#Flight: Dare to Dream

[mwphisto]

Rafayel suffers from night terrors.

He doesn't talk about them, doesn't dare acknowledge them out loud. Saying he has them makes them real, and that's not something he's ready to come to terms with yet.

They are not visions his mind conjured up. No, they are something far worse. They are memories. Memories of his past, of his lives with you. Each one etching their own unique scar in his mind. Taunting, tormenting, breaking his heart over and over.

Still, Rafayel refuses to dwell on them longer than a few minutes. After he's jolted upright in bed, sweat covering his body, his pupils drawn tight despite the darkness enveloping his room.

His body is shaken by fight or flight, arms trembling with tension as he holds onto the dying version of you that has long since passed.

They don't stop, not until he has you. Not until you are throughly bound to him in this life too. Tangled in the infamous red string of fate, one that ties you to him as helplessly as he his tied to you. Your presence in his bed has warded off the cursed dreams.

Now, Rafayel's night terrors are few and far between.

He can go a few weeks, even a month, without his past tormenting him in his dreams. His resolution is much healthier than his previous coping attempts. Each time his skin is soaked with sweat, each time his heart seizes and he is left grappling for reality, he reaches for you.

You, who is sleeping soundly beside him. You, who sleeps like the damn dead. You, who sleepily mumbles his name and reaches for him just as he clings to you, sweat, panic, and all.

You may not remember. It may kill him a little bit. But he has you again, you are his and he is yours. He can cope with the nightmares of his past so long as you are sleeping - breathing - beside him.

Are we fucking joking with that trailer. Raf looks un-fucking-real and (SPOILERS) I genuinely gasped when we died in his arms. My poor fishy, the visual sucked (it was gorgeous but painful is what I mean lmfao)

[abbotjack]

Booked for One

pairing : Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x fem!resident!reader

summary : A black-tie charity gala in Chicago. One bed. Months of tension. And a storm that forces both of you to stop pretending.

warnings/content : 18+ content, explicit sexual material (fingering, penetrative sex, condom use), strong language, emotionally repressed characters, unresolved sexual tension (resolved), jealousy, mutual pining, power dynamics (attending x resident), one bed trope, clothing sharing (his hoodie/boxers)

word count : 4,850

18+ ONLY MDNI, not beta read. Please read responsibly.

a/n : This is me projecting every inch of tension into one hotel room and letting it burn. Robby is so done pretending he doesn’t want her. She’s so done pretending it doesn’t wreck her. No further questions.

The Chicago skyline glittered beyond the ballroom windows like something out of a dream, but the room itself was thick with too much perfume and performative laughter to feel romantic. Somewhere between the crystal chandeliers and the overpriced floral centerpieces, you remembered: this was a charity gala, not a fairy tale. Not that you’d expected it to be one.

Your heels clicked confidently across the marble as you stepped into the crowd, the sound sharp and unapologetic. The red dress did exactly what it was meant to do—stop conversations mid-sentence. Backless, sculpted, slit high enough to make someone drop their champagne. Almost inappropriate. Almost. But cut with just enough class to keep mouths shut and eyes glued. You didn’t stumble into this look—you chose it. Every inch of it said exactly what you needed it to.

And beside you—silent, composed, unreadable—walked Dr. Michael Robinavitch.

Not behind. Not trailing. Beside. Step for step, shoulder to shoulder. Close enough that your perfume reached him, close enough that his silence pressed against your skin like static. The air between you practically hummed. No words were exchanged, but you felt his presence—intentional, sharp, heavy. Not accidental. Never accidental. He wore that tux like a threat and walked like he already regretted coming.

You didn’t blame him. He’d hated the idea of this from the moment the assignment hit both your inboxes. He spent most of the flight to Chicago muttering about schmoozing donors and dressing up for people who’d never seen what a ruptured spleen looked like in real life. Said if AGH wanted charm, they should’ve sent a PR team—not a trauma attending and a second-year resident.

But for all his complaining, he showed up anyway.

Beard neatly trimmed, jaw tight, suit tailored to the exact width of his frustration. He hadn’t bothered with a tie—left the top button undone and rolled his sleeves up in the car, like he couldn’t stand the performance of it all but still dared anyone to question whether he belonged.

Classic Robby.

All precision. All control. Except, maybe, for the way his eyes kept drifting back to you like he hadn’t meant to.

You’d felt it before you even got here.

The moment you stepped out of your hotel room earlier that evening, still adjusting the strap of your dress, you felt the air shift. His gaze had dragged down your spine like heat—slow, reluctant, and absolutely devastating. He hadn’t said a word. No compliment. Not even a grunt. Just stood there in the hallway, watching you like a problem he didn’t know how to solve.

Then you got into the car.

And now, here you were. Walking beside him like none of that tension had happened—like it wasn’t still buzzing under your skin.

He said nothing.

So, you flirted.

You’d barely handed off your coat when a man caught up to you. Mid-thirties, polished, expensive suit, and the kind of grin that usually came with a boarding group upgrade and a trust fund. His eyes dragged over you—slow, practiced—and landed on your badge.

“Emergency?” he asked, matching your stride.

