaning occasionally when the underside of his tip rubs on your hot, hot clit, stimulating both of you. 

“feel good, huh, baby? ‘m right there—fuuck, just a little more and i could be right inside you. mhmmhm, and jus’ fuck your little virgin cunt,” he fucking laughs when you shake your head, “no? you don’t want your boyfriend to finally fuck through your cute pussy, huh? but you’re so fucking wet, dolly. your sweet cunt’s jus’ asking for it.”

he leans back and teases your entrance, which is fluttering at just the thought of him pressing in. totally raw and unprotected deflowering because he just couldn’t help himself, you moan out and squeeze his arm when he rocks to catch the tip of his thick cock to your needy virgin hole. tears swell in your pretty eyes, either upset that he’s teasing you about this or maybe because you just wanna come. he gets this instantly and kisses your heated forehead, holding his heavy cock down with his thumb and rubs continuously on your clit. 

the chubby, raw bud burning with excitement as you roll your hips to achieve more of that sensation, your fingers digging into your man’s buff shoulders as he makes you both climax. hot ropes of semen coming undone on your clit and mound, maybe next time he’ll get oh-so lucky ^3^

OUHHHH MAYBE NEXT PART IS THEEE PART

read part one, two, and three!

taglist : @tojisfourthbiatchoftheweek@booboobear-12@anthy-jay-ander@euhphoq@duooy@imnotlurkingherepls@satorusprites@kaypinkess@hisarmsaremycocoon@idkk9@channnee@chjinua@thatbitch4u@samisfunky@viluvs-u@doeeyestoji@sxwgal0

masterlist

[sodaneko]

❥ falling asleep besides you for the first time ↳ w/ Toji, Naoya, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Higuruma, Sukuna & Choso

a/n: this came over me like a fever dream during another episode of insomnia. some of those drabbles are a little sad, i apologize. it's what you get with all those tragics characters. reader is gn!

word count: 1.4k

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 doesn’t even want to fall asleep; it’s not like he had a good night of rest ever since… well. He tells himself he’s just gonna close his eyes for a bit, stretched out on the couch next to you, his weary head in your lap. There’s still blood on his hands and on the side of his face, he’s gonna get cleaned up in just a bit, he mumbles, but the words come out heavy and drowsy, and your fingers are tangled in his hair now and your voice is this sweet whisper, baby, I love you anyway, and Toji–Toji just gives in. For the first time, sleep doesn’t come over him as a heavy veil, as if he’s drowning; for once it’s something peaceful, something quiet. Something he welcomes. Next to you, you with your fingers woven between his, you who loves even the broken parts of him, you with quiet love and reassurance that you’re still gonna be there when he wakes up again.

𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐀 hasn’t had another warm body next to him under the covers in a long time. He doesn’t realize how much he missed this until your body melts into his, one leg swung over his thighs, your arm sneaking around his waist and your head finding its spot in the crook of his neck. His cheek falls softly against your forehead when he pulls you closer, breathing in the scent of you that’s the closest to home he ever felt, pressing kisses on the crown of your head. It’s not just lust–oh, he wants to devour you, but there’ll be time in the morning–it’s the absence of loneliness and unspoken confessions. Higuruma can tell when he’s falling in love and in this moment he’s wading deep, deeper through his feelings for you, biting his tongue so they don’t spill out all over the pillows and into you. You already know anyway, and when the sun comes up again, you’ll lick them from the cave of his mouth like a prayer.

𝐍𝐀𝐎𝐘𝐀 can’t fall asleep, not on his wedding night, not when your mouth is whispering all those words he’s demanding from you. His cheek is pressed against your palm while he’s pinning you down, almost nuzzling into it like a touch-starved stray, golden eyes lingering on you. Say you’re mine. Again. Say who you belong to. Mine. Mine. All mine. He isn’t aware how pleading he sounds, how raspy his voice gets the more you obey, every time you sigh his name so softly into his open mouth. Naoya doesn’t care if you’re lying, as long as you wear your wedding band on your ring finger for everyone to see. You’re his to keep now, and if he could have it his way, you would be forbidden to leave this bed forever; he wasn’t aware just how much he had craved the presence of another being by his side at night, one who doesn’t leave once he had his share of pleasure. No, you’re his now, and before sleep eventually finds him, he’ll make sure to sink his teeth into you till his name rolls off your tongue like a lullaby. 

