#(it was a back road so no one else was caught behind us)

[fuqnia]

I Wanna Go on Walks with You (1) ₊˚⊹♡

♡ stan marsh x fem!reader insert | college au, smut

♡ A/N | so originally this was my wip called 'i'm too cool, i'm too cold for this', but i thought the overall theme matched my 1,000 Hearts Special! i also had to split this oneshot into two parts, cause it's so long lolol (i'm so sorry). i hope you guys can tell that stan is my absolute favorite, i love him so much and i hope i did him justice!! this is also super angsty and kinda depressing... mb

♡ C/W | nsfw (18+), all characters are aged up! drinking, smoking, hookups, vomiting, inexperienced reader, oral sex (male receiving), dry humping, reader is kinda manipulative/asshole-ish, stan is depressed, bi stan

♡ Synopsis | the universe has a cruel sense of humor. stan always thought he could keep his feelings buried, hidden behind sarcastic smiles and easy jokes. but when you started looking at someone else the way he wished you'd look at him, he realized too late—he was never meant to have you.

event masterlist | part two ₊˚⊹♡

“Stan, are you even listening to me?”

“Uh… yeah, dude…”

Stan Marsh was definitely not listening to you. His eyes were glued to his phone, his thumbs lazily texting a response to someone. You could tell by the way he hummed distractedly under his breath to the current song playing on the radio that he’d tuned you out somewhere between your panicked rant about your date.

You sighed, one hand gripping the steering wheel while the other one jabbed at the volume knob of the radio to turn it down. “Right. What was I saying, then?”

Stan blinked, his head snapping toward you like he’d just been caught sneaking a sip from his flask. “Something about… skirts?”

“Close, but not close enough, Stanley.” You reached out to tug on one of his bleached strands, but his reflexes were faster—his hand clamped down your wrist, causing you to swerve slightly on the road.

“Dude! I’m sorry. What were you saying?” Stan pocketed his phone, and you could feel his gaze on the side of your face.

“I was saying,” You turned to him for a brief second, mustering a glare. “That I don’t know what to wear! What if Damien thinks I’m trying too hard? Or not trying enough? Or what if he—”

“Damien doesn’t seem like the type to care about anything,” Stan muttered under his breath, turning to face the passenger window.

You had met Damien a few weeks ago at the beginning of the semester, in one of your shared sociology classes. He had this certain presence, the kind that made people instinctively lean in when he spoke. His dark hair was always perfectly styled, sharp against his pale skin, and he had these striking gray eyes that seemed to study everything—like he was dissecting the world in real time. He dressed like he’d stepped out of an indie rock band’s music video, all sleek black jeans, worn leather boots, and button-ups with just enough undone to show a silver chain beneath. His answers in class discussions were always thoughtful, maybe a little pretentious, but captivating. 

You never expected him to notice you, let alone talk to you, but then one day he did. It started with him borrowing your pen when his ran out of ink, followed by a few casual comments after class. Before you knew it, he was sliding into the seat next to you, effortlessly chatting about everything from sociological theory to obscure albums. Then, out of the blue, he’d asked you out. Just like that. He’d said it so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal at all, but you’d been internally screaming ever since.

“Are you seriously questioning my judgement? Well I’m soooo sorry Stan, not all of us have a multitude of people throwing themselves at them.” Your knuckles whitened on the wheel. You didn’t dare to face him, as you weren’t sure if you could hold yourself back from slapping him.

Stan scoffed, turning to look at you. “I do not have people throwing themselves at me.”

You snorted, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Oh please. You literally had two people fighting over you at your concert last month. I saw it with my very own two eyes, Stan. And you know what’s worse? You just stood there looking all… broody and mysterious. Like some kind of edgy anime protagonist.”

Stan groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “They weren’t fighting over me. They were being drunk and stupid.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” you muttered, stopping at a red light. “Meanwhile, us plebians are stuck mulling over in their head what to wear to their very important first date.”

You’d always been single. No hand-holding, no kisses, no dates—just you, perpetually on the sidelines while everyone else figured it out. It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed, either. You’d known Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman since elementary school, so you’d watched them all stumble through crushes and awkward middle school dances, then somehow emerge into college with actual dating lives. Kenny was never shy about his flings or the occasional whirlwind relationship, always leaving people dazed in his wake. Stan? He’d been head over heels more times than you could count, dating all kinds of people with that same hopeless-romantic energy he’d had since he was a kid. Even Kyle, methodical and private as he was, had a couple of relationships under his belt. And then there was Cartman—Cartman—who, against all odds and reason, had managed to fumble his way into relationships, too. But no one ever teased you about it. Not once. For all their brutal honesty, they never made you feel bad about being the one who hadn’t crossed those milestones yet. It was almost worse, though, because the way they tiptoed around it made it feel like this glaring, invisible thing you carried with you.

“Dude, just wear whatever you want. It’s not like Damien’s gonna notice, anyway.” Stan groaned, slumping dramatically in his seat.

Your head whipped toward him, eyes narrowing. “And what’s that supposed to mean, asshole?”

“It means,” Stan said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “that Damien doesn’t strike me as the type of guy who cares about… fashion or whatever. He probably spends more time looking in the mirror at his eyeliner than he does looking at other people.”

You bit back a laugh, though you could feel the corners of your mouth twitching. “That’s rich coming from you, Marsh. Considering it takes you twenty minutes to do your eyeliner.” 

Stan brushed off your insult and shrugged, his gaze fixed firmly out the passenger window. “Just saying. Maybe you shouldn’t stress about impressing a guy who thinks a pentagram makes for a good accessory.” “Wooow,” you said, dragging out the word. “Judgemental much? Didn’t you spend weeks hanging out with the goth kids?”

“That was different,” Stan shot back. “The goth kids are cool. Damien’s just…” He paused, searching for the right word, then waved his hand vaguely. “Weird.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Says the guy who drank absinthe at a party last month.”

Stan groaned, his head thunking dramatically against the seat. “Can you, like, not bring that up every time I try to make a point?”

“Not when it’s this easy to win,” you teased, the smirk widening on your face as you pulled into the animal shelter’s parking lot.

Stan was already unbuckling his seatbelt, eager to escape this conversation. “Okay, well, good luck with Damien and his pentagrams or whatever,” he mumbled as he reached for the door handle.

“Uh-uh,” you said, reaching out to grab the sleeve of his hoodie before he could escape. “We’re not done here, Marsh. What’s with all the Damien hate? You’ve been weird about this since I told you about the date.”

Stan froze, his hand still on the door handle. “I haven’t been weird.”

“You totally have.”

“I haven’t.”

“Stan,” you said, your voice taking on that warning tone you knew he hated.

Stan sighed, slumping back into his seat and rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not hate, okay? I just…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as his eyes darted to the window again. “I just think you deserve better, that’s all.”

Your teasing grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of surprise. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Stan muttered, his voice quieter now. “Like, someone who actually, I don’t know… cares about the stuff you care about. And doesn’t make you overthink every little thing.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure whether to press him or let it go.

“Stan…” you began, but he cut you off, pushing open the car door and stepping out.

“I’ll text you later dude,” his voice forcedly casual as he shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets and walked towards the building.

And you’re left sitting in your car, the conversation replaying in your head, wondering what the fuck just happened.

You banged on Stan’s dorm door with a sense of urgency that bordered on desperation, the heels of your combat boots clunking against the floor as you shifted your weight anxiously. “Stan! Open the damn door!”

You didn’t care who else might hear you—it was late enough in the day that the halls were quiet, the faint hum of someone’s TV down the hall barely audible over your thoughts.

Your knuckles hit the wood again, this time harder. “Stan, I know you’re in there! Don’t make me break it down!”

No answer.

You sighed, leaning back against the wall for a moment as you chewed on the inside of your cheek. The pentagram necklace resting against your chest felt heavy, the chain brushing your bare skin where the mesh top didn’t cover. Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your pleated black skirt, tugging at imaginary loose threads as your brain ran through every possible outcome of your date.

What if Damien thought you were trying too hard? What if you said the wrong thing? What if he—

The door creaked open just as your fist came down for another knock, and you nearly stumbled forward, catching yourself on the doorframe.

“Dude, what’s your problem?” Stan’s groggy voice greeted you, his eyes squinting like he’d just woken up.

“My problem,” you hissed, pushing past him into the dorm, “is that I’ve been panicking all day, and you were supposed to text me back! I needed you, and you fucking ghosted me!” 

After dropping Stan off at the animal shelter, you’d driven back to your dorm, expecting to see a text from him pop up at any moment. But as you rummaged through your closet, swapped out accessories, and fixed your eyeliner for the third time, your phone stayed stubbornly quiet. You kept glancing at it, half-expecting a dumb joke or even a half-assed “good luck” to ease your nerves, but there was nothing. The absence of his usual support left a nagging weight in the back of your mind, a subtle frustration you couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried to focus on getting ready.

Stan groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he shut the door. “I didn’t ghost you. I fell asleep.”

“Wow. Amazing. Glad to know my emotional crisis was less important than your beauty sleep,” you snapped, spinning around to face him.

Stan blinked at you, his eyes dropping briefly to your outfit before quickly darting back up to your face. His jaw worked like he was trying to figure out what to say, but nothing came out.

“Well?” you prompted, throwing your arms up. “Do I look ridiculous?”

“No,” he said quickly, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat. “You look fine.”

“Fine?” you echoed, your voice incredulous. “Stanley, I’m trying to look hot and mysterious, not fine!”

Stan sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “You don’t look fine. You look… great.”

The way he said it, quiet and almost reluctant, made something flutter in your chest, but you shoved the feeling down. “You hesitated.”

“I didn’t,” he protested weakly.

“You so did.”

“Dude,” Stan groaned, leaning against the edge of his desk. “You’re overthinking this. Like I said earlier, Damien’s not gonna care what you’re wearing.”

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown by the conviction in his voice. “You really think so?”

Stan nodded, his gaze flickering over your face. “Yeah. I do.”

A small, genuine smile broke across your face, and for a moment, the nervous energy buzzing under your skin eased. You crossed the room and plopped down on Stan’s bed, the springs creaking faintly under your weight. His side of the dorm was as predictably disorganized as always: stray clothes on the floor, a stack of vinyls precariously balanced on the nightstand, and his guitar leaning against the wall.

Your eyes wandered over to the other side of the room—Kyle’s side. Neat, minimalist, and a little too perfect. His bed was made like he expected his mom to inspect it, and his desk was spotless except for a neatly stacked pile of textbooks, notebooks, and pens.

Your nails found their way to your mouth, the faint chemical taste of black nail polish making your nose scrunch as you bit down. You didn’t even notice Stan sitting down beside you until the mattress dipped slightly under his weight.

Stan could probably guess what’s going on in your head, but he asked anyway. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, pulling his phone from the pocket of his pajama pants.

You glanced at him briefly before turning your gaze back to Kyle’s perfectly made bed. “My date.”

Stan hummed, his thumbs swiping lazily across his phone screen. “What about it?”

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice quieter now. “What if it’s… weird? Damien’s taking me to an art gallery, and, like…” You trailed off, biting harder on your nails as your thoughts spiraled.

What if you didn’t know what to say? What if Damien started talking about some abstract painting, and you just stared at it like a deer in the headlights? Or what if he asked for your opinion, and all you could come up with was some basic, surface-level comment that made him think you were dumb? You weren’t exactly an art connoisseur—your idea of a masterpiece was a half-decent doodle in the margins of your notebooks.

And then there was Damien himself. What if he wasn’t impressed with you? What if you didn’t live up to whatever expectations he had in his head? He was so poised, so confident, and you felt like the complete opposite. Your stomach twisted just thinking about it.

“Dude.”

Stan’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts, and you blinked up at him. He was staring at you now, his phone forgotten in his lap, his eyebrows raised in mild amusement. “You’re biting too hard. You’re gonna end up swallowing your nail polish or something.”

You glanced down at your hand and realized he was right. A chunk of black polish had chipped off one of your nails. You quickly dropped your hand to your lap, heat rising to your face. “Sorry,” you muttered.

“Don’t be sorry,” Stan said, leaning back against the wall, his lips twitching like he was holding back a grin. “But seriously? An art gallery? For a first date? That’s so…” He paused, his nose wrinkling as he searched for the right word. “Formal.”

“It’s not formal,” you shot back defensively, though you weren’t entirely convinced yourself. “It’s... refined.”

Stan snorted, his grin breaking free. “Refined, huh? Did he pick it so he could, what, brood in front of a painting and call it romantic?”

You glared at him, though the corners of your mouth twitched traitorously. “No. It’s cultured.”

“Sure, cultured,” Stan said, clearly trying not to laugh now. “You’re gonna spend the whole time pretending to care about a giant ass red square someone slapped on a canvas.”

“That’s not—” You stopped mid-sentence, your mind flashing to a vivid mental image of exactly that, and suddenly you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up in your throat. “Okay, maybe you have a point,” you admitted, your shoulders shaking with quiet giggles.

Stan grinned triumphantly. “There we go. That’s better.”

You shook your head, biting your lip to stifle the rest of your laughter. “Whatever, Marsh. At least he’s not taking me to, like, a NASCAR show.”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” Stan said, nudging your shoulder with his. “Race cars are cool, ask Kenny.”

You rolled your eyes, the nervous knot in your chest loosening slightly. But as you thought about the date again, the doubt crept back in. “I just don’t want to screw this up,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Stan didn’t say anything at first. He picked up his phone from where it rested on his lap and started scrolling once more. You glanced over and caught a glimpse of Instagram on the display. He was mindlessly flipping through his feed, pausing occasionally to double-tap a picture.

A small part of you wished he’d at least act like he cared. He’d always been the one to listen, to step in and say the right thing when you were overthinking everything. But right now, he looked as if you’d just told him you were picking up groceries, not agonizing over a first date.

“It’s just a first date,” Stan said suddenly, not looking up from his phone. His voice was casual, almost indifferent, as if that was supposed to make you feel better.

You frowned, turning your head to look at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…” He finally glanced up, meeting your eyes briefly before looking back at his screen. “It’s not that big of a deal. First dates are awkward, and they usually suck, but they’re not the end of the world.”

“Gee, thanks for the pep talk,” you said dryly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Stan let out a soft laugh, tossing his phone onto the bed beside him. “I’m just saying, no one’s first date is perfect. Like mine, for example.”

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued despite yourself. “Your first date?”

Stan was your best friend, the one constant in your life for as long as you could remember. He was always there—steady, reliable, and somehow never running out of things to say. But when it came to his relationships, he rarely talked about them. You had a feeling it wasn’t because he didn’t want to, but because he was trying to protect you in some way. Like mentioning all the people he’d dated would only remind you that you’d never had that experience. He never said as much, but you could tell in the way he shifted the conversation whenever it got close to the subject, his voice growing quieter like he was walking on eggshells for your sake.

“Yeah, with Wendy,” Stan said, leaning back on his elbows. “I mean, it wasn’t really a date-date. We were, like, twelve, so we just went to the movies. But it was still a disaster.”

“What happened?” you asked, shifting slightly to face him.

Stan groaned, his face scrunching in embarrassment. “Everything. First of all, I was so nervous that I wore this stupid button-up shirt my mom picked out, and I looked like a kid trying to dress up for picture day.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the mental image. “Adorable.”

“Yeah, no,” Stan said, shaking his head. “And then I got popcorn, right? But I couldn’t eat any of it because my hands were all sweaty. Like, literally dripping sweat. I had to keep wiping them on my pants, and Wendy definitely noticed.”

“Did she say anything?”

“No, but she didn’t have to. She gave me this look, like…” He mimicked an unimpressed expression, raising an eyebrow and pursing his lips.

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth with your hand. “That’s so bad!”

“It gets worse,” Stan said, groaning. “She tried to kiss me during the movie, and I—” He paused, rubbing a hand over his face. “I threw up. Right there in the middle of the theater.”

You blinked at him, your laughter dying in your throat. “You threw up?”

“Yup,” Stan said, his voice resigned. “All over my shirt, the seat, the floor. It was bad. Wendy was horrified. She didn’t talk to me for, like, a week after that.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, before a snort escaped your mouth. It quickly turned into full-blown laughter, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you doubled over. “Stan, oh my God! That’s awful! I can see why you never tell me about these things!”

Stan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly my proudest moment. But, hey, at least I’ve learned a lot about kissing since then.”

The comment sent your brain spiraling in a completely different direction. Kissing. Oh God, Damien might kiss you tonight. Your stomach dropped at the thought, like you were stuck on a rollercoaster, only this time you couldn’t see the bottom.

“What if he does try to kiss me?” you blurted, sitting up straighter. Your heart pounded harder just saying the words. “What if I don’t know what I’m doing, and it’s awkward, and then he tells everyone I’m the worst kisser he’s ever had? What if—”

“Jesus Christ,” Stan muttered under his breath, sitting up and dragging a hand over his face. “Dude, relax. It’s just a kiss.”

“Just a kiss?” you repeated, whipping your head around to glare at him. “Stan, it’s not just a kiss! What if I screw it up? What if it’s so bad he decides he doesn’t even like me anymore? Or worse, what if I—”

“Dude!” Stan cut in, his voice louder now as he sat up straighter. “You’re acting like the world’s gonna end if you accidentally bump noses or something. It’s not that serious.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but his unimpressed stare made the words die in your throat. The fact that he wasn’t taking this seriously—you seriously—made frustration boil in your chest.

“You don’t get it,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek. “You’ve always been good at this stuff, Stan! You were number one on that stupid middle school kissing list! People practically lined up to kiss you at every game of spin the bottle. And me? I didn’t even make the list. I wasn’t even ranked!”

Stan let out a long sigh, leaning over to grab his flask from the nightstand. “We’re really bringing up that stupid list now?” he muttered, unscrewing the cap.

“Yes, we’re bringing up the list!” you snapped, throwing your arms up. “Because it’s just proof that you’ve never had to worry about this stuff! People have always just… liked you! You’ve always been good at this kind of thing, and I’ve never—”

Before you could finish, Stan tipped the flask back and drained the whole thing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. You watched, stunned, as he calmly screwed the cap back on and set it down with an audible clink.

“Feel better now?” he asked, his tone flat as he leaned back on his bed and looked at you with half-lidded eyes.

You stared at him, the frustration bubbling over as heat flooded your face. “No, I don’t feel better!”

“Yeah, no shit,” Stan muttered, patting the bed next to him. “Sit down before you give yourself an aneurysm.”

Your jaw tightened, but after a long pause, you crossed the room and sat down, the bed creaking slightly under your weight.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your breathing, shallow and uneven. You stared at your hands, twisting your fingers together in your lap as your thoughts churned. You hated how small and insecure you felt. Hated how easily your nerves twisted into a storm you couldn’t control.

Stan shifted beside you, breaking the silence. “Look,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less exasperated. “You’re freaking out over nothing. Kissing isn’t rocket science. No one’s expecting you to be perfect at it, least of all Damien. And if he is, he’s a fucking idiot.”

You swallowed hard, your chest still tight. “It just… feels like a big deal, okay?”

Stan sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “I get that. But you’re overthinking it. A kiss is just… a kiss. It doesn’t have to be perfect. You’re making it into this huge thing when it’s really not.”

You didn’t look at him. Your eyes stayed glued to your lap, your fingers twisting anxiously together. When you finally spoke, your voice was small, barely audible. “You don’t get it.”

Stan frowned slightly, leaning toward you. “What don’t I get?”

“You don’t know what it’s like… to feel not wanted,” you said, the words coming out shakier than you intended. “You’ve always had people, Stan. People who want to date you, kiss you, love you. You didn’t even have to try—it just happened. You’ve never had to wonder what it’s like to go your whole life without someone looking at you like you’re worth something.”

Stan’s expression softened, but you were too wrapped up in your own thoughts to notice.

“I’ve spent years trying to figure out what it’s supposed to feel like,” you went on, your voice tightening. “From books, movies, daydreams. And now that someone finally… finally wants me, I’m scared I’m going to ruin it because I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Your throat closed up, and you blinked rapidly, desperate to keep the tears prickling at your eyes from falling. The silence in the room felt deafening, and you braced yourself for whatever awkward response Stan might offer.

Instead, he sighed softly, sitting up straighter. “Stick out your hand,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

You glanced up at him, startled. “What?”

“Your hand,” Stan repeated, his tone calm, almost gentle. “Stick it out. Trust me.”

Confused but unwilling to argue, you held out your hand, palm down.

“Now kiss it,” he said, his eyes meeting yours with an expression that was unreadable but sincere. “Like you might kiss someone.”

You froze, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. “What?”

“Kiss the back of your hand,” he said again, his voice soft, careful. “Just… try it. Show me how you think it’s supposed to go.”

Your face burned hotter than ever, and you blinked at him, utterly mortified. “Are you serious?”

“I’m serious,” Stan said, his gaze steady. “I just want to help, okay? No one’s here to see it but me. I swear I won’t laugh.”

You hesitated, the room suddenly feeling too warm, too small. But the way Stan looked at you—like he wasn’t judging you, like he actually wanted to help—made your stomach twist. Slowly, reluctantly, you lifted your hand toward your face.

You hesitated, your lips hovering just above the back of your hand. The weight of Stan’s gaze was almost unbearable, and your entire body felt like it was on fire.

But then the embarrassment hit like a tidal wave, and before you could stop yourself, you slapped your hand down onto your thigh. “No,” you said, shaking your head firmly. “I can’t do this. This is humiliating.”

Stan blinked at you, his lips twitching like he was holding back a comment, but he stopped himself. Instead, he sat back slightly, giving you space. “It’s not humiliating,” he said softly. “But if you don’t want to, that’s fine. Just… don’t let this eat you alive, okay?”

You sighed, your hands clenching and unclenching in your lap. “You don’t get how hard it is to even think about stuff like this without feeling like I’m going to screw it up.”

Stan tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Then don’t think about it so much. When it happens, it happens. And if it’s awkward? Who cares? Everyone’s awkward their first time.”

You stared at the floor, your stomach twisting into knots. “Yeah, except everyone else gets over it because they’ve actually done it. Me? I’m going to sit there overthinking every little thing I do. Do I lean in too soon? Do I wait? What if I bump his nose like you said? Or worse, what if my lips just… freeze up? Oh my God, what if I accidentally bite him?”

Stan sighed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Dude—”

“I’m serious, Stan!” you cut him off, your voice rose with each word. “Damien probably knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s cool, and confident, and I’ll just be sitting there like an idiot, thinking about how you’re supposed to breathe while kissing because apparently, I can’t even figure that out—”

“Dude,” Stan said again, this time with more force.

You turned to him, your cheeks burning with frustration and embarrassment. “What?!”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he sat up straighter and reached out, cupping your face with his hands. His palms were warm against your cheeks, grounding you, but the sudden contact sent a jolt of shock through you.

“Stan, what—”

Before you could finish, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was soft, tentative, but you were so caught off guard that your body went completely rigid. His lips tasted faintly of the cheap liquor, the alcohol sharp against the warmth of his breath. For a brief moment, all your panicked thoughts froze, leaving only the feeling of his mouth on yours, steady and unhurried.

Then your brain kicked back on. Stan is kissing me. My best friend is kissing me. Holy shit, Stan is kissing me.

You yanked back abruptly, your hands coming up to his chest to push him away as your thoughts scrambled to catch up. “Stan! What the hell? What—why did you—what—”

You could barely string two words together as you stared at him, your face burning hotter than it ever had in your life.

Stan looked… rough. His face was pale, his jaw tight, and his eyes darted to the side like he was about to lose his lunch. For a second, you wondered if he might actually throw up, but when he spoke, his voice was casual. Almost too casual.

“I’m just trying to help,” he said, cutting through your stammering with a nonchalant shrug. “You wouldn’t kiss your hand, so… you just have to kiss me.”

“What?!” you squeaked, your voice pitching higher. “Stan, that’s not—”

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, his tone calm despite the slight green tinge to his face. “It’s just kissing. We’re still best friends. Nothing’s changed. I’m just trying to get you out of your head.”

You stared at him, your thoughts spinning too fast to make sense of anything. This felt surreal—like some kind of alternate universe where Stan wasn’t Stan. The same guy who once turned green when someone joked that the two of you should date, muttering something about how gross it was while desperately avoiding your eyes. At the time, you’d laughed it off, chalking it up to his usual awkwardness. Now, sitting here with his hands steady on your face, offering himself up like this was just another casual favor, that memory sat uncomfortably in the back of your mind.

And yet, his voice was so steady, his expression so calm, that the tension in your chest eased slightly despite yourself.

“Okay,” you said finally, the word barely audible.

Stan nodded slightly, his hands still warm on your face. “Good. Now stop overthinking it. Just relax and try again.”

You hesitated, but when he leaned in again, you let yourself meet him halfway. His lips brushed yours softly, and you tried to follow his lead. But as soon as you pressed in, your teeth accidentally clinked against his, and you froze.

“Shit, sorry!” you mumbled against his mouth, pulling back slightly.

“It’s fine,” Stan muttered, his voice muffled. “Keep going.”

You did, trying to relax, but in your panic, you shoved your tongue into his mouth way too quickly, earning a startled noise from him. His hands flexed slightly on your face, but he didn’t pull away, even as you realized how messy and awkward you were being.

When he finally broke the kiss, he leaned back just enough to look at you, his face still pale but his expression surprisingly composed. “Okay,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “First of all, less tongue. It’s not a competition. Take it slow.”

You stared at him, mortified. “Oh my God, this is so embarrassing.”

“It’s not embarrassing,” he said, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “It’s practice. Now, again. But this time ease up, dude. Seriously.”

You wanted to crawl into a hole, but you forced yourself to nod. “Okay,” you murmured.

Stan’s hands didn’t leave your face. They slid from your cheeks to the sides of your neck, his fingers curling slightly as they rested at the base of your jaw. His thumbs pressed gently against your skin, grounding you in a way that made your chest tighten, though you couldn’t tell if it was from nervous anticipation or the overwhelming vulnerability of the moment.

He shifted closer, his knees brushing against yours. The bed dipped under his weight as he leaned in, his presence filling every bit of space between you. His face was close enough now that you could see every detail—the way his long lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks, the subtle curve of his button nose, and the soft flush spreading across his face. His dark blue eyes locked onto yours, calm but sharp, like he was reading you in a way no one else ever had.

Your stomach twisted. You felt completely exposed, like every little insecurity you’d ever tried to hide was written across your face, visible to him. It wasn’t just the physical closeness—it was the emotional one, the way he looked at you as if he saw through every wall you’d ever built. Your heart pounded so hard it hurt, and your breath came unevenly, shallow and shaky.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. The warmth of his breath brushed against your lips, tinged with the faint, bitter edge of alcohol. It shouldn’t have been comforting, but somehow, it was.

You felt the soft graze of his nose against yours—a barely-there touch, almost hesitant. It sent a ripple through your body, your skin breaking out in goosebumps as your lips parted slightly, instinctively. And then his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t slow. His lips pressed firmly against yours, the kind of pressure that sent your heart racing and made your breath catch in your throat. They were warm, soft but insistent, moving with a rhythm that felt completely natural to him but utterly foreign to you. Your head spun as the faint taste of whiskey mixed with the heat of his mouth, an intoxicating combination that left you reeling.

Your hands stayed frozen in your lap, gripping your skirt so tightly that the fabric bunched awkwardly in your fists. You wanted to move, to do something, but your brain was stuck in a loop of shock and confusion. The kiss wasn’t what you’d imagined—it wasn’t neat or delicate like the other two. It was messy and overwhelming, the heat of his lips igniting something inside you that you didn’t know was there.

Stan tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss in a way that left you breathless. His tongue brushed lightly against your bottom lip, and a tiny gasp escaped you before you could stop it. He didn’t hesitate, slipping his tongue past your lips with a smoothness that made your stomach flip.

Your own tongue moved to meet his, but it was awkward, clumsy. You pressed too hard, not sure how to match his pace, and you felt the faintest hitch in his movement as he adjusted. A wave of embarrassment crashed over you, but Stan didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands shifted slightly, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin below your ears, his touch steadying you in a way that made your chest ache.

His tongue slid against yours, warm and wet, and it sent tiny shivers down your spine. The sensation was so new, so intimate, that it made your entire body tense. Every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire, and you couldn’t stop the soft, shaky noise that escaped your throat. His lips moved with a kind of practiced ease, coaxing you into following his lead, and you tried to let yourself go, to stop overthinking every little motion.

His hair brushed against your forehead, tickling your skin as he shifted closer. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the solid weight of his presence so close to you that it made you feel lightheaded. The wet sound of your mouths moving filled the air between you, each soft smack making your face burn hotter.

The longer the kiss went on, the more you felt like you were falling. Not in the literal sense—Stan’s hands held you steady, his thumbs still stroking your jaw with a tenderness that contradicted the intensity of the kiss. But emotionally, it felt like stepping off a ledge, like trusting him to catch you even though you didn’t know if he could.

Your hands finally moved, faltering as they found his knees. The warmth of him beneath your palms was grounding, and you dug your fingers into the fabric of his pajama pants, desperate for something solid to hold onto. Your chest tightened as his tongue explored your mouth, slow but deliberate, tasting you in a way that left you breathless.

The kiss wasn’t perfect. You still fumbled, your lips unsure of how to match his movements, your tongue moving too hesitantly one moment and too eagerly the next. But Stan didn’t seem to mind. He kissed you through every awkward motion, his mouth guiding yours like he was teaching you without words.

The heat between you felt almost unbearable, the closeness of him making your head spin. You could feel every little thing—his breath ghosting across your cheek, the faint rasp of stubble along his jaw brushing against your skin, the pressure of his lips as they molded against yours. It was overwhelming, and yet you didn’t want it to stop.

When his teeth grazed your bottom lip, gentle but deliberate, a soft whimper escaped your throat before you could stop it. The sound made his grip on your neck tighten slightly, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to anchor you.

Your breaths grew shaky, your chest rising and falling unevenly as his lips slowed slightly, lingering against yours before moving again. The kiss felt endless, like time had frozen around the two of you, like there was nothing outside of the warmth and the wetness and the faint, heady taste of whiskey that clung to his tongue.

Your heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst, and you couldn’t stop the way your body leaned into his, your knees pressing lightly against his as your hands gripped his legs. You felt raw, exposed, like every inch of you was being laid bare, but you didn’t pull away. If anything, you leaned in further, letting him lead you through the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

His lips moved slower now, softer, almost as if he were giving you time to catch your breath. His tongue slid against yours one last time, gentle but sure, before he finally pulled back just enough to break the kiss.

The space between you felt charged, your lips still tingling from the intensity of the kiss. For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence thick except for your heavy breathing. A thin string of saliva clung between you, glinting faintly in the dim light before breaking. You blinked, your chest rising and falling unevenly as you tried to process what had just happened.

Stan didn’t look at you. His gaze was fixed somewhere off to the side, his jaw tight and his shoulders slightly hunched. The sight sent a ripple of confusion through you, and you wiped the back of your hand across your mouth, suddenly self-conscious.

“Was… was I okay?” you asked softly, the words fragile in the quiet room.

Stan’s fingers tugged at the hem of his pajama pants, and he gave the smallest nod. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low and scratchy.

Something about the way he said it felt off. He hadn’t been like this before—not during the first two kisses, when he’d teased you lightly, his calm, steady presence anchoring you through your nerves. Now, though, he seemed distant, almost closed off, and it made your stomach twist.

Had you done something wrong? Was he regretting this? But before the doubt could take root, another wave of emotion surged forward—relief, excitement, a giddy kind of triumph. You’d done it. You’d kissed someone. Not just anyone—Stan. And while it might not have been perfect, it wasn’t a disaster either.

A smile tugged at your lips as the realization sank in. “I can’t believe I actually did it,” you said, a nervous laugh escaping you. “I mean, I’m probably still terrible at it, but—”

“You don’t suck,” Stan interrupted, his tone firmer this time, though his eyes still didn’t meet yours.

The words warmed something in your chest, and without thinking, you leaned toward him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. His body tensed for a moment, his hands hovering awkwardly by his sides, but then you felt him relax, his breath brushing against your hair as he exhaled slowly.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice muffled against the soft fabric of his t-shirt. It was an old one, a random band tee he’d probably grabbed without thinking, and it smelled faintly of detergent and the faint, lingering musk of his cologne. “Seriously, Stan, thank you. You didn’t have to do this, but you did, and now…” You pulled back just enough to look at his face, your smile growing. “Now I might actually have a chance with Damien.”

Stan didn’t say anything, but his gaze flicked to you briefly before shifting away again. His cheeks were flushed, his lips still slightly swollen from the kiss, and something about the sight made your heart stutter.

You pulled back fully, your hands lingering on his shoulders as you studied him. He finally met your eyes, and for a moment, all the noise in your head quieted. Because despite everything—despite the heat of the kiss, the strange tension lingering in the room—this was still Stan.

Your Stan.

You could see it in the way his hair stuck up slightly in the back, like he hadn’t bothered to smooth it down after waking up from one of his infamous midday naps. You could see it in the small, faint scar near his temple from that time he’d slipped on the ice in eighth grade and you’d spent an hour patching him up in your bathroom, ignoring his half-hearted protests that he was fine.

You could see it in the way his pajama pants sat slightly crooked on his hips, like he hadn’t cared enough to straighten them when he’d thrown them on, or in the faint, worn graphic on his tee that you recognized from years ago—a relic from that one summer when the two of you had watched an entire Terrance and Philip marathon, laughing until your stomachs hurt.

He was still Stan. Your best friend. The boy who would send you the dumbest memes at 3 a.m. just to make you laugh. The one who always had a spare hoodie for you to steal when you got cold, even if he rolled his eyes about it. The one who listened to your overthinking without judgment, who showed up when it mattered, even if he didn’t always have the words to say.

Nothing had changed.

Your lips curved into a soft smile, your chest tightening as you realized it. “You’re still you,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him.

Stan’s lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile, though it looked more like an attempt to mask whatever he was actually feeling. His jaw tensed slightly, and his eyes lingered on you for a moment before flicking downward, his lashes lowering like he wanted to retreat into himself. “Yeah,” he said simply, his voice quieter than before.

Before the silence could stretch, your phone buzzed in your lap, the sound startling in the stillness of the room. You jumped slightly, fumbling to pick it up. Your heart skipped when you saw the notification on your screen: “hey i’m close. u ready?”

A squeal burst out of you before you could stop it. “Oh my God, he’s almost here!” you exclaimed, holding your phone out to him like it was a trophy.

Stan glanced at the screen, his brows knitting together as his lips pressed into a thin line. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the faintest motion, before his gaze flicked up to you.

That’s when you noticed it.

“My lipstick!” you gasped, leaning closer to him. Your dark lipstick was smeared all over his mouth, the edges smudged from where your kisses had transferred it onto him.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, stifling an embarrassed laugh before reaching out without even thinking. “Hold still,” you said, your voice half-apologetic, half-giddy.

Stan frowned slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. “What now?” he muttered, though he didn’t move as you pressed your thumb to his bottom lip, wiping at the mess.

“Seriously, just stay still. You’ve got my lipstick everywhere,” you mumbled, your focus entirely on smudging away the dark streaks staining his mouth.

Stan exhaled through his nose, but he didn’t argue, his eyes watching you with something caught between irritation and resignation. “Jesus, you’re gonna rub my face off,” he grumbled.

You snorted, pulling back after a few more swipes. “There. Good as new,” you said, brushing your hands off in exaggerated triumph.

Stan glanced at you, his lips a bit redder than usual from your attempts at cleaning him up. “Yeah, thanks for the world-class service,” he deadpanned, though his tone was tinged with a dry humor that made the corners of his mouth twitch upward for half a second.

Still riding the high from Damien’s text, you pushed yourself off his bed, your boots clunking against the floor as you made your way to Kyle’s desk. The small mirror sitting propped up against the wall caught your eye, and you grabbed it carefully, mindful not to disturb the painfully neat arrangement of pens and notebooks.

Tilting the mirror toward you, you grimaced at the sight of your reflection. Your lipstick was a disaster—smudged at the edges, with faint streaks where it had transferred to Stan. You grabbed the tube from your pocket, quickly reapplying as you muttered to yourself about how ridiculous you must have looked.

You had just finished pressing your lips together to set the color when the dorm room door swung open behind you.

“Hey, Stan, did you—” Kyle’s voice cut off abruptly, and you spun around, lipstick still in hand.

Kyle stood frozen in the doorway, his green eyes darting between you and Stan. His gaze lingered on Stan’s faintly flushed face and the way you were standing by his desk with the mirror in hand. Slowly, his brows knit together in confusion.

“What the hell’s going on in here?” Kyle asked, his tone suspicious as his gaze flicked back to Stan, who looked like he was suddenly wishing for a hole to crawl into.

You turned toward him, your lips curling into a bright smile. “Kyle!” you said, your voice light and cheerful, as though his sudden entrance hadn’t just thrown a wrench into the room’s already delicate atmosphere.

Stan stayed where he was on the bed, his shoulders tense and his face flushed. His brows knit together, and his jaw shifted slightly, like he was grinding his teeth. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else than under Kyle’s scrutiny.

Finishing with your lipstick, you capped the tube and slipped it into your pocket before stepping toward Kyle, throwing your arms around him in a quick, tight hug. “Stan was just helping me get ready for my date with Damien,” you explained casually, the earlier tension rolling off your shoulders as excitement took its place.

Kyle stiffened slightly in your embrace, his confusion evident in the furrow of his brows and the way his mouth opened and closed without any words coming out. “Uh… helping you how?” he finally managed, glancing over at Stan, who was now rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding both of your gazes.

“Oh, you know, just… advice,” you said breezily, pulling back from Kyle with a grin. “He’s always got something to say about everything, right?” You shot Stan a quick smile over your shoulder, your giddiness softening the edges of the awkward moment.

Stan’s eyes flicked up to meet yours for a brief second before darting away again. His face was still a little red, and his lips pressed into a thin line like he was biting back whatever was on his mind.

“I’ll call you after,” you said to him, your voice a little softer now. “Thanks again, dude. Seriously.”

Stan nodded slightly, but his expression was tight, his eyes shadowed with something you couldn’t quite place.

You turned back to Kyle, patting his shoulder with a laugh. “Don’t let him sleep all day, okay?”

Kyle blinked, his frown deepening as he glanced between you and Stan again. “Right… sure,” he said slowly, his suspicion clearly not eased.

Without waiting for Kyle to press further, you made your way to the door, your boots clunking against the floor. As your hand rested on the handle, you turned back one last time, your chest light and a smile still tugging at your lips.

“Bye, guys!” you called cheerfully before slipping out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you.

Kyle turned to Stan, one eyebrow raised in silent question. The look was deliberate, sharp, and something about it made Stan’s stomach churn. It reminded him of Wendy—not completely, but close enough to throw him off. The same perfectly arched brow, the same unspoken expectation, like Kyle was waiting for him to confess to something.

Stan groaned and flopped face-first onto his bed, pressing his face into the pillows. “Dude, don’t,” he mumbled, his voice muffled but heavy with irritation.

Kyle crossed his arms and leaned against his desk. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” Stan shot back, his words short, clipped.

Kyle studied him for another moment, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say more. Instead, he sighed and turned back to his desk, his chair creaking as he sat down. The familiar rhythm of his keyboard soon faded into the background as time stretched, the quiet settling over the room like a heavy blanket.

The sharp buzz of his phone broke through the stillness, vibrating against the nightstand. Stan ignored it, rolling onto his side and pulling the pillow closer to his chest. It buzzed again, longer this time—someone was calling.

Kyle glanced over, his eyes flicking to the glowing screen. “You gonna get that?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with curiosity.

Stan didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on the phone as your name lit up the screen. He let it ring, his jaw tightening until the buzzing stopped.

Moments later, a text notification popped up: “stan!! the date was SO good omg i have to tell u everything 😭✨ call me back asap!!!!”

Stan stared at the message, the bright glow of the screen seeming brighter than it should. His thumb hovered over the screen, but he didn’t reply. The message sat there, untouched, the faint “read” notification glowing beneath it.

Kyle swiveled in his chair, watching him carefully. “Why didn’t you answer?” he asked, his voice direct and just a little judgmental.

Stan sighed heavily, finally rolling onto his back. “Because I didn’t feel like it,” he muttered, his tone flat.

Kyle frowned, tilting his head slightly. “You’re acting weird,” he said, his voice blunt.

Stan didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed the pillow and yanked it over his face, blocking out both Kyle’s stare and the faint, accusing glow of his phone. The air in the room felt thick, suffocating, as the seconds ticked by.

Kyle sighed again, muttering something, before turning back to his laptop. The sound of typing resumed, soft but persistent, as Stan lay there, his chest tight and his thoughts racing.

Your text sat unopened on his screen, the emojis and exclamation points mocking him in their cheeriness.

Stan was a fucking mess.