You didn’t break pace. “That a problem?”

“No,” he said, trailing beside you now. “Just wasn’t expecting it. Not in that dress.”

“Guess I don’t dress for your expectations.”

He laughed under his breath, clearly intrigued. “Wasn’t trying to offend. You just... don’t look like you’ve pulled a chest tube.”

You glanced at him, expression unreadable. “You don’t look like someone who’s coded a patient without crying, but I’m not holding it against you.”

He blinked, thrown for half a second—then smiled, slower this time, like the game had just gotten interesting.

“Alright,” he said. “I deserved that.”

You gave a noncommittal shrug. “Probably.”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Should I try again?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just looked at him—cool, steady, unreadable. Not interested, but not walking away either.

“If you want,” you said finally.

And then you turned, letting him follow you into the crowd. He kept close, too close, like he wasn’t used to being dismissed.

“I’m Lucas, by the way,” he said, offering it like a favor.

“Of course you are.”

He laughed under his breath, clearly not sure if it was a compliment. Robby was across the ballroom, watching it all.

You watched him back. The way his jaw clenched every time you touched Lucas’s arm, the way he barely blinked when Lucas leaned too close.

"You here alone?" Lucas asked.

"That depends," you said, voice light.

"On what?"

You looked past him. Past the buffet table. Past the sea of donors and old-money medicine. Straight into Robby’s eyes. And you smiled.

“On whether he comes over here or not.”

Lucas turned, confused. “Who?”

You just tipped your glass toward Robby.

Robby didn’t move. He just stared back—still, unreadable, drink untouched in his hand like he wanted to throw it at something.

You turned back to Lucas. “Nevermind.”

You ended up pressed against the gold-veined marble counter in the bathroom ten minutes later, Lucas’s mouth hot and insistent on yours, his hands already on your hips like he’d earned the right. The chill of the marble cut against the warmth pooling low in your body, but you didn’t stop him.

Outside, rain had started to streak across the windows—steady now, soft at first and building. You barely registered it. All you felt was Lucas’s palm dragging slowly up your thigh, slipping beneath the slit of your dress, fingers skimming skin like he expected you to beg for it.

He kissed like a man used to being told yes. Confident. Greedy. A little too practiced. His teeth grazed your lip, tongue sweeping into your mouth with a low hum as he pushed closer, like he couldn’t get enough of the way you tasted.

You let his hand slide higher. Let him mouth at your neck, at the soft line beneath your jaw. Let him tug the strap of your dress down far enough for the fabric to slide off your shoulder.

Your lipstick smeared between you. Your breath came faster than it should’ve. And all you could think about—even now—was how Robby hadn’t said a single goddamn thing about the dress.

Lucas tasted like champagne and ego. His hands were good. His mouth was eager. His knee pushed between yours and your back hit the mirror with a dull, aching thud.

“You’re unreal,” he muttered against your collarbone, breath hot, hand skimming the edge of your breast now. “Jesus.”

You tilted your head back and closed your eyes.

Pretending it was enough.

Pretending it didn’t burn.

Then, gently—too gently—you pressed your palm against his chest.

“I should go.”

Lucas blinked. “Seriously?”

You didn’t answer at first. You just looked at him, steady, breath catching, lips swollen from someone you didn’t want.

Then: “Yeah. Seriously.”

Not cold. Just done.

You slipped out before he could say anything else, smoothing your dress and swiping your thumb across your mouth.

Outside, rain ticked louder against the glass.

And just a few feet down the corridor, exactly where you didn’t want him to be—was Robby. Like he'd positioned himself there on purpose. Like he knew exactly where you’d be. His eyes tracked you the second you stepped back into the ballroom—sharp, steady, and unmistakably furious.

“Was that worth it?” Robby’s voice cut through the hum of the ballroom, low and sharp like a scalpel slipping beneath skin.

You froze mid-step, spine straightening. “What?”

He pushed off the column, slow and measured, like he’d been holding himself still for too long. “Lucas. From Hopkins, right? He’s been at a few of these things.” Robby’s voice was low, sharper than it had any right to be. “In the bathroom. That's how you planned to go about your night?”

You crossed your arms. “Careful. You’re starting to sound jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he said, stepping in closer. “I’m pissed.”

You lifted your chin. “Why? Because he touched me, or because I let him?”

His jaw flexed. “You really want me to answer that?”

“You’ve been watching me all night, Robby. If you had something to say, you could’ve said it before I walked away.”

“I didn’t think you’d let someone else touch you first.”

You laughed once, dry and humorless. “That’s on you.”

“Don’t twist this.”

You held his stare. “Don’t try to control something you keep pretending you don’t want.”

He stepped closer, voice rough. “You think I don’t want you?”

“I think you want me when it’s convenient. I think you want me more when someone else does.”

His eyes darkened. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it.”

He shook his head. “You walked out of that bathroom looking wrecked—and all I could think was, I should’ve been the one to ruin your lipstick.”

Your breath caught.

“I mean it,” he said, voice lower now, almost ragged. “I stood here like a fucking statue while he got to touch you. Got to taste you.”

“Then do something about it,” you snapped, the air between you flaring hot.