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 doesn’t let go of your hand; he’s afraid it’ll go cold if he allows himself to let his guard down even for one second. This isn’t how he had imagined spending the first night with you. Not under the fluorescent lights of the infirmary, not with your body wrapped in gauze and machinery monitoring your heart rate. It dawns on him as he’s sitting on your bedside–how attached he’s gotten to you, then: How he had almost lost you today. He squeezes your hand tighter and sighs, his weary head sinking down on the mattress. Your fingers twitch and find their way into his hair, combing through it weakly. As if they say, it’s okay, I’m alive, you’re not to blame. So please don’t leave and take all your love with you. And Nanami takes your hand once again and kisses your fingertips, pressing promises against your skin, promises of a future where you and him can just be, one where he can finally put all of these feelings down, down in your open and gentle palms for you to keep.

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 is clingy throughout the day, but even more so at night. He doesn’t like the eerie quiet that settles in once the sun has sunken, not when he can listen to your steady breathing next to him instead, so naturally he feels a rush of joy when you push your futons together for the first time. His heart is beating way too fast to find sleep now, his eyes taking in everything about your sleeping figure, from the way your chest rises and falls to how your nose scrunches slightly for a moment. Choso wants to know what you’re dreaming about, what colors your dreams are, and if he’s ever in them. He wants to engrave himself into your being, wants to keep you wrapped in his arms forever. His kisses feel light against your skin, careful not to wake you but enough to fill his desire. Choso loves you with his entire being, and sleep is merely an obstacle, cutting away from your time spent together–though he must admit, his eyes flutter shut quite easily in your embrace.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 realizes that his idea of ‘sweets in bed’ now has a double meaning, seeing you sprawled out in his sheets with candy wrapping paper clenched between your fist and more of it lying on the floor. Cute, he can’t help but murmur as he lays down next to you on his side, mustering you with an amused smile on his lips. When he told you to knock yourself out on the sweet souvenirs he brought, he didn’t assume you would take it that literally. His thumb brushes over the corner of your mouth, collecting some of the powdered sugar that’s still stuck there, and Gojo could swear he never tasted anything sweeter than this when he brings it to his tongue. He gently replaces the trash you hold onto in your sleep with his fingers, woven between yours, and pulls you close to him, his tall figure embracing you; and for the first time in a long time, Gojo feels a wave of calm wash over him, allowing him to exhale and sink into a dream almost as sweet as you.

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 doesn’t know why he keeps entertaining your antics. Sharing a bed, sleeping together side by side? How utterly foolish, but as to be expected from a mere human; they’ve always been like this, seeking comfort and warmth when they’re the most vulnerable. Of course a predator like Sukuna wouldn’t have to worry about sleeping safe and sound. Yet still; he can’t help but let his gaze linger on you, wrapped up in his embrace, four arms holding you in place on top of him. Everyone else would freeze in fear, but you? You snore quietly without a single worry in the world, knowing you have a king watching over you in your slumber. Sukuna huffs but still brushes a strand of hair out of your face. Maybe he’ll tell Uraume that you’re off the menu, for now. As long as you know your place–in his embrace, wearing his marks with pride, providing a sense of comfort Sukuna had never known before. Fool, he mutters and rests his chin on top of your head, not sure if those words were for him or you. 

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 doesn’t question when you knock on the door of his dorm room, asking for shelter after a particular nightmare. He hasn’t found any sleep yet anyway. When he lifts up the covers for you to slip under, he’s surprised that you don’t even hesitate to do so, wrapping yourself around his body as if it was molded for that only. Geto can tell that you’re trying not to tremble, but the nightmare still lingers. He knows it all too well. His fingers brush through your hair when he pulls you closer to his chest, as if this could prevent you from falling apart–though deep down he’s aware that he might be the one on the verge of breaking. You know it too, don’t you? Geto is tired, oh, so tired. The kind of tired sleep can’t fix, and he can’t help but wonder if this would also be the last time that you’re in his arms, clinging onto someone who is long gone; a version of him that he shed together with his dream of letting himself love you.