His days blurred into one long, hazy nightmare of hangovers, parties, and mistakes he didn’t even bother pretending to regret anymore. The drinks came first—sharp and burning, chasing the tightness in his chest—but the alcohol only made him sink deeper. The smokes followed, each drag dulling the edges of his thoughts until they felt manageable, almost quiet. And then there were the hookups: faceless strangers, warm bodies, the false promise of connection he knew wouldn’t last.

Every kiss left him hollow. Every time he shoved his tongue into someone else’s mouth, he couldn’t stop comparing it to yours. The clumsy, nervous press of your lips. The way you’d hesitated, the way you’d blushed. It wasn’t just the kiss—it was you. You had felt real in a way nothing else had in a long time, and it pissed him off.

He couldn’t fucking stand it.

He remembered the first time he kissed someone else after that night. Some girl at a party with too much perfume and too little patience. She tasted bitter and desperate, he’d pulled away mid-kiss, muttering something half-assed before stumbling to the bathroom to throw up.

But he hadn’t stopped.

Stan kept going, drinking himself into oblivion and kissing anyone who would have him. Guys, girls—it didn’t fucking matter. The only thing that mattered was trying to forget the way you’d looked at him, all wide-eyed and trusting, like he wasn’t the same fucked-up mess who couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror anymore.

Tonight was no different.

The party was loud and chaotic, the music rattling the shitty walls and the crowd spilling into every corner of the house. Stan sat slouched on a stained couch in the living room, a red cup dangling from his fingers as he swayed slightly, his balance thrown off by the sheer amount of booze in his system.

Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman were standing nearby, talking—or arguing; Stan couldn’t tell—near the makeshift bar in the corner. Kyle’s disapproving stare burned into him from across the room, but Stan ignored it, tipping the cup back and draining the last of its contents.

“You’re gonna fucking die at this rate, Marsh,” Cartman muttered as he walked past, his voice dripping with mockery. “Not that anyone would care.”

“Fuck off, Cartman,” Stan slurred, his words dragging as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He reached for the flask in his hoodie pocket, twisting the cap off with more force than necessary.

Kenny leaned toward Kyle, muttering something too low for Stan to catch. Kyle frowned, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, and the two of them exchanged a look before turning back to watch Stan spiral further.

“Stan, you good?” Kenny called, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of concern.

Stan waved a hand in their direction, the motion clumsy and dismissive. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though his tone made it clear he was anything but. He tipped the flask back, the whiskey burning his throat and pooling hot in his stomach.

Kyle stepped forward, his frown deepening. “You’ve been drinking all night, dude. Maybe chill out for five fucking seconds.”

Stan let out a sharp laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Oh, thanks, Kyle. Didn’t know you were my fucking mom now.”

Kyle’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he stepped back, muttering something to Kenny, who just shrugged and cast another glance at Stan.

Stan’s phone buzzed in his pocket, the vibration rattling faintly against the flask. He ignored it at first, but it buzzed again, longer this time.

Kyle noticed and raised an eyebrow. “You gonna answer that?” he asked, his tone sharp.

Stan snorted, pulling the phone from his pocket. Your name glowed on the screen, along with a notification: “stan!! damien said he wants to take me to meet his parents omg 😭 i need advice lol.”

Stan stared at it for a long moment, his stomach twisting painfully. His thumb hovered over the screen, but he didn’t reply.

Kyle frowned, stepping closer. “Why the fuck aren’t you answering her?”

Stan shoved the phone back into his pocket and leaned back against the couch, his head lolling slightly. “Because I don’t fucking feel like it,” he muttered, the edge in his tone daring Kyle to push further.

Kyle narrowed his eyes, his lips pressing into a tight line. “You’re acting like an asshole,” he said, his voice flat.

Stan didn’t respond. He just tipped the flask back again, his gaze unfocused as the whiskey burned its way down.

Kyle shook his head, his frustration evident, but he didn’t say anything else. Cartman let out a loud, exaggerated sigh from the corner, muttering something about “emotional drunk idiots,” but Stan barely heard him.

The noise of the party grew louder, swallowing everything else as Stan closed his eyes, the taste of stale whiskey lingering on his tongue. His head was pounding, his body heavy against the couch, the sounds and lights of the party warping into a single overwhelming mass. Time slipped by, or maybe it didn’t—Stan couldn’t tell anymore. Everything felt stuck and spinning at the same time. He tipped his flask back, only to find it empty, the metallic scrape of nothing hitting his tongue. He grimaced, tossing it onto the coffee table with a hollow clink.

The living room was packed now, more people filtering in as the night dragged on. Stan cracked one eye open, his gaze sweeping lazily over the crowd. Tolkien and Clyde stood near the bar, laughing over some inside joke. Tweek was glued to Craig’s side, his hands twitching at his sides as his eyes darted around nervously. Jimmy and Butters were deep in conversation, Jimmy’s hands moving animatedly as Butters nodded enthusiastically. Near the door, Wendy, Heidi, Bebe, Red, and Nichole were huddled together, their sharp laughs cutting through the din of the party.

Stan’s lip curled faintly as his gaze lingered on Wendy. The sight of her made his chest tighten uncomfortably. She looked perfect, polished, like she’d stepped right out of a magazine. She always had a way of making chaos seem effortless, but now it just grated on him. He turned his head away, his stomach churning.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, a faint vibration against his thigh. Another text from you. He didn’t have to check to know—it was always you.

“Stan,” Kyle’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and unforgiving. Stan cracked an eye open to see him standing over him, arms crossed, his brow furrowed in that familiar way that made Stan want to throw something. “Get up. You look like shit.”

Stan groaned, shifting slightly on the couch but making no effort to move. “And you look like a fucking hall monitor,” he muttered, his voice slurred and bitter. “Leave me alone.”

Kyle didn’t flinch. “You’ve been sitting here all night,” he said, his tone colder now. “You’re a goddamn disaster, and it’s fucking embarrassing.”

Stan let out a low groan, dragging a hand over his face. “Why do you care?” he mumbled.

Kyle’s scowl deepened, and he reached down, grabbing Stan’s arm and giving it a sharp tug. “Because you’re embarrassing yourself, dude. Now get the fuck up.”

“Christ, just let me sit here,” Stan snapped, jerking his arm out of Kyle’s grasp.

Kenny appeared at Kyle’s side, a grin tugging at his lips. “Come on, Marsh,” he said, clapping Stan on the shoulder. “Get your ass up before Kyle drags you out by your hoodie.”

Stan shot him a glare but didn’t argue, the weight of their combined stares forcing him to move. He pushed himself up from the couch, swaying slightly as the room spun around him.

“Happy now?” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Not yet,” Kyle said flatly, gesturing toward the crowded bar. “Go talk to someone. Be a person for five fucking minutes.”

Stan stumbled slightly as they led him toward the bar, Kenny keeping a steady hand on his shoulder to guide him through the throng of bodies.

“You’re gonna puke, aren’t you?” Kenny teased, his grin widening. “If you do, aim for Cartman. Do us all a favor.”

“Shut up, Kenny,” Stan muttered, his voice hoarse as his gaze swept over the crowd.

Tolkien and Clyde leaned against the bar, nursing their drinks and laughing like the chaos around them was background noise. Tolkien looked up first, his sharp eyes narrowing as he noticed Stan’s state.

“Jesus, Marsh,” Tolkien said, his tone a mix of humor and concern. “You look like you’ve been hit by a bus.”

Clyde snickered, raising his cup in mock acknowledgment. “Or like he’s about to barf on that couch again. Wanna let us know if we’re in the splash zone?”

“Go fuck yourselves,” Stan muttered, slumping against the bar. He reached for a bottle, but Kyle was faster, slapping his hand away for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. “No. You’re done.”

“Fuck off, Kyle,” Stan muttered, but his voice lacked any real fight. He leaned heavily against the bar, his fingers gripping the edge as if it might steady him. His head was pounding, the alcohol and noise merging into one relentless buzz that refused to let up.

The girls approached not long after, their chatter and laughter cutting through the chaos like a spotlight. Wendy was in the lead, her voice carrying as she said something to Nichole that made both of them laugh. Stan stiffened when she spotted him, her gaze lingering a second too long before she started making her way over.

“Stan,” she said, her tone light but deliberate, “you look like you’re about five seconds away from passing out.”

Stan didn’t look at her, his jaw tightening. “Thanks for the observation, Wendy.”

She tilted her head, leaning slightly closer as if trying to get a better look at him. “You’ve been hitting it hard lately, huh? I barely see you sober anymore.”

Stan let out a sharp laugh, finally turning his head to meet her gaze. “What’s it to you?”

Wendy didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned against the bar beside him, her shoulder brushing his. “Maybe I care,” she said simply, her voice softer now. “You ever think about that?”

Stan blinked at her, thrown off by the sudden shift in her tone. He searched her face, half-expecting her to laugh or say something sarcastic, but her expression was… gentle. It made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t name.

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, turning his gaze back to the bar. “You care so much.”

“I do,” Wendy said firmly. “I know you think you’re fooling everyone with this whole self-destructive act, but you’re not. We’ve known each other too long for that.” Wendy tilted her head, her dark hair falling over her shoulder as she studied him. She looked calm, composed—like she wasn’t standing in the middle of a house party with chaos swirling around her. But her eyes had that sharp edge, the one that made Stan feel like she could see straight through him.

“We were together for years, Stan,” she said, her tone soft but cutting. “You really think I don’t notice when you’re falling apart?”

Stan’s lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “Don’t pretend like you still give a shit. You moved on the second we broke up.”

Wendy’s eyebrows shot up, and for a moment, she looked genuinely surprised. Then her lips curved into a sly smile, one that sent a wave of confusion crashing over him. “You’re drunk,” she said, leaning in just slightly, her voice low enough that only he could hear. “But you’re wrong about that.”

Stan blinked, his chest tightening as he tried to process her words. His brain felt sluggish, fogged up by the alcohol, but her tone—gentle, almost teasing—set him completely off balance.

“What the fuck are you trying to say?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly as he turned his head to look at her.

Wendy’s smile widened, and she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm. “I’m saying maybe I haven’t moved on as much as you think.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Wendy fucking Testaburger—his ex, his high school everything—was flirting with him. Here. Now. Like the past three years of silence hadn’t happened.

“Bullshit,” he said, though his voice lacked any real venom. “You’re just fucking with me.”

“Am I?” Wendy countered, her tone light but her gaze piercing. “You tell me.”

Stan opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, he heard your laugh. Bright and clear, cutting through the din of the party like a spotlight. His stomach churned violently as his head snapped toward the sound.

There you were. You were walking in with Damien, your hand looped through his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. You were laughing at something he’d said, your smile wide, your eyes alight. And it wasn’t just your expression that hit him—it was your whole presence. Your wardrobe had shifted recently, all dark colors and sharp lines, like you were molding yourself to fit Damien’s world. Even your makeup was heavier, bolder. But none of that mattered. All Stan could focus on was how fucking happy you looked.

Your gaze swept the room, and when your eyes landed on him, you froze for a fraction of a second before your face broke into a grin. You raised your free hand, waving enthusiastically, and leaned in to say something to Damien before starting toward Stan.

Panic hit him like a freight train. You were coming toward him, your bright, trusting eyes locked on his, and he couldn’t fucking handle it. Not with Wendy right there. Not with his heart pounding and his chest twisting like it was about to cave in.

Before he could think, before he could stop himself, he turned to Wendy, cupped her face, and kissed her.

The kiss was messy, desperate. Wendy tensed for a moment, startled, but she quickly responded, her hands coming up to grip his hoodie as she leaned into him. But it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like anything.

Stan’s eyes opened just slightly, and through the blur of his kiss with Wendy, he saw you. You’d stopped in your tracks, your hand still lightly resting on Damien’s arm. Your smile had faltered, confusion flickering across your face as you took in the scene.

His chest twisted painfully, but he didn’t stop. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss with Wendy like it might drown out the sight of you. His hands tightened on her face, his lips moving against hers with a frantic, sloppy rhythm that felt more like an escape than a connection.

You stood there for a moment longer, your expression shifting from confusion to something more guarded. Then you turned to Damien, muttering something he nodded at before changing your direction entirely. You walked toward Kyle, Kenny, Tolkien, and Clyde, your steps quick and purposeful, but there was tension in your shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

Stan finally pulled back, his chest heaving as he broke the kiss. A thin string of saliva connected his lips to Wendy’s for a split second before she wiped it away with the back of her hand, her brow furrowing.

“What the fuck, Stan?” Wendy asked, her voice low but sharp, her gaze searching his face for answers.

Stan didn’t respond. His eyes stayed locked on you as you reached Kyle and the others, laughing at something Clyde said, your voice forced but light. His stomach churned, the whiskey and regret threatening to spill over.

Wendy sighed, letting her hands fall from his hoodie. “You’re such a mess,” she muttered, shaking her head. But she didn’t walk away. Instead, she leaned back against the bar, crossing her arms as she watched him with something between concern and exasperation. “Are you gonna tell me what the hell’s going on, or are you just gonna keep acting like a fucking idiot?”

Stan dragged a hand over his face, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t look at you. All he could do was stare at the ground and try to hold himself together.

“Stan,” Wendy said again, softer this time, but he didn’t lift his head. He couldn’t.

Stan’s stomach churned violently. For a fleeting second, he wanted to tell her everything. How fucked-up he felt. How every day since that night with you had been an endless spiral of booze and bad decisions. How he couldn’t stop thinking about you, no matter how many people he kissed or how much he drank. But the words got stuck in his throat, suffocated by the weight of his own cowardice.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered instead, his voice raw and hoarse. “None of it fucking matters.”

Wendy let out a sharp sigh, her frustration clear. “Stan, you’re being—”

“Hey, guys!” Your voice rang out, cutting Wendy off mid-sentence. Stan’s entire body went rigid as he turned his head toward you, his breath catching in his throat.

“Hey,” Wendy said, her tone surprisingly friendly. “You look great tonight.”

You smiled at her, nodding slightly. “Thanks. You too.”

Stan’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing like a warning. You turned your gaze to him next, your expression softening slightly as you addressed him. “Stan, can I, uh… talk to you for a sec? I promise I won’t keep you long.”

His throat tightened, his words failing him as he stared at you. Wendy glanced between the two of you, her brows furrowing slightly before she stepped back, giving you space. “I’ll be with Bebe,” she said to Stan, her voice even, though he swore he caught a flicker of something—curiosity?—in her expression before she turned and walked away.

He turned back to you, his throat tight, his mouth dry. You looked so… you. Like you hadn’t spent the past two weeks filling his phone with unread messages or watching him spiral into a pit of his own making.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice gruffer than he intended. He cleared his throat, trying to sound normal, but it came out forced.

You tilted your head slightly, your smile softening. “You’ve been kinda hard to get ahold of lately. I figured maybe I’d just corner you in person,” you teased lightly, your eyes searching his face. “Are you okay? You look tired.”

Stan let out a short laugh, though it lacked any real humor. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… been busy.”

“Busy, huh?” You crossed your arms, but the teasing smile never left your face. “Well, I hope that means you’re actually focusing on your classes and not just avoiding me.”

He flinched inwardly at how easily you hit the mark, but he shrugged like it didn’t matter. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you said, the words light but carrying just enough concern to twist the knife in his gut. You stepped a little closer, your voice softening. “Stan, I mean it. Are you okay? You’ve been kinda… off lately.”

“I said I’m fine,” he muttered, looking away. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms as he tried to steady himself.

You frowned slightly, but the concern in your eyes didn’t waver. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right? You know I’m here for you.”

Stan’s chest tightened. The way you looked at him, like you still believed he was worth something, made his stomach churn. “Yeah,” he said shortly, his voice low. “I know.”

You watched him for a moment longer, your brows knitting together as if you were trying to figure out what he wasn’t saying. Then, your expression brightened again, and you reached out, grabbing his hand. The sudden warmth of your touch jolted him like a live wire.

“So, anyway,” you said, your voice lifting as you smiled up at him, “I was thinking, maybe we could hang out this week? Like, just us? I’ve missed you, Stan.”

Stan froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. He wanted to say no, to push you away like he had with everyone else, but the way you looked at him—so hopeful, so fucking earnest—made it impossible.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice rough. “Sure. Whatever.”

Your smile widened, and you gave his hand a quick squeeze before letting go. “Great! I’ll text you, okay?”

Before he could respond, you turned and made your way back toward the group, your steps light and unbothered. Stan watched you go, his chest tight, his head spinning. His hand still felt warm where you’d touched him, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

Wendy returned to his side, her sharp eyes scanning his face. “You gonna tell me what that was about?” she asked, her tone skeptical.

“Nope,” Stan muttered, grabbing a random cup off the bar and downing its contents in one long gulp, the burn barely registering. He slammed the empty cup down onto the bar, his head spinning, his chest tight. Your hand still lingered like a ghost against his skin, and he hated it. He hated that you could just waltz into a room, all smiles and warmth, acting like the past two weeks hadn’t left him feeling hollow. You didn’t know. You couldn’t know. If you did, you wouldn’t look at him like that.

He turned to Wendy, his vision slightly blurry but focused enough to see her watching him with that same skeptical expression. His stomach churned, not from the alcohol, but from the chaos swirling in his head. He needed out. He needed distraction. He needed something to drown out your voice and the look on your face when you’d said you’d missed him.

“Wanna go upstairs?” The words came out blunt, almost mechanical, but his voice was steady. Too steady.

Wendy blinked, clearly thrown off by his sudden proposition. Her lips parted, and for a moment, he thought she was going to say no, to laugh at him, to call him out for the disaster he was. But then she let out a breath, her eyes narrowing slightly, and she muttered, “Fuck it.”

She grabbed his hand, her grip firm, and started leading him through the crowd. Stan followed wordlessly, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He couldn’t think about you anymore. Couldn’t think about your laugh or the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him. Couldn’t think about the way his chest twisted when you’d squeezed his hand. Couldn’t think about how he’d almost said no because he didn’t deserve to be near you.

He needed to stop thinking.

By the time they reached the top of the stairs, his breath was ragged, his heart pounding. Wendy pushed open the door to an empty bedroom, the faint smell of stale beer and cheap cologne lingering in the air. The bass of the music downstairs thudded faintly through the walls, a dull reminder of the chaos they’d left behind.

The door clicked shut behind them, and for a second, neither of them moved. Then Wendy turned to him, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp, and said, “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah,” Stan muttered, his voice hoarse. “I know.”

And then they were on each other.

Wendy’s hands went to his hoodie, yanking it over his head with practiced ease. Her fingers found the hem of his shirt next, and he let her pull it off, the fabric catching briefly on his shoulders before landing in a heap on the floor. His own hands fumbled with the buttons of her top, his movements clumsy, frantic.

“Jesus, Stan,” Wendy muttered, swatting his hands away and undoing the buttons herself. She shrugged the shirt off, revealing a black lace bra that made his brain short-circuit for a moment.

He didn’t have time to process it. His hands found her hips, gripping them tightly as he yanked her closer. Their lips met in a searing kiss, all teeth and desperation. Her lipstick smeared against his mouth, a bitter, chemical taste that didn’t bother him nearly as much as it should’ve.

Wendy moaned softly against his lips, her nails digging into his shoulders as she pressed herself closer. Stan’s hands roamed, sliding over the curve of her waist, the smoothness of her back, the clasp of her bra. He fumbled with it for a moment before it snapped open, the straps sliding down her arms.

“Better,” Wendy muttered, her voice breathless, her lips brushing against his as she spoke.

Stan didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His head was spinning, his chest tight, his hands shaking slightly as he cupped her tits, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. Wendy gasped, her back arching slightly, and he kissed her again, harder this time. His tongue pushed into her mouth, desperate and messy, and she returned the favor, her hands slipping down to undo his belt.

It was rushed, frantic, like they were both trying to outrun something neither of them wanted to name. Their clothes piled on the floor, forgotten, as they stumbled toward the bed. Stan’s knees hit the edge first, and he pulled Wendy down with him, his hands gripping her thighs as she straddled him.

Her hips rolled against his, the friction sending sparks of heat through his body. His hands gripped her ass, pulling her closer, and she let out a low moan that made his stomach clench. Her lips found his neck, sucking and biting, and he tilted his head back, his eyes squeezing shut.

But it didn’t help. He could still see you. Could still hear your voice, soft and warm, asking him if he was okay. Could still feel the weight of your hand in his, the way your smile had lit up the room.

He bit down hard on his lip, the metallic taste of blood mingling with the bitter tang of lipstick as he pulled Wendy closer, his hands roaming over her body like it might be enough to drown out everything else.

It wasn’t.

It never fucking was.

You opened your dorm door to find Stan leaning against the frame, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His hoodie was rumpled, the drawstrings uneven, and his dark jeans were creased like he’d grabbed them off the floor. The heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes and the faint slump in his posture told you everything you needed to know: Stan was a mess. Your heart twisted at the sight.

“Hey,” you greeted, your smile soft but expectant as you stepped aside to let him in. “Come in.”

Stan trudged in without a word, his sneakers squeaking faintly against the linoleum. He stopped awkwardly in the middle of the room, his hands shoved into his hoodie pocket as he stared at the floor. The scent of lavender and vanilla wafted through the air from the candle you’d lit earlier—one that smelled exactly like the ones his mom used to burn at the ranch. You’d even spritzed on his favorite perfume of yours, the one he once mumbled smelled good during a lazy movie night.

But now, as he stood there, avoiding your gaze, guilt gnawed at you. Kyle had finally clued you in about Stan’s behavior over the past two weeks: the endless parties, the drinking, the hookups. It all hit you like a punch to the stomach. Sure, you’d noticed his texts had been curt, his responses brief, but you’d brushed it off as him being busy or tired of hearing you gush about Damien. Looking at him now, you realized how deeply you’d misread the situation, and the thought made your chest ache.

You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the heaviness in the air. “Red’s out with her boyfriend,” you said lightly. “She won’t be back until late, so it’s just us. No awkward roommate interruptions, I promise.”

Stan barely acknowledged your words, standing there like he didn’t know what to do with himself. His silence felt heavy, almost suffocating, but you forced a small smile and turned to the TV.

“I was thinking we could watch Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull,” you said, grabbing the remote and navigating to it. “It’s been a while since we made fun of how fucking awful it is.”

That got a flicker of a reaction—a small huff of breath that might have been a laugh. Your heart lifted just slightly.

“It’s still so bad, right?” you teased, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Like, I’m pretty sure it gets worse every time we watch it.”

Stan shrugged, his lips twitching faintly before settling back into a neutral line. “Yeah. It’s garbage.”

“Good garbage,” you corrected with a grin, gesturing for him to sit. “Come on, Marsh. Don’t just stand there like you’re waiting for a eulogy. Sit down.”

He moved toward the bed slowly, like it took effort, and sank down on the edge. His shoulders hunched forward, his hands still buried in his pockets as he stared at the screen. You plopped down next to him, close enough that your shoulder brushed his. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lean into the contact either. His whole body felt like it was wound tight, like a spring ready to snap.

The movie started, the overdramatic score blaring through the speakers, and you settled in, leaning lightly against his side. Your eyes flicked to his face, taking in the tension in his jaw, the faint tremor in his hands. He wasn’t watching the movie—he was staring at it, sure, but his gaze was unfocused, distant.

You leaned your head against Stan’s shoulder, your weight light but intentional, hoping the contact would ground him. The movie droned on in the background, the ridiculous dialogue and CGI overload failing to capture either of your attention. You took a breath, the words on the tip of your tongue heavy but necessary.

“Kyle told me everything, Stan,” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the soundtrack. “You’re hurting.”

Stan stiffened slightly under you, his jaw tightening. “Kyle needs to mind his fucking business,” he muttered, his tone sharp and defensive.

You let out a quiet laugh, not mocking but warm, diffusing the edge in his words. “Yeah, well, sometimes his business is caring about you. So maybe cut him some slack.”

Stan didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the screen, but you could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment before continuing.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice softer now. “I’ve been a terrible friend. I should’ve noticed sooner that you were going through it. I just thought…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “I don’t know what I thought. I figured you were busy, or maybe sick of hearing me talk about Damien. But that’s not an excuse. I should’ve been there for you.”

Stan didn’t say anything, but the way his shoulders slumped told you he was listening. Your fingers found their way to his hair, brushing through the bleached strands with a gentleness you hoped would ease some of the weight he carried. His hair was soft, slightly damp from the cold air outside, and you played with it absently, letting the silence stretch between you for a moment.

Your thoughts drifted, unbidden, to senior year of high school. To when Wendy had broken up with Stan just before college. He’d been a wreck back then too—drinking, hooking up with anyone who gave him the time of day, getting faded to numb the ache. You remembered how you’d sat with him in the bleachers one night after a party, his head in his hands, his flask half-empty beside him. Back then, you’d thought he might never pull himself out of that spiral. And now, sitting next to him again, it felt like history was repeating itself.

Stan let out a long, quiet sigh, his head tilting slightly toward your hand as you continued to comb your fingers through his hair. His silence wasn’t surprising, but it still made your chest ache. You wanted to help him, to pull him out of whatever dark hole he’d fallen into, but you didn’t know how.

So, you did what you always did: you teased.

“Maybe I should stop talking to Damien if that’s what it takes to get you to say something,” you said lightly, your lips curving into a small, teasing smile as you glanced up at him.

That got a reaction—a faint scoff, his lips twitching into something resembling a smirk. “Don’t do that,” he muttered, his voice low but less tense than before. “That guy’s the only thing you’ve been happy about lately.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the observation. “Stan…”

He shook his head, his gaze still on the screen but softer now, less distant. “I don’t need you to stop seeing him. I just…” He trailed off, his words dissolving into the quiet hum of the room.

You waited, giving him space, your fingers still moving through his hair. When he didn’t continue, you leaned closer, your voice quiet but firm. “You just what?”

He let out a shaky breath, his head lowering slightly. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “Forget it.”

You sighed heavily, the weight of his silence pressing against your chest. Without thinking, you reached down, forcing Stan’s head to rest in your lap. He let out a small grunt of protest, but he didn’t resist. His body sank against the bed, his legs stretching out in front of him as his head settled against your thighs. Your fingers resumed their path through his hair, smoothing out the damp, messy strands with a tenderness you hoped he could feel.

“We’re best friends, Stan” you said softly, your gaze fixed on his tired face. His eyes were half-lidded, his lips slightly parted as he stared at the ceiling, but you weren’t sure if he was listening. “I mean, I know you have Kenny, Kyle, and even Cartman. And I love them, too. But what we have? It’s different.”

Stan didn’t respond, but his lips twitched slightly, like he might say something before thinking better of it. You pushed on, your voice steady but imploring. “I’d always go to you, you know? When I needed someone. And you’d come to me. That’s how it’s always been. I don’t know why that’s changed, but…” You trailed off, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. “Stan, please. Just tell me what’s wrong. Let me be there for you.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Your fingers stilled in his hair, your gaze searching his face for any sign that he’d heard you. Finally, he let out a long, quiet sigh, his shoulders sagging further into the mattress.

“It’s nothing,” Stan said, his voice low and flat. “Just… shit with school. Stress, I guess. And I’ve been partying too much. That’s all.”

You frowned, your chest tightening at how hollow his words sounded. You didn’t believe him—not for a second—but you didn’t press. Stan was like that, always shutting down when he wasn’t ready to talk. You’d learned over the years that patience was the only thing that worked with him.

Instead, you resumed playing with his hair, your nails grazing his scalp lightly in a way that you knew he liked. “Okay,” you said quietly, even though you didn’t mean it. “But you know you can tell me, right? Whenever you’re ready.”

Stan’s lips twitched again, but this time, it almost looked like a smile. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I know.”

For a while, the only sound in the room was the muffled noise of the movie playing on the TV. You let the moment linger, hoping the stillness would help him unwind. And then, out of nowhere, he spoke again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For being a dick about Damien. I shouldn’t have been so cold. If he makes you happy, then… I wanna hear about it. I don’t care if it’s annoying or whatever. I wanna know.”

Your heart lifted at his words, and a wide smile spread across your face. “Really?” you asked, your voice bright with disbelief.

He nodded, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. “Yeah.”

Without thinking, you leaned down and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his hairline, your lips brushing against his skin with the faintest pressure. “Thanks, Stan,” you said, your voice warm and genuine. “That means a lot to me.”

Stan didn’t respond, but his eyes drifted shut, his face relaxing just slightly against your lap. You shifted Stan slightly in your lap, your movements careful as you reached down to untie his shoes. He let out a faint grunt, his lips pressing together, but he didn’t stop you. With practiced ease, you slipped them off and set them neatly by the bed. His head remained heavy against your lap, and as you adjusted him again, you caught the faint flush creeping up his neck. You chalked it up to the warmth of the room and the heat from his hoodie, brushing it off with a soft hum.

Wrapping your arms loosely around his waist, you let your head rest against your headboard. “You’re too tense,” you said softly, your voice carrying a teasing lilt. “What’s it gonna take to get you to relax, huh?”

Stan didn’t answer, but his jaw tightened slightly, a flicker of tension visible in the set of his mouth. Still, his shoulders sagged a little more against you, like he was finally giving in to the weight of the moment. Taking his silence as permission, you started talking, your voice bright and a little tentative.

“So, I never got to tell you how my first date with Damien went,” you began, your fingers absently toying with his hoodie strings. “It was actually really sweet. We went to that tiny art gallery downtown—you know, the one with the terrible lighting and the coffee that tastes like burnt dirt?”

Stan let out a faint sound, almost like a grunt of acknowledgment, though his gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling, his brows drawn faintly together.

“Anyway,” you continued, “we spent hours just wandering around and making fun of all the weird sculptures. He’s got this dry, kind of sarcastic sense of humor that threw me off at first, but it’s actually hilarious. I think you’d like him if you gave him a chance.”

You glanced down at Stan’s face. His brow was furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin, neutral line, but there was a tension in his expression, a way his eyes flicked to the side like he was purposefully avoiding yours. Still, he didn’t say anything, so you pressed on.

“And at the end of the night…” You trailed off, your smile turning a little shy as you felt your cheeks warm. “He kissed me.”

You felt Stan stiffen slightly beneath your arms. His brows twitched downward, and his lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. The subtle changes in his face—the slight hardening of his jaw, the faint flicker in his eyes—were enough to make your own stomach twist, but you kept going, your voice soft and sincere.

“It was nice. Sweet, you know? Not like…” You hesitated, a small laugh escaping you. “Not like that clumsy disaster I had with you.”

Stan’s flush deepened, a faint red creeping up his cheeks to his ears. His lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, into a fleeting scowl before settling back into something more passive. The tension in his expression was unmistakable, but it wasn’t anger. It was something more complicated, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Laughing softly, you pressed a kiss to his temple, your tone playful as you teased, “I’m serious, though. Thank you, Stan. I would’ve been a wreck without you. You really helped me.”

You didn’t stop there. You kissed his cheek, then his forehead, and finally the corner of his jaw, grinning as his flush deepened. “My hero,” you said, light and teasing. “Stanley Marsh, kissing coach extraordinaire.”

“Jesus, dude, quit it,” Stan muttered, his voice low and gruff as he turned his face into your stomach, trying to hide the full bloom of red on his cheeks. His brows furrowed tightly, but there was a faint flicker of a smirk on his lips, almost reluctant.

“No way,” you shot back with a laugh, pressing one final kiss to the top of his head. “You deserve it. I’d still be freaking out if it weren’t for you.”

Stan didn’t reply, instead he just opted to stay slumped in your lap. His weight pressing into you like a deadweight, but you didn’t mind. His hands were curled into his hoodie, his knuckles grazing your thigh every so often, and you wondered how someone could seem so damn tense even while sitting still.

“So,” you started, breaking the silence with a teasing edge in your voice, “about that text I sent you earlier this week? The one about Damien wanting me to meet his parents?” You dragged out the last word in a sing-song tone, grinning as you watched for his reaction.

Stan let out a low grunt, barely lifting his eyes to look at you. “Yeah, I saw it,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

You ignored his noncommittal tone and plowed ahead. “Well, I talked to Nichole, Heidi, Red, and Bebe about it at the party—you know, after you ran off to ‘catch up’ with Wendy.” You wiggled your eyebrows suggestively at the mention, but Stan didn’t bite. “And you’ll never guess what Bebe said.”

Stan rolled his eyes, the barest flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Let me guess. She thinks you’re joining some cult or some shit.”

You laughed, throwing your head back a little. “Exactly! She said Damien’s probably trying to induct me into some weird goth satanic ritual. ‘The boyfriend-parent connection is step one,’” you added in your best impression of her dramatic tone, complete with wide eyes and an exaggerated gasp.

That got a faint snort out of Stan. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

“And Heidi?” You leaned down closer, dropping your voice to a mock-whisper. “She was all like, ‘Oh my God, it’s so romantic!’” You fluttered your hands for effect, giggling at your own joke. “I told her I think it’s sweet, but also, like, maybe let’s not dive headfirst into the whole ‘meet the parents’ thing. I’m taking it slow.”

Stan tensed just slightly at your words, his jaw working as if he had something to say but decided against it. He stayed quiet, his hands flexing faintly where they gripped his hoodie.

You kept going, the memory from last night creeping in uninvited. “I mean, it’s not like I’m scared or anything. Damien’s great—respectful and all that. Like last night…” You trailed off, your voice faltering as the memory hit you full force.

You could still feel the heat of his hands on your waist, the way he’d pulled you closer as you straddled his lap. His lips had been soft but firm against yours, his breath warm on your skin. And then you’d shifted, your hips pressing down against him, and—

“Dude,” Stan’s voice cut through your thoughts like a knife. “You okay?”

You blinked, your cheeks burning as you realized you’d gone quiet for too long. “Uh, yeah. Sorry,” you muttered with an awkward laugh. “Just zoned out for a second.”

Stan turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “What were you zoning out on?” he asked, his tone casual but edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. “Just… Damien. He’s so patient, you know?”

Stan replied with a noncommittal grunt, his eyes fixed on the TV, but you noticed how his fingers flexed slightly. He wasn’t paying attention to the screen, not really, but he also wasn’t giving you any more of an answer. 

You weren’t mad, though. Not really. Your own thoughts were too busy spiraling into a mess of panic and doubt. What came next with Damien? The two of you had kissed, made out plenty of times, and it felt inevitable that the next step was around the corner. The idea should’ve been exciting—romantic even—but instead, it made your stomach twist itself into knots.

You shifted slightly, pulling your knees up to rest on the bed beside you, careful not to disturb Stan’s head in your lap. Your fingers stilled in his hair as you glanced down at him. His eyes were still on the TV, but there was a tightness in his jaw that made your chest ache.

“Stan,” you said softly, breaking the silence. He didn’t respond verbally, but you could feel the slight shift in his body, letting you know that he was listening. You peered down at his face, and the dark circles under his eyes seemed even more prominent than before. 

How should you go about this? Here Stan was, struggling to stay afloat, and you’re just prattling on about how amazing Damien is, all while you knew Stan doesn’t really like him. Shame and guilt coursed through your veins, and you hated how it felt like your blood was boiling. Stan needed a distraction from everything—yet here you were, a constant reminder that wouldn’t let him forget.

The corners of your mouth curved downwards as you continued to look at him, and he stared back, waiting for the words that’d come out of your mouth. “I-I was thinking maybe, you’d let me kiss you again? I uh, could really use the practice.” You blurted out awkwardly. 

Stan tried to shift his head away from your lap, his mouth hung open as he stared at the sight before him—you. He blinked twice, trying to process what he just heard. Your fingers were tangled in his hair, and you didn’t allow him to wiggle away from you.

“Dude… what?” was all Stan could stammer out. He licked his lips, his face going red as his eyes darted away, avoiding your gaze.

You felt your cheeks flush instantly, the weight of his disbelief settling heavily in your chest. Panic bubbled up as you scrambled for an excuse, for something to justify the words you’d just let slip. You forced a nervous laugh, though it came out shaky and thin.

“I mean, it’s not a big deal or anything,” you said quickly, your voice high-pitched and rambling. “You know, like last time. It didn’t change anything between us, right? And I was thinking, if I… um… if I get more comfortable with it, maybe I won’t freak out so much when Damien tries to—”

You cut yourself off abruptly, biting your tongue. You couldn’t say his name. Not now. Not when Stan’s expression shifted, his brows furrowing as his lips pressed into a taut line. The corners of his mouth twitched faintly, as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to. His eyes darted to the side briefly, then returned to yours, the faint crease between his brows deepening as if he were trying to make sense of your words.

He pushed himself up slightly, his elbows resting on your thighs as he stared at you. His blue eyes searched your face, the tension in his shoulders even more pronounced now. “You’re serious about this?” he asked, his tone quieter but laced with disbelief.

You hesitated, your fingers curling into the fabric of your shorts. You couldn’t tell him the real reason—that you’d hoped maybe this would be enough to distract him, to pull him out of whatever pit he was sinking into. That seeing him like this, so distant and lost, made your chest ache in a way that felt unbearable. You knew how Stan coped—his hookups, his flings, the way he chased fleeting moments of connection to drown out whatever he was feeling. You hated it, hated how much it hurt to see him like that, but a part of you thought… maybe you could be one of those distractions. Maybe, if you offered him even a sliver of solace, it could make things just a little better—for both of you. But you’d never admit that out loud.

“Yeah,” you said softly, barely meeting his gaze. “I mean, you said before it wasn’t a big deal, right? It’s just… practice.”

Stan’s brows furrowed, his jaw working as if he was biting back whatever thought was on the tip of his tongue. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until finally, he exhaled sharply and rubbed the back of his neck.

He opened his mouth, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but you cut him off, the words spilling out of you before you could stop them. “If you’re uncomfortable, you can say no,” you blurted, your voice soft but rushed, your fingers twisting your duvet anxiously. “I swear, Stan, I’ll never bring it up again. We can just forget I said anything.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as you stared at him, every fiber of your being screaming at you to run, to take the words back, to escape the weight of his gaze. But you stayed, your breath shallow, waiting for his response.

Stan’s hand paused mid-motion on the back of his neck, his eyes flicking back to you. There was something in his expression now—hesitation, uncertainty, and maybe, just maybe, the faintest flicker of something else. His lips pressed together for a moment before he let out a low sigh and dropped his hand.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady. “I just… I don’t get why you’d wanna do this with me.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his question. “Because…” You hesitated, the excuse you’d clung to suddenly feeling flimsy under the weight of his scrutiny. “Because you’re my best friend, Stan. I trust you. And… we’ve done it before.”

Stan tilted his head slightly, his brows knitting together as he studied your face. “Yeah, but that was different,” he said, his tone tinged with skepticism. “You were freaking out about Damien back then. This… this feels like something else.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, heat creeping up your neck as you tried to think of how to respond. “It’s not,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I promise, it’s just… practice. Like before. Nothing more.”

Stan’s gaze lingered on you, the faint crease between his brows deepening as if he didn’t fully believe you. But after a moment, he sighed again and leaned away from your lap, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Alright,” he said, his voice low and almost reluctant. “If you’re sure.”

Your breath hitched, relief and nerves tangled together in your chest. “I’m sure,” you said softly, though your voice wavered just slightly.

Stan gave you a small nod, his lips quirking into a faint, lopsided smile. “Okay then,” he said, his tone carrying a faint edge of humor as he added, “Guess I’m your guinea pig again.”

You laughed nervously, the sound light but strained. “Yeah,” you mumbled, scooting closer until your knees brushed his. Your hands trembled slightly as they settled on his shoulders, and you felt his warmth seep through the fabric of his hoodie. “If it gets weird, we can stop. Just… say the word, okay?”

Stan’s smile softened, his voice quieter now. “Same goes for you.”

You nodded, though your throat felt tight. As much as you tried to focus on the moment, your thoughts kept drifting back to the first time. The awkward angle, the way your teeth had bumped, and how Stan hadn’t laughed. How patient he’d been, even when you couldn’t stop overthinking every little thing. It had been clumsy and strange, sure, but it hadn’t scared you off. If anything, it had made you feel… safe.

Now, though, the stakes felt higher. Stan wasn’t joking around this time. His eyes were steady on yours, and there was something in them that made your chest ache. You didn’t want to mess this up—not for yourself, but for him. He needed this distraction, even if he didn’t know it.

You leaned in slowly, your breaths uneven as the gap between you disappeared. Your lips barely brushed his at first—a hesitant, feather-light touch that made your stomach flip. You paused, unsure if you should pull back or go further, until Stan tilted his head slightly, closing the distance. His lips pressed softly against yours, warm and firm, and you couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, holding onto him like an anchor as you tried to keep up. Every little movement felt monumental, every shift of his mouth against yours sending sparks through your nerves. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your mind racing with a thousand little doubts. Were you too stiff? Too hesitant? Did he notice the way your hands were trembling?

Stan pulled back just slightly, his breath brushing against your lips. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “Relax.”

You let out a nervous laugh, your forehead brushing against his. “Yeah, I know,” you whispered. “Easier said than done.”