“I can’t,” he said, jaw tight. “Not here. Not when I’m still trying to be the version of me that’s good for you.”

Thunder rumbled outside, closer now. A gust of wind rattled the balcony doors, and someone across the room shut one with a sharp bang that turned a few heads. Staff began to move like shadows between tables, and the string quartet shifted into something slow.

“Why not?” you whispered.

“Because the second I touch you,” he said, “I won’t stop.”

A waiter brushed past with a tray, and the spell broke—the quiet clatter of silver on porcelain snapping the air between you.

You stepped back like it burned. “We should go.”

Neither of you said another word.

Minutes later, you sat stiff in the back seat of the Uber, arms crossed tight, trying not to look like your heart was still somewhere back in the ballroom. Robby stared straight ahead, one hand flexing on his knee, the other resting uselessly between you. The driver didn’t ask questions. Neither of you offered answers.

By the time you stepped back into the hotel, the lobby was chaos—umbrellas dripping onto the tile, soaked coats draped over chairs, luggage leaving wet trails across the marble.

You were halfway to the elevators when the concierge spotted you.

“Miss?” she called out gently. “Room 124?”

You turned, already bracing.

“There’s been a situation,” she said. “A pipe burst on the first floor. Maintenance was able to shut it off, but your room was affected.”

Your chest tightened. “Affected how?”

“Flooded,” she admitted. “We pulled what we could from your room and sent everything to the laundry department for evaluation.”

You blinked. “Evaluation?”

She hesitated. “Some items were soaked. Our team is assessing what’s salvageable.”

You didn’t need her to spell it out. You could picture it already.

Your suitcase—soaked through from the bottom up, clothes clinging to the lining like wet leaves. The silk sleep set you packed on a whim, twisted and ruined. Your toiletry bag overturned, mascara tubes and tampons and a busted travel-size mouthwash bobbing in shallow water. Your heels wrapped in white hotel towels like they’d been injured. Your charger? Fried. The paperback you'd half-finished on the plane? Warped and curling at the edges like a dried flower.

You didn’t want it assessed. You wanted it not to have happened.

“We’re also fully booked due to the weather,” she added, almost apologetic now. “We’ve had cancellations, stranded travelers, local walk-ins. There’s a waitlist, but we can’t guarantee anything for tonight.”

Of course not.

You stared past her, toward the barricaded hallway at the far end of the lobby. Caution tape. Industrial fans. A sign printed in sharpie: FLOOR CLOSED FOR CLEANUP—1st. You could hear the low, constant roar of air pushing moisture out of drywall.

“Fine,” you muttered, reaching for your phone. “I’ll find another hotel.”

You had barely tapped the screen when Robby spoke.

“She’s with me.”

You turned your head slowly. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“You don’t have a room,” he said, measured. “You don’t have clothes. You’re not getting another hotel this late.”

“I didn’t ask for help.”

“I’m not offering help.” He looked at you then—just once, jaw locked, eyes hard. “I’m not letting you walk around Chicago at midnight with a dead phone especially during a thunderstorm.”

That shut you up. Not because he was angry.

Because he was worried. And trying not to show it.

The concierge handed over a second keycard.

Robby took it before you could say anything.

Just like that.

Final. No discussion.

He didn’t even look at you as he turned toward the elevators.

You followed him.

The click of your heels echoed against the tile, sharp and precise. Rain streaked the windows behind the lobby seating area, lightning flashing faintly across the marble floor. Neither of you spoke.

“I don’t have anything to sleep in,” you said finally, your voice clipped.

“I’ve got boxers and a hoodie,” he answered without looking back.

You stopped. Right there in the middle of the lobby.

“Oh, perfect. I’ll just wear your hoodie like this is totally normal and not weird at all,” you said, tone sharp.

He turned—slow, deliberate. Shoulders tense, jaw tight.

“What’s your move, then? Wander around downtown at midnight in heels that are cutting off your circulation, soaked through, no phone, no plan?”

You didn’t answer fast enough.

His jaw ticked. “It’s a hoodie and boxers, not a wedding dress. Don’t flatter yourself.”

You blinked, slow. “Oh, I’m not. I just prefer not to sleep in something that smells like you’re still wearing it.”

He stepped in—closer than necessary. “You didn’t seem so bothered by that smell earlier. In the elevator. Or at the event.”

Your pulse jumped. You hated that it did.

You crossed your arms. “I’d rather not spend the night with someone who can’t stand to look at me.”

His eyes didn’t move from yours. “You’re not upset about me glaring.”

“Oh no?”

“No,” he said. “You’re upset because the wrong man undressed you with his eyes—and made a move before the one you wanted ever did.”

Your stomach dropped.

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

He didn’t move. He didn’t smirk. He just let the words sit there between you, heavy and sharp and so goddamn true you wanted to slap him for it.

“Wow,” you breathed. “You’re a dick.”

“And you’re still standing here,” he said.

The elevator dinged.

You turned and walked in first.

He followed.

The doors slid shut behind you with a hush that felt like it should’ve echoed.

You stood a little too close to the mirrored wall. He stayed behind you, angled slightly off to the side. You watched him through the reflection. He wasn’t watching you, but he wasn’t relaxed either. His jaw was locked. His hands were in his pockets, knuckles tight enough to show through the fabric.