His lips quirked into the faintest smile, and he leaned in again, his movements unhurried. This time, the kiss felt different—gentler, less cautious, like he was guiding you through it. You let yourself lean into him, your hands sliding up to the back of his neck as you tried to mimic the rhythm he set. The warmth of his mouth, the faint pressure of his lips—it was overwhelming, and yet, somehow, it made the rest of the world feel far away.

Your breaths mingled as the kiss deepened, and you felt his hands hover just above your waist, unsure of where to land. It wasn’t perfect—you still fumbled, your nerves making your movements a little too hesitant—but Stan didn’t pull away. He stayed with you, his lips moving against yours in a way that felt steady, almost patient. Like he was telling you, wordlessly, that it was okay to take your time.

And then you felt it—a small curve of his lips against yours. He was smiling. Not a smirk or a teasing grin, but something soft, something real. It sent a rush of relief through you, and for a moment, your nerves melted away. Your plan was working. He wasn’t thinking about whatever was weighing him down, not right now. He was here, with you.

The thought gave you just enough courage to take a leap of faith. Your teeth caught gently on his bottom lip, a soft, teasing bite, and you felt Stan freeze for half a second before a low, unexpected moan escaped him. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling in your stomach. Giddy and emboldened, you took the opening, your tongue slipping into his mouth to taste him deeper.

Stan responded instantly, his lips parting to meet yours as his tongue moved against yours in a way that was both confident and unhurried. His hands, once hesitant, finally settled on your waist, his fingers curling lightly into your sides as if to steady you. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of your shirt, grounding you in the moment.

Your arms looped fully around his neck, pulling him closer as you leaned into him, the kiss growing more heated. You felt your body shift almost instinctively, your knees moving to straddle his lap. The movement brought you even closer, your thighs pressing against his as you settled into the new position. His breath hitched slightly, and the sound sent a wave of satisfaction through you.

You weren’t thinking about whether you were doing this right anymore. All you cared about was the way Stan was reacting—the way his lips chased yours, the way his hands gripped your waist just a little tighter, the way his breath came faster against your mouth. You wanted him to feel good. You wanted to be the one to make him feel good, even if just for a little while.

Your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging lightly as the kiss deepened. His moan vibrated against your mouth, and you felt his hands grip your waist tighter, his fingers digging into your skin like he couldn’t bear to let you go. The heat between you was impossible to ignore now, every grind of your hips against his sending a rush of electricity straight to your core.

A giddy smile spread across your lips, and you could feel Stan noticing it, even as his mouth moved against yours. It was impossible to stop yourself from laughing softly, the sound escaping into the kiss.

Stan pulled back slightly, his lips hovering just above yours as his brows furrowed. His voice came out breathless, his face flushed. “What’s so funny?”

You shook your head, still grinning as your chest heaved. “Nothing,” you said, though your laughter betrayed you. “You’re just really into this, huh?”

His eyes narrowed, his mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to smirk or defend himself. “You’re the one grinding on me,” he shot back, his voice low and rough, his hands sliding down to your hips. “So don’t even.”

The words sent a thrill through you, and your stomach tightened as you realized just how much he was enjoying this. You moved against him deliberately this time, rolling your hips over the growing hardness pressing against you. Stan’s breath hitched, and his hands slid down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him. The pressure sent heat pooling between your thighs, and you let out a shaky whimper.

“Fuck,” Stan muttered, his grip tightening as he rutted up against you, the movement clumsy but desperate. His lips crashed back onto yours, swallowing your soft moans as your body moved against his. The friction was dizzying, and the raw need in his movements only made your own desire burn hotter.

You nipped at his bottom lip, tugging it lightly between your teeth before slipping your tongue into his mouth. He groaned, the sound low, and you felt his hands sliding back up your sides, pulling you even closer. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging harder this time, and his response was immediate—a sharp gasp and a rough grind of his hips against yours.

The tension between you was electric, the way his body moved under yours igniting every nerve in your body. You couldn’t stop the quiet laugh that slipped out, your lips brushing against his as you spoke. “Didn’t think you’d get this into it, Marsh.”

Stan groaned, his head tilting back slightly as his hands squeezed your ass. “You’re the one grinding like you’ve got a damn mission,” he shot back, though his voice was rough, broken by the way his breath caught with every roll of your hips.

Your laughter turned into a whimper as you pressed down harder, your body moving instinctively against him. The heat, the friction, the way his hardness pressed against you—it was all too much, and yet not enough. You wanted more. You wanted to make him lose control, to see how far this could go before either of you came to your senses.

“Stan,” you breathed, your voice shaky as you leaned forward, your forehead pressing against his. “Is this… is this okay?”

His eyes met yours, dark and blown wide with arousal, his lips slightly parted. For a moment, he didn’t answer, his hands still gripping your hips like he couldn’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. Then he gave a small nod, his voice rough and low. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

His words sent a rush of relief and exhilaration through you, and you leaned down to capture his lips again, your body moving against his without hesitation. His hands guided your hips now, pressing you down harder against him as he rutted up into you. Every movement sent sparks shooting through your body, the heat between you building to a point that left you breathless.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, a tiny voice whispered that maybe, just maybe, this was going too far. That you weren’t sure what this meant, or if you were ready to find out. You shoved the thought aside, burying it under the heat of Stan’s gaze and the way his hands felt like they were anchoring you to the moment.

Stan’s lips were warm and pliant against yours, his hands firm on your hips, guiding your movements. But just as the heat between you reached a fever pitch, you suddenly broke the kiss, pulling back and leaving him wide-eyed and slightly dazed.

He blinked up at you, his chest heaving as his expression shifted between confusion and frustration. “What—why’d you stop?” he asked, his voice thick, his words barely above a whisper.

You didn’t want to explain—not when the realization that this was going too far sat heavy in your chest. Instead of answering, you let your lips trail to his jaw, then down to his neck, pressing soft kisses into his skin. The taste of salt and faint traces of cologne lingered on your tongue as you sucked lightly, a moan escaping you as you grind yourself harder against him.

“Fuck,” Stan hissed, his grip tightening again, his fingers digging into your waist like he was holding on for dear life. His hips jerked against yours instinctively, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

You pressed your mouth harder against his neck, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin before soothing it with your tongue. “Stan,” you murmured breathlessly, your voice muffled against his skin. You weren’t even sure what you were asking for anymore—maybe just to keep feeling this, to keep losing yourself in him.

But suddenly, Stan’s hands shifted, gripping your waist with a strength that surprised you. Before you could react, he lifted you off his lap, his movements firm but not rough, and placed you down on the bed beside him.

“What the hell?” you asked, your tone sharper than you intended as you stared at him, your cheeks flushed and your breath coming in shallow gasps. You weren’t going to be the one to break the silence—not when his sudden shift had left you feeling more than a little offended.

Stan ran a hand through his hair, his face still flushed as he looked anywhere but at you. His jaw worked, like he was chewing on the words he wanted to say, and finally, he muttered, “I was… I was gonna cum it if we kept going.”

His confession hung heavy in the air between you, the raw honesty of it catching you off guard. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your chest tightening as his words sank in.

You blinked twice at him, a smile creeping onto your lips as you tried to gather your courage. The tension in the room was almost suffocating, but you reached out, intertwining your fingers with his. His hand was warm, grounding you even as your nerves buzzed under your skin. Without breaking eye contact, you slid off the bed, letting your knees rest on the floor as you knelt in front of him.

Stan froze like a deer in headlights, his free hand flying to his lap as if to shield himself. “Dude, what the hell are you doing?” he blurted, his voice louder than before, tinged with panic. His chest heaved, his eyes wide and darting between your face and the floor.

You kept your tone soft, trying to calm him. “I… I thought maybe we could keep practicing. You know, for Damien.”

“Practicing?” he repeated, his voice raising a notch, incredulous. “You call this practicing? This isn’t kissing, dude! This is you giving me a—” He cut himself off, running both hands through his hair as his voice cracked. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

Your cheeks burned as embarrassment and panic bubbled up inside you, but you forced yourself to press on. “It’s not what you think,” you said quickly, your voice shaky. “I mean, it is, but it’s just… it’s still practice. I swear.”

Stan let out a harsh laugh, his frustration boiling over. “Practice?” he repeated, his tone sharp and disbelieving. “You seriously think this is about Damien? Because it sure as hell doesn’t look like it.”

“It is!” you insisted, your grip tightening on his hand. “It’s for him, Stan. I promise.”

His face twisted in a mix of anger and confusion, his voice rising again. “Bullshit! You’re kneeling in front of me right now, and you want me to believe this is about Damien? Come on! This is so far beyond just… just helping you practice.”

You flinched at the accusation in his voice, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. “Stan, please. It’s not weird. I just… I thought this might help.”

“Help?” he repeated, his tone almost incredulous. He shook his head, his hands clenching into fists. “Help who? Me? You think this is gonna help me? Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.”

His words cut deeper than you expected, and for a moment, you were too stunned to respond. The weight of his conflict pressed against your chest, and the guilt you’d been pushing down bubbled to the surface. You couldn’t tell him the truth—not now, not when he was already on edge. So you clung to the lie, even as it felt like it might shatter around you.

“It’s not like that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I thought it would make things easier. For me. For Damien. For you, even. I thought…” You trailed off, your words faltering under his intense stare.

Stan exhaled sharply, his hands dragging down his face as if trying to physically pull himself together. “I can’t believe we’re even talking about this,” he muttered, his voice quieter now but no less strained. “This is insane.”

“It’s not,” you said softly, desperation creeping into your tone. “It’s just us, Stan. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond, his expression shifting between anger, disbelief, and something softer that you couldn’t quite place. Finally, he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging as if the fight had drained out of him.

“Fine,” he said, his voice low but resigned. “If you’re sure this is what you want. But don’t… don’t lie to me about why you’re doing it.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as his words hung heavy in the air. For a moment, you thought he might see right through you, might call out the truth you were so desperate to hide. But he didn’t press further, his eyes locked on yours like he was searching for an answer you weren’t ready to give.

You stayed silent for a moment, your heart thundering in your chest as Stan’s words echoed in your mind. The weight of his gaze bore down on you, his eyes filled with a mix of uncertainty and something that felt dangerously close to disappointment. A frown tugged at your lips, and before you could overthink it, you leaned forward, rising just enough to press a quick, fleeting kiss to his lips.

The contact was light, barely there, but it sent a spark through you all the same. Stan didn’t pull away, but his breath hitched, and you felt his body tense beneath your hands.

Your fingers moved with purpose, unsteady but determined, as they found the zipper of his jeans. The metallic sound filled the charged silence of the room, your fingers brushing against his stomach as you pulled the zipper down. You could feel your own breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts, and your voice wavered as you finally broke the silence.

“Is this okay?” you asked, barely above a whisper, your eyes darting up to meet his.

Stan’s brows furrowed, his lips parting like he wanted to speak, but no words came out. His hands gripped the edge of the bed, his knuckles white as his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. For a moment, the only response you got was the flicker of something in his eyes—confusion, hesitation, and a hint of something else you couldn’t quite place.

“I—” he started, his voice hoarse, before cutting himself off. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his gaze darted to your hands, then back to your face. “Are you sure about this? Like… really sure?”

You nodded, even as your nerves screamed at you to stop. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt.

Stan’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing as though he didn’t know whether to pull you closer or push you away. “This is… this is so much more than just practice,” he muttered, his tone strained. “You know that, right?”

Your heart twisted at the conflict in his voice, but you forced a small smile, trying to lighten the weight of the moment. “Maybe,” you admitted, your tone soft but teasing. “But it’s still practice. For Damien. Right?”

The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but you forced them out, hoping they’d ease some of the tension coiling between you. Stan’s expression darkened, his brows knitting together as he let out a quiet, frustrated breath.

“Right,” he said finally, his voice low and edged with something you couldn’t quite name. His eyes searched yours, like he was trying to find some crack in the mask you were wearing, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping as he gave a small nod. “Okay.”

His voice was barely audible, but it sent a rush of relief and adrenaline through you. You leaned in again, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was firmer this time, more deliberate. Your hands lingered at the waistband of his jeans, waiting for any sign that he wanted you to stop. But when his hands moved to your ass, gripping you lightly as he deepened the kiss, you took it as his answer.

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of Stan’s jeans, your movements slow and deliberate. The sound of the zipper had already filled the quiet between you, but now, as you tugged the fabric down, it felt deafening. The denim slid down his hips, revealing the waistband of his boxers, and you avoided looking directly at him, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Neither of you said a word. The air between you felt thick, heavy with unspoken tension, and you could feel Stan’s eyes on you, tracking your every movement. His breathing was shallow, and his hands stayed firmly planted on your hips, grounding both of you in the moment.

You paused once his jeans were partway down his thighs, your hands resting on the fabric as you glanced up at him. His cheeks were flushed, a deep red spreading from his ears to his neck, and his gaze darted between your face and your hands like he wasn’t sure where to look.

The silence stretched, and you could feel your own pulse pounding in your ears. Finally, you broke it, your voice barely above a whisper. “Is this still okay?”

Stan hesitated, his lips parting as if he was about to say something. His grip on your hips tightened, and his brows furrowed, the conflict in his expression plain as day. “Yeah,” he said after a long moment, though his voice was strained. “It’s… yeah.”

The reassurance was enough to make you move again, though your hands trembled slightly as you tugged his jeans down further, exposing more of his legs. Your fingers brushed against his skin as you worked, and you felt the heat radiating off him, adding to the tension already building between you.

When his jeans were fully off, you sat back on your heels, your eyes flickering up to meet his. Stan’s face was still flushed, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, and his hands gripped the edge of the bed like he was trying to steady himself.

“You’re really quiet,” you said softly, trying to ease the tension, though your own voice was shaky. “You’re usually not this quiet.”

Stan let out a breathy laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. “Yeah, well…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to where your hands rested on his knees before flicking back up to meet yours. “This isn’t exactly normal for us, is it?”

Your lips curved into a small, nervous smile. “No,” you admitted, your voice just as soft. “It’s not.”

Another silence settled between you, and for a moment, you weren’t sure what to do next. The weight of what you were doing—what you were about to do—pressed heavily on your chest. But then Stan’s hands moved, hesitantly reaching for yours, and his fingers brushed against yours in a way that sent a jolt through your nerves.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, his voice rough but sincere. “You don’t have to… if you don’t want to.”

His words made your heart clench, and for a moment, you almost wanted to pull back, to let the tension dissolve into something easier to handle. But the look in his eyes, the way he was trying so hard to give you an out, only made you more certain.

“I want to,” you said, your voice steadier this time as you gave his hands a light squeeze. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Stan didn’t respond right away, but his grip on your hands tightened slightly, and he gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod. It was all the reassurance you needed to take the next step.

You swallowed hard, nerves twisting in your stomach as your fingers grazed the waistband of his boxers. Stan’s breathing had deepened, his chest rising and falling heavily as he avoided your gaze, his eyes fixed on some distant point. He didn’t stop you, though, and that gave you the courage to keep going.

“Tell me what to do,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. Despite your nerves, there was a thread of determination there—a quiet plea that you hoped he’d take seriously.

Stan’s jaw tightened, his eyes finally flicking down to meet yours. His voice was rough, strained. “You’re really serious about this?” he asked, his hands clenching slightly where they rested at his sides.

“Yes,” you whispered, trying to sound sure even though your heart was racing. “I need to know how to do this… right.”

His gaze lingered on you, sharp and searching, but after a moment, he let out a low sigh. “Alright,” he muttered, his tone laced with resignation. “... just take it slow.”

Your fingers hooked into the elastic of his boxers, and you tugged gently, watching as Stan shifted his hips slightly to help you slide them down.

His dick slaps up against the stomach of his tee-shirt, the tip hitting an area that’s bunched around his abdominal and dripping precum onto the black fabric, somehow darkening it.

You look up to him a few times, vision switching between the pretty pink tip of his cock to the clenching of his jaw.

“Is this okay?” you asked, your voice barely audible, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

Stan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his voice tight when he finally answered. “Yeah… yeah, it’s fine.”

Your hand hovered hesitantly, and his breath hitched when you brushed against his cock. The sound sent a thrill through your body, and despite your nerves, you felt a small surge of confidence. You wrapped your hand around him gently, and his precum smeared against your skin. You jerked him slowly, wanting to slicken up his cock so you sliding over him would be smooth. Stan’s head fell back slightly, a quiet groan slipping from his lips. 

“Just… grip a little tighter,” he murmured, his voice hoarse as he finally looked down at you again. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted as he sucked in a shaky breath. “Not too hard. Just… like that.”

You nodded, adjusting your grip, and when you moved faster, his reaction was immediate. His hips twitched up slightly, and he let out a low curse, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. The sound sent heat pooling between your thighs, and you bit your lip, trying to keep your focus.

“Good?” you asked quietly, your voice almost drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

“Fuck, yeah,” Stan groaned, his head tilting back again. “Just keep going.”

You felt the divet of his cockhead sliding under your hand as you stroked him slowly. Every movement guided by the small sounds he made—the sharp intakes of breath, the quiet groans, the way his hips rolled up to meet your touch. You kept your eyes on him, taking in every detail—the flush spreading across his chest, the way his mouth hung open as he panted, the soft curses that fell from his lips like he couldn’t control them.

It wasn’t long before his hand shot out, gripping your wrist lightly. His eyes met yours, dark and heavy-lidded. “Slow down,” he rasped, his voice tight. “You’re gonna… fuck, just slow down.”

You obeyed, easing your movements as you stared up at him, your lips parting as a wave of heat rolled through you. “Like this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Stan groaned again, his head tipping forward as his gaze bore into you. “Yeah,” he muttered, his grip on your wrist loosening slightly. “Just like that.”

Your hand continued its rhythm, your movements deliberate as you watched the way Stan reacted—how his breathing turned shallow, how his lips parted just slightly, how his hips occasionally jerked despite his best efforts to stay still. He felt so warm, and the squelching noises of your hand jerking him off only spurred you on even more.

But then you stopped.

Stan’s eyes flew open, his brows knitting together as his gaze snapped to yours. His lips parted, and for a moment, you could see the question forming on his tongue, but he didn’t ask it. He just stared, chest heaving, waiting.

You hesitated, your voice barely above a whisper as you finally asked, “Can I…?” Your eyes flicked downward, then back to his, the weight of your question hanging heavily in the air. “Can I put it in my mouth?”

Stan’s jaw tightened, and he let out a shaky exhale, his grip on the sheets loosening slightly before he dragged a hand over his face. “Jesus, dude,” he muttered, his voice strained and low. He looked down at you, his expression conflicted, torn between disbelief and something deeper, darker.

“I just…” you started, your voice trembling as you tried to explain. “If I’m going to learn how to… you know, I want to do it right. You said you’d help me, and—”

Stan cut you off with a groan, his head falling back against the headboard. “This is beyond helping, okay? This is—” He stopped himself, his breathing heavy as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “This is way more than just practice.”

You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing as you avoided his gaze. “I know,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible. “But… you said you didn’t mind. And I… I want to do this for you.”

Stan looked at you sharply, his eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “You keep saying it’s for practice,” he said, his voice low and accusing. “But this… this doesn’t feel like it’s about Damien anymore.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might see right through you. But you steeled yourself, forcing your voice to stay steady. “It is,” you lied, your gaze unwavering as you met his eyes. “It’s just practice, Stan. That’s all.”

The silence that followed was deafening, his eyes searching yours for something he couldn’t seem to find. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging as he nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

“Okay,” he said, his voice rough and resigned. “But take it slow. Don’t… don’t push yourself, alright? Just… go slow. Start with the tip.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the vulnerability in his tone sending a wave of guilt and something else—something you couldn’t quite name—crashing over you. You nodded, licking your lips nervously as you lowered your mouth to him. Your tongue darted out first, flicking tentatively against the head, and you felt him twitch beneath your touch. The salty taste was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, and you tried not to overthink it as you wrapped your lips around him, taking just the tip into your mouth.

Stan let out a shaky breath, his hands clenching the sheets tighter. “That’s… yeah, that’s good,” he said, his voice low and strained. “Use your tongue more. Like, swirl it around.”

You obeyed, your tongue moving in slow circles as you took him a little deeper. His reaction was immediate—a low, guttural sound escaping his throat as his hips jerked slightly, though he quickly stilled himself. The sound sent a thrill through you, and you felt a strange mix of nervousness and satisfaction at the idea that you were doing something right.

“Easy,” Stan muttered, his voice tight but patient. “Don’t take too much at once. Just go at your own pace.”

You pulled back slightly, your lips sliding up his length before you lowered your head again, this time taking him a little further into your mouth. Your jaw stretched uncomfortably, and you couldn’t help but gag slightly as you felt him press against the back of your throat. You pulled back quickly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you coughed softly.

Stan’s hand shot out, hovering near your face like he wasn’t sure whether to touch you or not. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said quickly, his voice gentler now. “Don’t force it. Just take what you can, alright?”

You nodded, blinking back the sting of tears as you took a deep breath and tried again. This time, you moved slower, focusing on the motion of your tongue and the suction of your lips rather than how much you could take. You felt his thigh muscles tense beneath your hands, his breath hitching as you found a rhythm.

“Fuck,” Stan muttered, his voice barely audible. His hand finally settled on your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair. He didn’t push or guide you, but the warmth of his touch was grounding, and it gave you the confidence to keep going.

“Try using your hand too,” he murmured, his voice shaky. “Like… twist it a little while you move.”

You pulled back just enough to wrap your hand around his base, your fingers tightening as you followed his instruction. The combination seemed to drive him wild—his hips bucked slightly, and he let out a moan, his head falling back against the headboard.

“That’s it,” he breathed, his voice rough and strained. “S-shit, you’re… you’re doing so good.”

The praise sent a rush of warmth through you, and you couldn’t stop the small, satisfied hum that vibrated against him. His reaction was immediate—his grip on your hair tightening slightly, his body tensing as he let out a sharp gasp.

You kept going, your movements growing more assured as you tuned into every sound Stan made, every subtle shift in his body. The way his breath hitched or the low, broken groans that escaped him told you when you were doing something right. You were nervous—your stomach churned with anticipation—but you pushed through it, focusing on the moment and the way he reacted to you.

Stan’s hand rested in your hair, his fingers tangling gently as his breathing grew more uneven. “God…” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. His head tipped back slightly, and you could see the tension building in his jaw and the way his chest rose and fell sharply.

You adjusted your grip, your hand working in tandem with your mouth, and tried to mimic what had drawn the strongest reactions from him. Your tongue dragged along his length with intentional pressure, and his body jerked slightly beneath you. “Holy shit,” he groaned, his voice breaking at the edges. “That’s… fuck, you’re so much better than you think.”

His words sent a flicker of warmth through you, but you didn’t dwell on them. You kept moving, keeping your pace steady and adjusting whenever his breath hitched or his fingers flexed in your hair. Your nerves hadn’t entirely disappeared, but his reactions gave you something to cling to, a sense of purpose in what you were doing.

Stan’s grip tightened in your hair, his body tensing further. “Wait, wait—” he muttered, his voice strained and desperate. “I’m gonna cum. You don’t have to—”

You didn’t stop. You didn’t even look up. Instead, you pressed forward, your mouth working with a deliberate intensity now as you braced your hands against his thighs for leverage. His protests turned into a low groan, and his hips jerked involuntarily against you.

“Fuck!” Stan gasped, his voice rough and strangled. His hand tugged lightly at your hair, but you didn’t move, your determination outweighing his half-hearted attempts to stop you. “You—shit, you’re gonna—”

Before he could finish, you felt him spill into your mouth, the sudden heat catching you off guard but not enough to stop. You stayed where you were, swallowing instinctively as he came, your body trembling with a mix of nerves and adrenaline. His groans filled the room, and his hand fell from your hair, and his body sagged back against the headboard.

When it was over, you finally pulled back, your lips tingling and your cheeks flushed. Stan looked at you with wide eyes, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “You… you didn’t have to do that,” he said, his voice hoarse and almost incredulous.

You wiped the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, meeting his gaze with a steady determination you hadn’t realized you had. “I wanted to,” you said simply, your voice soft but firm.

Stan just stared at you, his face pale and his blue eyes glassy. The tension in his jaw twitched as his expression darkened into something that made your stomach churn. The haze of intimacy that had clouded the air between you was gone, replaced by a sickening weight. His breaths came in short, uneven bursts, and his shoulders hunched like the act of standing upright was too much for him.

“Stan?” you asked, your voice uncertain as you watched him scramble to his feet. He reached for his boxers, jeans, and shoes, hastily pulling them on with trembling hands. His movements were frantic, uncoordinated, like he was desperate to cover himself up and get away from the moment.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned abruptly, shoving his phone and keys into the pocket of his hoodie. His hands trembled as they clutched the fabric, white-knuckled, like he was hanging on by a thread. You stepped forward, your bare feet brushing against the carpet, but he was already moving—too fast, too erratic.

“Stan, what’s wrong? Talk to me,” you said, your voice rising with desperation as he stumbled toward the door.

He paused just short of the handle, his body stiffening like he was about to explode. Then, as if something inside him snapped, he turned sharply toward the corner of your room. His hand flew to his stomach, and before you could say another word, he doubled over your trashcan and vomited. The sound was wet, jarring, and raw, cutting through the suffocating silence of the room like a blade.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the sight hit you like a punch to the gut. His entire body convulsed with the force of it, his hands gripping the edges of the trashcan so tightly that his knuckles turned bone-white.

“Stan!” you cried out, rushing toward him but stopping short, unsure if he wanted you there. He was trembling, his breath coming in uneven, ragged gasps as he straightened up slightly. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie, the fabric smearing across his chin as he finally spoke.

“I can’t fucking do this,” he rasped, his voice low and broken. He didn’t look at you—wouldn’t look at you. “I shouldn’t… fuck. I shouldn’t have let it go that far.”

His words hit you like ice water, and your chest tightened painfully. “What do you mean?” you asked, though your voice was barely audible, trembling with the weight of your confusion and hurt.

Stan let out a sharp, humorless laugh, the sound bitter and self-loathing. “What do I mean? Look at me,” he snapped, finally turning to face you. His expression was hollow, his eyes shadowed with a pain you couldn’t begin to understand. “I’m a fucking mess, okay? And you’re… you’re not supposed to—” He stopped, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I can’t be your fucking practice, alright? I’m not some… tool for you to figure your shit out with Damien.”

His words felt like knives, each one cutting deeper than the last. “Stan, that’s not what this was,” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t,” he said sharply, his voice cracking as he backed toward the door. “Just… don’t. You don’t get it. You don’t fucking get it.”

You watched helplessly as he yanked the door open, his movements erratic and desperate. “Stan, wait!” you called out, your voice breaking, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even turn around.

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the room unbearably quiet. The faint scent of sweat and his cologne still lingered in the air, a cruel reminder of how close you’d been just minutes ago. Your knees gave out, and you sank onto the bed, your hands clutching the edge of the mattress as you stared blankly at the floor.

You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity before the words slipped out, soft and shaky, as if saying them aloud might make sense of the chaos: “I just wanted to help you.”

yeah this was kinda fucked up... | part two

[yardsards]

love slowing down when people tailgate me. bitch i will make us both late idgaf

[smileysuh]

fuck your ex

🌙 starring. Choi Seungcheol & Kim Mingyu x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “Cuddles don’t hurt either,” Mingyu muses, pulling you to his chest. “If we get to your bedroom and you decide you just want someone to be with, I’m not going to pressure you. I know I said the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, but, skin to skin contact - even if it’s not sexual - can be an amazing way to get over an ex too.”

tw/cw. Protected sex, unprotected sex, pussy eating, fingering, hand job, dry humping, grinding, foreplay, threesome, bathroom sex, using a shower head as a vibrator, multiple sex scenes, multiple reader orgasms, slight cum kink, Cheol cum’s on reader’s chest, size kink, dirty talk, praise, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.3k 

🍭 aus. Non idol au, cop au, poly au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I know cops are a touchy subject, but I've had this idea for months, and I figured it's fan fiction so hopefully it's just a fun au :)

Prologue

You’re so busy blasting nostalgic break-up music that you’re not paying attention to how fast you’re driving down the speedway. The loud Kelly Clarkson song drowns out your sorrows, but it doesn’t drown out the sound of the siren when a Police car lights up behind you.

“Fuck!” you scream, immediately turning down your stereo and pulling over onto the shoulder of the road.

Your heart is racing in your chest- being pulled over isn’t something you’re used to, and you fumble to roll your window down while two cops exit their vehicle and approach.

You wipe at your eyes, which are tearing up again, and you reach for your purse to pull out your license.

The man standing next to your window leans down to look at you, and you try to flash him a smile. His expression is cold, blank even. “Do you know how fast you were going?” he asks.

Now, your heart sinks. It’s such a direct question, and for some reason it makes you snap. You can feel tears begin to roll down your cheeks, your skin heating in embarrassment at having been caught doing something wrong.

“Officer- I’m so sorry, I don’t know how fast I was going- I just broke up with my stupid ex-boyfriend, and I was listening to some breakup music to distract myself from how I’m feeling, and I wasn’t paying attention-”

The second cop pulls up to your window, and the two of them exchange a glance while you cry and blab your reasoning behind doing something wrong.

“Are you headed home?” the second officer, whose nametag reads ‘KIM’, asks. 

“Yeah, I just went to get a bottle of wine, and now I’m going home to drink and watch movies and cry myself to sleep,” you admit, voice shaky.

“Have you had anything to drink tonight?”

“No, sir.” 

The first officer, ‘CHOI’, sighs, and you see him scan the surrounding freeway. “We’re going to let you off with a warning,” he says finally. “It’s late, there’s hardly anyone driving right now- you were doing the wrong thing by speeding, but it sounds like your day is already pretty shit as it is.”

“Really?” You blink up at him, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “No ticket?”

“No ticket,” Choi confirms. “But don’t get caught doing this sort of thing again.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Good luck with your wine and your movies,” Kim nods, and with that, the two officers go back to their vehicle.

You wait patiently, watching them in your rear-view mirror as they pull out and drive past you. Only then do you release a deep breath.

One

“Oops!” You let out a squeak as you turn from the bartop and nearly run straight into someone. Your drink sloshes over the edge of your glass, coating your fingers in fruity liquid.

“My bad,” the tall man immediately apologizes, steadying you with a hand on your hip.

Your eyes meet, and your heart leaps into your throat. It’s not common to see men who are this attractive out and at bars-

“Wait, have we met before?” he asks, brows furrowing in confusion.

“I’d remember if we had,” you retort quickly.

The man cocks his head to the side, and after a moment of studying you, his face lights up. “Wait, I remember! You’re that chick we caught speeding two or three months back! The one who’d just had a breakup!” 

Your eyes widen as the memory washes over you. As you look up at this tall man, you realize he’s right. You hadn’t recognized him at first, without his officer hat and uniform he looks much more boyish.

“I’m Mingyu,” the large man says, holding out a hand. Without a second thought, you shake it,  which is when you remember your skin is still sticky from your spilled drink. 

“Shit, sorry-” you apologize. 

Mingyu only laughs. “You’re still a bit of a hot mess, aren’t you?”

“Unfortunately,” you agree with a sigh.

“Are you here with people?” he asks next, looking around. 

“Waiting on some friends.”

“Want to come join me and Cheol for a bit while you wait?”

“I really couldn’t-” you try to side step the question, but Mingyu insists, and soon, you find yourself seated at a table with the two sexy cops who had let you off with a warning three months ago. 

“This is the chick who was speeding, the Kelly Clarkson break-up one,” Mingyu introduces you to his buddy, and you watch recognition blossom over his face. 

“Y/N,” you correct, swallowing thickly. “My name is Y/N.”

“Seungcheol,” the stoic cop says, introducing himself. “How’ve you been?”

“Better than that night,” you admit, feeling a little off that they’re so interested in you.

“You’d be surprised how often we pull over girls for speeding after rough breakups,” Mingyu tells you, easing your anxiety a bit. “It must have been a pretty shitty split to have been driving the way you were.”

“It was bad,” you admit with a frown. “In fact… I still don’t think I’m fully over it.”

You’re not sure what’s come over you, what’s bewitched you to the point where you’re divulging your personal secrets to two strangers, and cops no less-

“Fuck your ex,” Seungcheol grunts, taking a sip of his beer.

Mingyu nods. “Fuck your ex.”

You swallow thickly, lifting your drink. “Fuck my ex.” 

You wish your voice sounded more confident, but Mingyu flashes you a smile regardless, clinking his beer to your cocktail. 

Your shoulders relax a little as you sip on your drink, and Mingyu begins asking you very surface-level questions. It’s clear he’s doing his best to make you feel welcome while you wait for your friends, who arrive after about fifteen minutes of chat.

“Well, my girls are here,” you announce.

“Shame, we were enjoying your company,” Seungcheol muses, and his words make your skin heat. He’s quiet, or at least, not as much of a talker as Mingyu is- 

“Hey listen,” Mingyu distracts you, pulling out a pen and paper, where he begins to scribble a few numbers, “you know what they say, the best cure to get over someone is to get under someone else. If you ever need one of us, or both, shoot us a text or something.”

You’re in complete shock as he hands you the slip of paper, wherein two phone numbers and names are written. 

“Are you…” you swallow thickly, looking between the men, “is this kind of behavior allowed from cops?”

Mingyu flashes you a wink. “We’re off duty.” 

Two

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit, opening the door to your apartment, allowing Mingyu inside.

He only chuckles, pulling you into a hug. You let out a breath, relaxing against his chest. Once you feel a little more settled he releases you, pinching your cheek gently, in a shockingly affectionate way. “You’re getting over your ex,” Mingyu says softly. “Everyone needs to take that step sometime, I’m just glad you reached out to me instead of some tinder dick head.”

“Yeah, cuz a cop is so much better than some online random,” you roll your eyes.

“I’m definitely better than some online random,” he agrees. 

“This isn’t very cop like of you,” you point out, watching Mingyu remove his jacket.

“I’m not just my profession,” Mingyu says smoothly. “I’m a hot blooded male, and you’re a cute girl who needs some rescuing.”

You cock a brow, amused. “Rescuing?” 

“Uh huh.”

“And you’re going to rescue me with what? Your cock?” You’re giggling already, and Mingyu joins in.

“Cuddles don’t hurt either,” Mingyu muses, pulling you to his chest. “If we get to your bedroom and you decide you just want someone to be with, I’m not going to pressure you. I know I said the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, but, skin to skin contact - even if it’s not sexual - can be an amazing way to get over an ex too.”

You can’t help yourself, you lean forward, going on your tiptoes to press your lips to Mingyu’s. He kisses you back immediately, cupping your cheek with one large hand. It’s a gentle kiss, the kind of kiss that tells you you’re safe, and you realize how right Mingyu is- maybe you just needed a companion, someone to distract you from how lonely single nights can be.

Even so, the two of you make your way to your bedroom, and you find yourself shockingly shy as you invite Mingyu into your bed.

You’re in comfy clothes, but Mingyu isn’t, and he toys with the hem of his shirt as you get under your covers. “Should I take this off?” he asks.

“Whatever you want,” you agree, watching him carefully.

“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he explains.

“It won’t,” you tell him, in fact, you’re curious as to what he looks like under his shirt.

A minute later, you’re rewarded by getting a full view of Mingyu’s beautiful body. He’s all muscle, but it’s not the kind of muscle you gain just in a gym. No, Mingyu has a work hardened physique, what some might identify as practical muscle, and it’s clear he doesn’t skimp on food either. He’s perfectly built, you decide, as he gets into bed next to you, immediately pulling you to his broad chest.

You release a deep breath, one you didn’t know you’d been holding.

A large hand strokes along your back, and Mingyu gives you space to just be quiet and enjoy his presence. 

Finally, though, you get to the point where you can’t contain yourself any longer. You look up at him, and Mingyu mirrors the motion. It’s like he can already read you, and you wonder if that’s due to him having a lot of experience with girls, or psychological cue reading as a cop. Either way, he leans down to kiss you, and you melt into it, letting out a pleased groan.

Mingyu returns the sound with one of his own, his tongue gliding across your lip. You open up for him, shifting so you’re half on his chest while the kiss deepens. Mingyu’s hands find your waist, and he pulls you fully on top of him, your knees digging into the mattress on either side of his hips.

It’s been so long since you kissed someone, but your body easily picks up the natural instinct again. Mingyu is just so sexy- in no time at all, you’re wriggling on top of him, eager for stimulus against your already aching core. 

You find yourself completely relaxed, but completely on edge at the same time. It’s an odd contrast. Mingyu makes you feel comfortable, without fear, and yet- he also sets you on fire in the best of ways. Each touch is like electric shivers across your body, and you can’t help the way you’re moaning from just a bit of kissing and dry humping.

“Wait,” Mingyu’s voice makes you stop, and you pull away, looking down at him with confusion. “I think- before we fuck or anything, I think you should let me eat you out. I bet you’re tired of toys and fingers, and I want tonight to be about making you feel good.”

He’s literally prince charming. Like- how did you ever find this sexy giver. 

You swallow thickly. “We can do that.”

Mingyu kisses you again, and then he rolls on top of you, pinning you to the bed. You love the way his hands skim across your body, teasing across your waist and ribcage. 

“Can I take your clothes off?” he asks.

“Maybe… uh… maybe just my pants for now?” You’re not sure why you want to leave your shirt on, but that’s the boundary you’re comfortable with right now, and Mingyu doesn’t question it. He presses another kiss to your lips before sliding down you form, hooking his fingers in your sweatpants to drag them down your body.

The large man adjusts between your legs, peppering your newly exposed skin in soft kisses.

Your core is throbbing in your panties, and you bite your lip when his breath fans across your pussy.

“These off next?” he asks, looking up at you.

“Yeah.” The word comes out a whisper, your body tight with suspense.

Mingyu pulls your panties down slowly, and the cool air of the room on your exposed core  makes you twitch.

Large hands smooth up your calves and thighs, and Mingyu’s eyes meet yours as he closes the distance to your pussy. You hold your breath, waiting-

The first lick of your clit makes your toes curl, and you moan deeply, earning a smile from the man who’s clearly intent on devouring you.

“I kind of like being told what to do,” Mingyu explains, kissing your inner thigh. “So if you have anything you want me to do, just say something.”

“I will,” you promise, shifting your hips to get your core closer to his face again.

Mingyu takes the motion as a direction in and of itself, and he immediately puts his mouth back on you, but this time, it’s not a kitten lick. There’s no hesitation now, it’s clear you want this, and Mingyu dives in, pressing his tongue into your core.

You groan, thighs already shaking at how good it feels.

Your hands reach down, tangling in his soft hair, and Mingyu releases a moan of his own. The vibration from it goes straight to your clit, and you whimper. 

“You’re good at this,” you tell him, doing your best to be verbal, as it’s pretty clear Mingyu’s a verbal sex kind of guy.

He rewards your words by sucking his lips around your clit, flicking at it with his tongue.

“Can you…” you shift slightly, “your fingers-”

Mingyu adjusts, focusing on your clit with his mouth while a finger strokes between your pussy lips. He eases it into your wet core slowly, being gentle with you while ravaging your sensitive bud.

Your eyes close at the feeling, your head thrown back against your pillows. “That’s good-” you tell him, groaning when he slips a second digit into your pussy.

You can feel him smile against your clit, working his fingers up toward your gspot with each calculated thrust.

You’re supposed to be using Mingyu to get over your ex, but you can’t help the way you compare them- how had you ever thought sex with your ex was good? He’d never eaten you out like this- never prioritized your pleasure- fuck, you haven’t even had sex with Mingyu yet, and you’re already convinced it’s going to be mind blowing.

Releasing a breath, you focus on Mingyu, focus on the feeling building deep in your core. 

One thrust has Mingyu’s fingers hitting the exact right spot, and you let out a squeal of delight. “Right there- fuck- right there!”

Mingyu does as he’s told, repeatedly hitting the spot that draws you closer to your orgasm with record speed. His mouth on your clit is also pure pleasure, and before you even know it, you’re releasing a groan. “I’m gonna cum, fuck- don’t stop, please-”

Your words break off as your high slams into you, moans of ecstasy escaping as your body surges with pleasure. Your pussy is pulsing deliciously around Mingyu’s fingers and he works you through your orgasm like an absolute champ. He’s unrelenting, fully focused on drawing out your pleasure until you’re practically shaking.

Mingyu pulls away, and you let out a shaky gasp, opening your eyes to look down at the gorgeous man. His expression is one of pure lust, and you watch him wipe his mouth with the back of his palm. 

“You taste like peaches, baby,” he tells you, straightening onto his knees at the foot of your bed.

You don’t say anything, you only motion for Mingyu to come closer, and you grab the back of his neck, drawing his lips to yours so you can taste yourself on his tongue.

He moans into the kiss, and you writhe beneath him, hooking your leg over his hip.

Mingyu begins to grind down against you, and you can feel how hard he is in his jeans. You love that eating you out had that kind of effect on him, and you find yourself reaching down to cup his cock.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, breaking the kiss to breathe heavily, pressing his forehead against yours. “Are we going to do this? You can still back out-”

“We’re doing this,” you confirm.