His chest rose slow. Measured. Controlled.

The air between you wasn’t just tense—it was alive. Like it had heard every word back in the lobby and didn’t believe either of you were done.

The elevator climbed.

At floor ten, your arms were crossed so tightly your shoulders ached.

At floor eleven, your pulse jumped just from the space between your hands and his body.

At floor twelve, he looked at you in the reflection—just a flick of his gaze—and your breath caught.

“We’re both adults,” he said.

Your voice barely made it out. “Barely.”

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped out before he could say anything.

His footsteps followed—steady, patient. The hall was quiet except for the distant hum of the rain hitting the windows at the end. The carpet muffled everything but your heartbeat.

He unlocked the door with one swipe of the keycard, then held it open. You didn’t look at him as you walked in.

You flicked the lights on.

And there it was.

One bed. Big. White. Obvious.

Robby walked in behind you, shutting the door with a soft click. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it neatly, like this was any other night.

You stared at the bed, then at him. Your voice was dry.

“Of course it’s one.”

He didn’t flinch. “Wasn’t expecting company when I booked it.”

You crossed your arms. “But when you offered to share—”

“I knew,” he cut in, voice smooth, unreadable. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to mention that part?”

He turned to face you fully, one brow lifting just slightly. “I had a single room. Why would it have two beds?”

You blinked at him, but he kept going, tone low and infuriatingly rational.

“Sorry, I forgot to ask the hotel for the ‘in case my coworker gets drenched and stranded’ package.”

You scoffed. “A heads-up would’ve been nice.”

He tilted his head, eyes skimming over you. “Right. And if I’d said, ‘It’s one bed,’ you’d have said what? ‘No thanks, I’ll sleep in a puddle’?”

You didn't answer.

He smirked. “Exactly.”

The silence stretched. Long enough to make the storm outside feel closer. You peeled your clutch from under your arm and set it on the dresser like it gave you something to do.

He crossed to his bag. Pulled out a hoodie and a pair of boxers, both folded with the kind of care you recognized in him—practical, precise. He set them down at the end of the bed.

“They’re clean,” he said. “Bathroom’s yours.”

You didn’t move yet. Just looked at the bed again. Then at him.

He hadn’t looked away once.

You took the clothes in one hand.

“So,” you said slowly. “We’re just gonna sleep next to each other like none of this ever happened?”

His voice didn’t waver. “Is that a problem?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Can you keep your hands to yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Even if I wear this?” You lifted the hoodie an inch.

His gaze dropped for a single second. Just one. Then back up.

“Especially if you wear that.”

You stared at him.

He didn’t blink.

The moment hovered—thick and heavy with something neither of you wanted to name.

Then you turned toward the bathroom without responding.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you swore you could still hear the sound of him exhaling—low and rough, like he was trying not to want something he didn’t have permission to reach for.

The bathroom was quiet except for the faint hum of the fan and the thunder outside.

You reached behind you, fingers brushing the zipper. It slid down with a soft sigh, the dress loosening around your frame. The straps slipped off your shoulders, and the fabric followed, slow and heavy, like it didn’t want to let go.

It fell in a hush against the tile—crimson and careless at your feet.

You stepped out of it without hesitation.

His hoodie came next. It was oversized and warm. The sleeves hung past your hands, the hem grazing your thighs. You pulled on the boxers last. Loose, low, unfamiliar. You kept one hand on the waistband, like that might anchor you.

In the mirror, you didn’t look like the girl who’d worn that dress. You looked like someone else entirely—bare legs, messy mascara, lips still parted from things unsaid.

Like someone who’d made a choice.

Even if you hadn’t figured out what it meant yet.

When you opened the door, the lights in the room had dimmed. Only one lamp was still on, casting a warm glow over the bed and wall. The storm outside had deepened to a constant rhythm—rain tapping like fingers against glass, thunder slow and low in the distance.

Robby had moved. He was no longer standing.

Now he was sitting in the chair by the window, already in his pajamas. But the second you stepped out, he looked.

And stayed looking.

His gaze dragged from your legs to the oversized hoodie, to the hand resting at your hip like you didn’t quite trust the boxers not to fall. Then to your face.

He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

The air in the room changed. Tightened. Coiled.

You walked past him in silence, slid into the bed slowly—like you weren’t listening for the hitch in his breath, even though you were. The sheets were cold. Your skin prickled beneath the fabric, awareness spreading like a pulse.

You heard him stand.

Not right away. Not fast.

Just... eventually.

The creak of the chair. The soft thud of his steps against the carpet. The flicker of the switch. Then the dip of the mattress behind you.

He pulled the blanket up slowly. Settled on his back. Close, but not touching.

You stared at the ceiling. Felt the heat of him beside you—close, steady, impossible to ignore. Six inches of space. Maybe less.

And then you moved.

Not much. Just enough for the blanket to pull tighter across your hips, for the edge of your thigh to graze his under the sheets. It was barely contact.

But it felt like heat.

You knew he felt it too—because he stilled.