“Okay, give me a sec.” Mingyu pulls away from you and you whimper at the loss. “Wanna take your shirt off now, while I take off my pants?”

“Yeah,” you agree, immediately working on the remainder of your clothing.

You’re naked in seconds, and you watch Mingyu step out of his jeans next to the bed. He’s produced a condom from his pants, and you watch with bated breath while he rolls it onto one of the biggest cocks you’ve ever seen in person- in fact, it might be the biggest cock, and your core throbs at the mere thought of it. 

“I’m on birth control, and I’m clean,” you find yourself saying softly, toying with the fact of unprotected sex.

“Me too,” Mingyu breathes. “But, it’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

Leave it to the cop to be safe, you guess that’s a good thing, but part of you sinks at the idea of not being filled with his cum.

Mingyu gets on top of you again, kissing you deeply. 

Your legs wrap tight around his body, and with pressure, you prompt him to grind down against your core again.

The feeling of his cock gliding between your soaked pussy lips is amazing- and you do your best to ignore the sensation of the condom. 

He kisses you for a long time, until you’re aching for him from the grinding, and finally, you can’t take it anymore. “Please,” you whimper, looking up at him. “I need you.”

“Anything you want, baby,” he says, pressing his lips to yours again while he adjusts ever so slightly, pushing his hand between your bodies so he can grab the base of his cock and line it up with your core.

He starts by rubbing it between your pussy lips, lubricating himself before pushing just the tip inside of you.

You moan against his mouth, shocked at the stretch. It’s clear from Mingyu’s gentle, controlled motions, that he’s used to giving grace for his size, and he slowly works you open more and more, sinking inch after inch of himself into your core.

His kisses are a wonderful distraction, and you focus on relaxing, allowing your body to open up for the large cock. 

When his front is flush to your own, his cock completely buried inside of you, you both release groans of pleasure.

The kiss breaks, and you pant against each others lips, opening your eyes to look at each other.

“You good?” he asks.

“Good,” you nod. “You can move.”

Mingyu lets out a shaky breath, and after a moment, he begins to fuck you. 

Each thrust is euphoria, his cock dragging against your inner walls deliciously. Mingyu begins to kiss you again, and you grab at his strong shoulders, clutching him desperately while he fucks you into your mattress. 

“You’re so tight,” Mingyu groans, lips moving to your neck. He licks at your sweet spot, and you shiver, wrapping your legs around him even tighter.

“You’re just so big-” you counter.

“Maybe a bit of both,” he admits with a chuckle.

You don’t mind that you’re in missionary, don’t mind that he fucks you stupid this way- it’s a very intimate position, and once again, the thought of your ex pops back into your mind. 

You realize, as the two of you get closer and closer to your highs, that maybe you weren’t ready for this- you don’t regret it, but you’re clearly not over your ex in the way you’d wished you would be at this point.

Maybe Mingyu’s just too soft, too gentle, too domestic- 

It’s not his fault, he’s being sweet to you, but maybe sweet isn’t what you needed, not really. It just makes you miss being in a relationship.

The two of you cum together, and you hate that you’re still distracted. You wish you could give all your focus to Mingyu, after all, it’s clear he’s completely zoned in on you, but it is what it is.

If nothing else, he’d distracted you for a little, given you perhaps the best dick and pussy eating of your life- and as the two of you cuddle up to fall asleep, it’s a small blessing at least that you’re not sleeping alone.

Three

You’re at a bar waiting for your takeout when you run into the most unlikely person.

Seungcheol is dressed in work out clothes, a loose shirt, sweatpants, and a baseball cap, but he still looks downright lickable. His strong shoulders- the handsome face only partially hidden by his cap- he’s so recougnizable, and it’s clear he knows who you are too, because he walks over.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you retort, playing with the straw of your cocktail. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Didn’t expect to see you either,” he admits with a laugh, and you’re delighted at how his smile lights up his face. “You waiting on food?”

“Yeah, just a dinner order, figured I’d get one drink while waiting.”

He nods. “I’m waiting for food too. Just came from the gym, didn’t feel like cooking.”

“I get that,” you agree, looking down at your drink.

“You eating alone tonight?” he asks. “We could always just ask the kitchen to switch our orders, you know, get a table, eat here.”

“Are you asking me to have dinner with you?” you grin.

“If you’re up for that sort of thing,” he shrugs.

“You know what?” You let out a sigh. “Let’s do it.”

Seungcheol grins, and after talking with the bartender, you find him leading you over to a booth, having sorted everything out.

He’s got a beer now, and you’re enthralled with the way he looks while taking a sip.

He’s just so masculine- you’re extremely attracted to Seungcheol. He’d been kind of scary while dressed in work attire, but this gym outfit is much more your style. 

“So,” he starts, releasing a breath. “Heard you saw Mingyu last week.”

Your skin heats with embarrassment. “Oh, yeah.”

“Don’t be shy,” Seungcheol grins, reaching across the table to nudge your hand. “I don’t judge. He’s my best friend, and we talk, so of course he mentioned it.”

“And now… you’re having dinner with me,” you point out. 

Seungcheol shrugs. “Mingyu’s not the jealous type.”

“Are you?”

Seungcheol leans back against the booth, cocking his head to the side. He grins, and it’s one of the sexiest expressions you’ve ever seen. “I can be,” he admits. “It depends on the situation.”

You swallow thickly, reaching for your drink, in need of some sort of reprieve for the way your throat has gotten dry. “Do you and Mingyu do this a lot?” you find yourself asking.

“Do what a lot?”

“Go after the same girl?” you clarify.

Seungcheol takes a moment, and you can tell he’s deep in thought about how to approach this line of questioning. “It’s happened once before,” he admits. “Definitely not a regular thing.”

“Tell me about last time,” you suggest, interested in the story now.

“Not much to say,” Seungcheol shrugs. “He and I have been friends forever. In university there was this one girl, she wanted us both so we figured it would be interesting.”

“Was it? Interesting?”

Seungcheol flashes you a dark look, the kind of look that says ‘are you serious?’

“It was fun,” he says finally. “But, the conditions have to be perfect for sharing to work.”

You’re about to ask for more details, but your waitress comes over with your food, so you put your questions on the back burner.

Seungcheol had ordered a salad with four extra chicken breasts, and you stare at him in shock for a while.

“What?” he asks, taking a bite.

“I’ve just never seen someone order greens and four orders of chicken,” you admit.

“It’s good for you,” Seungcheol insists. “Protein.”

You look down at your rice bowl, letting out a sigh. 

“Bet you’re wishing you’d got what I got,” Seungcheol teases. 

“Never,” you laugh.

“Anyways, I bet you’re wondering about the conditions that make threesomes work,” Seungcheol sighs, returning to the topic at hand.

“I’ll admit, I’m curious. When you and Mingyu gave me your numbers, you did say I could have both of you if I wanted.”

“You still can, but I wouldn’t be shocked if you wanted to stick it with Mingyu. It wouldn’t offend me. He’s better with girls than I am.” You love how direct Seungcheol is about this, and it shows a good sense of self for him to be able to admit he’s not as much of a lady killer as his friend.

“Why do you think he’s better with girls?” you inquire.

“Most girls like that whole puppy dog thing. He’s a giver, and I respect that.”

“And you’re not a giver?” you toy, cocking a brow.

“More of a taker really,” Seungcheol admits, flashing you a grin. “If you’re interested in that sort of thing.”

“Honestly?” You let out a sigh, relaxing back against the booth. “That might be just what I need right now.”

Four

Seungcheol’s mouth is hot on yours before you’re even inside your apartment. He’s all teeth and tongue and grabby, greedy hands. But there’s something so exciting about him as he pushes your front door closed with his foot, wrapping you up in his strong arms and lifting you off the floor, prompting your legs around his hips.

There’s no talking, no assuring you that you don’t have to fuck-

You know you’re both here to fuck each other’s brains out, and it makes things simple as he carries you to your room.

To your surprise, however, he doesn’t take you to your bed. “Where’s your shower?” he asks, breaking the kiss to look around.

“Through there,” you point to the door to your ensuite, and Seungcheol follows your directions. Once in the bathroom, he sets you on the sink, and you flash him a questioning look.

“I showered at the gym, but still,” Seungcheol says, tearing his shirt off from the back of the neck. “I feel like shower sex is a good way to go about this.”

“I don’t usually like shower sex,” you point out.

“Well, you will with me, baby, trust me on that.” Seungcheol slips out of his sweatpants and briefs, his cock rising to attention. “Come here,” he instructs, pulling you off the sink.

His lips are feverish on your own, and he undresses you as quickly as he’d undressed himself. His hands grope your breasts, and he leans down to suck your nipple into his mouth while you thread your fingers through his hair.

“Now turn the shower on,” he commands.

You step toward the shower, following through- and you feel Seungcheol’s hulking, built body behind your own. His chest presses to your back, and his hands begin to explore your form while the water heats.

You tilt your head to give him access to your throat while one hand massages your breast, and the other slips down to your core, teasing through your pussy lips.

“Wet already,” he muses with a grin. “Mingyu said you’re a sensitive one.”

A tingle of sinful delight rushes through you.

You wonder how many details Mingyu shared- you wonder if Seungcheol’s been eager to get a taste of you for himself.

The water begins to steam, and with a nudge, Seungcheol prompts you inside. He joins you quickly, pinning you to the wall while his lips devour your own.

He breaks the kiss a short time later, looking up at your detachable shower head, then a grin spreads across his face. “Guess I can be a giver today, but don’t tell anyone,” he teases, taking the shower head off.

You’re not even shocked when he brings it between your thighs, wet pressure surging up against your clit while you squeal in shock.

Seungcheol bends down, capturing your nipple between his lips again.

“Fuck, this feels good-” you groan, gasping and grinding down against the shower head.

“I’ll let you cum first, because when it’s my turn, it’s my turn,” he warns. 

“Whatever you want,” you tell him, enjoying the way his mouth returns to your breasts.

He’s so rough, but it feels so good as the pressure from the shower continues on your clit. The dual feeling of his lips around your nipple, and the pressure on your sensitive bud has you getting close to the edge shockingly fast.

Seungcheol - like Mingyu - seems able to read you, and he adjusts, bringing a hand between your thighs. Two fingers slip into your wet core, and he focuses on applying the water to your clit while he begins to finger fuck you.

“Fuck,” you groan, clawing at the wall, trying to stay standing while he works you closer and closer-

“Want to see you cum,” he says. “Want to see you come undone on this fucking shower head and my fingers before I take what’s mine.”

Your stomach flip flops at the possessive tone, your breath coming out in a shocked gasp.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, baby?” Seungcheol asks. “Tonight, you’re mine. Don’t want you thinking about Mingyu, or that stupid fucking ex of yours. It’s just you and me, and if I see you drifting, I’ll bring you right back here, with me, got it?”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing thickly.

“Such a good girl for me, grinding against my hand-” he groans. “I can see how close you are.” He leans forward, his lips ghosting past your ear. “I’ll admit though, I’m not a very patient man.”

Your skin tingles at his words, and you find yourself reaching for his cock, using the water as lubrication as you begin to stroke him off.

“That’s it,” Seungcheol says, voice low. “I be good to you, you be good to me, that’s the way this should be, don’t you think?”

“Uh huh,” you nod, closing your eyes as your abdominal muscles tense, warning you of your oncoming orgasm.

“Squeezing me so good, come on, baby, cum on my fingers.”

Seungcheol’s hand works even harder, digits stroking your sweet spot- and that’s all you need to be thrown over the edge.

You let out a strangled gasp, your orgasm slamming into you.

“That’s it,” Seungcheol groans, pressing his forehead against yours while he works you through your high. “Keep cumming for me, baby.”

You couldn’t stop even if you wanted to- your entire body is Seungcheol’s to control, and he prolongs your orgasm until you’re a shaking mess. 

You can hardly stand, but that doesn’t matter, Seungcheol puts the shower head back and simply picks you up. “I don’t have a condom on me,” he explains, sinking you onto his cock and releasing a hissing sound of pleasure, “so I’m just going to have to pull out and paint your chest.”

“Whatever you want,” you tell him, drawing his lips to your own as he begins to fuck you against the wall of your shower.

His fingers dig into your thighs, and he uses you to his own pleasure, fucking you like a mad man. He’s so strong- and you feel like some weightless doll in his grip. His lips are hot against your own, and his moans are some of the sexiest sounds you’ve ever heard.

There aren’t any thoughts in your head as he uses you in an animalistic, almost primal way, and you love every second of it, your sensitive pussy clenching tight around his aching cock.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans. “You’re pussy’s too good, gonna cum.” He pulls out of you abruptly, and you sink to your knees on your shower floor, looking up at him. “That’s a good girl,” he tells you, wrapping his hand around his cock and beginning to roughly stroke it. “Push those pretty tits up for me.”

You do as you’re told, watching Seungcheol- the way his bicep and abdominal muscles flex with each strained stroke of his rock hard cock.

He’s a fucking vision, and you don’t mind him using the sight of you to his own end- in fact, when he releases a strangled groan, throwing his head back as his hot seed shoots out across your tits, you kind of realize you love this. 

His large thighs flex, his entire muscular body alive as his orgasm washes over him.

He works himself through it, and finally stops, hand falling to his side while the other reaches out to press to the wall. He looks down at you, offering you that sexy smile. “Good girl.”

Five

You’d given it a week of thought, and now here you are, looking at both Mingyu and Seungcheol as they stand in your kitchen.

“Are you sure you want this?” Mingyu asks, ever the softie of the two.

“She wants this,” Seungcheol confirms, looking you up and down. “She’s probably wanted this since the moment you said she could have us both.”

“It’s a big step,” Mingyu points out.

“It’s the ultimate distraction,” Seungcheol counters.

You let out a sigh, opening your robe to reveal the lingerie underneath. “Let’s do this.”

Seungcheol moves first, stepping forward and grabbing you by the back of the neck, drawing your lips to his. You kiss him desperately, cognizant of Mingyu watching. It feels amazing to have the attention of two gorgeous men, and you feel downright elated as Seungcheol lifts you off the ground and begins to carry you to your room.

You watch Mingyu over Seungcheol’s shoulder, and he follows closely.

“How do you want to do this?” the taller one asks as you make it to your bed, where Seungcheol tosses you down.

“No condoms,” you respond.

Both men laugh, exchanging glances. “Baby wants to be full, huh?” Seungcheol asks.

“So full,” you agree.

“I think we can deal with that,” Mingyu grins. “Any other requests?”

You swallow thickly. “Whatever you want.”

Mingyu and Seungcheol look at each other again, and the taller one shrugs. “I’ll go first,” Seungcheol decides. 

“Sounds good to me,” Mingyu agrees.

The two nod at each other, and then they both begin to strip. They get down to their boxers quickly, and Seungcheol joins you on the bed first, making you face him on your knees as he captures your lips with his own. His hands are everywhere, massaging and groping-

A second set of hands joins the first as the bed dips, signaling Mingyu’s arrival behind you. His soft lips find your throat, and you moan at the sensation of two sets of mouths on you.

Their touch is everywhere now, but it’s clearly Seungcheol who pulls your panties down, rubbing your wet pussy while Mingyu works on your bra. 

“So wet for us,” Seungcheol groans. “She’s been wanting this for ages, Gyu- haven’t you, baby?”

“For too long,” you agree with a whimper, looking up at him.

Now it’s Mingyu’s turn to moan a sound of appreciation, and he pushes your bra off your body, hands immediately cupping your breasts. His fingers pinch at your nipples and you moan desperately, pushing your ass back against him-

Fuck, Mingyu’s already hard, his cock straining against your butt-

Seungcheol captures your attention again, kissing you as his fingers push into your core, crooking up to hit your sweet spot. 

You’re so wet- with each stroke, you can hear your juices on Seungcheol’s fingers, and it sets your entire body on fire.

It feels like nothing else you’ve ever experienced to be captured between these two gorgeous men- there are absolutely zero thoughts in your head, you’re so overtaken by this wordless need-

“Fuck this,” Seungcheol says. “I’m not huge on foreplay, need to fuck you.”

Mingyu snickers behind you, it’s clear which of the two men is better at patience, and you suppose that’s why the taller of the two men gets to go second. You can’t imagine making Seungcheol wait his turn, but that’s part of what’s so endearing about him.

“Here’s how it’s going to go,” Seungcheol sighs. “I’ll fuck you doggy, Mingyu can be under you, and as soon as I’m done, he can get his turn, sounds good?”

“Sounds perfect,” you admit.

Seungcheol leans close, his lips ghosting over your own when he says, “Then be a good girl and get into position for me.”

All three of you stip the last bit of clothing from your bodies, and you’re quick to get on top of Mingyu. He immediately kisses you, cupping your cheek as you grind down against his cock- you’re trying to be patient for Seungcheol, but patience, it would seem, is a strong suit that neither of you have. 

“If you put his cock inside of you, I’m going to prep your ass,” Seungcheol warns, and you pause your writhing on top of Mingyu. “That’s what I thought.”

Two hands roughly grip your hips, and Seungcheol pulls you up, off of Mingyu. A cock glides between your pussy lips, and Seungcheol smooths his palm along your back. “Be good for us,” he warns before slipping into your wet core.

You let out a moan, resting your head against Mingyu’s chest while he strokes you, holding you close. He nuzzles at the crown of your head, a gentle contrast to the man who begins fucking into you.

You’re kind of obsessed with the duality- the dichotomy of the two men is enough to keep you satisfied and on edge, enraptured with the act of making love in this way. 

It’s clear already that you’re kind of in love with threesomes- there’s just something about this, or maybe- there’s just something about Mingyu and Seungcheol.

Seungcheol’s hands are rough on your hips, pulling you back to every thrust, and you finally relax enough to be able to kiss Mingyu again. His lips are desperate against your own, and his cock presses up between your bodies- you can’t help but grab at it, stroking him off in time with Seungcheol’s thrusts.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, rutting up to meet you.

“You’re being too nice on him,” Seungcheol muses, and you can hear his smile.

Neither you nor Mingyu respond, too busy kissing to care.

It’s clear, after a few seconds, that Seungcheol doesn’t enjoy being ignored, because one of his hands snakes around your body, fingers finding your clit.

“Shit-” you whimper, breaking your kiss as pleasure surges through you.

“Knew that would get your attention,” Seungcheol says smugly, rubbing you even harder.

“You gonna cum for us?” Mingyu asks, lips attaching to your neck, one hand groping your breast while you continue to stroke him off.

“Yeah, I’m close-” you gasp, pussy tensing, clenching tight around Seungcheol, who groans deeply at the feeling.

You feel so perfectly taken care of, two men working your body closer and closer to the edge until your orgasm takes over. You release a strangled whimper, body surging with white hot energy that pulses through you like an electric shock.

Seungcheol lets out his own sound of pleasure, and his thrusts falter ever so slightly- then he goes as hard as he’s ever gone before. Each rut is skin on skin as his hips hit your ass, and you can tell from his rough panting that he’s just about to tip over the edge too-

He cums with a deep groan, and the sound makes your pussy flutter even harder as ropes of cum coat your insides, filling you perfectly.

You’re fucked practically stupid, reduced to animal instinct as you stay captured between two large bodies. All you can do is stay on shaking thighs, crouched over Mingyu, as Seungcheol finishes up and pulls out of you with a “Fuck.”

 “My turn?” Mingyu asks, stroking your cheek to get your attention.

“Yeah, fuck- fill me up even more,” you whimper.

“You got it, baby,” Mingyu grins, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before he reaches between your bodies, grabbing his cock to line it up with your pussy. He helps you down onto him, and you moan.

You’re still tight from your orgasm, but it’s substantially easier to take Mingyu after having just enjoyed Seungcheol’s girth- and the cum inside of you helps with the lubrication. You’re fully seated on Mingyu’s cock not a moment later, and you both moan from the sensation.

His lips attack your own, and you thread your fingers through his hair as he begins to thrust up into you.

You’re too weak to ride him, but from the way Mingyu bucks with the energy of a stallion, you doubt he cares.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans against your mouth. “You feel so good, baby.”

“You feel good too,” you tell him, words shaky as they escape you.

“She’s cock drunk already,” Seungcheol muses, and you hear him heading to the bathroom to clean up while Mingyu has his way with you.

“Are you cock drunk, baby?” Mingyu asks, pausing to look up at you with lust filled eyes.

“So good,” you whimper.

Mingyu grins. “Definitely cock drunk.” He cups your cheek, drawing your lips back to his own. He rolls you over so you’re now on your back, and then he sits up onto his knees. “Can you get onto your side for me, gonna push your leg up to your chest and fuck you like that.”

You do as you’re told, shifting into the position. Mingyu grabs your thigh, anchoring himself as he begins to rail into you. He has more maneuverability in this position than when you’d been on top, and he hits as deep as anyone has ever hit before, making you whimper and claw at the sheets. 

“You look so good like this,” Mingyu tells you. “Being so good for us.”

“Mingyu-” you whimper.

“I know, I’m close too,” he promises.

Each thrust is hitting a spot that has your toes curling, and you’re quickly working your way to another high, pussy still sensitive from Seungcheol.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, digging his fingers into your thigh as he holds you open for himself. “Can’t cum till you do- fuck, wanna feel you squeezing my cock-”

“Gonna fill me up,” you whimper.

“Gonna fill you to the fucking brim, baby,” Mingyu agrees.

You close your eyes, so overwhelmed by pleasure-

“Let me fill you, come on, cum with me baby,” Mingyu urges, and that’s all it takes for you to explode on his cock.

He releases a grunt, fingers gripping you tight as he falls over the edge with you, fucking you roughly through your dual highs. You love how you can just relax as pleasure like you’ve never felt before surges through you- both men take care of you in their own ways, and this is what heaven must feel like.

But all good things must come to an end, and slowly, Mingyu’s motions begin to falter. He collapses half on top of you, breathing heavily as his lips eagerly seek yours out.

“Well aren’t you two cute,” Seungcheol’s voice makes you both laugh, pulling away from each other.

“Is that jealousy in your tone, Seungcheol?” you tease.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Jealousy doesn’t work if you’re planning to do threesomes with the same three people more than once.”

“Oh, are we doing this again?” you ask.

Seungcheol grins. “Baby, what do you think?”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! Gyucheol is low key one of my most favourite pairings

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🔮 preview. “Bet you’re happy with yourself,” Seungcheol muses, bringing his hot mouth to your throat. “Making him cum untouched like that.”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, threesome, fingering, pussy eating, breast worship, dirty talk, praise, slight cum kink, slight exhibitionistic foreplay, inklings of roleplay, groping, size kink, cumming early and in his pants, etc…   I petnames. (hers) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.5k I teaser wc. 150

🌙 starring. Seungcheol & Mingyu x afab!reader

bonus

You’re standing at the bartop waiting for your drink when hands grab at your hips. You’re pulled back to a broad chest, and lips press to your throat, prompting you to tilt your head and grin. “Cheol,” you breathe, “what are you doing?”

“Keeping track of my prisoner,” he muses, grabbing at the orange jumper you’re wearing. “Can’t let my dirty little prison escapee out of my sight.”

It had been his idea to dress as cops and a prisoner for Halloween- and you think there must be some sort of rule against Seungcheol and Mingyu wearing their actual uniforms as costumes on a night like this- but fuck, they look so good in their navy blue.

You know you look good too, the orange jumper isn’t revealing per se, but it’s tight in the right places, and Seungcheol is feral for you regardless of what you’re wearing… or not wearing. 

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[obsessivevoidkitten]

Feeding

Male Half-Demon Yandere x Gender Neutral Vampire Reader CW: Noncon, blood drinking, biting/cutting for blood, making out, drugged sex, drugged reader, forced addiction, overstimulation, reader fucked well and truly out of their mind whilst high on demon blood, aftercare, general yandere behavior Word count: 1.6k (Sorry this took forever. The image of reader sitting on dick while sucking blood from a wrist was living rent free in my head and I had to write this. Written on my phone, hopefully I fixed all the weird formatting and typos.)

The full moon shone brightly in the clear winter night. With each exhale, your breath plumed out visibly. The shadows of trees stretched long and spindly, grasping for a material world they were incapable of grabbing hold of. You hid amongst the bushes, silently watching the small bar in front of you. It was a secluded place. Quiet and down the road from anything else. Perfect for a person to grab a drink. Even a vampire like yourself. This was your first night in this town, but there were almost always places like this to slake your thirst. 

Wait for a drunk customer to come stumbling out and nab them to have a drink of your own. Then, if you needed to, use your hypnotic powers to make them think it was all a dream. 

That's what you had intended tonight. But then you caught a whiff of a human that smelled much more tempting than any other you had ever encountered. 

The bartender. Your sharp ears could pick up his name even from outside. Wade. Not that you needed to bother knowing it.

You decided to wait for the last lingering patron to leave the bar before sneaking in and making your move. It took a few hours, and your joints grew stiff in the cold, but finally, the bartender was alone, and you could make your move. You were practically salivating as you slipped into the bar, and his scent hit you more directly. You couldn't wait to taste what waited in his veins. Luckily, you didn't have to. 

"Sorry, we've just closed," he said as he heard you enter.

With superhuman speed, you rushed behind him, barely having time to note the surprised expression on his face. 

You wasted no time on pleasantries and sank your fangs into his neck.

Instantly, you were lost in his flavor. His blood was glorious. But after one drink, your eyes glazed and your thoughts were foggy. 

He plucked you off of him easily, and you fell to the floor, dizzy and confused but yearning for more of him. You were so thirsty. A mild sense of euphoria washed over you, but your body felt weak and wobbly. 

Wade stared down at you, smirking. His brown hair turned silver, small black horns sprouted from his forehead, and his hazel eyes glowed red.

"What's wrong? Bit off more than you could chew?"

Not much blood had been consumed, so you started to get to your feet, but Wade wanted you nice and helpless. He rubbed his fingers to the bite mark you had left and shoved his fingers into your mouth and smeared the drug on your tongue. You immediately slumped against the counter.

He went and locked up the bar before returning to your side and administering another hit of his blood. You eagerly drank it up. It was too irresistible. 

Then he gently led you downstairs where he apparently lived. 

"Didn't realize I was part demon or didn’t know demon blood was like a narcotic? Maybe you didn't know either of those..." 

He tossed you on the bed rather unceremoniously.

"Thought you were gonna get an easy meal, but you're gonna feed me too!"

Assuming that he ate beings with magic, you looked up at him with a horrified expression and scrambled to get off the bed. He stopped you and pushed you back.

"I'm nourished by intoxication and addiction the way sex and lust nourishes an incubus," he explained, having noted the fear on your face.

Though you still had a fierce thirst for his blood, you weren't addicted. Yet. Just significantly increased blood cravings. You had the presence of mind to know what he intended, and you didn't want to be a captive.

"You can't do this!"

The effects of his blood on your body were rapidly wearing off. It had only been a small amount. You could use your speed to zip awa-

"I can do whatever I want to a little leech like you~" 

Wade pinned you on the bed and used the sharp nail of his thumb to slice his wrist before shoving his wrist to your mouth. You tried to turn away and keep your mouth closed, but you could feel the warm blood tingle your lips, and the smell was all-encompassing. Tired of your struggles, he smacked you hard across the cheek. You could have shrugged off a strike from a normal human, but he had demonic strength. As he had anticipated, you cried out in pain. With your mouth open, he jammed his bloody wrist right into your mouth. 

Once a drop had touched your tongue for the third time that night, all your resolve melted away. You relaxed under him and greedily lapped at his wrist. Now that it was in you, you needed more.

As you gave into your dark desires and fed off Wade, he fed off the intoxication and the budding addiction growing inside you. 

But the whole situation had his cock straining painfully in his jeans. 

He maneuvered your clothes off as well as his, but your attention was focused on your meal. You whimpered and grabbed for his arm as he pulled it away to lube up his cock. Just because he was doing this for nourishment didn't mean he couldn't have some fun. Besides, being all cute and needy for his blood made you look far too tempting for the half-demon. 

He pulled you into his lap and slid his thick cock into you.

Wade put his arm up to you so you could suckle from his wrist as he slowly fucked into you. A large demonic cock like Wade's would have stretched and hurt the hole of any human, but you were far more durable. In fact, it felt quite nice. His blood seemed to heighten pleasurable sensations while reducing unpleasant ones.

You moaned softly as you fed.

"That's it, take alllll you want babe. I regenerate faster than you can drink."

It must have been true. His wound had healed and you had to bite his wrist to draw more blood. He didn't seem to mind. 

The demon kissed your neck and sucked it softly as he continued pumping into you. Never too hard to interrupt your meal. 

He kept the slow and considerate pace until you had finished. Blood was smeared all over the lower half of your face, your eyes glossy and half lidded. You were barely cognizant of your surroundings anymore. All you knew was that you felt warm, happy, relaxed and, for the first time since you had turned, alive.

Wade angled your face towards him and kissed you deeply from behind, enjoying the taste of blood from your lips and the rush of energy he got from getting you high. He brushed his tongue against your fangs to draw blood so you could suck it while the two of you made out sloppily. The half-demon broke the kiss, a sanguine string of saliva and blood connected your lips for a moment. Wade hastened the tempo of his thrusts into you as his mind raced over the implications of having you. 

A human would have died from just a drink of demon's blood. That's why he blended each bottle of booze in his bar with but a single drop. Just enough to subconsciously coax humans to crave coming back to his bar and give Wade a bit more intoxication to sustain himself. But he didn't have to hold back with you at all. 

Rapturous moans left your body as your pleasure reached its zenith. Your normally frighteningly pale face was actually flushed.

"You enjoying yourself?" Wade smirked and kept going.

You could only weep silently as the overwhelming sensations from the drug and sex mingled into an overwhelming wave of ecstasy bearing down brutally upon you. 

With supernatural stamina he kept going for hours, he readministered his blood as needed. Every time he made you cum you whimpered. Each orgasm seemed to hold within it a greater and greater threat of throwing you off the brink of sanity and shattering your mind. 

By the end of it, when he had finally had enough after filling you with cum over and over again, you were a shaky drooling mess. His demonic features faded away as he picked you up. Then he took you to the tub and bathed you gently, getting all the dried blood off your face and cleaning up all the semen leaking from your hole. 

"Sorry I had to give you so much. Have to get you hooked on it."

Wade picked you up and wrapped you in a soft towel. You were too out of it to respond.

"The crashes aren't bad though at least. Extreme cravings but no life threatening illness or anything."

He kissed your forehead and tucked you in before getting under the covers and spooning you. 

"You're gonna love it here I promise. All the blood you want. I'm not just keeping you here to feed me, I could see glimpses inside your mind when your inebriation nourished me."

The half-demon ran a hand soothingly up and down your side.

"I know we're compatible lovers. You'll see."

You could hear his words but could just barely process them. 

"B-but.." You protested weakly.

"Hush now. You need to rest."

He put his arm around your waist and held you protectively. It was so much easier to just let sleep claim you than it was to resist.

Wade stayed up far longer though. All the thoughts of the wonderful life you two would share together running through his head and keeping him awake. It would be amazing. He couldn't wait for tomorrow.

He'd treat you so well and make sure his little vampire was always happy. And he'd keep you hopelessly addicted to his blood. You'd be so helpless and dependent on him that you'd simply never be able to escape.

[katz-rambles]

Hi ! Could we have a childhood friends to lovers ViktorxReader please ? 🥰 I am CRAVING for new works

Yess!! I love this trope it's sooo cute!!

2k words, so I hope you enjoy, Anon!

(fluff, gn!reader, reader is a professor, making out, getting caught, Viktors a bit of a tease (when is he never though), I think this is it!)

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰

When your family left the under-city, you knew everything would change. You were glad that it happened, it opened a whole bunch of doors for what you could become when you grew into an adult. But it also meant leaving your old life behind, one of the things you still think about to this day. Your heart aches when you think about the people you knew, you just hope that they ended up in a good place. When the shimmer trade spiked, you thought you'd never see any of the people you knew ever again, most of them probably either succumbed to the drug, or was killed during the many times the enforcers went down. You didn't like to think about it, but it's the harsh reality of Piltover.

Now you're walking the halls of one of the most esteemed universities inside of piltover, not as a student, but as a professor. You climbed your way to the top, and you know that your family is proud of you. They're the only reason this became possible, so when you got offered, you jumped at the chance. You're not complaining either, it's a well paying job with good benefits.

The day seemed to be going by incredibly slow, each hour felt like a year. You had a pile of tests on your desk that you had to mark, you've gotten through about half of them. But there's only so much marking someone can take before you feel like ripping your hair out.

So, instead of ripping your hair out, you decide to go on a coffee run and get some fresh air. You've been inside your office for so long, you're surprised you're still standing. One of the downsides to being a professor.

The walk to the Cafe down the road from the university isn't a long one. It's about three minutes, so long enough that you can get some well needed fresh air, but not long enough that you're regretting your decision.

When you reach the university, hit coffee in hand, you run into one of your former students, Jayce Talis. He gives you a friendly wave and comes up to you, “hey, professor. How's your day been?” He asks, awkwardly trying to make small talk and you have to cover your smile by pretending to clear your throat. “It's been well, thank you for asking. How's yours been?” You smile at him, not wanting to seem impolite by just ending the conversation there. He shrugs and sighs, you get the feeling.

Just when you're about to ask a question someone calls Jayce over, and when you both look over you're met with the sight of someone who you thought died long ago, but there he is, standing right in front of you, his cane in hand. You've heard of hextech, you're not in your office that much, and you've heard that Jayce didn't do it alone, but you never knew who his lab partner was. You also know that Heimerdinger has an assistant, but you were never able to catch said assistant's name. But you expected everything and anything, but him. You could have sworn he was dead.

“Viktor,” you manage to get out, although it's been years since you've last seen him, the memories you two made together as children stay fresh in your mind. Plus, he's incredibly attractive, everything from his overgrown hair to the way he leans on his cane, still managing to be taller than you, though not by much. It all had your mind swarming. His eyes rake over you before he looks back to your eyes, “Milý,” he breathes, a faint smile on his face as he continues, “you’re.. ehh.. hi.” He chuckles, standing a bit straighter on his cane. Before either of you can say anything else, Jayce buts in, “I hate to ruin a good moment, but the council wants to see us, Viktor.” Viktor nods and gives you one last nod before limping after Jayce.

Seeing someone who you hadn't seen in a good decade or so was not on your bucket list. You sit down in the chair behind your desk and lean back, letting your head just barely dangle off the back of the chair. You bring your hands up and rub your face, taking a deep breath and groaning. The sound is muffled by your hands. You sit back up again and sigh, you shouldn't feel this way. But you can't deny the way that you felt your heart race when you saw him again, he has such a boyish charm that just pulls you in, the same as is it did when you two were kids. You just chalk it up to a shock factor, you haven't seen him in years. You're just shocked, that's what you tell yourself.

The whole day all you can think about is him, you almost feel giddy, almost like a schoolgirl again. You take a breather, you've made a good amount of progress on the tests so you can afford a quick walk. Plus you have a class soon, and your classroom is on the other half of the university, and you've still got to set up your notes, you internally groan at the thought of giving another lecture. This is your fourth today.

When you finally reach the classroom, the professor that was using the room before you is just finishing cleaning up. You opened the door, only to be met with Viktor and Jayce, and then Heimerdinger soon after. You give a polite nod to Heimerdinger, and smile at Jayce and Viktor. You take your bag off and grab your notes, placing them on the table in front of you, before speaking up, “I thought your lecture ended a while ago, what are you still doing here?” You try and make your tone seem polite enough to cover up the, almost, rude question.

It's Jayce that speaks up first, “Heimerdinger thought it would be a good idea for us to sit in for one of your lectures, since the subject your an expert in is arcane.” You nod and chew the inside of your cheek. You're an amazing talker, and can easily give an hour long lecture, but with Viktor there, you feel anxious at the thought. Although it makes sense, hextech deals with arcane and what better person to listen to than someone who's an expert in it. You try and finish setting up without letting your mind wander too much, but your eyes keep on drifting from the papers in front of you to Viktor. When you look over at him, you find him already staring and he quickly looks away from you.

Now it's just a matter of waiting, you have ten minutes until your class starts so why not help Jayce and Viktor with their problems. You let them, mainly Jayce oddly enough, to ask you any questions they may have and you answer them to the best of your ability. Soon enough your class starts and you have to push away the temptation of staring at Viktor the whole time. Though, a few times you caught him, out of the corner of your eye, looking at you, and you embarrassingly stumbled over your words those times. You swear you saw the ghost of a smirk on his face at your reactions. Everything about him is so damn enticing, it's infuriating. How can one man be so wonderfully perfect, it doesn't make sense to you.

After your lecture, you're leaning over your desk, your mind swarming with thoughts, some not as innocent as you'd like.

When you're met with a hand on your back that has you letting out an embarrassingly loud yelp. Lo and behold, Viktor’s standing right behind you, with a smirk on his lips. “You seem awfully.. eh.. jumpy today, is everything alright?” He asks, moving his face closer to yours, and your heart is racing so fast you're convinced it'll jump out of your chest. His hand on your back moves lower until he rests it on the curve of your hip, gently squeezing it. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired.” You sigh, doing your best to not stutter or hesitate on your words. Viktor chuckles, the sound is something you'd pay to hear again, and moves his face closer to yours again. “Well, we can't have one of the best professors sleeping on the job. Now can we?” If it weren't for the teasing lift to his words you'd think he was actually concerned, but you both know that you're he's not actually. He almost immediately caught onto your lie.

You have to crane your neck at an, almost, uncomfortable angle to be able to see his face. You have to loft your face up for your neck to not be strained too much and you unintentionally bring your faces closer together. In the moment everything feels heightened, you're more aware of him. The hand he has on your hip feels heavier, you can feel the heat coming from his body from the proximity of you two, and you can smell him, a wonderful scent mixed with oil from the lab, the salty smell of the bay, and the knee-weakening scent of his cologne. Right now, everything about him feels intoxicating.

His hand lifts from your hip and to your back, carefully nudging you to turn around so you two are fully facing each other. He then places his hand on your chin to lift your face up, once again. He lets go and grabs your hand, placing it on his chest before speaking, in such a quiet tone you almost didn't hear him, “do you feel that?” Under your palm you can feel each beat of his heart, it's fast, probably just as fast as yours is. All you can muster is a nod. “That's what you're doing to me.” He sighs and brings his face closer to yours, the sound of his words mixed with the tone of his accent is something you're slowly becoming addicted to.

You bring your free hand up to hold his face, your finger traces his cheekbone and then you rest your palm on his face. “Good.” You smirk and his eyes flick down to your lips, and you take the hint, closing the gap between you two. He presses you against the desk and reciprocates the kiss, just as eager and desperate as you are. Each second that passes by feels like an eternity, and you hope it never ends. You've wrapped your arms around his neck and his free hand is resting on your hip. You're the one to pull away first with a quick gasp for air. Viktors face has a red flush to it and you swear you fell deeper in love right then and there.

“I've waited so long to do that, when you left for the top-side the only thing I regretted was not telling you how I felt.” He chuckles, stroking your hip, and you smile and lean in to kiss him again, this time it's him who closes the gap. His lips against yours feels right, you've kissed other people, men and women, but none have felt as right or as good as this. It's a bit messy, and rushed, but it feels right. You slide your hand back down to his chest, feeling his heart race under your palm is something that has you feeling giddy. He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer to him. The moment, unfortunately, had to come to an end, the sound of the door opening, not only were you two caught but it reminded you that you two were inside a classroom, thankfully it wasn't a student who caught you, just an incredibly shocked Jayce. You look at Jayce and then back at Viktor, who looks just as shocked as Jayce, and you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your giggles. “This is a place of learning, you two!” Jayce scoffs and throws his hands up, and Viktor groans, taking a few steps back.

“Good thing we're learning then, or we were learning.” Viktor teases, giving you a quick wink before going over to Jayce who looks even more shocked than before, he looks at you and then back at Viktor before groaning in defeat and chasing after Viktor. You're not sure what's going to happen between you and Viktor next, but you're sure that, whatever it is, it will be amazing.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

V ║Raw Edge

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part IV: Notch | Behind the Seams: Part V | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E, a proper E!

Summary: One lazy afternoon, Joel tests your patience.

Warnings: Sexual tension, some language, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, flirting, fingering, explicit grinding, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!domestic!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 2k

Notes: It's been a long and winding road y'all, but I'm finally back with an update on the main series. It is a short one, more of an interlude, but it will get us where we need to go for the next chapter. Thank you for your patience, I don't take you guys' understanding and love for granted for even a second. Releasing this during the Seams sleepover, more drabbles coming your way for the remaining month of March!

Raw edge - the raw, raveling, and unfinished, cut edge of the fabric.

It’s fitting that Joel is a patient man. He’s built for it, after all.

Those broad shoulders, the sturdy thighs, his sure hands - he’s steadfast as the mountains that loom over Jackson.

As the sun shifts over the ridges and valleys of the sierra through the seasons, bringing shadows into light, so does Jackson on Joel, and you learn that he’s many kinds of patient.

On lookout duty, even in the depths of winter, he becomes one with the stillness of the night, patiently watching over the safety of the town in the loneliest hours.

When townsfolk stop him on the high street for neighbourly chit chat, he obliges with polite patience, never rushing, but careful not to encourage conversation that is longer than necessary.

With Ellie, when she prattles on with a long-winded story from school, he listens with amused patience, letting her run her half-full mouth over dinner with half-hearted admonishment.

And with you - he is agonisingly patient with you, and yet, never in a way that leaves any doubt of his want for you.

You cannot be more grateful.

And in turn, you’re patient with him. As the green of summer softens with the tail end of the season, you pick up bits and pieces. You hear whispers of names. Tess. Bill. You glimpse ghosts of his past. Sarah. Frank.

You don’t expect him to, but you have the audacity to hope, that one day, if he finds it in him to let you in, you have shoulders to spare.

When the heat fades and the brisk autumnal chill starts to linger in the morning mist, you start to find that you like it when he’s not patient.

Not necessarily for the lack of patience thereof, but the fact that it’s worn thin by something else.

The way heat bleeds into his eyes when Lucy holds you up after your shift ends, fingers twitching, as if the caveman in him wants to grab you and drag you home, where you have planned on dinner - and more.

When you’re two bodies tangled in your sheets, breath short as he kisses his way down your neck and nips the underside of your breasts, bra cups pushed up only halfway because you’re still too shy to take it off completely. You feel him shudder, nails digging into your skin, nostrils flaring like he’s holding back from ripping the scant fabric off of you.

And late one evening, when you ask him for it, in heated whispers and your lower lip caught in your teeth, he oh so patiently works his fingers inside your wet heat - 

One, then two; 

Slow, then fast; 

Tender, then frantic - 

Until he feels you clench tight around the crook of his fingers for the first time, watch you arch clean off the bed, he bares his teeth and lets out a primal growl at the cry of his name on your swollen lips.

You find the thrill in getting under Joel Miller’s skin.

As the fall deepens, and trees start to shed in golden surrender, you’re caught off guard when he turns the table on you.

You don’t see it coming, your desperation, that lazy afternoon. It’s just another Saturday when Ellie is on her shift at the Outfitter with Lucy, and Joel is spending those free hours with you.

You’re not sure what got him into the mood, but the man is relentlessly teasing that afternoon, almost bratty in the way he toys with you. His hands go everywhere while you’re cooking, squeezing the swell of your ass then going north to cup your breasts, and stopping off everywhere in between.

Tips of your ears burning, you smack the back of his hands - so big and mapped with veins - just so you can get drain the pasta. Joel chuckles and kisses the corner of your mouth. ‘I like it when you’re bossy, sweetheart.’

He insists on eating on the sofa, with you between his legs, and you can feel him already hard and straining through his jeans. Neither of you really make a real go at the rapidly cooling marinara, and the plates are quickly pushed to the side as them meal degenerates into a full-blown make out session.

Not yet ready to let him strip you bare or for him to disrobe him completely, clothes hang half unbuttoned and unzipped on you both. The part of your brain that still has enough blood to reason likes it though - the demure flashes of skin under creased fabric, blindly touching and feeling where you can’t see.

Your jeans are pushed halfway down your thighs, bra pushed down under your breasts, the elastic straps digging into your shoulders. His shirt is open down to the second last button, bare chest rubbing against your nipples, the contact making you whine. His belt hangs open and his jeans are unzipped, but before you can reach down, his fingers slide inside your panties, twisted and sticky, teasing your wet folds. 

‘Joel,’ you whimper as he pushes two thick fingers inside you to the knuckle, your pussy slickly opening around him. 

‘Does that feel good, sweetheart?’ he asks, mouthing at your collarbone.

‘More,’ you gasp.

‘I got two in you already -’

Your voice cracks in a sob, your nails digging into his back. ‘Joel, I want more. Please.’

He glances at the clock ticking away on the wall and hesitates. The rational part of him knows that he has to leave in less than twenty minutes to pick up Ellie. But feeling you leak onto his fingers, pushing your hips against him to get his fingers even deeper, his cock twitches painfully hard in his pants.

He breathes through his nose to steady himself. ‘Sweetheart, we don’t have time -‘

‘Joel!’ you whine, almost petulantly.

He stares down at you, eyes wide at your desperation. He’s never seen you like this before, and fuck, he wants to give it to you. Wants to give you what you want, what he wants. What he’s wanted for long fucking months, woken up hard and throbbing dreaming about. But he steels himself - no, not when he’s on the clock, he won’t rush it. He will give you what you deserve, and not an ounce less. 

So he kisses you, long and deep, and bargains with you. ‘Listen, sweetheart, we can’t right now - but if you want to, we can try something new.’

‘Ok,’ you reply without hesitation.

A sharp breath catches in your throat when he eases his fingers out of you, and he brings them up to his mouth to lick them clean, his brow furrowing at your taste, thick on his tongue. Then you watch, transfixed, as he pushes his unzipped jeans down with his boxers, kicking them off his ankles - and his hard cock springs free of its confines. 

It’s taken you many months to drum up the bravery to map his body with your touch, and you’ve mostly done so in the safety of darkness, your shyness holding you back. To see all of him, jutting hard and thick in the stark afternoon light, you don’t even hear yourself whimper at the sight.

Joel holds your gaze as he slowly wraps his fingers around the swollen length and strokes himself, lips parted, watching you watch him. ‘You trust me, sweetheart?’

‘Yes.’

‘Gonna make you feel good, ok?’

His words make you squirm beneath him. ‘Ok.’

Grabbing the base of his cock, Joel shifts, looming over you and pushing your thighs apart so they’re bent at the knees to accommodate him. Then with a delicate finger, he traces under the seat of your panties and pulls them to one side, baring your spread pussy to his eyes. 

Your jaw goes slack the same time Joel bites out a filthy fuck. You know this is the first time he’s laying eyes on you there - you’ve been demure about that, preferring to be nose-to-nose with him while he buries his fingers inside you. But now, watching his eyes go black, nostrils flaring, an inexplicable high goes to your head, and you feel yourself clench around nothing.

His eyes fly to yours, and your lips part. Did he see that?

Before you can find out, Joel moves, and you hold your breath when he bows his head right where your legs are splayed open. Distracted by the beautiful chisel of his nose from this angle, you would’ve jumped right off the couch if not for his hands holding you in place when he dribbles spit onto your clit.

You cry out wordlessly, not understanding the visceral reaction of your body to the unexpectedly lewd act.

‘You’re plenty wet for me sweetheart, but this will feel even better,’ he says, spitting again, lower this time, and you tremble at the unfamiliar sensation of the wetness trailing down your folds. 

Tracing a thumb over you, Joel makes a low noise of satisfaction in his chest when it glides over your lips, frictionless. Taking a hold of the base of his cock, he positions the underside of his length in the seam of your folds - and thrusts. 

‘Joel!’ you whimper as the full length of him glides over the lips of your spit-wet pussy, from entrance to clit. He braces himself over you, and you hang onto his impossibly broad shoulders as he carefully rolls his hips, again and again. Rubbing along you just so, making sure you feel all of him despite not being inside you - that will have to wait.

You can feel your panties getting wetter, sticking to your skin, and Joel jolts a gasp from you when he roughly tugs the fabric hard to the side, baring more of you to his drunken gaze, witnessing the mess he’s making of you.

‘Listen t’ you,’ he slurs through gritted teeth, the lewd, wet slide of skin filling his ears. ‘Gonna sound even sweeter when I make you mine, sweetheart.’

With a whine, you arch off the couch, as if chasing the possessiveness in his words. Joel finds a rhythm that has the swollen head of his cock grinding against your clit with every thrust, and above you, he smears open-mouthed kisses over the secret spots he’s patiently unearthed by trial and error, until you’re shaking all over. It’s just what you needed, what you wanted - the elusive more that you didn’t know how to articulate. More than his fingers, but not yet ready to take everything that he can give you.

‘You’re close,’ Joel says, a quiet confidence to his verdict that coaxes a whine out of you. Holding a thumb over his cock, it presses even harder against your clit. His hips quicken in pace, and you know he’s chasing his own release as much as yours. 

‘It’s ok sweetheart, you can let go, let me feel you cum for me, let me feel that pretty pussy -’

And then you’re gone. Any illusion of control over your body is just that, an illusion, when the bubble bursts. White hot pleasure burns through your bloodstream, tendrils of heat blooming and swelling from deep inside you, spilling out your fingertips twisted tightly into his graying curls. 

Over the rush of blood in your ears, you hear Joel stutter fuck, fuck, fuck! before warm cum gushes over you, pooling in your belly button, spilling down your pussy and streaking your thighs. 

Limbs heavy and eyelids drooping, it’s hard to care when the cum stains your panties or the couch below. Not when Joel wraps his arms around you, lips brushing the nape of your neck softly as he brackets you from behind. 

Clinging onto the last vestiges of consciousness, you murmur, ‘You have to pick up Ellie soon.’

He grunts. ‘The little punk can wait.’

You smile, struggling to feel apologetic that the teenager might be waiting a while as Joel’s breathing slows, whistling softly by your ear. 

In the quiet aftermath, his words echo in your head. 

When I make you mine. 

Little does he know, he doesn’t have to - you’re already his.

Notes: Time has really flown by since the last main series update. I've gone through so many ups and downs since, and I really need to thank you guys for giving me the time to figure things out in terms of my writing and how this story will go!

As I mentioned in Behind the Seams: Part V, I have 2 more full length chapters planned for the main series. I don't know if there will be any more after that, but at the very least, I hope that I will be adding to the Seams universe through drabbles and oneshots. I wouldn't write off the possibility of more chapters to add to the main series if I find the inspiration.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter ❤️

[makeitmakesomesense]

The End of It

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: A/N: Day 6: I've merged a lovely request from a lovely friend with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 6th of January, which is 'internet'.

.

‘It’ll be so nice.’ The babysitter said with a smile. ‘Having some time, just for the two of you.’

You kept a fake smile plastered to your face. You glanced at Natasha. Her fake smile was always so much better than yours. 

‘You really deserve the break. You guys are like the nicest family.’ The babysitter said now. She was looking between you and your wife with an admiring smile. 

You slipped your hand around Natasha’s waist and pretended not to feel her stiffen at the touch. 

.

You offered to drive first and Natasha didn’t say anything. Five years of marriage and silence was easier than talking. 

You reversed out of the driveway, taking the shortest route to the highway. As you merged onto the busier road, Natasha spoke beside you.

Her tone was flat. 

‘Do you still want to get a divorce?’ 

You stared forward, your hand gripped the steering wheel. Somewhere far ahead, a car horn blared.

‘You know that I do.’

Natasha’s head turned back to lean against the car window.

.

You drove in silence to the hotel. It was thirty minutes away, Natasha’s choice. You hadn’t complained, given everything. You wondered if she was going for a kind of symmetry. 

It was the same hotel chain as the one you’d visited on your honeymoon. It made you feel a bit sick. 

Natasha went to the front desk and checked in. You stood a few feet back and waited with the two small suitcases. You stared at the luggage and realised that you could have shared one bigger bag. You tried to remember if you were ever in sync.

Natasha walked back to you, hotel keycard in hand. Her sunglasses were pushed up into her red hair. She’d cut it a few years ago. The new look had seemed severe at the time. Now, with her lips pressed tightly together, it suited her perfectly.

She didn’t look at you. She caught the handle of her wheeled suitcase and dragged it casually behind her. 

You tried to ignore the sudden flare of annoyance as you were forced to follow behind. The lingering feeling of not being wanted.

When you reached your suite, you watched as Natasha threw her backpack onto the desk in the corner. She dragged her suitcase around to her side of the bed and slipped casually out of her heels. 

You stared at the crumpled backpack. Everything else about Natasha’s life was always so put together. The backpack was the exception. She’d bought it when your first daughter was born. You stared at the backpack, suddenly frozen in place.

Memories demanded your attention. You'd used watched it swing casually from Natasha’s shoulders on every family day out. Your daughter had scribbled over the front of it after a particularly perfect day at the zoo. You’d waited for Natasha to lose her temper when she saw the scribbles. Instead, she’d just laughed.

‘I love giraffes.’ She’d cooed happily, lifting your daughter on her lap and giving her an eskimo kiss. 

You’d wondered then. Why had you expected something else. Why her smiles were becoming surprising.

Natasha walked back over to the desk now. 

She unzipped the backpack and started to rummage inside it. She hooked the leg of the chair with her ankle and dragged it out from underneath the desk.

She glanced back at you and nodded directively at the chair. 

Simmering frustration was becoming your default. You tensed your jaw as you walked over to take the indicated seat. 

You’d been the one to ask for the divorce but Natasha was the one who’d tersely demanded this. A weekend break away from the kids as a cover to get together and figure out the exact details. 

At last, Natasha pulled out a notebook. She turned around and moved to sit on the desk beside you. Her legs swung back and forth as she opened the book to the right page. You tensed your jaw at the swinging motion, everything casual she did seemed to set you on edge. The implication that she didn't care. It was a pretence but it was a cruel one.

Natasha opened the notebook at a neatly filled out page. Even at the funny angle, you recognised a checklist of topics to cover. 

Natasha cleared her throat, she clicked the pen in her hand decisively. Then, she looked up at you. Your gaze met her calm one.

Immediately, Natasha started to cry. 

.

You got to your feet instantly. 

A decades old instinct made you cup her face. Your fingers tangled in her hair. Natasha’s body curled forward as she shook with silent tears. Her hand gripped the front of your t-shirt. 

The heaviness inside you was beyond words. Your bones were lead. You leaned forward to kiss her hair. Natasha pushed you away. 

You stumbled back before regaining your balance. You watched Natasha cover her face and cry harder. Her sunglasses fell from her head, clattering to the ground. 

You left the room and waited in the lobby. You connected your phone to the free internet access and stared at it blindly, willing yourself not to break down.

.

You gave it an hour before you returned to the room. Natasha was waiting for you. She was lying on her side of the bed on top of the pristine covers. She was wearing a white hotel robe. Her hair was damp and the ends were already curling. She glanced up at you as you walked in. Her eyes were rimmed red, but her expression was stony. 

‘Are you ready to talk?’ You asked quietly. 

Natasha folded her arms but she didn’t speak. 

Five years of marriage and silence was easier than talking. 

You couldn’t keep doing this. 

‘Do you want to talk about custody?’ You tried, voice carefully passive. You knew it was the conversation that you were both dreading the most. 

Natasha looked towards you but her gaze didn’t meet yours.

‘Fifty-fifty.’ She murmured, eyes trained an inch to the left of you. You nodded. It was a good place to start. 

‘We can make it work around your schedule.’ You promised suddenly. It had kept you up at night. Weirdly, more than anything else. The idea of Natasha losing time with her kids because she was away saving the world. ‘We’ll adapt it so you really do get half the time.’

A lone tear rolled down Natasha’s cheek.

You tried to speak again, but your throat tightened unbearably. Instead, you left to take a shower. 

.

You ordered takeout to the hotel that evening. You walked out to meet the delivery driver in the parking lot. He gave you a nonplussed look as he handed over the plastic bag with a single portion of food inside. You still felt self conscious. You hated people thinking you were lonely.

That’s why this had taken so long to unravel.

You returned to the hotel room. Natasha was sitting on the desk again. Her half eaten burger ordered from room service was next to her. She was still in her robe, but it was coming loose. She didn’t seem to care. Her bare legs swung back and forth, determined to annoy you.

You dragged the desk chair a few feet further away from her and took a seat. Once she had finished eating, Natasha watched you instead. You tried to ignore her. It was strange having this much attention on you. Life was so easily full of other things. Kids. Life. Work. 

Just as you started to pack up the empty container and plastic cutlery, Natasha cleared her throat.

You looked over to her. She was playing with the end of the dressing gown cord, wrapped loosely around her waist. In another, less sad, lifetime it could have been flirting. Instead, you recognised the anxious gesture. 

‘Why do you want a divorce?’ Natasha asked at last. 

It had been three weeks since you’d first brought it up. Natasha had barely said a word since. She'd been avoiding this question. You realised now. You felt your heart breaking one last time. 

‘You’re not happy.’ You said with simple sadness. ‘You haven’t been for a long time.’ 

‘I don’t think I make you happy.’ You admitted. 

Your throat burned as you forced the final words out without tears. 

‘I’d give you anything Natasha.’ Your face cracked into an automatic smile as you savoured the feel of her name on your tongue. It would never not be special. ‘Let me give you this.’

The silence was unbearable.

You stared down at the ground, you leaned forward in your chair as the hollowness in your chest became hard to bear. 

Natasha’s hand brushed the back of your neck. It was a gesture so familiar, you felt like you’d known it your whole life. 

‘I don't want anything else. I just want you.’ 

When you looked up, you met her green eyes and couldn't help but love her.

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Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

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[janiehellion]

Wildflower Woes

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Daryl Dixon hates you. Or does he? And do you only love the flowers that grow in your own garden, or do you love the wild ones too? Because with eyes watching in the darkness of the night, nothing is ever quite as it seems.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: S1!DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / HURT / ANGST / VOYEURISM / MASTURBATION / EXHIBITIONISM / DUB-CON / LANGUAGE / CUM PLAY / SEMI-PUBLIC

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 8.000

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: NON-CON ELEMENTS

MASTERLIST & REQUEST GUIDELINES

As you walked behind Daryl, your eyes drifted from the road ahead to the ground beside your feet, where something caught your eye and distracted you rather fast from everything else around you—a bunch of wildflowers that had bloomed along the side of the road. They were not only the kind you’ve always loved, but they were also a small reminder of what life really was like not so long ago.

Without a second thought, you decided to step off the path, with your fingers reaching out instinctively to touch the nearest blossom in silent admiration.

"They’re still so beautiful, despite everything," you whispered quietly to yourself, not wanting Daryl to hear what you were saying. "I remember how I always thought these were just pretty-looking weeds as a kid because Mom and Dad always had them everywhere in our garden. God, I miss them so much."

Kneeling down beside the flowers, you allowed yourself a quiet moment of peace, thinking back to a few weeks ago when everything was still normal. To those weekends gardening with your mom while your dad cut the lawn or filmed you and your mother to capture memories for the future. The time when your parents were still alive.

But that short moment of peace was quickly shattered by an all-too-familiar sound that made your heart skip a beat and sent a shiver through your body. Spinning around, your eyes locked on the rotting figure of a walker emerging from behind a tree, and panic flooded your mind.

"Shit!" You screamed, stumbling backward and falling hard onto the ground, and in your desperate attempt to avoid being bitten, you reached for your weapon, only to realize the handle was tangled with the strap of your backpack. Despair washed over you as the walker got closer, its hands reaching out to dig its fingers into your flesh.

Just then, Daryl heard your scream. He spun around, his crossbow aimed at the walker, and in the blink of an eye, the creature dropped dead at your feet with a bolt in its head.

"What in the hell were ya doin'?" Daryl shouted, his face full of anger as he rushed over.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stumbled to your feet, your voice trembling. "I… I just noticed the flowers! I’ve always liked flowers and these—"

"Flowers? Ya nearly got yerself killed over some damn flowers?" His eyes narrowed in frustration.

Daryl’s voice was bitter, full of anger, as he grabbed your arm and pulled you roughly back onto the road. Before you could react, he stomped his boot into the patch of flowers, grinding them into the dirt in front of your eyes.

"Can't believe ya'd risk yer life for this bullshit!" He said, as he pulled his bolt out of the walker and walked back to you again.

His grip on your arm tightened, and he yanked you forward. "Look at ya," he growled, full of disgust. "Ya think this is some kinda shitty garden party? We're fightin' to survive, and yer out here actin' like a pussy over a bunch of fuckin' flowers! ‘S that what's gonna save us? A fuckin' bouquet?"

His words made you flinch, and you were unable to hold back the tears that had already formed in your eyes. When you looked back up, Daryl's face was only inches from yours.

"Oh, look at ya, so delicate and pure!" He taunted with disdain. "Yeah… Ya gonna stop this shitshow with a bouquet, huh? Gonna wave 'em around and make all the walkers bow down to yer flowery grace? What’s next, princess? A fuckin’ garden gnome to guard the damn camp?"

You tried to steady your voice, fighting back your sobs. "Listen, Daryl… Thank you for saving me, really! But I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble! I just... I just wanted a moment of beauty that reminded me of—"

"A moment of beauty? Ya think yer gonna find some happy endin' in the middle of all this shit? It's like yer livin' in a fuckin' fantasy! Newsflash: This ain’t a damn fairy tale!" Daryl cut you off with a mocking laugh.

He stepped closer, invading your personal space. "Oh, I see. Ya got this big-ass plan, don't ya? Ya gonna sprinkle some petals ‘round and charm all the dead assholes with yer pretty flowers, huh? Hell, why not add a unicorn that shits glitter while yer at it?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but his insults didn't even give you a chance. "Oh, wait, I got it! Ya gonna build a fairyland where everything is perfect and we all live happily ever after! Ya gonna knit a quilt with flowers on it, and everyone will forget 'bout the damn world fallin' apart! That’s yer big-ass plan, ain't it?"

Listening to him, you struggled more and more to hold back your sobs, but you finally found the confidence to respond. "That's not true! And I didn’t say that. I just thought—"

"Thought what?" Daryl interrupted again, his voice almost yelling in anger. "Ya think that’s gonna change anything? Get real! Out here, ya don't get to have yer shitty moments of peace. Ya either get yer head outta yer ass or ya die!"

He shook his head, scoffing at you. "Tell me! What’s next, huh? Ya gonna start singin' lullabies to the walkers? Maybe ya should bake ‘em some cookies and ask ‘em to join the damn camp," he spat out, finally turning away and leaving you standing in the middle of the road, knowing that you’d follow him one way or another.

And you did.

Aside from Daryl's few mutterings of frustration, the walk back to the camp was quiet. He didn’t offer you an apology, nor did he ask why you seemed so fascinated by those wildflowers in the first place. Instead, he simply continued to walk ahead, throwing you angry sidelong glances from time to time, while his annoyed curses and angry mumblings barely reached your ears anymore.

You allowed the minutes to pass, and just as you were beginning to accept being his supply run partner a little bit more, Daryl's voice was heard again. "Quit yer damn whinin'! Pretty flowers ain't gonna keep ya alive!" he said, his anger not yet gone. "All this fuckin' bullshit just makes ya look weak! Ain't nobody got time for that. Ya gotta get that into yer head!"

He looked ahead, and with a sudden, quick move, he lifted his boot and stomped down on another few wildflowers growing along the side of the road. Your jaw dropped in disbelief, and your eyes widened in shock and hurt. The purpose behind it—to obviously hurt you—only made you clench your fists tighter, your nails digging into your palms.

But you stayed silent; the last thing you wanted was to give him any more reason to bully you and to fuel his anger. Instead, you focused on keeping your breathing steady, swallowing down the lump in your throat as you continued to follow behind him.

As you both finally approached the quarry, Daryl’s anger reached its breaking point, and in a rather sudden decision, he stormed off the path, disappearing into the woods without another word and taking the rest of the supplies with him.

"Yeah, yeah, run away, you fucking dickhead," you whispered to yourself before putting the backpack down next to the RV. "What a damn idiot! Just because he’s got a stick up his ass doesn’t mean he is allowed to shit on everything that others care about. He thinks he’s so tough, but he’s just an asshole who’s always acting like he’s the only one who matters around here! And here I was, thinking I might actually like him and have a soft spot for him. Guess I was just kidding myself. What a fucking joke!" You continued and let the sadness come out quietly as you were left standing alone.

"Can’t believe he thinks this is some kind of, I don't know, redneck survival training. ‘Oh, look at me, I’m so tough! I’ll just destroy whatever makes you happy!’ Well, newsflash to you too, Dixon: You’re not the only one who’s capable of surviving! Jesus…"

The sudden sound of footsteps approaching stopped your rant, and you turned to see Dale walking towards you with a look of concern. "Hey there," he said with a smile, taking the backpack into his hands. "You look like you’ve had a rough time out there today. Is everything okay? Where’s Daryl Dixon?"

You hesitated for a moment, the situation that has happened before making it hard for you to find the right words. Finally, you sighed and responded.

"I couldn’t give less of a fuck where that man is right now! I mean, listen, Daryl’s been—well, he’s been a jerk, like always. He got mad about a few pretty flowers that I found. You know, the wild ones that I showed you the other day when you were talking with Shane? Well, Daryl ended up stomping all over them because he had to save me from a walker, since the flowers distracted me and nearly got me killed. And now he’s just gone off into the woods without a word. He even took the rest of the supplies we’ve found with him. Can you believe that, Dale?"

"Oh, yes, I do remember the flowers; very nice to look at. My wife would’ve loved them as well, believe me," Dale’s eyes studied you as he listened to you, trying to understand what had happened, "but I’m sorry to hear about what has happened. Sure, Daryl’s got a lot of—let’s call it rough and tough edges. But I’m sure he’ll be back soon with the supplies; don’t you worry about that."

His words and warm smile helped to calm you down a little. "Yeah, I guess you’re right," you sighed, feeling a little better. "Thanks, Dale. I just needed to let off some steam. And maybe Daryl's right, some of those flowers weren’t meant to survive this cruel world…"

Dale nodded once more but looked slightly concerned because of your answer, though he decided not to address it, nor did he press any further. "Anytime. Now, let’s get these supplies sorted. I bet that Daryl will calm down soon enough as well."

You couldn't help but laugh at the thought. "Yeah, maybe. And pigs might fly too."

Soon enough, you were busy sorting the supplies when you heard footsteps approaching again. This time, it was Daryl who did come back from the woods, but his face showed that he was still annoyed.

"Here," he snapped, tossing his bag of supplies onto the ground. "Forgot to leave 'em here. Don’t expect any flowers or fairy dust."

You looked up from the supplies, sighing loudly. "Yeah, thanks," you answered quietly, trying to keep your voice steady. "I guess it’s good you’re back. The camp needs those supplies."

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Ya know, if ya spent less time daydreamin' and more time focusin' on what’s important, then we wouldn’t have to deal with this shit."

"Is that so?" You shot back, struggling to stay calm. "And what exactly is ‘important’ to you, Daryl? Destroying everything that reminds people of normalcy?"

He snorted at you. "Normalcy? Ain’t no such thing in this world no more. If ya can’t handle that, maybe ya should stay behind."

His words hurt, but you forced yourself not to fuel his anger. "Well, maybe if you weren’t so hell-bent on destroying everything that might still matter to others, you’d see that sometimes people need a bit of hope, however small."

Daryl stared you down. "Hope? Hope won’t keep ya alive. Only havin' a pair of balls and havin’ a clear head will do that. And from where I stand, ya got none of that."

"I guess we’ve all got our own way of coping with this new world," you said quietly, not really knowing what to answer him anymore. 

His eyes studied you. "Copin'? Ya think I’m just ‘copin'’ here? I’m tryna keep us alive, and all ya do is mess 'round with flowers like it’s some kind of goddamn gardenin' hobby."

You took a deep breath. "I’m just trying to hold on to a bit of what makes me human. I know it might seem pointless to you at the moment, but those flowers... they remind me of something good, something that I miss."

Daryl scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Well, good for ya. Maybe ya can save the world with yer damn flowers, while the rest of us are riskin' our asses."

Before you could respond, Andrea approached you, having overheard the conversation. "Hey, is everything alright?" She asked, her eyes looking from you to Daryl.

"Just a little disagreement," you answered, forcing a smile. "Nothing we can’t handle."

Daryl took a step back and shook his head. "Yeah, well, I’m done wastin' my time here. Gonna get some rest."

As he walked away, Andrea rolled her eyes and turned to you with a smile. "Don’t let him get to you. He's an asshole. But you’re doing the right thing by holding on to what makes you feel human. You’ll get used to him eventually."

Later that evening, as the campfire was burning down slowly and the rest of the group went to go to sleep after their meal, you sat quietly on the side, lost in your thoughts. Daryl had withdrawn from the group, sitting alone by a tree as he stared into the flames from afar. Eventually, you stood up and walked off to your tent, but the next morning, a flower appeared by the entrance, carefully placed where it was visible but not too obvious.

"Is he for real?" You said to yourself, not really sure why he'd even continue to make fun of you like this in the first place.

While you were helping with camp chores a short time later, you spotted Jacqui kneeling by the water, washing the clothes. Taking the chance to get some answers, you approached her.

"Hey, Jacqui," you began, trying to sound neutral. "I found this wildflower in front of my tent. Any idea who might be leaving them? I don't know if Andrea told you, but I had a problem with Daryl yesterday, and I thought he left the flower there just to keep on making fun of me."

"Of course Andrea told me, how come you think she wouldn’t? You can’t keep secrets around here!" Jacqui looked up, laughing out loud. "But come on, are you for real? You think it was Daryl Dixon? Really? Come on, that's too funny."

You blinked, taken aback by her reaction. "Wait, you think it’s funny that I’m even considering Daryl after him acting like a total dickhead? I just thought—"

Jacqui laughed again, shaking her head. "Oh, come on. Daryl? Why should he continue to make fun of you like that? I mean, I wouldn’t put it past him to throw a beer can at your head, or leave a skinned squirrel in front of your tent or even under your pillow, but flowers? You're overthinking things. Honestly, I'd bet it's Shane."

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks. "Shane? Seriously? That’s what you think? But Daryl literally bullied me because of them."

Jacqui stood up, stretching her arms. "So, what? I’m just saying that sometimes it’s better not to overthink things, especially when it comes to the Dixon brothers. There's nothing that'd benefit him in mocking you any further. Anyway, I’ve got clothes to get back to." With that, Jacqui wandered off, leaving you confused and a bit embarrassed.

"Hey! It’s not like I expect him to start a flower shop anytime soon, okay? It’s just super weird!" You shouted after her, shaking your head slightly, before you caught sight of Daryl from a distance, kneeling over his crossbow. The sight of him—mumbling to himself and clearly busy with whatever he was doing—irritated you, and you decided it was time to confront him directly.

"Daryl, can we talk for a second?" You finally asked and approached him hesitantly.

He looked up, his expression unreadable. "Whaddaya want, woman?"

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady despite the frustration you felt about him still being angry with you. "I found this flower this morning. Right by my tent."

"Yeah? And what’s that gotta do with me?" Daryl’s eyes narrowed, his tone defensive.

"I just thought that maybe you’d know something about it. I mean, I didn’t think it was a coincidence, since the flower is like the same from—" You started, but he didn't let you finish.

"Hell, I dunno nothin’ ‘bout those damn flowers. Ya think I’m runnin’ ‘round playin’ flower fairy for ya now or what? It wasn't me. Keep dreamin'," Daryl cut you off, his jaw tightening. 

His voice was harsh, his tone dismissive. "Just stop pissin’ me off; yer just lookin’ too much into shit. It’s just flowers. Quit tryna make somethin’ outta nothin’."

Your frustration was growing, and you took a step closer. "I’m just trying to understand. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to understand something. Look, it doesn’t make sense for this flower to just—"

Before you could finish, Daryl cut you off again. "Hell, just drop it! Got enough problems without ya comin’ at me with this bullshit. Ain’t in the mood for yer crap no more."

Just then, Shane appeared with a wide smile on his face. "Hey there," he said, leaning against a nearby tree. "I couldn’t help but notice you looking a bit stressed. You up for some fishing? Could use some company, if you’re interested, that is."

You glanced between Shane’s big smile and Daryl’s scowling face, and with a small nod, you agreed. "Yeah, that actually sounds nice. I could definitely use a break right now. And it’d be nice to eat some fish every now and then."

Shane’s smile widened. "Perfect! We’ll have a great time, I’m sure of it; even if we don’t catch anything, it’ll still be fun. I’ll go get everything ready and come back to get you when I’m done."

"Why don’t ya both just try to drown while fishin’ then? I’m sure ya’d both do a great job at it," Daryl suddenly mumbled, turning back to his bag.

"Excuse me? What was that? What did you just say?" You asked, trying to keep your voice calm, but your confusion was obvious as you watched Shane walk away. "And what the hell are you even doing there in the first place, Daryl?"

"None of yer damn business," he snapped back at you with annoyance. "Maybe ya should spend less time bein’ a pain in the ass and more time doin’ somethin’ useful. Like catchin’ more than just one damn pitiful fish with that Romeo ya got over there."

You shook your head, feeling your frustration boil over. "You think you’re the only one who cares about survival? We’re all trying to get by, Daryl. But as a team! Together, as a group of survivors! And you? You’re just being an asshole."

Daryl’s gaze hardened. "Oh, that so? And what’s yer excuse for bein’ a pathetic, whiny mess? Thinkin’ yer entitled to shit? Get over yerself."

Before you could respond, Shane reappeared with some of the fishing gear. He then noticed Daryl’s bag next to his crossbow and raised an eyebrow. "Thistles? What the hell are you gonna do with thistles, Dixon? Prick us to death?"

"Guess we’ll be havin’ a fancy-ass thistle salad for dinner. Real gourmet shit," Daryl answered sarcastically. "Ya can eat parts of 'em, if ya so keen on knowin', but I bet ya knew that already, ain’t that so officer fancy-pants?"

Shane’s face turned serious as he glanced between you and Daryl. "Dixon, you got a problem with something? ‘Cause you’re acting like a real jackass for no goddamn reason at all!"

Daryl turned back to his bag. "Nah, just tired of watchin’ ya’ll pretend to be so high and mighty. Don’t need no charity fishin’ trip from ya, Shane."

Shane’s jaw clenched slightly, but he tried to sound calm. "Funny, Daryl, really funny. Maybe you should take a look at yourself before you start a fight you can’t win."

Daryl’s expression grew darker. "Ain’t here to be ya damn buddy, Walsh. Got my own shit to deal with, so why don’t ya just keep yer damn opinions to yerself?"

"Alright, alright. You do you, Dixon," Shane answered, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile as he looked at you again. "Come on, let's go fishing then; I’ll ask Jim to be on the lookout in the meantime."

You watched Shane walk away, then turned back to Daryl, who was now looking at the thistles in his bag.

"Great, really great. That went well," you sighed, shaking your head, but Daryl didn’t respond and instead continued to fumble with the thistles. You soon walked away, joining Shane by the water. 

"Let’s get this set up," he said, handing you a fishing rod. "We might as well make the best of it."

As the time went by, the conversation drifted to other topics. Shane talked about his past life, even sharing police stories that made you smile despite yourself.

"Thanks for this," you soon said. "It’s nice to get away from the group a little, even if it isn’t far, and just... be."

Shane nodded, focusing on his line. "Yeah, I figured you could use a break. Daryl’s got a way of being a pain in the ass."

"I guess that’s one way to put it," you laughed back. “But he isn’t the only one around who isn’t very great to get along with. The real pain in the ass around here is Ed, and that’s a fact.”

“Ed, yeah, don’t remind me. But you do realize that talking about Ed would be a pain in the ass just as much, don’t you think?” He smirked, casting his line again. "But speaking of Dixon, you know, it’s actually funny. Because I’ve seen that asshole sneaking around your tent more than once. Creepy as hell if you ask me."

You blinked at him in surprise. "Wait, wait, wait... What are you talking about? What do you mean? Daryl Dixon? What? When?"

Shane shrugged casually. "Well, I’ve already seen him lurking around your tent when you first got here weeks ago, like he’s some kind of damn stalker. Even seen him hide behind some of the cars at night. Also quite funny, because Jim was the one who caught him near the RV first, since he’s more or less the mechanic around here. Did you know that being an auto mechanic was Jim’s job? Who would’ve guessed?"

You frowned at him, processing this new information. "Shane, could you please stop trying to change the damn topic for a moment? This isn’t about Jim right now! Just tell me if you’re serious about Daryl sneaking around my tent!"

"Relax, relax! But yeah," Shane laughed and shook his head. "I mean, Daryl’s always been a bit of a freak, but that... that was something else. Fucking creep."

You bit your lip, feeling confused. "I don’t know, Shane. I mean, sure, he’s rough around the edges, like Dale pointed out before too, but..."

"But? But what?" Shane asked, raising an eyebrow. 

You hesitated, then sighed. "It’s a little stupid, okay? But when I first got here, I kind of had a fleeting thing for him. But not for long; I mean, I didn’t know anybody around here; you were all just strangers, so of course I didn’t know what he’s actually like."

Shane’s face quickly showed disbelief and a bit of anger. "You’re shitting me, right? That piece of shit who literally told us to drown? You had a crush on him?"

You shook your head, feeling quite embarrassed. "No, listen, it wasn’t exactly a crush! Please, don't call it a crush, okay? I simply thought there was more to him, you know? Maybe under all that anger, there’s someone who… cares."

Shane shook his head, his jaw clenched so tight that you could see his muscles twitch while he was gritting his teeth. "You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. That hillbilly dipshit? He doesn’t care about anyone but himself, just like his brother Merle. And now he’s got you thinking he’s some kind of misunderstood hero? That piece of shit couldn’t even fit into the anti-hero category if he wanted to! I already told Lori and Carol to keep Carl and Sophia away from him and his brother! Because they’re both a bad influence!"

"It’s not like that, Shane! I know he’s very difficult, but..." You started, but he cut you off once more.

"But nothing!" Shane snapped. "God, you sound just like Dale! Please now, just listen to me. You deserve better than that. Someone who actually gives a damn about you. Not some freaking weirdo who creeps around your tent at night. I know that I should’ve told you sooner, and I’m sorry. But you think Daryl’s going to change just because Merle’s probably dead? Nah. He’s just going to keep treating you and all of us like shit. But I’m here, and I actually care about you and the rest of us. And I did care right from the start."

You shook your head, feeling overwhelmed by his words. "Shane, please, this really is turning into an awkward conversation right now. I just need some time to think and not a motivational coach with a shotgun and a fishing rod."

"Fine. But just remember what I said. Daryl’s not the guy you think he is." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "And you know what? The two of you are a perfect pair of fuckin’ clichés. The tough redneck guy and the naive dreamer princess. It’s pathetic."

You hesitated, unsure of how to continue the conversation. "Okay, okay, I got it! Stop! I meant to ask you a different question anyway! About a flower I found by my tent. Did you leave it there for me?"

Shane shook his head. "Me? Leaving you a flower? No. Don’t have time for that. I have to keep this group safe, after all."

You sighed, feeling a bit of relief. "I know, I know, it's just that... Jacqui thought it might've been you. Guess she was wrong."

Shane shrugged nonchalantly, not wanting to talk any further. "Yeah, well, let’s just finish up here and head back."

A short time later, you and Shane packed up your gear and headed back to the camp, where the rest of the group, apart from Daryl, was already sitting around the campfire and talking. about the usual things, all the while you couldn’t stop thinking about what Shane had told you as you stared into the fire.

And as the night finally fell over the Atlanta camp, Daryl found himself in the shadows and lost in thought. He had withdrawn from the group throughout the rest of the day, thinking about how Shane and your fishing trip had annoyed him and left him feeling more than just pissed.

He moved quietly through the trees, his steps almost making little to no sound while his mind was full of conflicting thoughts, each one more chaotic than the last. He was still angry with himself over everything that had happened—his rage towards you, Shane’s arrogant attitude, and his own pushed-away emotions that he couldn't really ignore.

Standing by the edge of your tent, he looked around to make sure he was alone and out of sight before he crouched down, pulling out a small bundle from his pocket—another wildflower, the exact kind that you liked so much.

"Fuckin' ridiculous," he mumbled to himself and snorted. "Here I am, sneakin' 'round like some kind of goddamn lunatic."

He put it gently on the ground, just near the entrance of your tent, where you had to notice it one way or another. His fingers moved along the petals of the flower as if it could somehow help him feel better with his guilt. "Goddamn it, Daryl," he whispered to himself. "Ya really fucked it all up, like ya always do. Stompin' on 'em flowers like a fuckin' idiot. What were ya even thinkin'?"

His eyes narrowed as he remembered how he had responded and how he had used his insults and rage to try to push you away. "Ya didn’t mean it," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Ya were just so pissed off. Shane’s up her ass all day, and ya had to be the one who’s had to do somethin'. Hell, she's gonna think it was him now anyway, with the way he’s been actin' 'round her, that's for damn sure."

He stood up, avoiding stepping on the flower. "But ya know what? It ain’t 'bout him. 'S 'bout yerself, ya fuckin' idiot. Ya can’t just keep watchin' her and expectin' her to see ya for the piece of shit ya really are."

He looked around when he heard a noise, seeing you coming from a distance, and quickly moved to hide behind a nearby tree. His heart was racing in his chest; adrenaline and shame were rushing through his body, but he couldn’t let you see him; he couldn’t let you know that he was here, after all.

Daryl crouched down low, pressing his back against the bark of the tree he was leaning against. "Every damn night," he whispered quietly, "watchin’ her shadow. Shit, she doesn’t know. Fuckin’ hell, if she knew... I’m a goddamn creep. But I can’t stop. I just—I need to see her. Need to know she’s there."