His breath caught, just slightly, like his lungs had registered something his mouth hadn’t been cleared to speak on. You could feel the way he was holding himself back. The way every inch of him had been still and disciplined until now, and now… now he wasn’t.

"Robby," you whispered.

He turned his head toward you.

Just a glance. But in it—everything. The tension. The ache. The silent plea for permission. Or for you to stop him before he crossed a line he couldn’t walk back from.

You didn’t.

Instead, you reached out—slow, careful—and let your hand find his forearm beneath the blanket. Warm skin. Solid muscle. He tensed at your touch, but didn’t move.

So you let your hand drift down, sliding along the inside of his wrist until your fingers brushed his.

He hesitated.

Then laced them through yours like he couldn’t help it.

That was all it took.

His fingers slipped free again, and his hand moved—up your arm, slow and deliberate. Not over the fabric. Under it. He pushed the hoodie up just enough to touch your bare skin, his palm dragging heat along the dip of your waist, the soft slope of your stomach. He moved closer, his leg brushing yours beneath the blanket, chest barely grazing your shoulder.

Your breath caught.

He heard it.

He hovered above you now, weight on one elbow, eyes locked on yours in the dark.

You reached up and found the side of his neck. Warm, tense, familiar.

That was enough.

He kissed you—deep, slow, but hungry. Not rushed. Just built-up control finally cracking. His hand slid higher beneath the hoodie, fingers spreading across your bare ribs, then rising to cup your breast—skin to skin. His thumb brushed over your nipple, and you gasped, the sound catching between your mouths.

He pulled back a breath’s distance, just enough to look down at you.

“You knew,” he said roughly.

Your lashes fluttered. “Knew what?”

His eyes dragged over your face. “That I wouldn’t stop if I touched you.”

You didn’t answer. You just arched into him, hips tilting, hand reaching for the hem of his shirt. Your fingers found the edge and pushed up, knuckles brushing his stomach.

He moved to help, lifting his arms, letting you tug the shirt over his head and toss it aside. Then he leaned back, one hand tugging the blanket down from both your bodies, eyes never leaving yours.

His chest rose and fell—slow, deliberate, barely in control. And he was still watching you like he hadn’t even started.

His hand slipped beneath the waistband of the boxers.

You gasped—quiet, sharp—and he froze.

“Okay?” he asked, voice hoarse against your throat.

“Yes,” you said. “Don’t stop.”

He groaned—quiet, guttural—and kissed you again, his fingers sliding through you slowly, then sinking deep. One, then two.

The hoodie stayed on.

But everything underneath it was his now too.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, “how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“I think I do,” you said, breathless.

He kissed you again, but this time deeper—tongue sliding against yours with the kind of hunger that tasted like restraint finally breaking. His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, then your neck, slow and deliberate, as if he was testing how far you’d let him go.

You didn’t stop him.

You tipped your chin up and gave him more.

“You’re soaked,” he said, voice dark. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “I’ve been like that all night.”

His hand moved in slow circles over your clit. You arched into him.

“Robby—”

“Fuck, you feel—” He cut himself off with another kiss. His forehead rested against yours, breaths coming fast now. “Don’t rush me.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re shaking.”

“You’re making me.”

He added another finger. Your hips jerked, and he caught them with his other hand, holding you still while he fucked you slow with his fingers—deep, steady, curling in all the right ways. You whimpered into his mouth.

“Look at me,” he said roughly.

You did.

His pupils were blown wide. His jaw tight. His fingers still moving, still coaxing, still building the ache that had started the second he offered you this bed.

“Tell me when.”

Your breath broke. “Almost—don’t stop.”

His thumb pressed against your clit, just enough pressure to push you over. You came with a gasp—hips trembling, body curling into his. He kissed you through it, slow and open-mouthed, like he was breathing you in.

When your body stopped trembling, you reached for his waistband and pulled it down. He was hard. Thick. Heavy in your hand.

You stroked him once, twice—slow, just to feel the way his body jerked under your touch. His eyes fluttered shut, jaw clenching hard as your thumb teased the underside of his cock.

“Condom?” you asked, voice low.

“Top drawer,” he said. “I checked earlier.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Hopeful?”

“Prepared.” he muttered.

You fished it out and handed it to him. He rolled it on with shaky hands, then settled between your legs again—his hips aligned with yours, one hand braced beside your head, the other curling under your thigh.

He paused. “Last chance.”

You locked your eyes on his. “Shut up and fuck me.”

He pushed in with one slow, smooth thrust—stretching you open inch by inch, until your back arched and your nails dug into his shoulders.

“Jesus,” he gritted out, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel like—”

“Move.”

He did.

Long, deep strokes that built slow—his body pressed against yours, breath hot against your cheek, the bed shifting beneath you. His hips rolled just right, his rhythm steady but desperate, each thrust dragging a sound out of your throat you couldn’t have silenced if you tried.

You wrapped your legs around him, ankles hooking behind his back, dragging him deeper. His hand slid under the hoodie, found your breast, thumb brushing your nipple until you cried out.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Come again.”

He angled his hips and thrust again—harder now, rougher, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room. You moaned into his mouth, fingers clawing at his back as your body built again, tighter, hotter.