His eyes followed you as you got closer, but he didn’t move. He was observing you and watching to see if you would notice the flower immediately, or if you wouldn’t until the next morning.

"She’s gotta know it’s me," Daryl thought, his mind racing and his body beginning to sweat all of a sudden. "She’s suspicious already. Can’t let her know the real reason why. She’d hate me for it."

His knuckles went white as he clenched his fists tightly. "I’m a fuckin’ idiot. That’s what I am. Tryin’ to make it right with damn flowers, but I’m still the asshole who’s watchin’ her like a damn perv. She’s got no idea," he whispered to himself again. "No fuckin’ clue what’s really goin’ on. Hell, if anyone 'round here knew, they’d run me outta camp. Can’t have that. Don’t want her to know; don’t want anyone to know."

"Why’d ya let things go this far?" He continued to tell himself. "Why’d ya let yerself get so fuckin' close to her? Ya think she’s gonna understand why yer such a fuckin' creep? Fuck, think again."

As you opened your tent, Daryl's eyes were watching you with nervousness. Even though he knew it was wrong, he was unable to accept the fact that he had been watching you most of the time at night, unable to take his eyes off your tent.

"Ain't gonna make excuses," he muttered. "Been an asshole, and I know it. Been watchin' her—sometimes even more than I should. Fuckin' hate myself for it. Every damn time I see her, she reminds me that I’m a damn bastard, and I can’t stand it."

Thoughts of how he had treated you kept coming back again and again to his mind. "I act like I don’t give a shit, but I do. Hell, I care more than I wanna admit. Maybe that’s why I’ve been so goddamn hard on her. Dunno. Maybe I thought it’d keep me from feelin'... this way."

Daryl stayed right where he was, watching you leave your tent open as you eventually got inside. "Fuck," he whispered to himself. "This ain't right. She deserves better than this. Deserves someone who’s not a fuckin' creep. Can’t help it. I keep comin' back here, leavin' these stupid fuckin' flowers, hopin' she might see some part of me that’s not completely fucked up."

He sighed, feeling his thoughts pressing down on him. "Yer a mess, Dixon. And ya know it. Yer leavin' flowers to try to make up for yer own damn behavior, and it ain't ever gonna be enough."

Upon entering your tent, you did notice the flower that was lying by the entrance. In fact, the flower was too familiar, and the thought of Daryl lurking around nearby made you shiver, but you didn’t acknowledge the flower directly. Rather, you purposefully chose to ignore it because Shane's remarks regarding Daryl had made you feel a little uneasy, which you could not quite shake, but it also somehow excited you to no end.

"Alright, let’s make this good, and let’s see if he really is sneaking around here," you then murmured to yourself with a smirk on your lips as you thought about your plan. "I’m gonna give him a show he won’t forget anytime soon."

You began to undress slowly, your fingers sliding over your skin as you glanced at the open gap of the tent, a deliberate choice to keep it ajar.

"Is this what you want, Daryl?" You whispered to yourself as you pulled off your shirt and slid your jeans down. "Do you want to see me like this?"

With every piece of clothing that you let fall to the ground, the blush on your cheeks turned redder. The thought of him possibly watching you from the shadows, all hidden and quiet, made you shiver with excitement and nervousness, because of the other dangers that might be hidden in the shadows. “Don’t think about anything else right now; I’m safe. I’m safe.”

Your fingers fumbled with the hooks of your bra, and you let it fall from your shoulders before you squeezed your breasts with your hands, the feeling of your fingertips brushing over your hardening nipples making you moan. "Look at me," you murmured, "see how I’m touching myself, how I’m getting so fucking wet because of you right now."

Your hand slid down your stomach, your fingers sliding into your panties, with the wetness of your pussy making you gasp as you started to rub your clit in slow circles. "You like this, don’t you? Watching me at night, knowing I’m thinking of you?"

You soon pulled your panties down your legs and tossed them aside, showing yourself off completely before you laid down and spread your legs, giving a full view of your wet pussy. With two fingers, you traced the outer folds before slipping them inside, letting out a quiet moan. "I know you’re out there," you whispered, "watching every fucking move I make."

As you began to fuck yourself slowly, your other hand continued to pinch and tease your nipples. "I can almost feel your eyes on me," you mumbled, "watching as I fuck myself. Is it turning you on, Daryl? I bet you're already so fucking hard."

You added another finger inside, curling them slightly to stretch yourself more and tease your G-spot with each thrust. "I bet you’re dying to feel what this is like," you taunted quietly, "to be so so fucking deep inside me right here, right now."

Your fingers moved faster, your hips moving in time with the thrusts of your fingers, and you were already getting closer to the edge just by thinking about the fact that Daryl was probably watching you. "I bet you’re imagining how fucking tight I’d be around you," you moaned. "I know you’re just as fucking turned on as I am."

Among the trees, Daryl remained hidden in the shadows. His eyes were locked on you, unable to look away even as his heart pounded violently in his chest. The way your fingers moved over your breasts, the playful, almost desperate way you touched your hard nipples—it drove him wild, and the image of you parting your pussy and pushing your fingers into yourself was nearly unbearable. Every little movement you made seemed to burn itself into his mind.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mumbled while his gaze shifted a bit as he attempted to stand up from his position without making a sound. He forced himself to remain motionless, but his hand went almost automatically to his zipper.

The simple sight of you, all naked, completely defenseless, and so vulnerable, was making him lose his mind. He could see how your body tensed and arched with every touch, and his eyes tracked every movement of your fingers as they slid in and out of your pussy.

"Fuck, not again; why’m I doin' this?" Daryl grumbled to himself, trying to ignore the throbbing of his cock inside his pants. "This ain’t right. She’s right there, and I’m just—fuck!"

He glanced down at his own body, his cock pushing hard against his pants. It wasn't easy to ignore the pulsing need that was building up inside him—a need that seemed to only grow with every quiet moan you let out. His heart was racing, and he could feel the sweat starting to run down his forehead.

Daryl’s fingers fumbled with the zipper of his pants; he was trying to calm himself down at first, but the sight of you getting yourself off was making it nearly impossible to think straight. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," he muttered again, struggling to keep his breathing steady. "Ya can’t just give in. Not yet. Ya gotta keep control."

He watched you spread your legs wider, your fingers moving faster now, and it was all he could do to keep himself from making any noise. His eyes locked onto the way your body responded—how your hips bucked with each thrust of your fingers.

"Look at her. She’s so fuckin' beautiful," Daryl let out quietly. "So damn hot, and here I am, just watchin'. Like some sick fuckin' perv."

With a quiet, frustrated growl, he tried to regain control of himself, his hands clenching more tightly. Even though his cock was begging for attention, he was unable to let himself go.

"Keep it together, Dixon," he told himself, his voice trembling. "Yer not gonna just—give in. Not yet. Not like this. She’s... she’s right there. Goddamn it! Fuck!"

But Daryl's control was breaking fast, each breath that he took only making it harder to keep his impulses in check, and it was pushing him past the point of no return. The temptation was just too great, and he couldn't control himself any longer. His hands, which had been clenched tightly into fists, now finally moved to undo the zipper of his pants.

His cock sprang free, the sight of it being so hard making him shudder, and the moment his hand wrapped around it, he let out a quiet groan.

"Goddamn it," he mumbled, his voice full of frustration and lust as he started to stroke himself slowly. "She's gonna fuckin' kill me."

He couldn’t help but imagine your hands being on him—almost in the same way that you were touching yourself. He could hear your every moan, every breath, every whimper, and it only made him grip his cock tighter, his strokes becoming faster and more needy.

"I bet ya like that, don’t ya?" He grumbled to himself. "I bet ya fuckin' know I’m here."

It was impossible for him to ignore how badly he wanted to be the one touching you, to be the one making you sigh and moan for him.

"Jesus," he panted out and gasped. "Ya just keep fuckin' doin’ that, don’t ya, princess? Fuckin' hell..."

Struggling to remain silent, his free hand felt for the tree next to him, and he pressed it against the bark to steady himself. Though he was getting close to the edge and the tip of his cock was coated with pre-cum, he was determined not to cum just yet.

"Damn it, Dixon," he hissed at himself. "Look at ya, gettin' off to this all over again. Yer a fuckin' mess. Fuckin' pathetic."

There was still a part of him that wanted to stop, and he battled the shame and guilt that was building up and rising within him. But as your moans grew slightly louder and as you suddenly whispered his name into the darkness, it only pushed him further into his own desperate need.

"Hell’s she sayin'?" Daryl mumbled to himself, his eyes narrowing as he tried to focus and concentrate on your voice. "Shit, she’s sayin' my fuckin' name..."

The sound of his name on your lips, even if it was only a silent whisper, made his cock twitch and pulse, and his strokes became more urgent with the intense need to finally cum.

"Fuckin' hell," he growled, his breathing coming out even more uneven. "She's gonna make me lose my shit. Just... just keep talkin', princess."

The way you were saying his name, the thought of you knowing he was watching, made it impossible for him to stay still. Finally, he couldn’t resist any longer. He stepped closer, his throbbing cock in hand, and let out a growl to make you notice him as he slipped inside your tent. "Ya really thought ya could just tease me like this?"

With your fingers still buried deep inside of you, your eyes snapped open. "Daryl?" Even though you knew that he was watching you, you let out a gasp, and your voice trembled slightly.

"Yeah," he said, taking another step closer. There was something else that turned him on even more than just the shock he could see in your eyes. "Thought ya could put on a private show for me, huh?"

You swallowed hard, your eyes never leaving his as he stood directly over you, his cock still hard and pulsing with every stroke of his hand. "A show?" You asked, your voice sounding a little shaky.

"Damn right. A show," he answered with a small smirk. "With me seein’ everythin'. Couldn’t stay away."

You pulled your fingers out of your pussy and tried to stand up, but Daryl pushed you back down with one of his boots on your shoulder. "Stay where ya are," he growled. "Don’t ya dare stop."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as you looked up at him, your heart racing. The realization about the rawness of the moment hit you, and you nodded slowly, your fingers sliding back into your pussy as you lay back down in your tent. Your eyes were locked onto his, and he could see the mixed feelings of shock, excitement, and lust in your gaze.

Daryl’s hand soon moved in rhythm with yours again, his strokes becoming faster and more urgent as he watched you. The sight of you, so shameless and wet for him, made him lose himself even more. "Ya know," he said, his voice still low and rough. "Ain't thought I’d see this day. With yer all spread out like this, knowin' I’m here, watchin' ya fuckin’ yerself. 'S a damn mindfuck."

You moaned in response, your fingers working in and out of your pussy with an increasing speed of your thrusts. "And you think you can just walk in here?" You taunted back and teased him. "You think you’re gonna get what you want, Dixon?"

Daryl’s eyes never left yours, his cock throbbing with need. "Ain't just here for the damn show," he growled. "I’m here to fuckin' claim ya. Ya got that?"

Your eyes widened, and you barely held back a loud moan, your fingers pushing deeper into your pussy. "And what makes you think I’ll just let you?" You challenged him back, your eyes wandering from his cock to his face again.

"Oh, I think ya fuckin' will," Daryl said, his voice full of confidence. "'Cause I fuckin' want to. And it’s my turn to take what I want."

Every movement, every quiet moan, and every word you both whispered to each other heightened the lust and need for the both of you. Daryl’s strokes on his cock became more frantic, and he could feel his orgasm building, the pressure in his balls growing with every stroke, but he was determined to hold off until he had fully taken in the sight of you.

"Gonna make sure ya know who’s watchin'," Daryl said quietly. "Gonna leave my mark on ya."

He positioned himself above you, and without saying another word, he pointed his cock at you, making sure that his cum would land where he wanted it to.

"I ain't done," he growled, his eyes locked on you. "Not yet."

He took another step closer, his hand still jerking his throbbing shaft, while his other hand reached out, grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling you up slightly, just enough to make you look at him with wide eyes.

"Do ya want me to finish like this?" He mumbled, his voice already hoarse. "Or do ya want me to make a fuckin' mess 'round here in yer tent?"

You didn’t have a chance to answer before he let go of your hair and moved his cock closer to your body again. He had seen enough, felt enough—he was on the edge and couldn’t hold it back any longer. With a low groan, he started to jerk himself off harder and faster, his eyes never leaving yours, and without warning, he came hard, his hips bucking wildly and his cum shooting out, landing across your body, most of it on your breasts and chin.

"Fuck," he muttered, still stroking his cock, but slowing down. "Look at ya. Just a fuckin' mess now."

You lay there, slowly pulling your fingers out of your pussy, your body covered with his cum. "You know," you suddenly started, your voice quiet but teasing. "You might be the first wildflower that might leave a thorn in my side."

A smirk formed itself on Daryl's lips due to the mention of the flowers, but it was quickly replaced by a look of embarrassment, and he shifted uncomfortably as he put his cock back into his pants. "Shut ya damn mouth, woman."

Without a word, he stepped forward, grabbed your head roughly by your hair, and yanked you up to meet his eyes. You couldn’t help but whimper as he was staring at you up and down, so dangerously close.

Daryl grinned at the noise you made and grabbed your neck with his other hand, the thumb going to your chin and gathering the rest of his cum that was slowly sliding down on it.

"Eat," he insisted, but before you could answer or protest in any way, he put his thumb against your lips and pushed it inside your mouth, waiting for you to suck it off.

And just as he pulled it out again, his mouth came crashing down on yours in a rough and primal kiss. It was demanding, and his teeth moved against your skin as he went down to the side of your jaw, sucking on every bit of flesh on his way down to your neck before biting down hard into it, leaving his mark.

His gaze then fell to your fingers, still glistening with the juices of your pussy, as he held you in a tight grip to keep you from falling due to your trembling legs. Slowly, teasingly, he reached out and brought your fingers to his mouth. His tongue slid over your skin, licking and sucking them off intensely, devouring every bit of what was left of you on them.

Daryl enjoyed the taste of you, and his eyes never left yours as he pulled back a little, his hand roughly grabbing your chin. "Don’t ya fuckin' forget this," he growled, letting go of you and watching as you stumbled back onto the ground in front of him before he finally turned to leave. "Yer mine in ways ya don’t even understand yet."

[supernatural-bias]

𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: mentions of cannibalism and porn

↳ song: hit the road jack—ray charles

↳ notes: i can't believe i'm posting this (derogatory)

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• You had decided to move into the hotel after a particularly flashy poster caught your eye

• You were just walking to your run down apartment from a shift at your work, messing with the frayed ends of your sleeves, when a burst of neon red and yellow entered your field vision

• It was a poorly drawn advertisement colored head to toe in bright hues and glitter, advertising a hotel that would offer you a shot of getting out of hell

• With a shrug and a tug of the poster, you slipped it off the brick wall and into your pocket

• It’s not like you had anything else going on, and a free room was a free room. Besides; if the redemption thing turned out to be real, that would just be an added bonus

• Upon arriving at the doorstep of the hotel a few days later with a duffel bag in hand and the other rapping against the front door, you were nearly knocked over by a thin demon with red cheeks excitedly asking if you were there to check in

• “Oh my gosh hi! How are you! Because you look amazing and oh my gosh I’m so happy you’ve decided to check in!” She all but shouted in your ear. Cringing slightly, you leaned away from her embrace to slip inside

• “I’m guessing you don’t get a lot of guests?” You asked slowly as she closed the door behind you, some nearby dust stirring up at the action. The inside looked to empty to be a hotel

• “Nope!”

• Your first sign that you were getting more than you had bargained for should have been the sound of scuttling feet as a small demon made her way across your feet to impale a bug on her claws. She was lightly scolded for ‘accidently frightening our new addition’ before running off with the insect

• "Sorry about that! Nifty is really passionate about her job." The demon next to you laughed nervously. You just shifted your weight and nodded awkwardly in response

• Looking a few feet over to the living area, there was a lanky fellow covered in fuzz and lounging on a sad looking couch. He was flicking through channels on a T.V. You caught them occasionally landing on one and laughing before moving on, never staying entertained for too long

• The demon caught your eye, and waved two of his four hands at you in a lazy greeting

• “Oh, that’s Angel Dust! Our other resident." The woman, you now knew as Charlie, fussed. “He’s been with us for a few months, and has shown incredible progress! Something I’m sure you will find yourself doing!” She bounced on the balls of her feet happily while steering you around by the shoulders

• “Uh huh.” You couldn’t help but nod slowly, only now noticing that the channels Angel had been focusing on were blasting various types of porn shows

• A hasty tour was promptly carried out through the rest of the building. You were shown different rooms, all in various states of decay, while simultaneously meeting the other hotel inhabitants

• A fierce lady with a spear— Vaggie, as she had been introduced as —didn’t seem too up for conversation, only giving Charlie a peck on the cheek and you a suspicious glare before climbing a pair of stairs to take care of something else

• Back downstairs, the local bartender didn’t even bother to look at you, instead mumbling something under his breath while playing cards with a snake like demon

• “Don’t take it to heart. Husk is a big sweetheart, really.” Charlie waved at you with a closed eye smile, missing the way that Husk flipped her off grumpily. “And that’s Sir Pentious over there! Besides Angel Dust, and now you I guess, he’s our only guest.”

• The snake simply offered a loud and hissing hello before demanding with theatrical outrage that Husk was cheating. At least you think it was theatrical outrage. He seemed high strung either way

• But by far, the most memorable staff member you met on the tour was a tall demon with a red suit and fluffy ears; the likes of which you and Charlie had barged in on as he ate a plate of what looked like flesh. Whether animal, or something else, you couldn’t tell

• “Finally, this is our facility manager, Alastor! He helps out with all kinds of things here, and will be a key element in your redeeming process.” Your cheery guide announced. She seemed to ignore the slight tension in the air as the other member in the room smiled tightly, but the feeling disappeared as the tall demon stood up in greeting

• “Why Charlie!” Alastor’s voice crackled with heavy static, reminding you of audio from a gramophone. Or perhaps one of those old fashioned radio’s. “If I knew we were having company, I would have made myself more presentable!” He chuckled without ever looking anywhere but you

• You had to tilt your head up to look at him completely. There wasn’t a wrinkle on his suit, and every one of his hairs sat perfectly on his head. Even his monocle appeared to be freshly polished

• “Presentable.” You said slowly and without emotion, aware of Alastor’s highetened gaze on you. “Right.”

• Charlie was quick to get you to your new room after that

• It was weird, trying to fall into a rhythm with a group of people that had already become so aquatinted with one another, but you managed

• The trust exercises were cheesy and took too long, chores were a daily task for everyone, and Alastor snuck around in the shadows too much for your liking, but at least you had a place to live

• Besides. Who was to say you couldn’t make a few friends along the way?

[struwberrii]

boyfriend! sakusa who isnt super big on physical touch, but always shows how much he cares with the little things he does, like holding doors for you and carrying your bags.

boyfriend! sakusa who doesn’t love physical touch, but still takes every opportunity he can to kiss you

boyfriend! sakusa who immediately comes to you when he’s in a bad mood and needs to talk shit about someone

you were relaxing on your couch when suddenly you heard a harsh knock on your door. you panicked thinking it could be the police, but upon further investigation (looking through the peep hole) you discovered it was just a very irritated sakusa. you opened the door and almost immediately he pushed past you and b-lined for your spot on the sofa

“you won’t believe what that idiot atsumu did today, i swear his stupidity may just drive me mad!”. he practically growled. you could already tell this was gonna be a long rant so you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and got comfortable next to him before he started.

boyfriend! sakusa who only allows you to enter his bedroom and has a blanket and pillow saved for only you (he regularly washes when he knows you’re coming over)

boyfriend! sakusa who leaves a get well soon basket at your doorstep and facetimes you for hours at a time when you get sick

boyfriend! sakusa who always surprises you with designer jewelry and shoes, not for any reason other than him wanting to see you wear it.

boyfriend! sakusa who likes going out with you at the most random times, just to avoid huge crowds (if he wasn’t with you he wouldn’t be making an effort to go out at all if possible)

never in your life did you think you’d be getting ready for a dinner date at 8:30 pm on a tuesday. your boyfriend was on his way to pick you up, he made reservations for the two of you at a nice restaurant with a beautiful view. you were slightly annoyed with the time and date since you had work/school the next morning but just seeing sakusa instantly lifted any negative emotions you had about the situation. you opened the door to see him in a white polo shirt, black pants, a luxury belt on and a fancy silver watch on his wrist. you were practically drooling. the two of you walked to his car and made your way to the restaurant.

“i forgot to say this earlier, but you look absolutely stunning tonight” he said calmly, keeping his eyes on the road. you laughed and returned the compliment.

“by the way, why’d you choose a monday to take me out, kiyoomi?”

“i really do hate crowds, y’know?”

boyfriend! sakusa who has the funkiest music taste and always leaves you confused when his playlists go from the doors band to aphex twin to chase atlantic

boyfriend! sakusa who doesn’t mind your germs getting on him

(he still makes you shower before you get in his bed)

boyfriend! sakusa who sleeps best when you’re lying on top of him under his blanket with his arms wrapped around you

boyfriend! sakusa who made a hand signal that only you and him know, that he uses when he wants to get out of any situation and sneak off with you

you were at one of sakusas games, you always arrived earlier with him since people wanted interviews with him and to take videos for tv, so you would usually just sneak around back and wait for him, but sometimes interviewers caught up to you and would sneak a few questions in with you. this time you and sakusa were both in the lobby of the dome he was scheduled to play in.

“do you know how long sakusas been training for this match?”

“has sakusa shared the secret behind his flexible wrists with you!?”

“are you only with sakusa because of his fame?”

you were being asked so many questions you could hardly even get one answer out, you looked over at your boyfriend to see what he was up to, and that’s when he gave you the signal, low enough for nobody else to catch it. then he made up some partially believable excuse and left the interviewers. quickly after you made up a slightly less believable excuse and followed pretty far behind him. you weren’t exactly sure where he went, there was way too many doors down the hall he took so you just walked in hopes of finding an open one.

that’s when you suddenly felt a strong arm wrap around you and pull you into one of the lounge rooms, followed by an attack of kisses to your face.

“i play so much better when we get to do this”

boyfriend! sakusa who lets you do hair care and skincare on him, and is surprisingly educated on skincare and which products/ingredients work best for different types of skin problems.

boyfriend! sakusa who let’s you count all the freckles/moles on his body and trace them with your fingers

boyfriend! sakusa who wakes you up every morning you’re together by the smell of him brewing your coffee and making breakfast for you

you woke up in sakusas bed earlier than usual. it was 8:25 am on a saturday, you had no reason to be awake this early. but something smelled so good, you couldn’t go back to bed after your nostrils had been blessed by such a scent. you grabbed one of sakusas sweaters and made your way to his kitchen. there he was in nothing but his boxers, cooking pancakes over the stove. the morning sun hitting his back at just the right angle to make all his muscles really pop out at you.

“sorry, didn’t mean to wake you so early love”. he says after hearing you come out of his room.

“it’s all good, just what is that heavenly smell?” you joked, sitting on one of the stools at his kitchen island, watching him finish up cooking. he turned around and slid a plate of pancakes infront of you. he even drew a little smiley face out with all your favorite fruits and whipped cream. then he handed you a cup of hot coffee, just the way you like it.

“what did i ever do to deserve you” you said as you smiled at your boyfriend.

boyfriend! sakusa whos love language is acts of service

boyfriend! sakusa who takes your makeup off for you, does your skincare for you and tucks you into bed when you’ve had a bad day

boyfriend! sakusa who always reminds you to do the little things, like washing your hands when you get home from being out, or drinking water

boyfriend! sakusa who’s trying his best for you

(sorry guys this may be a teeny bit ooc but i love him idc)

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter nineteen ⭐︎ For you, I would ruin myself, a million little times

Warnings: angst, mentions of unrequited love, mentions of loss, insecurities, allusions to depression, mentions of cheating (jancy), sad memories, fluff at the end (with Steve, yes)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You take a painful road down memory lane and it makes you question everything.

Word count: 10.4k+

⭐︎ as always a special shoutout to @hellfire--cult thanks for plotting and writing with me hehe

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next Chapter

♡

“Are you ready to tell me or not?” 

You look up from your plate, still chewing on the pasta that Eddie had cooked, you put down the fork and reach for your pepsi as you look at Max who stares at you with a tilted head, a knowing smile resting on her face. 

You shake your head and furrow your brows at the girl, glancing at Eddie who looks just as confused as you do. 

“Tell you what?” 

Max picks up her garlic bread and shrugs, “about you and Steve and how you’ve been sneaking around behind everyone’s backs,” she says nonchalantly before she takes a bite. 

You nearly choke on your drink, eyes growing wide, matching the ones of Eddie who seems to be just as surprised as you are, he even stopped eating. 

You blink, trying to process her words. 

“W-What?” Is all that you can say as you stare at the redhead, like a deer caught in headlights and with a pounding heart. 

“You know, at first I thought Lucas was crazy for teasing Steve about you and making all those comments about how perfect you two are for each other, especially because Steve always seemed just as annoyed with you as you with him but then he suddenly had different reactions whenever Lucas said something about you and I noticed how red his cheeks got every time he looked at you all lovey dovey,” she holds her finger up, eyes growing wide as she pointing at you to stay quiet, “and then… and then! You both started disappearing at the same time and started whispering to each other, sitting next to each other when it’s something you wouldn’t have done before, not to mention the secret hand holding,” Max laughs, shaking her head at you. 

Your eyes widen at her ‘lovey dovey’ comment, hope that has been rising in you more and more, burning warmly in your chest but Steve doesn’t look at you that way, does he? 

Eddie stares at her, feeling impressed by her observations. 

Just like him, you feel impressed too, shocked and a little nervous but not scared the way you would feel if it were anyone else but her. She can keep a secret and she is like a sister to you – and unfortunately, sisters always know everything and uncover secrets without a struggle.

“I don’t know how the others haven’t figured it out yet, you two are so obvious,” she snorts, picking up her fork again, she stabs her pasta onto it, “just as obvious as my mom and your uncle,” she says to Eddie who shrugs and nods in agreement, “I mean… does anyone actually believe that he’s fixing our fence? The fence is fine! … They go to Enzo’s like every Friday night, by the way.” 

Eddie chuckles and takes a bite of his food, “it’s only a matter of time until you and your mom move in with us.” 

You expect Max to roll her eyes at him but instead she smirks, “yeah, hope you’re ready to become my personal driver.” 

“Am I not your personal driver already?” Eddie snorts. “I mean, you even got two personal drivers, didn’t you both go shopping this morning?” He asks, pointing between you. 

“Yes we did, and we were very successful,” Max nods. 

You aren’t surprised about Susan and Wayne, they’re truly very obvious and now you can’t help but wonder if you and Steve are the same, with the exception that you two aren’t dating… sadly. 

Max looks away from Eddie, returning her gaze back to you, “so when were you gonna tell me that you and Steve are a couple?” 

Eddie coughs, glancing at you sideways as he grimaces when he sees your falling expression. 

“They’re not a couple,” Eddie says for you, noticing the way your eyes sadden and your lips curl downwards at his words. 

Max furrows her brows, tilting her head at you and giving Eddie a look of confusion. 

“What–”

“Yeah, Steve and I are not… dating.” 

The past few weeks have felt like it though, it felt like there was something more between you and him, and after finding out that you have been the only girl for him these past few months, it started feeling even more like it. 

Max stares at you now, eyebrows pulling up and eyes flashing with even more confusion, “but… huh?” 

“They’re just having… uh… fun, Red,” Eddie chuckles awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck as he leans back in his seat, “you know… adult fun.” 

You roll your eyes at his choice of words, just the way she does before she gives him a deadpan look. 

“I’m not five, Eddie! I know what they’re doing but that makes no sense!”

“What doesn’t make sense?” You ask and reach for your drink again. 

She looks down bewildered, dropping her fork and waving with her hands as she points at you, “Billy had fun and you know how much fun he had!” 

You chuckle and nod.

“But he never held hands with those girls or looked at them like… like he was in love or something! He had fun and then he moved on to… the next… fun. It’s different with you and Steve though!” 

A sigh falls from your lips and your shoulders slump as you lean back. 

Yeah, of course it’s different with you and Steve, the difference between Billy’s fun and your fun is that he never loved any of the girls he had been with, you on the other hand, are sickly and madly in love with the guy you are having ‘fun’ with and you are pretty certain that Steve doesn’t feel the same, no matter what anyone says. 

Eddie glances at you, waiting for you to say something, to tell her the truth because he knows you will, you don’t seem to feel the need to hide from Max, knowing she won’t run off to her friends and tell them all about it and risking it reaching Steve, Max isn’t like that, especially not when it comes to you.

“It’s not, Max…” You sigh, looking down at your hands. 

She raises her eyebrows again, squinting her eyes at you. 

“So… you’re saying it’s actually just fun?” She asks like she almost wants to chuckle in amusement. 

You sigh again and raise your head again, rolling your eyes, “well… yeah… no, I– fuck… no, no it’s not just fun… not for me.” 

Eddie looks at you sadly, sighing too. 

“And Steve?” 

You shrug, despite the hope in you, you don’t know what he feels, if he even feels anything for you. 

“It’s just… fun… for him?” You mumble, flinching at your own words. 

“Uh… is it?” Max mumbles, not looking or sounding convinced.

“It’s what he said,” Eddie shrugs, rolling his eyes when he thinks back to the night he confronted you both, “and he seemed pretty set on it, he said it just that and nothing more when I found out about it.”

“Mhm.” You nod, hiding your face as you tilt your head down again, not wanting to show more feelings than necessary. “Can we talk about something else now, please?” 

Eddie nods, “sure–”

“No,” Max shakes her head, “I wanna talk about this!” 

“My relationship with Steve isn’t appropriate to discuss with a teenager–”

“Oh, so there is a relationship,” Max interrupts you, giving you a smug smirk. 

“No, there isn’t, you know what I mean!” 

She chuckles and crosses her arms over her chest, continuing to stare at you. 

“So… Do you love him then?”

Your eyeroll is enough of an answer to that question. 

“I knew it,” she murmurs under her breath, “and what about him, you think he doesn’t feel the same?” She asks, thinking that her own question sounds absurd, she saw the way Steve looked at you, multiple times already. 

“I know he doesn’t,” you shrug. 

“Why not?” 

“Because he hated me, Max–”

“Yeah, he obviously hated you so so much, that’s why you’re holding hands now and kissing every time you think no one’s watching! I don’t know about you but I wouldn’t hold hands and kiss my enemy… oh! Or look at them with lovesick smiles and everything!” 

You sigh again, tilting your head back as you look up at the ceiling. 

This isn’t good for you, it really isn’t, you don’t need to be fed with more delusions. 

“I think he feels the same, it’s pretty clear!”

“If it’s so clear then why isn’t it being talked about?” Eddie retorts, not feeling convinced of Max’s words, “why didn’t he say anything to change their relationship yet? I mean, he had no issue talking to his ex-girlfriend about his feelings for her when he knew she was with someone else! Oh and by the way, Nancy cheated on him and left him for someone else and he still confessed his feelings for her again… years later, he knew he would look like an absolute fool – which he did but that didn’t stop him! So what should stop him now, hm? He’s got nothing to lose with her!” Eddie points at you, “she never hurt him, she has no one else that he has to compete against, she fucking loves him! So him confessing his feelings for her wouldn’t ruin anything like it would have with Nancy or Jonathan if they reacted badly to his stupid confession!” 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, ignoring the stinging in your heart. 

You knew all about his love confession to Nancy – their conversation in the RV was only the first step towards it. You remember the jealousy you felt when he told her about his dream, about the kids and the future he always wished for, you knew who he saw by his side when he talked about it all. To find out that he confessed his love to her in the Upside Down made you feel even worse,  especially when you were still recovering from all your injuries. Robin rambled away about it and told you every detail, you didn’t even ask for. 

Eddie’s words make your heart ache yet again, you know he is right, but they kill your hope a little and you are holding onto it so tightly. 

Max, on the other hand, refuses to agree with him, she squints her eyes at him, leaning closer to the table, “maybe he is scared, Eddie? Have you thought of that? I mean, the whole thing with Nancy was… a heat of the moment kind of thing, there was literally nothing between them but there is something between them!” She argues, pointing at you. 

“I have thought about it,” Eddie nods, “but if I feel like I might lose someone I love for not saying anything to them, I damn right would do something!” 

“I love him, Eddie,” you mumble, your cheeks heating up at your vulnerable confession in front of Max, “but I never plan on telling him how I feel, so…”

Max groans at your words and rolls her eyes, “two idiots, I swear to god, I bet Steve is feeling and saying the same shit to whoever else knows.” 

“Robin,” Eddie nods at her. 

Robin, yeah. 

Robin who is suddenly not as fond of you as she was before, rolling her eyes and scoffing at you every chance she gets, irritating you a little more every time you’re around her now. You considered her a close friend before she suddenly turned on you and started acting weirdly towards you. You don’t know what her deal is but you suspect that she minds your presence around her best friend, fearing that you might ‘steal’ him from her because he is spending less time with her and more with you – as though she wasn’t the first to ditch him to be with Vickie. 

“Great!” Max shrugs, “then why don’t you talk to her, try to get information out of her… since you two are accomplices?”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head quickly, turning to Eddie in panic, “please don’t! Don’t talk to Robin, Eddie! She’s gonna tell Steve and if he doesn’t feel the same then…” 

Eddie shakes his head at you, not needing you to finish the sentence. He reaches his hand out to you and squeezes your shoulder reassuringly, “I won’t, don’t worry,” he sighs, looking at you with sympathy in his eyes. He knows how deep your feelings are for Steve, how much you love him and how long you have loved him for already and now that you somewhat have him, you try to do everything to keep him, even when you are breaking your own heart in the process. 

He isn’t fond of this affair because he has an idea of how it will end and he fears that day, knowing what it will do to you but he can’t do anything to change it, he can’t save you from heartbreak, knowing it will happen sooner or later. 

You slump back in your seat, feeling pathetic for feeling this way, for holding on so desperately when there is only a small chance that there might be something and even that chance isn’t enough for you to go and find out the truth, not even when hope lingers in you after all the sweet moments you had with him. 

Max looks at you in a way her brother once did, when he found out the truth and realized just how deep your feelings were, back then already. 

You remember how the look in his eyes went from shock to confusion to sadness and sympathy. 

And you remember how awkward and embarrassed you had felt that night. 

It was raining outside, the windows were fogged and the smell of sex lingered in the room, you never knew what people meant by it when they mentioned that smell until that night. Your forehead was coated with sweat, your cheeks were glowing and feeling hot, your skin smelled like him, like his cologne and his aftershave, and your body felt different, not in a bad way, just in a foreign one.

You held the sheets tightly against your chest and looked out the window, watching as the rain paddled down the glass, a smile tugged at your lips and your chest wasn’t filled with sadness for once. 

“Hey,” Billy said and pulled your attention back to him, “give me a smile.” 

You turned your head to look at him, a giggle fell from your lips when you noticed the polaroid camera in his hands, his eyes were squinted and a smirk lingered on his face. 

“Seriously?” 

He took a picture of you before you reached forward and swatted the camera out of your face. 

Billy leaned back from you and held the camera away so you couldn’t reach it, he laughed at the bashful expression on your face.

“Need a picture of your special first time,” he joked and laughed again when you rolled your eyes at him and blushed. 

He took the picture out and started shaking it for reveal. He leaned back against your pillows and reached for his beer, drinking it while staring at you. 

“Well, we are not doing that again,” he said and you knew that it would’ve offended many other girls, but not you, because you felt the same. 

“Yeah, it didn’t feel right, did it?” You scrunched your nose. 

“Not at all,” Billy laughed before his face grew serious as his eyes roamed your face, “do you feel alright?” He asked in concern because he noticed how distant you looked, like your mind was somewhere else or with someone else.

He straightened up and furrowed his brows at you, “who are you thinking about?” 

You felt caught and you felt ashamed. 

You never admitted your feelings for Steve to anyone, they didn’t even make sense so how could you even begin to describe them? 

You looked down and closed your eyes, you pulled your brows together as though in pain and it only made him more curious.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?” Billy asked and dropped the polaroid camera and the picture on the mattress beside him. He placed the beer back on the nightstand and grabbed his pack of cigarettes instead, “is he ugly?” 

His question made you snort, you opened your eyes again and looked at his serious face. 

“No, he is not ugly, not in the slightest.” 

His lips curled downwards for a moment as he nodded, “do I know him?” He asked before he placed a cigarette between his lips. 

You only gave him a look and that was enough to confirm his question. 

He hummed and kept staring at you with a curious look on his face, he lit up his cigarette and threw the lighter on the nightstand, taking a long drag before he blew the smoke out. 

“I do, huh?” He chuckled and squinted his eyes at you, “are you gonna tell me or are you gonna let me guess?”

You smirked and shrugged at him, you held the blanket tighter against your chest and reached for the camera beside him, “guess, Billy,” you teased him as though your heart didn’t start pounding from all the nervousness inside of you. 

“Jesus,” he sighed in annoyance, “is he popular or a loser?” 

You shrugged and squinted your eye as you brought the camera up to your face and wasted no second to take a picture of him too, he didn’t seem to mind, not like you did. 

He started saying names, random names of guys you weren’t even sure went to Hawkins High. You kept shaking your head and saying no, you felt surprised that Steve’s name hadn't left his lips yet. 

“Huh, it’s not the drug dealer is it? What’s his name again?”

“Uh… You mean Eddie?” 

He nodded and pointed his finger at you, “yeah, him.”

You shook your head, “no, he’s cute but no, he’s not really my type,” you mumbled and sighed, “probably would’ve been better if it was someone like him, he’s nice, at least.” 

He hummed and stared at you, he fell quiet for a while and his face grew serious after a few minutes, then his eyes widened and he cursed under his breath. 

“Fuck… girl, please don’t tell me that it’s King Steve.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat and your face started burning beneath his gaze, you couldn’t stand to look into his eyes any longer so you broke eye contact and looked down at your hands in your covered lap. 

“Shit…” He sighed and slumped back, looking at you in disbelief, like you had fallen in love with his arch nemesis. 

“I know,” you mumbled in annoyance because you knew what he was about to say, “you don’t have to tell me how stupid I am, I already know that.” 

Billy stayed quiet for a moment and stared at the pained expression on your face. Yeah, he was about to say something stupid about Steve, about his stupid hair and your feelings for him but when he looked closer – and he knew you pretty well at that point, he could see just how much pain lingered behind your eyes, how glassy they got and how your bottom lip wobbled just the slightest bit. 

He was never the best with words and he certainly was never someone to give comfort, he didn’t even know how to, no one ever comforted him, only you did. 

He bit his tongue and swallowed the bitter words that were about to leave his lips. 

He opened his mouth but shut it again when he saw you wiping away a tear. 

Billy sighed and ran a hand through his mullet, he pinched the bridge of his nose and rolled his eyes at the thought of the jock. 

“It’s pretty serious isn’t it?” 

You only nodded and said nothing. 

“So… you’re like in love with him or some shit?”

“I guess so,” you whispered even though you knew for certain. “Feels like it’s tearing my heart apart or something every time I see him, every time he says something dumb to me.” 

“How…?” He asked and sighed again, “shit, I knew you liked him, you wouldn’t have defended him every chance you got but I thought you were just being nice to that fucker… Jesus…”

You shook your head again and slowly looked up at your best friend, “I can’t give you an answer, Billy. I don’t know how it happened, it just… happened. That’s gonna sound so cheesy but… when I first saw him I just… I felt safe and comfortable… happy. He smiled at me when he passed me in the hallway and I just – I don’t know, I can’t explain this feeling and it doesn’t matter anyways, he turned out to be a dick who hates my guts so… I’ll get over these feelings someday.” 

Billy didn’t believe your words and you didn’t either. 

You have loved him at first sight and that never changed or lessened, your feelings kept getting worse and worse and it made no sense because he kept treating you badly. 

You were infatuated with him, bewitched. 

You expected Billy to judge you but he didn’t, you thought he would say bad things about Steve but he never did, at least not when it came to you and your feelings for him. 

If anything, Billy encouraged you to act on your feelings, to get closer to him, to make a move and try. 

And you did, but it only made everything worse. 

And now, you stare at his sister and watch as she tries to do the same.

It went sideways the first time and you fear that it won’t go any different this time – yes, things have changed, you and Steve are something now, something you would have never seen coming a year before, especially after what happened when you did try to make a move on him. You just can not find it in yourself to even try, to gather all your confidence and use the sliver of hope to confess to him in hopes that he could feel the same, that you could be something more than what you are now. 

You can feel that things have shifted into a different direction, the softness in his eyes, his gentle touches and acts of affection are proof of that and still, you fear rejection and losing this because this thing between you is just too fragile, too easy to break and ruin. 

It’s not long ago that Steve couldn’t even bare to look at you without rolling his eyes or scoffing some cold words at you and you try not to think of them, to leave things in the past, to not go over his hurtful words again and again but something inside of you seems to manifest all the saddening and painful words your poor heart was attacked with in the past and you can’t fight off those memories, you try to but you can’t and it saddens you even more because the past few weeks with Steve, have been nothing but heavenly to you. 

You woke up in his arms every morning, he held you through the night, woke you with kisses and cooked you breakfast, he held your hand and treated you as if you were his, like you were his girlfriend and he your boyfriend – you got a taste of something you always craved and longed for and that should bring you peace, it really should but he is showing you, giving you something that you know he will take away again when the time comes. 

When you step into your house after dropping Max off at El’s, you make your way up to your bedroom and open your closet, looking for something comfortable to change into, when the navy blue color flashes in your peripheral vision. You grab a pair of your sleeping shorts and a random shirt of Steve’s, trying to ignore the dress that practically stares at you, forcing you to recall one of your worst memories. 

You clutch your clean clothes to your chest and take a look at the pretty sundress you bought at the GAP store when Starcourt mall was still intact. You reach out to touch it, pinching the thin material between your thumb and your pointer finger, a sad smile tugs at your lip when you think back to the day you bought it – just to look pretty for him. 

Your best friend kept encouraging you, filling you with hope that you could have a chance with Steve, that he wouldn’t say no to you if you tried to make a move, if you tried to ask him out, if you went after your feelings. Week after week had passed and Billy forced confidence onto you and pushed you towards a guy he didn’t even like. 

You kept denying his words, you knew you had no chance with him, not even after you graduated from high school, not even after Steve had changed and his mean words became less harsh. 

And yet, a part of you listened to Billy, that naive and hopeful part of you that really wanted her crush to like her back and give her the chance she always wanted. 

You bought a pretty dress, you got your hair done and did your makeup, lighter and girlier than usual, you put on your favorite perfume and jewelry and you decided to give it a try – you shouldn’t have, you should’ve listened to your brain and not your heart. 

The mall was bustling with people, kids were running around the water fountain, a group of young girls rushed past you, giggling in excitement as they carried their many shopping bags, you were standing in front of Scoops Ahoy, with your cheeks burning and your heart racing. 

In all honesty, you had no idea what you were doing, you came up with no plan before you came here, you just woke up that morning and decided that Billy was right, that you could take a chance and go after what you wanted – you had nothing to lose, except for your dignity. Besides, you were no longer in school, if things went wrong, you could easily avoid him.

You had taken a look inside, only a few teenagers sat by the window, it wasn’t crowded, not in the slightest. You saw him, he was standing behind the counter with his back turned to you as he was talking to his co-worker who spoke to him through the small window between them. 

Your heart skipped a beat when he turned to the side, a smile lingered on his face as he nodded along to the music that played on the radio. 

You could have still turned back, you could have still left without being seen, without having made a fool of yourself. But you didn’t, you didn’t turn around, you didn’t change your mind, you walked into your own demise. 

You took a deep breath and walked up to the counter, you twisted the ring on your finger and focused on him. He looked so good, even in his silly uniform, he looked so pretty. His sailor hat was laying on the counter and he was twisting the ice cream scooper in his hand, he only turned around when his co-worker, Robin, nudged her chin at you before she turned her back to him and disappeared further into the room. 

You blinked and breathed heavily as you realized that you didn’t even know what to say, you didn’t prepare for this, you were never good with words or conversing with boys, you didn’t know how to flirt – well, you did, Billy taught you, but you had never used your newly learned skill before. 

And when Steve turned around to face, it was too late to think of what to say, anyways. 

“Ahoy–” his cheerful words cut short and the smile on his face fell when he saw you, “oh, it’s you.” 

That should have been enough to change your mind, to make you turn back and run the other way. 

“Hi Steve.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped and he slid his scooper back into place, he put his hands on the counter and sighed. 

“Blondie,” he nodded. 

You were too nervous to see the way he looked at you, the way his eyes roamed your face and your styled hair, your glowing skin and your pretty dress, the way his cheeks changed color as he kept staring at you. 

“What can I get for you?” He asked and cleared his throat as he gestured to the many ice cream flavors. 

You shifted and tilted your head to the side, your hair fell from your shoulder and down your back. He looked again, at your exposed skin, at the dainty chain around your neck. 

“I uh… I’m… I don’t know yet,” you stuttered and felt yourself growing more nervous than before. 

Steve sighed and looked away from you, “of course,” he murmured under his breath. 

Your cheeks burned hotly, your eyes felt heavy and you looked down as you already felt the regret rushing through your body. You wanted to say something, anything, but all your words were caught in your throat, everything you would’ve said if he liked you a little more were stuck and frozen. 

You cleared your throat and took a deep breath, you looked at his face and wondered why you even let Billy encourage you and talk you into doing this. The few ‘nice’ interactions you had with Steve meant nothing. The smile he wore on his lips before could never be directed at you, the soft look in his hazel eyes disappeared the moment he saw you, the tone in his voice changed in an instant. 

“How are you…?” You asked, cringing at yourself, at the question, at the shakiness in your voice. 

He looked back at you and raised his eyebrows, an unamused chuckle fell from his lips. 

“What do you want?” He asked and shrugged at you, “we’re out of high school, we don’t have to see each other anymore and I know you’re not here for ice cream, you usually don’t have an issue making a decision, so why are you here, Blondie?”

You could not help but draw back as a cold shudder ran down your spine, you blinked and looked down. 

You missed the look of guilt that flashed in his eyes when he watched you step back and you closed your eyes for a moment, your brows scrunched together as though in pain. 

He was always this way, you knew what you were stepping into, you knew how he would react and you couldn’t blame him, you weren’t exactly nice to him in school and snapped back at him every time he threw a rude comment at you. 

You swallowed and took a deep breath, you looked back up at him, at the hazel eyes you always loved so much. 

Steve huffed and he took a deep breath, he stared at you intensely and you didn’t know what it meant, a part of you thought that it was his hatred, the other was foolishly hopeful. 

“Yeah… I know but I just… I thought that maybe we could,” you paused as your heart felt as though it was about to tear from your chest any moment. He looked at you so intensely, he made you feel so small beneath his gaze. 

“We could what?” He asked a little too harshly and made you cower back. 

“This was a bad idea,” you whispered to yourself and took another step back, “I’m sorry I just…”

“What’s up with you?” Steve mumbled and furrowed his brows at you, confused at the side of you he never met before. “Did you miss being annoying so much that you had to come bother me at work, Blondie?” 

You heard the teasing in his voice, you saw the sliver of amusement in his eyes but you really only focused on the way your heart clenched in pain and how regret took on full control. 

You rolled your eyes, not at him but at yourself, at your foolishness.

Of course he doesn’t want to see you, why would he? 

He never liked you and he certainly wouldn’t start now, he would probably laugh into your face if you asked for what you came for – a date. 

Your cheeks were nearly hurting from all the blushing, your heart was skipping and pounding, your hands felt clammy. You never felt the need to cry in front of him, you never felt vulnerable around him because your walls were always high up and guarded by a second layer, now you came without protection and decided to let yourself be vulnerable for once, only to feel like breaking down from the embarrassment that was gnawing at you. 

“Cat got your tongue? That’s new…” He chuckled and stared you down still, eyebrows still furrowed and lips pursed. His hardened expression fell a little and something else took over, something you couldn’t read. “Did someone stand you up?” 

Steve wasn’t used to your silence so you weren’t surprised about the confusion on his face. You looked at him again and caught him eyeing you up and down, his eyes lingered on your dress for longer than necessary. 

His question went unanswered and he grew frustrated with you. 

“Can’t blame them if they did,” he mumbled, throwing daggers at your heart. 

That stung. 

Normally his words would’ve angered you and you would’ve shot back straight away, despite your feelings for him, you wouldn’t have kept quiet or struggled to say something back but not today, today you let him hurt you – deep down you knew this would happen, this was always how you interacted, he said something mean and then you would too. His words were nothing new and yet they cut deep. 

You swallowed hard and dug your nails into your palms, your breathing quickened and you knew you had to get out of here but something kept you standing, you felt as though you were frozen. 

Steve coughed awkwardly and looked away for a moment, he grabbed his scooper again, “so… wanna eat your feelings or what?” He asked and pointed at the many flavors, eyes back on you. 

“No–”

“Hi, Steve!”

You nearly flinched at the high pitched voice and had to hold back the eyeroll when you saw the girl next to you, who didn’t bother to hide the dirty looks she gave you before she returned her attention back to him, flashing him a sickly sweet smile that made his eyes light up.

The girl used to be on the cheer team, very popular and gossipy, unkind and one of the most unpleasant people you have met – and she usually spends her Saturday nights in Billy’s sheets.

Steve’s eyes were no longer on you, instead they were stuck on the pretty girl beside you, he eyed her up and down, not with distaste or annoyance but with interest and a smirk on his lips. 

“Hey, how are you?” He asked and leaned against the counter, a flirty look crossed his face, “you look amazing, Olivia.” 

She giggled and twirled her hair around her finger, she licked her lips as she eyed him like she was hungry. 

“So do you.”

Steve smirked at her and chuckled softly. 

At that point, you didn’t know what you felt because your sadness ran so deep, you didn’t have it in yourself to feel jealous anymore. 

You just felt like a fool. 

And you felt angry, at yourself and at him for being so horrible to you. Olivia’s giggles did nothing to make you feel less horrible, like nails on chalkboard her voice was irritating you in the worst way possible, so before leaving, you turned towards her and when she met your gaze with a fake smile, you matched the look on her face. 

“Wouldn’t waste your time here, Olivia,” you said her name, mockingly and looked her up and down, not feeling jealous over the ugly sandals or the green skirt she was wearing. “He only flirts to pass time. Besides, isn’t that your boyfriend waiting for you?” You asked and tilted your head at the guy in front of the store, he was already glaring at Steve. 

Olivia clenched her jaw and glared at you, huffing in annoyance which gave you a little satisfaction. 

“Better not leave him waiting or someone might tell him what or who you do every Saturday night.” 

Her pale face grew even… paler and you couldn’t even bite back the smirk, despite the blow that was just delivered to your heart. 

Steve raised his eyebrows as he looked between you, he saw the way you blinked, fastly, he saw how glassy your eyes were despite the look on your face. 

You turned back to him and looked at him with a straight face, “you usually don’t mind sharing your girls though, do you? So… go nuts,” you shrugged before you turned around and walked away from him, not planning to look back. 

You should have, you should have looked back because then you would’ve seen the guilt in his eyes, the regret that crossed his features, the tension that slipped off his shoulders and the disinterest that took over for the girl in front of him. The sadness that flashed in his eyes for missing an opportunity, for letting you go like this. 

But you didn’t, you kept going and you rushed back out into the bustling mall, you blinked away the tears and made your way back home. You tore the dress off your skin the moment you stepped into your room. 

And you never wore it again. 

You roll your eyes at yourself for feeling pain for the girl you were a year before, for still hurting because of the things he said to you, for the way he looked at you, for the way he flirted with a different girl in front of you. 

The past doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t matter, especially not now, not anymore – not after what you have gone through together, not after he changed, not after he started treating you differently, not after all the nights and mornings you have spent with each other, not after all the gentle touches, not after the way he kissed you and held you close that one night, not after he called you late at night just to hear your voice. 

He is different now, you are different now, you aren’t the teenagers you were a year back. 

The past shouldn’t hurt. 

You slam the closet door shut and walk out of your room and into the bathroom, you start the shower, letting the water warm up while you take off your clothes. You feel frustration bubbling inside of you, the conversation with Max and her encouraging words triggered all the memories that you refused to think about in these past few months. 

The day at Scoops Ahoy made you sad and angry, it made you want to never see him again, you avoided the mall after that day and you didn’t see much of him after. You hated yourself for hoping, for going after your feelings, for believing that you could have a chance after Billy’s encouragement – Billy who pushed you away only a week later, with harsh words and a mean look on his face, he pushed you away when you needed him the most and you felt alone again, so alone. At that time, you didn’t understand why he did it, why he didn’t want you in his life anymore, you didn’t know that he was just trying to protect you from the upside down, from himself. 

And then he died and you lost yourself completely. 

You drowned your sorrows in alcohol and kissed the lips of strangers, you let them touch you in hopes that you would feel something, you woke up in their beds and hated yourself after because no matter how good they were to you, how nice the conversations went, how much they made you laugh, how nice they made you feel, they couldn’t make you forget about the friend you lost, they couldn’t make you forget about him, they couldn’t give you what you wanted, what you needed, what you longed for. 

You searched for glimpses of Steve in every man you kissed and you hated yourself for it because you wondered why you even felt that way for someone who couldn’t even stand you, who hated you with all his being. 

What made you fall in love with him? 

What tied you to him the way it did? 

Because he never gave you a reason to fall in love with him back then, he treated you unkindly from the moment you met and yet you couldn’t help your feelings, you couldn’t help but adore him, you couldn’t help but admire him. 

You even felt your own heart break when you found out about what Nancy did to him, how she broke his heart so carelessly, how she cheated on him with her friend. 

And you felt it break even more when he still wanted her, even after everything she did to him, he loved hard, just like you did, like you do. No matter what she did to him, he still loved her. 

And now, you can’t help but ask yourself the question that you have always avoided. 

Does he still have feelings for her? 

You wonder if he still wants her, if he still wishes for a future with her, if she is still the one he craves by his side. 

He doesn’t look at her the way he used to, not anymore, he doesn’t seem sad around her the way he did after she rejected him and yet, you still wonder, if you are just someone he passes time with while he hopes that she might change her mind in the future. If you are the person he finds comfort in because he can feel that you love him the way she never did.  

Are you the replacement? The filler? 

You feel yourself crashing, the water feels hot on your skin but you feel the shudder running down your spine, the goosebumps that rise on your skin make you shiver, your throat tightens and your eyes blur with tears as your heart clenches in your chest. 

You wipe your tears in anger even though your whole face is wet from the water pouring down on you, you turn off the water and open the curtain in anger, you reach for your towel and wrap it around your body. 

You wipe the fog off the mirror and look at your reflection, at the marks on your neck, at the tears running down your cheeks. 

Are you stupid for crying when you knew exactly what you were signing up for? 

You always knew what this was to him and you were satisfied with it because you just wanted him, no matter how, you wanted him and you got him. 

But you can’t stop your heart from aching because somehow, you fell even harder for him and you can’t stop from hurting when you think about what you are to him and what you might never be. 

Just sex. 

A friend… nothing more than a friend, that’s what he said, you are just a friend. 

The confidence that only started growing inside of you not too long ago begins to crumble and you don’t know how to stop it from falling apart. 

You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart and the thoughts that drive you mad. You take a look around, at the things he left in your bathroom, his toothbrush next to yours, his body wash and shampoo in your shower, his Farrah Fawcett hairspray that no one can know about. 

Would all this be here if you didn’t mean something to him? 

Would he have made space in one of his drawers just for your stuff if this meant nothing? 

Would he have let you in if he still wanted someone else? 

Does he even still want someone else? 

You huff in annoyance for letting yourself fall into this spiral of overthinking. You feel as though all these questions come to haunt you for pushing them away all these weeks and now you feel a headache coming and you grow irritated with yourself and with your insecurities. 

You shut them down as best as you can and busy yourself with other things, you moisturize your skin and blow dry your hair. You put on your fresh clothes and comb through your hair before you leave the bathroom, it’s much darker in the hallway than expected, the grayish clouds hide the sun and the sound of thunder rumbles in the far distance, drops of rain already paint your windows. 

Goosebumps rise on your skin and an unsettling feeling sinks into the pit of your stomach. You feel the cold wind on your exposed skin from the open window in your bedroom, you make your way inside, pushing the blowing curtains away as you reach forward to shut the window. 

Lightning surges through the sky, deep purple colors flash in the darkening clouds far away. You would’ve felt your heart dropping by now if you didn’t notice the burgundy car parked in your driveway, the door opens and he steps out, a second later, a brown paper bag in his hand and something tucked beneath his arm, he shuts the door and locks it, wasting no time to find shelter under the roof on your porch as it starts raining harder. 

Instead of dropping, your heart skips a beat, forgetting all about the pain it just felt from the saddening thoughts in your mind. 

Through all your overthinking and pondering, you forgot that he was coming over. 

You shut the window and rush downstairs, opening the door as he rings the doorbell for a second time. A frown lingers on his face but it disappears when his eyes lock with yours as soon as you open the door and a smile tugs at his lips instead. 

“Hey Blondie,” he breathes and rushes inside when you step aside to let him in, “looks like the end of the world out there.” 

“Hi…” 

You close the door and lock it before you turn around to face him. 

Steve kicks off his shoes and throws the movie tapes that were tucked beneath his arm on the counter where you keep your keys and sunglasses, he puts his keys into the little bowl and then he steps towards you and reaches for your hand, he pulls you towards him and takes you by surprise when he leans down and smacks his lips against yours, kissing you shortly. Greeting you with a kiss, something he had never done before. 

Your eyes widen a little and your throat tightens for a different reason now, you stare at him, unable to hide the surprised look on your face. 

And Steve, he furrows his brows and his smile falls a little, not because of your widened eyes but because of the glassiness in them, he frowns as worry swirls in his chest. 

“Hey,” he murmurs and lets go of your hand to cup the side of your face, letting his thumb linger on your cheek, “is everything okay?” 

You blink. 

Your heart jumps at his action, at the question, at the concern in his soft brown eyes. You breathe in deeply, you open and close your mouth a few times, unable to find the right words. 

You didn’t cry all that much, it’s not so visible on your face, is it? 

“Did something happen?” He asks, a little softer this time. 

You shake your head, “n-no, I’m fine, just tired, I’m probably coming down with something…” You lie. 

“In the summer?” 

You force a smile and look down, shrugging, “guess I’m not that strong…” 

“Well, then let me take care of you,” he whispers and caresses your cheek. 

You wonder if he knows what he does to you with such words and actions, you sometimes wish he knew that your heart leaps every time he does such things, maybe then he would take pity on you and not fill you with so much hope, even in your worst moments. 

You nod at him and let him take your hand back in his, he gives you a sweet smile that nearly makes you crumble. 

“So how was your day?” Steve asks as he tugs you along with him and leads you into your kitchen.

You swallow the lump in your throat and shrug, “good, I went shopping with Max and then we ate lunch with Eddie.” 

Steve smiles at that, he places the brown paper bag on the kitchen table and turns to face you. 

The soft look in his eyes and the smile on his lips makes you feel guilty for the thoughts that rushed through your mind just moments before. This side of him is the only one you have known in the past few weeks, the gentle and sweet side you never thought you’d ever get to see. 

“I got us dinner, burgers and fries but I got the fancy ones from Enzo’s,” he chuckles and lets go of your hand, stepping away from you and towards the sink. “Did you find anything?” He asks as he runs the water and uses the hand soap you always leave in your kitchen to wash his hands. 

You furrow your brows at his question, feeling a little lost and confused. 

“Hm?” 

“When you went shopping.” 

“Oh.” You nod your head, you went back to the jewelry store to look for new rings and the necklace you fell in love with but it was already gone, it would’ve looked pretty with the dress you picked out for Joyce’s and Hopper’s wedding. “Yeah, I finally got a dress for the wedding… oh and shoes… and makeup.” 

Steve smiles fondly when he turns back to you, “what color is your dress?” 

“Uh, it’s black,” you say and walk over to the fridge to grab a drink for you both, “sounds boring, right? But it’s really pretty and I got some pink heels to go with it.”

“It doesn’t sound boring,” he shakes his head at you and carries two plates to the kitchen table, “besides, you look gorgeous in anything.”

You freeze. 

Your eyes grow wide and your cheeks start burning. 

Gorgeous? 

He surely never called you that before, especially not after greeting you with a kiss on your lips. 

“T-Thanks, Steve.”

He hums in response and you look back at him to see him placing the food on the plates, putting more fries on yours than on his. His brows are pulled together in concentration, his lips pressed together, his hair looks a little messed up from the wind but he looks so cute like this. 

And you can’t help but think of how intimate this all is, him kissing you after walking in, him asking you about your day and the color of your dress, him plating your dinner.  

You can’t help but hate yourself for all the overthinking and reminiscing of the things that happened in the past. 

You close the fridge with a sigh and make your way back to the table, placing the coke in front of his plate. 

“Thanks, Honey.”

You give him a smile and sit down across from him, looking down at the delicious food in front of you, “I’m horrible, you always cook for us or order something and I never do anything.” 

Steve shakes his head, glaring at you, “you’re not horrible and that’s not true, you cooked breakfast and dinner before.” 

You pop open your soda can, “yeah, I made french toast and sandwiches.” 

“Yeah and it was amazing, now shut up and eat your dinner, kid,” he says playfully, his eyes glinting with amusement when you laugh. 

You push your hair out of your face and pick up the burger, unaware of the fond smile that tugs at his lips as he watches you take a bite. His eyes roam your face, your eyes are a little red and he can’t help but think that you lied to him about feeling sick, you look fine, you just look a little… sad and it makes him feel upset because he knows that you won’t talk about it, especially not with him but he wants to be there for you, he wants to give you a shoulder to cry on, to lean on, he wants to give you comfort. 

He looks down at the shirt on your body and when he recognizes it, his eyes lighten up and warmth blooms in his chest, it’s his shirt. 

He bites back the smile as he looks down and starts eating too, welcoming the comfortable silence between you as the rain paddles down the windows, the thunder still crashing somewhere, far away. 

You flinch every time a loud crash booms through the sky, it’s nothing new to him, he noticed it the very first time it happened. Every time the sky turns a little darker and the wind picks up, you fidget and get anxious. He wonders if it’s a fear you have taken with you from the upside down or if it is something that accompanied you before, he never dared to ask before. 

Every time he showed up during a storm, your eyes were filled with fear and your hands were shaking. You would relax and calm down a few minutes after his arrival, his presence seems comforting to you and it’s why he rushes to get to you every time he sees the dark clouds and hears the thunder. 

“Hey Blondie?” 

You look up at him through your lashes and raise your eyebrows, “yes?” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

You put down your burger and reach for your drink, nodding at him. 

“Have you always been afraid of storms?” 

You seem to be taken aback as you stare at him and blink, not moving or saying anything just yet and he fears that he crossed a line. 

“I just, I noticed that you flinch at every crash.”

You always tried to hide your reactions, not wanting to seem scared or weak, and usually no one ever noticed things about you that you didn’t want them to see but Steve seems to see right through you. 

His hazel eyes aren’t filled with judgment or amusement, just with curiosity and… a hint of concern? 

You take a sip of your drink and sit back, relaxing your shoulders as you look into his eyes. 

“Yeah, I just, I guess it got stuck with me from when I was a kid,” you chuckle and roll your eyes, “I know, embarrassing right?” 

He shakes his head and frowns, “no, not at all.” 

“Honestly, it wasn’t even that bad when I was a kid, it got worse when I was a teen. My parents would go on these business trips sometimes and trusted my sister to look after me but she used those opportunities to go hang out with friends or go to parties or whatever else she was doing,” you explain, not looking away from him, “and I hated being alone, it probably didn’t help that I watched horror movies every time I was alone.” 

Steve chuckles at that, though he can’t help but feel sad for you. 

His parents left too, hell, they still do. To know that you were in a similar situation as him when you were younger fills him with regret, knowing that he could have been there for you and you for him, if he just wasn’t such a dick to you. 

“I just always got so anxious whenever I heard the howling wind and the loud thunder, it felt like the fear paralyzed me in a way… I don’t know, does that even make sense?” 

Steve nods, “yeah, yeah it makes sense.” 

But now he wonders how the hell you jumped into the water to save him, after everything that you had been told about the upside down, about the storms, about the monsters, you still jumped into the water when he was pulled under. You knew what was waiting for you on the other side and you still did it. 

“B-But how… I… the upside down was filled with storms?”

You would’ve jumped into a hurricane if it meant saving his life. 

“I wasn’t going to prioritize my fears over your life, Steve.”

Steve feels a little stunned, he knows how paralyzing fears can get, how they can hold you back from everything, but you, you didn’t care about your fears, about yourself, knowing that it could’ve ended badly for you down there, you cared more for him than you did for yourself, even when he was nothing but an asshole to you who treated you like shit. 

If he knew you, the real you, he wouldn’t have been so harsh to you, he wouldn’t have been so… cold. He would have never said a single bad word to you but he thought you were cruel and he thought you hated him so he gave you a side of him that didn’t even exist, it was an act, nothing more, nothing less and he regrets it more than anything. 

He regrets every word he said to you before this. And he feels as though he doesn’t deserve this, you, not even in this way, not after everything he said to you and about you. 

He wants nothing more than to take it all back, to make it up to you. 

And as you sit there in front of him, with red rimmed eyes that prove that you have cried before he came here, he wants nothing more than to pull you into his arms and apologize, over and over again.

But instead of doing that and risking making you uncomfortable, he slides his plate closer to you and changes seats so he is right next to you, he ignores the confused look you give him and the question you were gonna ask before he grabs your face and kisses you, making you gasp in surprise. 

You melt into the kiss quickly, despite the confusion that lingers in you. You place your palm on the side of his neck and kiss him back softly. 

And just like that, your worries and your anxious thoughts fade away into nothing, his touch, his kisses, he makes you forget about all the sadness that gnawed at you before, for a moment, they don’t matter and they won’t be back till later. 

For a moment, you’re allowed to feel hopeful and confident again. 

When his hand finds your waist and his lips move slowly and softly with yours, when he hums into the kiss and pulls you closer, when he makes you feel special. 

Steve’s eyelashes flutter when he pulls away and opens his eyes again, smiling softly as he pecks your lips once more before he moves back, like he didn’t just steal your breath and made your heart pound wildly. 

“What was that for?” You breathe. 

“To calm you down from the storm,” he shrugs, chuckling at his own words. 

“Why do you think a kiss would calm me down?” 

“I don’t know, I read it in a magazine,” he lies and looks down at his food with rosy cheeks and a sheepish smile. 

A giggle falls from your lips.

“Right,” he nods and points a finger at you, still smiling, “it’s scientifically proven that kisses help with the distraction.” 

“Mhmm,” you hum and nod, “right, totally yeah.” 

Instead of tears, you’re biting back a smile now, falling right back into the state you are always in when you’re around him – into bliss. 

You continue eating and you ask him about his day, you push your plate towards him, sharing your fries with him once he practically inhales the ones on his plate. He keeps on talking, the whole time you sit at the kitchen table you ate your meals alone at, he tells you all the gossip he’s heard from Robin, keeping you entertained and making you giggle, making you forget about the raging storm behind you or the pain you felt before, he makes you forget about everything. 

And you thought this would be like any other night you spent with him.

But it wasn’t.

Steve didn’t sleep with you that night, and you didn’t initiate it either. The storm was at full blast over your house, and Steve made sure to have the TV at full volume when watching the movies he stole. He mentioned Keith was busy trying to talk to a female customer and he didn’t even look at Steve when he shoved them down his shirt.

You laughed with him, giggled, and – are you the replacement? Are you really? Or are you actually in his heart?

The past tells you that you are the filler for the holes in his heart, but the present– the present tells you otherwise. It tells you that there might be a chance. His smile tells you that he likes spending time with you. The frown over his eyes when something happens to you tells you he is worried for you. The way he is possessive over you tells you that he considers you his. 

Is it foolish to believe in the present? Is it foolish to simply forget about the past? Is it foolish you cannot and won’t let go of him? Is it foolish to simply love him, with no reason at all? 

And you just know… that Billy never once said it was. 

Billy who wouldn’t want you to give up. Billy who wouldn’t want you to go back into the past. Billy who would want you to keep living in the present. Billy who would still encourage you if he were here. Billy who helped you pick that dress at the GAP to shoot your shot that day at Scoops.

Billy never gave up on your love for Steve. 

You shouldn’t either.

And you won’t.

♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @corrodedcorpses @maroon-cardigan @thecreelhouse @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles @munsonlore @sherrylyn0628 @munson-mjstan @agirlwholovesrockstars @moon-flowerrs

[pneumosia]

❝BENEATH THE VEIL OF SEPARATION.❞ ── ☼ rin itoshi﹕ ブルーロック › blue lock

syn ✧ having rin reappear in your life on a random friday was not what you were expecting. what starts as reluctance turns into a moment of vulnerability as old feelings resurface.

imaginarium theatre masterlist. ┆ general masterlist.

info log ﹕ fic tags rin itoshi / gn! reader. imaginarium theatre request no. 7 made by @reocidal. rin + retrouvaille + fluff. kiss scene. lots of banter. reader has a younger cousin. ➜ word count : 2.3k

love, ieva ❤︎ officially the first time writing for rin, i hope i didn’t make him too ooc 😓 also new formatting !! tiny bit of hurt/comfort if u squint bc i almost got carried away

Rin Itoshi wasn’t used to stopping. His life was a blur of precision: drills, matches, accolades. Yet here he was, holding a cup of lukewarm black coffee—and seated in one of the back tables. He sat next to a window, his hood drawn low. The cafe he was in was bustling with noise that began to grate on his nerves.. He scowled before pushing a pair of ear plugs into his ears, hoping to muffle the sounds of chatter between friends, parents with overly obnoxious children, and the relentless ding of the bell that rang whenever someone entered. He stared at his phone, checking match statistics, formations, strategies.

About a few blocks away, was a soccer field, usually an eyesore in his peripheral vision. It was the kind of place amateurs and children gravitate to—a world far out of his reach. Something so mediocre could never catch his attention, until he spotted a familiar figure walk past—his glance following them through the window. He blinked again, as if the act might scatter his vision and reveal a different image that was once buried in fog. But no, there you were—with an eager child tugging your hand while pointing towards the field.

Without thinking, he was on his feet, the coffee forgotten as he pushed open the cafe door. He could see the back of your head clearly, and the child beside you was practically begging to be taken to the field. How could you ever refuse? He watched as you smiled, radiant and full of life you were—just as you were back then. He could already hear your coos, a sign that you were giving into the child’s pleas.

“I want to go there! Can we? Please? Just for a little while?”

You glanced at the apple of your cousin’s eye—a small field, granted it was usually occupied by children, but the white markings reminded you of someone else. Someone you’d rather not name. Reluctantly, you clutched the little one’s hand tighter, looking both ways before crossing the street—unaware that Rin was dragging his feet across the road behind you.

When you approached the patches of uneven grass, marked with faded white lines—the little boy wasted no time before darting off towards the center, the atmosphere welcoming the young life—a playground meant just for him. Behind you, the faint sound of footsteps—deliberate yet hesitant, alerted your senses. You turn around just in time to catch a glimpse of Rin retreating, his hood low and his body angled as if he were preparing to bolt out of there. You blinked, caught off guard by the sight of someone so deeply tied to the past that you thought you’d never relive.

Your relationship had been at a standstill for so long, so the moment he vanished from your life—you never imagined him returning, much less in these circumstances.

A part of you had been craving this interaction, while the other wished to bury him with the past altogether. A time capsule never to be reopened.

“Rin?” the name left your lips before you could stop it, and his retreat faltered. His lips formed a small frown, and he let out a sigh in response.

He knew he should’ve left when he had the chance.

“I wasn’t..” he trailed off, knowing coming up with an excuse now would be futile.

Instead, his eyes darted towards the child running circles around the field—two children behind him as if they were playing a game of tag. ���Is that your kid?” he asked bluntly, anything to avoid the spotlight being on his failed retreat.

You raised an eyebrow at his question. “What? No—of course not!” you quickly retorted. Regardless of his motive, he should’ve realized how bizarre his blunt question sounded.

“Then?” he questioned further.

“That’s my cousin, I'm too young to have kids!” you retorted, crossing your arms in a manner that told him that his question must’ve been a stupid one.

“The second he saw this field, he immediately wanted to come and play.” you continued, hesitantly.

His hands stuffed themselves in his pockets, his gaze flickering between you and the child you claimed as your cousin. “I didn’t mean to— I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“And yet, you are.” you said, an amused smile tugging at your lips. “Following me?”

He spluttered before the heat trailed to the tips of his ears. “Not… Not a chance, you’re delusional.”

You only continued to stare him down, as if waiting for him to admit to it. “You sure? I find it pretty odd that this is purely a coincidence.”

“But it’s not impossible.” he commented before rolling his eyes.

“Well,” you said, your tone light but your eyes began searching his face. “Since you’re here, you might as well greet me properly. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Rin hesitated. It had been a while—more than a while—it had been an eternity. Yet, here you were, standing in front of him as if no time had passed at all. As if you were the same people, in a bubble of bright smiles and laughter that could cause tears from euphoria.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice quieter than you remembered. “It has.”

He wasn’t sure what to do. He followed you all the way here, for what? He couldn’t let this be their last interaction, not when he had so many words bottled up and stuck in his throat.

Before he could manage to speak up, the child appeared in front of him once more—glimmering eyes full of hope and a newfound joy for the sport. “Hey! Do you guys wanna come play with us?”

You pretended to think about the offer, a hand under your chin and an amused smirk adorning your features. You couldn’t say no to him. The little guy had you wrapped around his finger, but you didn’t mind—not if it meant that the smile on his fact would remain in place for as long as possible.

Rin, on the other hand, was absolutely dreading this interaction. On one hand, he knew he didn’t want to participate in this child’s antics, but he knew he couldn’t be rude about it. Instead of voicing his feelings, he opted to shake his head. The equivalent of a simple “no thanks.”

You quietly nudged his arm, trying to get the message across that the little one wouldn’t be able to take no for an answer. He grumbled in response, In a state of reluctance, he finally agreed before being dragged away by the tiny hand—with a promise that he’d definitely enjoy himself.

Of course, the little boy had absolutely no idea how to maneuver a soccer ball—looking up at Rin, he silently pleaded for him to teach him how to play correctly. The most he could manage was simply kicking the ball around and hoping it makes it into the opposite goal. It reminded Rin of his naivety when he was the little boy’s age. Rounded teal eyes filled with tears whenever he wasn’t able to move the ball around the way he wanted, and he had to rely on Sae for assistance.

The thought makes him shake his head in annoyance. At the moment, his brother was utterly irrelevant to the conversation. Right now, all he could do was scoff and put the heel of his foot on the ball—eyeing the child to make sure he was watching. “Just follow my steps, alright?”

To say your cousin was excited would be an understatement, he eagerly kept his eyes glued to the striker—furrowed brows that showcased his concentration.

“It’s about control, not strength. Where do you want to kick the ball?” he asked, as the child pointed forward—so Rin kicked the ball in that direction. “Now you try.”

The child mimicked his movements as best he could, earning a hum of approval. His expression remained unreadable, but the slight lift of his chin gave him away—he was slightly pleased. For the next hour or so, the two focused on simple ball passing and aiming, all the way until the little guy scored his first goal. The majority of the children were beginning to get pulled away from the field by their parents, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Rin’s way of teaching. Though his personality wouldn’t make for a good teacher, he was considerate of the child’s age and connection to you. And that, for you, was enough.

“I told you we’d have fun!”

“…Sure.”

“That wasn’t a no.”

The dumbfounded expression on Rin’s face was enough to earn a chuckle out of you, before you stepped forward to grab your cousin’s hand—a clear sign it was time to go home. Luckily, he didn’t make a fuss about it, tired out from the drills he and Rin had to do.

Later on, when it was just the two of them—you were unsure of what to say. The sky dimmed and night was fast approaching, but you didn’t have the urge to go home yet, at least—not without talking to him first. “You tolerated that more than I expected you to.”

“What? It was either I helped him or he’d start crying, and frankly the latter sounds worse.”

“Uh huh, you’re not going home?” you inquired, fiddling with your fingers as you waited for an answer. You honestly believed he was going to simply walk away, maybe even retort with a sassy remark to spite you.

“I could ask you the same, it seems like we still have something to talk about.”

Or so you thought.

A few beats of silence passed before you let out a sigh. “Can’t you just admit that you missed me so we can skip the awkward reconciliation stage?”

Confrontation was clearly not one of your strong suits, judging by how his eyebrows furrowed and how he crossed his arms—staring at you with pure judgment in his eyes.

“Get real.”

“You get real, c’mon. I’m waiting.”

He groans, stepping closer before eyeing you down. “What makes you think I missed you?”

“The fact that you followed me to the field maybe? You could’ve ignored me, and gone in the opposite direction.”

You had him right where you wanted him.

He didn’t have an answer, did he?

(Maybe you were delusional.)

Rin’s silence stretched, his teal eyes narrowing as he searched for a retort—something sharp to cut through your confidence. But for once, he didn’t have one. His arms dropped to his sides, and for a brief moment, his face softened, though he quickly masked it with an annoyed scoff. He wouldn’t admit that he followed you on a whim (that he missed you, more than you’ll ever know.)

That he regrets leaving things where they were without telling you the truth.

“You’re imagining things,” he muttered, stepping back slightly. “I didn’t follow you—I just didn’t have anything better to do.”

(Excuses, but what else was he supposed to do?)

“Right,” you said, leaning closer with a teasing grin, masking the slight ache in your chest at the thought that it was just coincidence. “Because spending an hour with my cousin and me was totally your idea of a thrilling Friday night.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t step away this time. “You’re annoying.”

“And yet here you are,” you quipped, your voice gentler now. “Why won’t you just admit it, Rin? You missed me. It’s okay, I won’t hold it against you.”

(Unless i’ve been making a full of myself this entire time, chasing after someone who wants nothing to do with me.)

His gaze snapped back to yours, something unreadable flickering in his expression. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He was cracking, slowly yet surely, in a manner you wouldn’t have expected. You couldn’t read him, or even tell what he was feeling.

(Rin never opens up easily, he learned how to seal the cracks as quickly as they’re made—as daunting as such a skill is—it infuriated you to no end. Even before, he wouldn’t admit that he liked you. For someone so proud, he was faltering in one way or another.)

“And you’re deflecting,” you countered softly. Your teasing tone was gone now, replaced by a quiet sincerity. “You could’ve ignored me. You could’ve left after the game. But you didn’t. You stayed.”

Rin looked away, his jaw tightening as he shoved his hands into his pockets. The breeze ruffled his dark hair as the last remnants of sunlight faded into the horizon. “…Maybe I didn’t want to.”

(There it was, the last piece.)

It was barely above a whisper, but you heard it. Your chest tightened, a warmth spreading through you. “What was that?” you asked, though your heart was already racing.

“Don’t push it,” he muttered, but his voice lacked the usual bite. Instead, he shifted closer, his shoulders tense, as though he was debating something. His eyes met yours again, piercing but hesitant.

You took a small step forward, tilting your head. “You’re so bad at this, you know? I should just—”

Before you could finish, Rin leaned down and captured your lips in a quick, almost clumsy kiss. It was brief but enough to silence your words and steal your breath. When he pulled back, his face was flushed, and his expression was a mixture of defiance and embarrassment.

“There. Happy?” he asked, his voice low, his confidence cracking just slightly at the edges. It was just what you’ve been waiting for. It felt almost surreal, the tips of his ears were practically burning.

You blinked, your lips still tingling from the unexpected kiss. A wide grin spread across your face. “No, I'm imagining things, delusional even.”

Bouncing his own words back, how comical. But he could only roll his eyes. He knows you’ve won.

(You held back a sigh of relief, he didn’t forget.)

“Don’t push your luck,” he mumbled, turning away, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

You laughed softly, grabbing his wrist before he could walk off completely. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop teasing—for now.”

The night air felt lighter as the two of you stood there, the tension melting into something softer. Neither of you had to say it, but in that moment, it was clear: whatever distance had been between you before was finally gone.

taglist 🔔 : @papiliotao @starcharmed @snobwhimsicality @bladism @tragedy-of-commons @wystiix @arquistes @thestarswhisper @somatchajade @gl4di0lus @milk-violet @aphrodict @mikashisus

[beuxwhoyouare]

Getting Away with It

I almost got away with it. Truthfully, I didn't even know I would go as far as taking him out. But I mean he had it coming, I heard all the horrible things he had done that I could hear through the penthouse walls in the building I worked in. All the times he'd abuse a partner, slur people in the halls, not to mention act like he was a god because he made good money in sales or whatever.

He crossed a line one day, as I saw him nudge someone into the street nearly getting them hit by a bus. So sure was it right to take him out? Maybe not, but did I feel good taking one bad person off the streets...absolutely. Unfortunately, what I did was caught on camera and the legal system takes that narrative with no context and runs with it.

So I mean yeah I almost got away with a drastic good deed. But now I'm here on a life sentence for murder. I like routine in my day and in here the days are so regimented it's not exactly the kind of routine I find myself a fan of. I remained on good behaviour until the guards took pity on me and recommended me for supervised community service aid. Basically, still in jail but instead of working a job in jail, I could go out and help them clean garbage off the side of the road with parolees on the outside and random others doing a "good deed."

That's where I met Jacob. He was on parole for driving while intoxicated. Truthfully, I find that way worse than what I did. Like that feels so selfish...getting behind the wheel while drunk. Despicable. But clearly it's been the catalyst for him to turn his life around. He was in jail for a year and been on parole ever since. He started working out in jail while getting certified as a trainer. There aren't alot of jobs life after lockup that don't discriminate against you for your record so it makes sense that he'd want to do something where you can be your own boss.