Then you broke.

Your climax hit fast—sharp, shattering. You buried your face in his neck and held on as he fucked you through it, thrusts stuttering, voice breaking on a groan.

“Fuck—I’m—”

He followed you over the edge with one last deep thrust, his body shaking above you, hips grinding into yours as he spilled into the condom with a low, guttural noise that sounded like surrender.

When it was over, he collapsed half on top of you, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat.

Neither of you spoke.

You lay there tangled in each other, his hoodie bunched around your waist, your breathing slowly syncing with his. His hand rested on your thigh—still, warm, unhurried. Gentle in a way that felt unfamiliar for both of you.

The storm outside had quieted to a hush, rain tapping a soft rhythm against the windows like it was trying not to interrupt.

Minutes passed.

Then, quietly—like it had been sitting on his tongue all night—he said, “You looked really beautiful in that dress.”

Your heart stuttered.

You turned your head just enough to look at him. “You didn’t say anything.”

“I know,” he murmured. “Didn’t think I should.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just watched him, his features softer now in the dim light, his usual armor cracked wide open.

After a moment, you whispered, “I waited for you to.”

His fingers flexed lightly on your thigh, like the weight of your words hit somewhere deep.

“I know,” he said again, barely audible. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t forgive him out loud. You didn’t need to.

You just shifted closer, let your leg hook over his, and finally let yourself exhale.

Not everything had to be said right now.

But for the first time in a long time, it felt like something had changed.

And neither of you reached to undo it.

[radiant-reid]

24 Hours

request: a blurb where he actually gets mad at JJ when she confesses to love him but doesn't really say anything at the moment. But then when he introduces reader to the team as his girlfriend, JJ is being kinda rude to her. She tries to tell him she doesn't like her, that she's not good for him. And spencer gets mad and protective👀 maybe he even throws a "i'm going to marry her, whether you like it or not".

a/n: my return piece !!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Fluff)

Word Count: 2.2k

Spencer sees red when he walks out of the jewelry store after shooting the unsub.

JJ is the first girl he has ever asked out, someone he pined over for years after her subtle rejection at the Redskins game. He understood her reasoning. It would have been impractical for them to add relationship highs and lows to everything the BAU has been through over fourteen years, and that's if they stayed together. If they hadn't, things would have been even more complicated.

Also she just generally didn't like him that way. Or so he thought.

It didn't mean she wasn't his ideal for many years. His first love, who had so many traits he didn't have that he desperately wanted.

His confirmation he would be unlucky in love came after that with Maeve, who he once again thought could be the one for him. And then he realized that maybe the person for him had been taken away from him.

Then he met Y/n, and it all seemed worth it. All those terrible nights of crying and feeling like he would forever be alone, all the times he was the only single one on the team, knowing everyone was going home to someone they loved unconditionally and relied on for support.

She's the sun and the moon, and he fell in love so fast he couldn't stop it. Luckily, she did too.

Until JJ fucked it up.

The truth she had to tell to get them out alive dropped an atomic bomb on his newly formed life plans.

Spencer doesn't speak to her that night as they finish their recounts and reports. She leaves it out, though, he discovers, opting to write the secret about her miscarriage instead of confessing her love for her best friend and the godfather of her kids.

It messes with his head the whole way home. He can't sleep on the jet, even if he wanted to as he tried to work out what he was feeling.

All JJ does is send him pleading looks, and all he does is get angry because how dare she do this now? After she had fifteen years of them working together, all those chances to tell him how she felt.

He would have married and had a family with her, the family he always wanted. It's always stayed in the back of his head for so long, and just as he sees someone else in that role in his dreams, she drudges all of it back up.

It's such a long flight, and he taps his foot the whole way while staring out the window, not even able to read.

He goes to Y/n's. He's not sure what he's going to say, how much of it he's going to tell her, but he needs to see her to cool off the fury boiling out of him.

"Hey, handsome." She calls out when he walks in the door as cheerful as ever.

He feels a pit of guilt sink into his stomach because he can't tell her without ruining everything they delicately have put together. Maybe it's wrong to lie by omission, but his brain keeps coming back to fault. And it's JJ's fault. She's the one who's jeopardizing everything.

"Hi, gorgeous." He replies, walking into the living room to find her laying on the couch, book in her hands and her head on the armrest. He's reminded how accurate the petname he calls her by is when he's taken off guard by her breathless beauty. "How are you liking it?" He asks.

"It's good." She answers, putting the book down. "But that's because it's very you."

She gets up, meeting him behind the couch to cup his jaw, stroking over his skin and staring into his eyes for a moment before kissing him properly.

He relaxes into it, the tension in his shoulders easing and his brain slowing down for a moment. It's heavenly, as always, and it's what being loved is meant to feel like.

"How was your case?" She asks when she pulls back, still not daring to move too far away from him.

He tenses instantly at that, totally readable behavior, but he's got to perfect excuse to play it off. "It was rough." He holds out his bandaged hand that he's been avoiding showing her. "I got hurt."

"Shit." She straightens up, noticing how big it looked. "What happened?"