We were in the van being taken to the stretch of highway in between developing parts of the city. It's crazy how looking north and south you can see parts of town and smack in the middle there's this road with tall weeds and shrubbery lining it. We were joined by a class of university student volunteers who were advised to keep their distance from us. Something we all sort of ignored since there's so much trash to pick up.

"Hey Lu, I gotta show you this thing this crazy old hippie gave me back in town." Jacob quietly told me as we scoured the brush for bottles.

"Dude we have things to do and I don't really want them to take me off this shift." I begrudgingly replied.

"Nah nah the guards aren't even looking at us they're flirting with the female students over there."

Sure enough our bozo headed guards were chatting it up with some girls that were supposed to be helping us. That's when I glanced over and saw Jacob holding what looked like an antiqued golden coin or rounded stone with a symbol scratched into it.

"The dude gave it to me in a box and said if you hold it in your hand and then make skin-to-skin contact with someone else you like transfer consciousness."

"So I see life on the outside is just as crazy as it is in here."

"You mean to tell me you don't even think it could be a little bit true? C'mon bro this could be your chance to get out out of jail. Shit if you don't try it I might as well. I'm tired of all these probationary restrictions. I just wanna hit restart."

"You're already out. It can't be that bad?" I said as I turned around to see him sneakily hurrying off towards one of the college students.

"Shit what is he doing."

I rushed over to where Jacob was and pulled him by the loops of his jeans to not cause a scene. Stopping straight next to one of the students picking up trash a little bit away from his group.

"Dude I don't know what you're aiming to do but if it doesn't work you're the one that's going to look like the insane paroled convict with an ambiguous item in his hand that could be misconstrued as a weapon."

"Listen, if it works it works, but if it doesn't there's no harm no foul and we can call it all a joke."

Before I could even protest, Jacob turned on his confident charisma to whistle over the nearby student. As the curious student walked closer I could hear the narrative Jacob was intricately weaving pretending to care about what he was studying and if he could tell us both more about it.

"I'm so sorry kid, I didn't even catch your name. I'm Jacob and this is Lu." he said with a devlish smile.

"I'm Mark." he said with a slight hesitance.

"Well Mark you shared so much with me can I share something with you? A party game you can take with you to your friends back at school?"

"Uh sure yeah."

"So you find a smaller coin or stone and one person places their hand on the bottom of it and the other on top. The person with their hand on the bottom has to try to and tap the person with their hand on top without flinching"

These rules made absolutely no sense and why would they Jacob's plan was himbo incarnate. Like it was so dim I could see Mark tense up and begin to shift away back towards his friends. He tried to say goodbye to Jacob but that's when I saw this crazed energy flood Jacob's eyes. The next things that happened felt like a blur in slow motion.

Mark turned around to return to his classmates with haste. Jacob quickly began following without running to not alert the guards yet shouting for him to wait up because it's all good fun. And before I knew it I took off running to stop Jacob from taking advantage of an innocent person.

Jacob leaped at Mark and tackled him to the ground but it's only the moment when I got there to break it up did the guards finally notice what was going on, rushing over.

He pulled the stone out and tried to grasp at Marks leg under his wider legged jean, while I reach out to stop that hand. THEN BAM. Everything became darker and several flashes of light happened.

When I came to the guards were pulling me up. I heard what I thought was Mark's voice saying the one in the jumpsuit attacked him. But I didn't run after him? As things pulled back into focus for my eyes after the darkened haze. I saw Mark being calmed down by a professor and a guard but then I saw who he was point at.....I was my body but I was to the other side.....

My body turned to me matching my confused expression and began crying hysterically asking what was going on. I looked down and saw the confirmation of what happened. I was wearing Jacob's clothing. And if my body's surprised too....then that means....God no!

The guards rangled up the convicts and put them all shackled back onto the van as another came to apologize to the university professor and her class along with "Mark". Another guard came up to me saying he knows that Lu is a murderer and that I didn't start any of this so I was getting a slap on the wrist, especially after "Mark" insisted I tried to stop the attack. The guards left and told the rest of us we could go.

The student approached me with that same devilish smile I recognized from before. His voice coming out unfamiliar in sound but with an all too familiar malice.

"Hey thank you again from saving me from that gruesome murderer mister. I didn't even catch your name. I'm Mark." he said with a wink.

"Jacob what the fuck are you doing?" I frantically asked.

"I'm giving you a way to get away with it all and me a clean start. But I gotta go back to school so here take my number down." the imposter student airdropped his details to me before scurrying away.

I was still in shock from everything that just happened. Like this cannot be real how the hell is this happening. Where do I go okay I can do this. I fumbled through my wallet as I searched for an address to head to. Eventually I made my way to Jacob's place. It was a hotel that was turned into extended stay studio.

I walked into the foreign "home" that was now all mine. My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. This can't be happening that poor kid is now in jail. Oh god....wait. I'm not on the run why am I this stressed. Think think how do I fix this. An exercise ball peaked out from the side of the bed. My new athletic stature made me think maybe catering to it's physical senses could help me breath and calm down.

I did a few crunches but still felt a pang of guilt hitting my stomach. Oh god I need to fix this but where is the coin? I can't leave that kid incarcerated, that's robbing him of his whole life. Almost like clockwork my new phone buzzed with a text.

"Hey. Thanks again for saving me stud." the unknown number made itself known with that context.

"Jacob we need to fix this. That poor kid doesn't deserve this."

"Who's Jacob? This is Mark! And I think I deserve all the opportunity I've worked hard to get. Hey by any chance have bodily urges hit you? I'm not gay but after the incident when I saw you I got realllll hard all of sudden. I think this kid's gay or something."

I was furious reading these texts still skirting responsibility.

"Enough! Where are you we have to talk this is ridiculous."

The phone buzzed as I opened to see a location pin as a picture came in...my jaw dropped.

"Oh you wanna meet irl daddy? Come on over."

I stormed over to the location of the pin…I’m not going to let him get away with this.

[pbaz7]

AGAINST THE TIDE: PART SIX

paige x azzi

word count: 4.7k

A/N: This is just a cute little chapter to show how much their dynamic has grown/changed. There will be a few time jumps after this because we’ll never get anywhere otherwise 😭. I love all the live reactions and comments I’ve been getting, they’re actually hilarious.

—————————————————————————

After spending the night in Paige’s room, the two of them got impossibly closer. When they woke up the next morning, Paige invited Azzi to tag along to her physical therapy session. Azzi of course agreed, and from that moment on, they spent every waking hour together for the rest of the short winter break. Whether it was in rehab, watching movies in Paige’s room, or going out for a sweet treat in the middle of the night at Azzi’s request, they became inseparable.

When they returned to UConn after Christmas, it was the exact same. It was rare to see one without the other. Both of them were sidelined with injuries, which only gave them more excuses to stay close. During games, they sat on the bench together, Paige talking Azzi’s ear off about strategy, stats, and whatever random thoughts crossed her mind. Azzi didn’t mind; she found Paige’s rambling endearing, even when it meant missing part of the game on the court.

Off the bench, they poured themselves into helping the team however they could. They watched hours of film together, analyzing plays and finding ways to improve their teammates’ performance with so many of them sidelined with injuries. Huddled around a laptop in the locker room or sprawled out on the floor of Paige’s dorm, their heads often ended up leaning close enough that their shoulders brushed. Neither pulled away.

Neither of them brought up the new dynamic between them. It was like there was a silent agreement to ignore the feelings simmering just beneath the surface. They told themselves it was easier this way, to focus on recovery and basketball. But the excuses only went so far.

Their stolen glances during film sessions lasted a second too long. The casual touches—Paige nudging Azzi’s knee when she made a good point, or Azzi grabbing Paige’s forearm to drag her somewhere or emphasize her own thoughts—left feelings between both of them. Paige’s heart raced every time Azzi’s hand lingered on hers, while Azzi found herself melting into a puddle by the way Paige’s voice softened when they were alone. A softness she only seemed to have for Azzi.

Still, they stayed in the safe lane of ‘friendship’ burying their feelings beneath layers of banter and shared routines. To them that seemed to work but to anyone else looking at their dynamic it definitely seemed like they were in a relationship. The two of them basically teased and flirted with one another nonstop.

January 2022

Today was no different. They were currently on the road, heading back to Connecticut after taking a quick trip to see Paige’s surgeon for her check-up. The car was quiet except for the hum of the engine and the faint sound of music playing from the speakers. Paige was driving, her hands relaxed on the wheel, and Azzi was trying her best to focus on anything but her.

It wasn’t easy. Azzi wasn’t used to seeing Paige behind the wheel—usually, she was the passenger, sprawled out and carefree. But now that Paige could drive she insisted on doing it every time and Azzi could never stop glancing over at her. The way Paige’s jawline looked when she would clinch it at someone doing something stupid in front of her, the subtle furrow of her brow as she concentrated on the road, or, worst of all, the way her long fingers gripped the steering wheel, knuckles flexing slightly.

Azzi swallowed hard, her thoughts wandering somewhere they absolutely shouldn’t be. She blinked, forcing herself to look straight ahead, but her gaze betrayed her almost immediately, drifting back to the blonde.

Paige caught her. She glanced over, catching Azzi’s lingering stare, and a slow smirk spread across her face. “What?” Paige asked, her voice laced with amusement.

Azzi groaned at being caught, throwing her head back against the seat. “Stop driving like that.”

Paige laughed, the sound warm and teasing as she gave her a quick side glance. “Like what, Azzi?”

Azzi waved her arms in Paige’s direction, clearly flustered. “Like that! You know what you’re doing.”

Paige grinned wider, unable to hide how much she was enjoying this. “I’m literally just driving. You’re the one making it weird.”

Azzi let out a frustrated noise, crossing her arms and slouching slightly in her seat. “No, you’re doing something. I don’t know what, but it’s distracting.”

Paige chuckled, shifting her grip on the wheel—whether to mess with Azzi or just to adjust, Azzi couldn’t tell, but it didn’t help. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but this is how I always drive. Guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”

Azzi shot her a glare but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re so annoying, you know that?”

Paige glanced over briefly, her smirk softening into something more playful. “Yeah, but you clearly like it.”

Azzi huffed, turning her gaze out the window to avoid giving Paige the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. But her resolve didn’t last long. Her eyes betrayed her, flickering back to Paige’s hands on the steering wheel. The way her fingers flexed just slightly, the grip firm and sure—it was ridiculous how something so mundane could have Azzi’s thoughts spiraling.

Paige caught her again, and her smirk deepened. “Are you seriously doing it again dude?”

Azzi groaned, slouching in her seat. “Oh my God, stop.”

“Stop what?” Paige asked innocently, purposefully shifting her grip on the wheel, her fingers flexing just a little more dramatically this time.

Azzi covered her face with her hands, her voice muffled as she muttered, “I hate you so much.”

Paige laughed, the sound light and teasing. “No, you don’t.” She shifted her hands again, dragging the moment out, clearly enjoying Azzi’s growing frustration.

“Paige,” Azzi warned, her voice low, though it lacked any real bite.

“What?” Paige asked, feigning innocence as she glanced over at her. “I’m just driving.”

Azzi groaned, leaning back in her seat. “Oh my God, just stop. Why do you even drive like that?”

“Like what?” Paige asked innocently.

Azzi let out a frustrated noise and covered her face with her hands. “You’re doing it on purpose now. I know you are.”

Paige chuckled, her laugh warm and teasing. “Maybe.” She then switched driving hands as she dropped her right hand from the wheel, letting it fall casually onto Azzi’s leg.

Azzi froze, her breath hitching as Paige’s fingers rested just above her knee, her touch light but deliberate. Her wide eyes snapped to Paige, who kept her gaze firmly on the road, her smirk now bordering on a full grin.

“What are you doing?” Azzi demanded, her voice higher than she intended.

Paige shrugged, her tone casual. “Nothing. Just resting my hand. Relax.”

Azzi’s hands shot up in disbelief, gesturing toward the offending hand on her leg. “Relax? Are you kidding me? Move your hand before you crash!”

Paige laughed, giving her thigh the faintest squeeze before replying, “I’m not gonna crash from touching your leg, Azzi. Chill.”

Azzi groaned, squeezing her eyes shut for a second before snapping, “Fine! Move it before I lose my mind.”

Paige’s laugh deepened as she finally slid her hand back to the wheel. “You’re so easy to mess with.”

Azzi groaned, slumping into her seat and covering her face again. “I hate you. I actually hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Paige replied, glancing over with a playful glint in her eye. “Admit it, you like when I mess with you.”

Azzi huffed but couldn’t suppress the warmth spreading across her face—or the tiny smile tugging at her lips. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Paige smirked, her confidence only growing. “I’m not the one having a heart attack over getting their leg touched.”

Azzi glared at her but couldn’t fight the laugh bubbling out. She shook her head, muttering under her breath. “I’m going to lose my mind before we get back to Connecticut.”

Paige glanced at her again, the teasing replaced with something softer, though her smirk lingered. “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” she murmured, her voice quieter but no less bold.

Azzi bit her lip, forcing herself to look out the window again, but she couldn’t hide the way her cheeks burned—or the way her heart raced whenever Paige pushed her buttons just like this.

…

The teasing had died down as the miles stretched on, replaced by a comfortable silence. Azzi was staring out the window, watching the trees blur past, but her mind was thinking about any and everything related to the girl sitting next to her. She glanced at Paige, her jaw set in quiet concentration as she navigated the highway. Finally, Azzi broke the silence.

“Can I ask you something?”

Paige raised an eyebrow, glancing over briefly. “Yeah, of course.”

Azzi hesitated, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. “Why did everyone used to be so worried about you? I remember hearing stuff, but no one really explained. And when I started going with you it was never that bad so why’d they make it such a big deal before?”

Paige’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel. She let out a slow breath, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. “That’s... kind of a long-ish story.”

Azzi turned toward her, leaning slightly against the door. “We’ve got time.” Her voice was soft, no pressure, just genuine curiosity.

Paige laughed lightly, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Okay, but you can’t freak out, it was a long time ago, alright?”

Azzi frowned but nodded. “Alright.”

Paige shifted in her seat, adjusting her grip on the wheel. “It was after the Final Four. A couple of weeks after we lost. I just... wasn’t in a good place. I blamed myself for everything—every missed shot, every mistake. It felt like I let everyone down. So, I did what I always do. I locked myself in the gym.”

Azzi’s brow furrowed. “For how long?”

Paige shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “A couple of days, maybe?I didn’t realize I wasn’t really eating or drinking water. Just working out, watching film, shooting until I couldn’t stand anymore.” She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Literally.”

Azzi’s stomach twisted. “What do you mean?”

“Evina found me passed out,” Paige admitted quietly, her voice almost lost under the hum of the car. “It was just dehydration and not eating enough, nothing serious. But after that, everyone started treating me like I was fragile or something.”

Azzi stared at her, the air catching in her throat. “Paige...”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Paige said quickly, waving it off. “Dehydration, low blood sugar—nothing serious.”

“That is serious,” Azzi countered, her tone sharp with concern.

Paige shrugged, a faint bitterness in her smile. “Maybe. But at the time, it felt like I deserved it, you know? I wasn’t happy, Az. Not with basketball, not with myself. I basically hated myself. It was like... no matter how much time I spent in the gym, it didn’t make up for how I felt. I just wanted to work hard enough to forget, but instead, I ended up running myself into the ground.”

Azzi’s brow furrowed as she processed Paige’s words. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Paige let out a soft laugh. “Who? Tell them what? That I couldn’t handle the pressure? That I felt like a failure? Everyone was looking at me to bounce back, to lead, to be Paige Bueckers. I couldn’t let them see me crack.” She paused, her voice barely above a whisper. “I felt so alone. Like no one understood what I was going through. So I didn’t talk to anyone and just spent my days in the gym.”

Azzi’s chest tightened. “Paige, that’s... I don’t even know what to say. I can’t believe you went through all of that by yourself.”

“I didn’t really have a choice,” Paige murmured. “It’s not exactly the kind of thing you can just explain to people.”

Azzi opened her mouth to respond, but Paige spoke first. “My knee’s starting to ache a little.” She glanced at Azzi, her tone lighter but her eyes searching. “There’s a diner at the next exit. Let’s stop for a bit.”

Azzi frowned slightly, sensing something beneath the excuse, but nodded. “Yeah, okay. You sure you’re good?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I just... want to sit for a bit. And, you know, look at you while we talk instead of staring at the road.”

Azzi felt her cheeks warm at the admission but said nothing as Paige took the exit.

Once they were seated in a quiet booth at the corner of the diner, Azzi finally spoke. “I didn’t know it was that bad for you.”

Paige stirred her water with her straw, her expression contemplative. “I didn’t either, not at first. I thought I could handle it. But looking back... I was just running from how I felt.” She glanced up at Azzi, her eyes soft. “You know what I mean?”

Azzi nodded slowly. “Yes actually. When I tore my ACL, I thought my career was over. I didn’t want to get out of bed, let alone go to rehab. My parents practically had to drag me out of the house some days and force me to shower. I felt like I’d never be the same player again, like I let everyone down. It was... dark for a while.”

Paige leaned forward to let Azzi know she was listening. “How did you get through it?”

Azzi shrugged. “Time, mostly. And people not giving up on me, even when I gave up on myself. But it’s still hard, you know? Some days, it still feels like the world’s too heavy to carry.”

Paige nodded, her gaze steady on Azzi. “Yeah. I get that.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind where neither of them felt the need to fill the space. Paige finally broke it with a soft laugh. “You’re really easy to talk to, you know that?”

Azzi smiled, her eyes warm. “So are you.”

As they sat there, the hum of the diner around them, Paige felt a strange sense of peace settle over her.

The conversation deepened as they sat in the quiet corner of the diner, their voices low but steady. Paige found herself opening up about things she hadn’t thought about in years, things she’d never told anyone else—her childhood, her family, the moments that shaped her love for basketball. Azzi listened intently, chiming in with her own stories. They talked for hours and didn’t even notice.

“You were a troublemaker as a kid, huh?” Paige teased, leaning back in the booth.

Azzi grinned. “Not trouble, exactly. I just had... energy. My mom says I never sat still, which is probably why sports were the only thing that worked for me.”

Paige smirked. “Explains a lot.”

Azzi nudged her foot under the table. “And you? Let me guess—perfect student, teacher’s pet, MVP of the kickball team?”

Paige chuckled. “Something like that. I always wanted to be the best at everything, even if it didn’t matter. Like, who cares if you’re the fastest at spelling quizzes?”

“Apparently you did,” Azzi teased, her smile softening. “That competitive streak must’ve made you fun to grow up with.”

Paige shrugged, her tone turning reflective. “It was a lot of pressure, though. Some of it I put on myself, but a lot came from... expectations. Like, if I wasn’t the best, what was the point?”

Azzi nodded in understanding. “I get that. I think that’s why I struggled so much after my injury. For so long, basketball was who I was. When I couldn’t play, it felt like I didn’t know myself anymore. I didn’t know what to do day in and day out.”

Paige reached across the table, her fingers brushing Azzi’s hand briefly before she pulled back. “I’m really glad you didn’t give up.”

Azzi’s eyes softened. “Me too.”

Their waiter approached, setting down Azzi’s dessert—a large slice of chocolate cake with a swirl of whipped cream on top. Paige shook her head, laughing softly. “Of course you’d order that.”

Azzi picked up her fork with a grin. “What can I say? I’m predictable.” She took a bite, humming in satisfaction before holding a forkful out toward Paige. “Here, try it.”

Paige wrinkled her nose. “You’re always trying to get me to eat sugar.”

“Because it’s not as fun when I have to eat it by myself,” Azzi shot back, waving the fork in front of her. “C’mon, just one bite. It’s really good.”

Paige sighed dramatically but leaned forward, letting Azzi feed her the bite of cake. She chewed, her face carefully neutral before finally swallowing. “Okay, fine. It’s good.”

Azzi smirked, leaning back triumphantly. “Told you.”

When the check came, Paige didn’t give Azzi a chance to reach for her wallet. She slid her card into the leather folder and handed it to the waiter without a word.

Azzi arched a brow. “You never even let me try to pay for anything.”

Paige shrugged, standing up and grabbing her coat. “You’ll get the next one.”

“Next one?” Azzi echoed, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Paige glanced over her shoulder. “Unless this is the last road trip we ever take together?”

Azzi shook her head, laughing as they headed back to the car. The air outside was crisp, but Paige felt warm, the lingering glow of their conversation following her as she slid into the driver’s seat.

Azzi settled in beside her, glancing over as Paige started the engine. “You know,” she said softly, “I like this.”

Paige glanced at her. “What?”

“This,” Azzi said, gesturing between them. “Whatever this is. Us just... being.”

Paige smiled, her heart full in a way she couldn’t quite put into words. “Yeah. Me too.”

…

By the time they pulled into the parking lot in Connecticut, the car was silent except for the low hum of the engine. Azzi was sound asleep, her head resting gently against the window, her breaths slow and even. Paige turned off the car and let herself sit for a moment, her eyes drifting over to Azzi. She took in the way the soft moonlight highlighted her features, her peaceful expression making Paige’s chest tighten.

Paige smiled to herself, leaning back in her seat. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered under her breath, the words barely audible.

Reaching out, Paige gently ran her hand down the side of Azzi’s face, her fingers brushing her cheek lightly. The touch caused Azzi to stir, her brows furrowing as she slowly blinked awake.

“Hey,” Paige said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’re back.”

Azzi stretched slightly, her movements sluggish as she tried to wake herself up. Eventually Paige stepped out of the car, walking around to Azzi’s door. She opened it, leaning in with a teasing smile. “Come on before I carry you.”

Azzi snorted, her voice still thick with sleep. “Paige, you can’t carry me.”

Paige scoffed, a mischievous glint sparking in her eyes. “Oh, really?”

Before Azzi could protest, Paige slid one arm under her legs and the other behind her back, lifting her out of the car with surprising ease. Azzi squealed, grabbing onto Paige’s shoulders. “Put me down!” she yelped, her voice pitching higher than usual.

Paige grinned, clearly enjoying herself. “What’s wrong? I thought you said I couldn’t carry you.”

“Paige, your knee!” Azzi scolded, trying to sound serious but failing as laughter bubbled out. “You just got cleared to play again—don’t go ruining it!”

Paige hummed in thought at the mention of being cleared to play. “Hmm...”

“No,” Azzi interrupted, narrowing her eyes even as she laughed.

“Pleaseee?” Paige said, dragging the word out dramatically, her smile widening as she put Azzi down gently onto the pavement.

Azzi groaned, but there was no real annoyance in it. “You’re literally insane,” she muttered, already knowing where this was heading.

“Come on Az please,” Paige pressed, her tone playful but pleading.

Azzi sighed, finally relenting. “Fine,” she said, shaking her head. “But you’re getting my shoes.”

Paige’s face lit up like she’d won a championship. “Deal!”

Azzi chuckled, turning back toward the car to get back in the passenger seat. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to fight you on this.”

Paige didn’t respond, already jogging toward the suite with a bounce in her step. “I’ll be right back!” she called over her shoulder.

Azzi shook her head, smiling despite herself. “She’s gonna be the death of me,” she muttered, getting back in the car as Paige ran inside to grab their basketball shoes, her energy contagious even in the middle of the night.

…

If Azzi didn’t know any better, she’d think Paige was on something. The blonde had been in the gym for hours, bouncing off the walls with energy, clearly ecstatic to be freely shooting a basketball again—even if she wasn’t cleared for contact.

Azzi, on the other hand, was drained. She’d given up about thirty minutes ago, peeling off her basketball shoes and resigning herself to sitting on the floor, watching Paige’s every move. She leaned back on her hands, her chest rising and falling steadily as she caught her breath. Her eyes following Paige darting around the court, making shot after shot, her smile brighter than the overhead light they had turned on.

Eventually, Paige bounded over to her and, without warning, dramatically sprawled across Azzi’s lap, her sweaty body pressing against Azzi’s.

Azzi groaned, trying for annoyance but failing as her lips curved into a small smile. “Ew, Paige, you’re sweaty.” She didn’t, however, make any effort to push her off.

Paige grinned up at her, clearly unbothered. “Alright, I think I’m done.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, feigning shock. “Oh wow, it only took three hours. Truly a miracle.”

Paige laughed softly, her smile warm and unguarded as she looked up at Azzi. Something in her expression softened, and for a moment, the only sound was their steady breathing.

Azzi hesitated, her chest tightening as she gazed down at Paige. She reached out instinctively, brushing a strand of sweaty hair out of Paige’s face. Her fingers lingered for a second before she spoke, her voice quiet and a little shaky. “I really love your eyes.”

Paige blinked as her cheeks flushed faintly as her grin softened into something more genuine. “I love your smile,” she murmured, her voice steady but low, like it was meant just for Azzi.

They stared at each other for a long moment, the air between them hung with unspoken emotions. Paige’s expression was completely open, her gaze searching Azzi’s as if she were trying to commit every detail of her face to memory.

The closeness sent Azzi’s heart racing, the feeling so intense it almost overwhelmed her. So she quickly pushed Paige off her lap and stood up, clearing her throat. “Come on,” she said, trying to mask the flustered edge in her voice.

Paige smiled to herself as she got up and followed Azzi. But instead of heading toward the gym’s front doors and her car, she grabbed Azzi’s hand, intertwining their fingers and tugging her in the opposite direction.

Azzi groaned lightly, though she didn’t pull away. “Where are we going now, Paige?”

Paige glanced back, her grin teasing.

“We’re gonna watch the sunrise.”

Azzi stopped complaining immediately, her curiosity piqued as Paige led her to the elevator.

When they reached the rooftop, the early morning air hit them, but Azzi immediately vetoed going outside. “No you’re gonna get us sick,” she scolded. “We’re sweaty, and it’s freezing.”

Paige laughed but didn’t argue, following Azzi to a spot by the glass windows that offered a perfect view of the sky. They sat down side by side, the first light of dawn spilling through the panes and casting a soft glow over them.

Azzi rested her head on Paige’s shoulder, her body relaxing into the blonde. She reached for Paige’s hand, her fingers lightly playing with Paige’s in an absentminded gesture that felt far more intimate than either of them acknowledged.

They watched in silence as the sky gradually brightened, the world slowly coming alive with shades of pink, purple, and gold.

Paige turned her head slightly, resting her cheek against Azzi’s hair. “Thanks for coming with me today,” she said softly, her voice low and sincere.

Azzi tilted her head up to meet Paige’s gaze, her lips curving into a small smile. “Always.”

They stayed like that, wrapped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence, letting the moment stretch until the sun fully broke the horizon, casting its warm light over them.

Eventually, as the last traces of night faded and the sun rose higher into the sky, Paige sighed and stretched. “Well, I guess we should go finally get some sleep.”

Azzi agreed, lifting her head off Paige’s shoulder and standing up. Paige followed suit, and the two of them walked back toward the elevator, hands still lingering together.

Once they were back in the car, the drive to Paige’s dorm was quiet, the peacefulness of the morning lingering between them. By the time they arrived, the exhaustion from their trip hit them all at once.

They both took quick showers, Azzi finding herself some clothes in Paige’s drawer while Paige showered.

Paige slumped onto her bed, pulling the covers up. Azzi followed suit, crawling under the blankets next to her.

As the lights went off, the silence of the room filled with the soft sounds of their breathing. Despite the exhaustion, neither of them wanted to drift off just yet. They exchanged a glance, a small smile shared between them, as they settled into the warmth of the bed.

"Goodnight, Az," Paige whispered, her voice gentle but filled with something deeper, something unspoken.

Azzi smiled softly, closing her eyes. "Goodnight, Paige."

…

A week or so later, Paige was sitting in the training room, her legs stretched out on the bench as she scrolled through her phone. Her lips curled into a smile, her eyes lighting up as she read whatever was on her screen.

Evina, who was seated across from her, noticed immediately and let out a laugh. “What’s got you all smiley over there?”

Paige glanced up, caught off guard but unable to wipe the grin off her face. “It’s nothing,” she said, her tone too casual to be convincing. She glanced back at her phone before quickly adding, “Azzi just sent me something. She’s on her way now.”

Evina raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. She’d been waiting for an opening like this. “Speaking of Azzi, what’s going on with you two?”

Paige froze, her fingers halting mid-scroll. “What do you mean?” she asked, feigning ignorance, but the blush creeping up her cheeks betrayed her.

Evina leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she gave Paige a knowing look. “Come on, Paige. You two are pretty close now. Like, real close.”

Paige let out a nervous laugh, shaking her head. “Nah, she’s just like... my best friend now,” she said, her voice a little too quick and defensive.

Evina wasn’t buying it. She tilted her head, her expression skeptical. “Paige, be fucking for real,” she said, her tone teasing but firm.

Before Paige could respond, the door to the training room opened, and Azzi walked in. She headed straight for Paige without hesitation, a warm smile on her face as she leaned down to wrap her arms around the blonde in a quick but affectionate hug.

Paige blushed even deeper under Evina’s gaze, her hands lingering a second too long on Azzi’s back before she pulled away.

Evina smirked, leaning back in her seat with her arms crossed. “Wow,” she said, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “No love for Mama E?”

Azzi laughed, the sound light and unbothered, as she turned to Evina. “Alright, alright,” she said, walking over to give her a quick side hug. “You happy now?”

Evina shook her head with a grin, glancing pointedly between the two of them. “Oh, I’m very happy. This is way better than anything I could’ve imagined.”

Paige groaned, burying her face in her hands, while Azzi, not really knowing the context, just chuckled and perched herself on the bench next to her.

Evina wasn’t about to let up, but Paige shot her a pleading look, mouthing, Don’t. Evina raised her hands in mock surrender, but the mischievous twinkle in her eye promised this conversation wasn’t over.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

My Favorite Thing

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: Your comfort item gets lost on a hunt, and the boys try to help you

“Stop the car!”

Dean slammed on the breaks, turning the Impala to the side of the road before whipping around in his seat to see what was wrong.

“What happened? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find Willow!” You exclaimed. “We have to go back to the motel!”

“Jeez, kid.” Dean let out a huge sigh of relief. “I thought you were dying or something. Don’t scare me like that!”

“We have to go back, it’s an emergency!”

“Kid, your little toy thing is not an emergency,” Dean said.

“Are you sure you didn’t just leave it in your other bag?” Sam asked.

“Yes I’m sure, I always put it right here, and it’s gone!”

“It can’t be at the motel,” Dean argued. “I remember you had it right before we went after that vamp. You must’ve lost it on the hunt.”

“Well then we have to go find it. Please, Dean,” you begged.

Dean sighed, swinging the Impala into a u-turn. “Let’s see if we can find it.”

…

Two hours later, and still no luck.

“Kiddo, we’ve gotta get going,” Dean spoke up reluctantly. “There’s a case in the next state over and we really should try to get there before dark—“

“We can’t just give up!” You cried.

“We looked everywhere honey,” Sam cut in. “There’s nothing else we can do. Maybe we can find you another—“

“No, no you can’t just find another one!” You yelled. “You don’t get it, you don’t even care!” You were racing away from the boys before either of them had a chance to respond.

“What was that?” Dean demanded.

“I don’t know,” Sam sighed. “But she was headed toward the Impala. Let’s go.”

…

“Hey sweetheart.” Dean’s greeting did nothing to pull you out from the way you’d cocooned yourself in the Impala’s backseat.

Sam eased the door open and slid in next to you, patting your knee that was curled up against your chest.

“N/N, talk to us. You ok?”

“Dad gave it to me.” Your voice came out in a high-pitched whimper. “And I lost it.”

“Oh kid…” Dean climbed into the front of the Impala, reaching over the back of the seat and tilting your chin up. “Dad would understand, ok? It’s ok.”

“No it’s not!” You sniffled. “You have the Impala, and Sam has dad’s journal…I don’t have anything of his. I wanted to at least keep something he gave me.”

Dean suddenly slipped out of the Impala, but you didn’t have time to notice it because Sam spoke up.

“Honey, it’s not about the stuff he left behind. He taught you so much that you’re gonna carry with you, and you don’t need a toy to remember that.”

“I…I guess,” you sniffled. “But I wanted it.”

“Commere…” Sam pulled you into his arms, planting a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find it. I know that meant a lot to you.”

“Here it is—“ Dean’s voice caught your attention as he returned, holding a bundle that he’d retrieved from the trunk. “I think dad would want you to have this.” Dean pressed the fabric into your hands, and you held it up to reveal John Winchester’s favorite jacket.

“It’s never gonna fit,” you argued dubiously.

“Who cares?” Dean shrugged. “I heard jackets six sizes too big are the trend now.”

You giggled through your tears as you slipped your arms through the massive sleeves. The sleeves hung down several inches past your fingers, but you didn’t seem to mind as you hugged the fabric around you.

“Thanks, Dean,” you said.

Dean grinned.

“Any time, kid.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz @johannelis2302nely @studiogrimm810

[alessiasfreckles]

read my lips (mapi león x ingrid engen x deaf!reader)

You've had a long day, and the last thing you want to do is meet your friend at a busy café after work - until two women show up and ask if they can sit at your table.

a/n: based on this request, i hope you like it! i'm sorry it's not super long but i might do a part 2 x (also i have the same shirt as the one mapi is wearing in those pics so i had to use them)

------

The day started out like any other. You got up, showered, got dressed, had a quick breakfast and headed off to work. That’s when things started to go downhill. Somehow half of your files were missing, so you had to spend hours trying to recover them, and when that didn’t work you had to contact the IT guy, who didn’t seem to understand that exaggerating all of his words and shouting made it harder to understand him than if he just spoke normally. Then you realised you’d forgotten your lunch at home, so you had to spend half of your lunch break going to the shop down the road - and they didn’t have the sandwich you wanted. 

By the time you’d finished work, you wanted nothing more than to go home and curl up in bed. Unfortunately, you’d planned on meeting a friend at a nearby café, and you hadn’t seen each other in months, so you really didn’t want to cancel. With a sigh, you packed your things and headed to the café.

It was busy, and the noise was draining - the clanking of cups, the hiss of the coffee machine, the sound of cutlery scraping against plates. Your friend wasn’t there yet, so you ordered a drink and found an empty table tucked away in a corner. You sent her a quick message, telling her where you were sat, and turned off your implants with a breath of relief. You were looking forward to seeing her. She was Deaf as well, and it got tiring talking to people all day. It would be nice to just be able to sign away to someone, someone who spoke the same way you did. 

As you waited, you scrolled through your phone. You could make out muffled sounds behind you, but ignored them, knowing that when your friend arrived she would just sit down, rather than trying to get your attention. 

The sounds quieted down, but then came back after a minute. You kept scrolling through your phone until someone stepped into your line of sight. Looking up, you saw two young women. One had dark brown hair and piercing blue-green eyes, and the other had lighter brown hair with blonde tips, and a tattoo across her neck. They were both stunning, and it took a moment for you to register that they were trying to talk to you. You quickly focused your attention on the dark-haired girl’s lips, watching her mouth move.

“Hey, would we be able to sit here? All of the other tables…” her mouth kept moving, but she turned her head, gesturing to the rest of the café, which was packed. You frowned as you tried to read her lips, but it was hard when she wasn’t facing you directly. Guessing that she was saying something about nowhere else being free, you nodded. It was a table of four after all, and it wasn’t like you had to worry about them listening in to your conversation.

“Yeah, sure. My friend should be here soon but there’s still space,” you said, trying not to get distracted again by how gorgeous the women were. They smiled gratefully and sat down. You went back to scrolling on your phone as you waited, wondering where your friend was. 

“Are you from around here?” the woman with the tattoo asked, sitting down next to you. You didn’t see though, and hadn’t even realised she was talking to you. She waited a minute for a response, and when nothing came she raised an eyebrow at the other woman, who just shrugged. 

Your friend arrived a few minutes later, rushing over to your table then stopping when she saw the two women. She waved at you, then glanced over at the women.

“Who are they?” she signed, and you shrugged.

“I don’t know, they just wanted somewhere to sit and this was the only place left.” you signed back quickly.

Your signing caught the eyes of the two women, who watched in surprise. As your friend sat down, the dark-haired woman moved over a little, making more space. 

“Sorry, do you want us to move?” she asked, then cringed as she realised she’d just spoken to you, when the two of you were clearly using sign language. Still, you’d spoken to her earlier, so you must understand some spoken words.

“No, it’s okay,” your friend said with a smile, and the woman looked relieved.

The woman next to you tapped you on the shoulder, and you sighed inwardly, but turned to face her. All you really wanted to do was chat to your friend, not answer some stranger’s questions about being Deaf - which happened more often than you would think.

“Hi! My name is M-A-R-I-A,” she signed. The signs looked different to the ones you knew, and you guessed that it wasn’t British Sign Language.

“Where are you from?” you asked, and she looked disappointed that her signing hadn’t been received well. “Your signing looked good, I just don’t recognise it. Are you from a different country?”

“Ah, yes, I’m from Spain,” she explained, smiling apologetically.

“That explains it. There are different sign languages in every country. That must be Spanish sign language.”

“Can you hear?” she frowned, tapping her ear.

You could see the dark-haired woman frown and hiss something at the woman sat next to you, but didn’t see what it was. 

“No, but I can lip-read,” you told her, tapping your lips. “What were you signing?”

“That’s so cool!” she exclaimed with a wide grin. “I was signing ‘Hi, my name is Maria’. Actually, everyone calls me Mapi, but I only know how to sign Maria.”

“Ma-pi?” you asked, watching her mouth closely. 

“Si- uh, I mean, yes!” she nodded, smiling, and grabbed a pen from her pocket and wrote it on a napkin. Mapi.

The other woman chuckled and shook her head fondly, catching your attention.

“I’m sorry about her. She likes meeting new people,” she said, looking at Mapi with a warm look. “I’m Ingrid. I’m sorry, we’ll let you get back to your friend now.”

Mapi nodded, looking slightly bashful, and you tried to ignore the disappointment you were feeling.

“How do you end up sat with two of the most attractive people I’ve ever seen?” your friend signed to you, eyes wide.

“Luck, I guess?” you signed back with a shrug. “They really are ridiculously hot, though, right?”

She nodded, stifling a laugh. The two of you chatted for a while, catching up on each other’s lives, when her phone vibrated on the table between you. Her eyes flew to her phone and she grimaced apologetically. 

“I’m sorry, I have to go, I forgot that I-”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, you can go,” you signed, rolling your eyes teasingly. She was notoriously forgetful, and if anything you were surprised that she’d even made it to your meeting. She apologised again and was out of the café within minutes, leaving you alone with Mapi and Ingrid once again.

You sat for a moment, contemplating whether to stay a while longer and read or whether to just leave. Deciding that, really, all you still wanted to do was get into bed, you packed up your things and left, waving goodbye to the two women. 

Except, when you got outside, you realised it was raining. Not just raining, but absolutely chucking it down. Rummaging through your bag, you had a sinking feeling that only got worse as you searched, realising that you had, in fact, forgotten your umbrella at home.

Fuck, you thought to yourself, wondering what to do. Normally you’d just walk, but in this weather and without an umbrella you definitely didn’t want to. There was a bus stop not too far, you supposed, but you weren’t sure what time the next bus was.

With a sigh, you turned your implants back on, bracing yourself for the sudden noise and winced at the sounds. As you started to pull out your phone to check the bus timetable, the door to the café swung open behind you, loud chatter and the clanking of plates catching your attention. You looked up to see Mapi and Ingrid, who were frowning at the sky.

“The weather here is so bad,” Mapi grumbled, but there was a smile in her eyes.

You nodded with a chuckle, and opened your mouth to reply when a car sped past, honking its horn, making you jump.

“Fuck, that was loud!” you exclaimed, clapping your hands over your ears. Mapi looked at you in surprise.

“I thought you couldn’t hear?”

“I can’t, but I have implants,” you explained, lifting your hair to show her the device. “I don’t really like using them though, the noise can be so overwhelming. I had them off in the café, but it’s safer to have them on outside.”

“Oh, that’s so cool!” Mapi grinned. “I wish I could turn my hearing off sometimes.”

“María,” Ingrid admonished her, looking slightly embarrassed. “You can’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” she asked, turning to face the Norwegian. You tuned them out as you looked at your phone, remembering that you’d wanted to check the buses. Okay, there was one in 20 minutes, that wasn’t too bad, you supposed. 

Or… you could wait, and see what Mapi and Ingrid were doing. Yeah, you wanted to go home, but it also wasn’t every day that two women this interesting just fell into your lap like this. 

“Hey, you said you’re from around here, right?” Mapi asked, tapping you on the shoulder to get your attention again.

“Yep,” you nodded. “Born and raised here.”

“Great! If you’re not busy, do you want to show us around a little?” 

“Oh!” you said, surprised. 

“If you’re busy, that’s okay,” Ingrid quickly interjected, mistaking your surprise for hesitation.

“No, no, I’m not busy,” you smiled. Fuck it. “I can show you around. Maybe we should go somewhere dry, first?”