"Cut it on glass." He answers, not going as far as to say where he was when it occurred. "I'm fine, though. Promise."

She nods, reassured. "We've got to be up in, like, six hours, you know?" She reminds him of the time.

With the amount of coffee and adrenaline in his system, he barely registered it was already past 2 in the morning. Usually, they would have stayed in LA for the night, but being home in time for Rossi's wedding trumped a good night of sleep for everyone.

"Can I sleep here?" He wonders, awkwardly looking down at his feet.

"Duh. I'm not going to kick you out and make you come pick me up so we can go tomorrow morning." She jokes. "Picked up your suit, too. You're going to look very handsome."

Spencer grins because she seriously can't get more perfect. She still feels so unattainable, but he'd do anything to make sure he doesn't lose her.

He really should tell her, but he can't. Not right now.

Y/n snaps him out of it. "Bedtime now?"

"Please." He agrees gratefully, keeping his arms wrapped around her while they walk to her bedroom.

He keeps her close while they go through the motions of getting ready for bed. Spencer quickly sheds his suit and both of them brush their teeth.

His head is on the pillow for only a few seconds before he's asleep, and she follows soon after.

The alarm going off isn't as much of a problem when Spencer is lying in bed next to her, arm wrapped around her waist. It's one of the things she misses a lot when he's away.

"Hi, beautiful," Spencer whispers, a husky voice as always. He's glad he fell asleep quickly, not having wanted to sit up thinking about the stupid things JJ has said. He just couldn't understand why it was coming up now. Sleep provided absolutely no clarity.

She grins at him. "Hi."

"Are you ready for today?" He asks softly.

"A little nervous," Y/n admits. The BAU is his family after all. His mom is there but the BAU has been where he's spent most of his life for the last 15 years.

"They'll love you." Because I love you. Spencer assures her.

She smiles softly, feeling a little better. "Let's get up then."

Spencer agrees, not before planting a few kisses on her lips and hugging her tightly.

They get ready side by side, feeling a great sense of domesticity. She's never gotten close to someone as quickly as she has with Spencer. Somehow, it's not scary that it's happened this way.

"Wow, you're very gorgeous," Spencer tells her as she touches up the final strand of her hair, adding enough hairspray that it won't fall out. He stands in the doorway of the bathroom, admiring her. "Wow."

"Thank you." Y/n spins around to look at him in his deep maroon suit. It matches her dress color which she agrees looks very nice on her. "And you're very handsome."

"Ready? The car is coming soon." He says.

She nods, fixing her bracelet. "Let's do it."

There are still some nerves as the car takes them to the venue. Spencer does a good job of assuring her it'll be okay, his hand like a magnet to her thigh. He seems slightly off like there's something out of place, but she shrugs it off. She hopes he's being cute and afraid his friends still say something embarrassing.

The venue and interior are exquisite as they make their way in. She takes a deep breath before they come across the man of the day, welcoming everyone at the entrance. She has no doubt that the value of the artwork in this room totals her apartment and everything in it.

"Spencer." Rossi, supposably, greets him in a tight hug.

"This is my girlfriend, Y/n." Spencer introduces them.

As she expects, and as she was warned about by Spencer, Rossi pulls her in for a hug, immediately calming her nerves with his warm greeting. "It's so nice to meet you. This one won't stop talking about you." Rossi jokes, nodding at an increasingly reddening Spencer.

"It's nice to meet you too." She smiles. "Thank you for inviting me."

Rossi nods. "Of course, it's a pleasure."

And then the rest of the introductions begin. Everyone's so kind, like she expected. She's seen photos and heard stories but everyone seems to have more personality than he conveyed. She's quickly fast friends with Penelope and Tara who do their absolute best to make sure Y/n's feeling comfortable.

It's how she ends up being dragged onto the dance floor after the ceremony. Once the alcohol starts flowing, there's no more anxiousness left and some extroverted spirit has been brought out.

Spencer's not one to dance, but he's one to admire. Only Y/n, though. She looks angelic, despite the old-style dance moves.

He's so wrapped up in watching her that he doesn't register JJ's heels on the ground as she approaches him. It's only when she sits next to him that his head turns around to face her.

He waits for her to speak first. Hopefully, provide some explanation.

"Spencer." She says his name softly, almost like how he used to imagine she'd say it if they were together. Much to his surprise, she doesn't go into any detail about the bomb she'd dropped less than 24 hours ago. "I'm worried about you."

He doesn't hide his scoff. "Worried about me?" He repeats.

She goes for another tactic, trying not to get him mad. "You don't think you're rushing into this?"

"Rushing into what, Jennifer?" He spits back, snapping to anger. Using her first name drives the point home, almost unnecessarily when he sounds so angered.

"You know what I mean." She continues. "You've only been talking about her for a few weeks and now she's here."

He can't fathom that she'd suggest he's rushing into a relationship. He's been careful and deliberate, but Y/n's safe, and she's proved it time and time again.

"She's been part of my life for 6 months." Spencer fact-checks her. "And you said I seemed happier since I met her."

JJ stalls, regrouping before trying another angle. "She's just not what I expected. Is she really the type you should be with?"

"What does that mean?" Spencer states, more furious than ever. There's a chance he will fully snap at her and he wouldn't be sorry.

"I feel like you should be with someone extroverted." She suggests. "You know, someone to get you out of your shell."

Spencer needs a deep breath. "You're not being a good friend right now." He tells her much more calmly. There's not one thing he doesn't love about Y/n, whether she's more on the extroverted or introverted side."I'm going to marry her, whether you like it or not." It's not even what he expected to come out of his mouth.

"Spence-" JJ tries again to reason with him.

"No, don't you dare," Spencer says firmly. "You flew back and forth from New Orleans so many times to see Will, without telling us once and we were all accepting of your relationship. If you don't like my relationship, I don't care. But it's not too soon for me to know. We can talk about what you told me later, but for now, I'm going to dance with my girlfriend." Without another word, he gets up and walks off, leaving her a little gobsmacked.

Y/n frowns at him as he approaches the dance floor. "Are you okay?" She checks.

"More than okay," Spencer tells her with a soft smile.

"Dance with me then." She says, mirroring her smile and holding out her hand.

"I'd love to." He takes her hand just as a slow song comes on for them to sway together.

JJ gets ignored by him for the rest of the night, something unnoticed by Y/n but purposeful by Spencer. But it's fun. So much fun. And he's sure he wouldn't be having as much fun had Y/n not been there. She truly makes his day.

They're in the car later that night, parked near her apartment, ice cream eaten on the trip home. "I'm in love with you," Spencer admits when her laughter falls off after he tells a joke.

It's not a word they've said before.

Her expression is of pure shock, but joy quickly creeps in. "I'm in love with you too." She tells him, grinning.

And it's an entirely better confession than the one he heard 24 hours ago.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP idea: To Be Human Again

Danny had not been human for a long time. His home dimension had long since fallen. He lost his friends and family to old age, watched their descendants rise and fall in the same way, and witnessed his Earth come to an end.

When the cosmos erupted and took the solar system he knew and loved, Danny was oddly at peace with the end. He was no longer a Halfa but a full Spirit of the Stars. Solar flares ran through his veins rather than blood, stardust decorated his skin in gently kissed freckles, and his eyes held the swirling clouds of the cosmos.

Danny had not become a ghost. He had transformed into an Ancient, commanding the prophecies, fates, and endless opportunities that all living beings could experience in their lifetimes.

He flouted through his domain, witnessing battles between Lords of Choas and Order. Planets gain life and break apart. Endless time stretching from the graveities he weaves to flouting stones.

As time passes, his name begins to fade into legends and myths, and even the ghosts that once battled with him forget their time together. They, too, can age at a much slower rate, but change comes for them. He is present for Box Lunch's birth, but when he leaves to create light in the darkness, he misses her growing up. When he returns, Box Lunch does not know him, trembling in place as she bows low like her parents.

He stares at her, wondering what he found wrong with her, until he realizes she is a young adult. Were it not for his once evil timeline, he wouldn't have known her child form. He had missed it.

His gaze falls onto the much older pair of ghosts who call him by his new title. Neither Box Ghost nor Lunch Lady show any signs of remembering his name. They greet him with his title, and act as if though that is his identifier.

How many eons had it been since he last heard someone call him Phantom? Or even Danny?

"Lord Star Weaver?" Box Lunch stammers when the giant being only continues to stare. "Is something the matter?"

"Hmm," he considers her question, wondering if his realizations upset him. It's not that he was lonely or that he missed the sound of his name. But he has spent eons in a haze focusing on his work, and now it's almost as if he was waking from a dream.

Dreams....what did those feel like again?

"Tell me, Box Lunch, are there any portals to any living Earths?" His voice booms over the Realms, echoing as if they were a part of him. Maybe they were.

Danny had not sat on his throne since his elder sister breathed her last, but he still remembered the way the Infinite Realms changed on his whims. It's where he learned to weave stars. The young woman's ghost looked startled before she gestured vaguely to a path behind her.

"Yes, sir. I regularly use the anchored portal to visit the local Earth. It's where my father was born before his death."

Danny looks down at Box Ghost before leaning toward Box Lunch's height. She is no bigger than his pupils, and she seems frozen in terror as his eyes glow with hunger. "Show me," he says.

Her parents make strangling noises, but they wouldn't dare speak against the King and Ancient of creation. They send their daughter worried tight smiles but encourage her to lead the Star Waver to the portal.

She flights for a solid hour, his large form sending every ghost into hiding as he passes. Despite not having a living heart, he knows that it beats a mile a minute within her chest as her glow flickers in uncertainty.

They arrive at the portal, a swirling green pool resting in the open mouth of a mechanical jester. Danny thinks it looks like the building of an amusement park. He remember going to one once with Sam. This had been the Funhouse, filled to the brim with trick mirrors.

The memory causes him to smile.

Lunch Box nervously moves her hands one after another, bowing at the waist and stepping to the side so Danny can consider the portal. He is much larger than the building and doubts his foot would fit inside the portal.

He should change his form.

"Here it is, Lord Star Weaver, the portal to the human-AGHHHH!" Box Lunch's words fade into a scream as two bright rings of light form around the Ancient. Fearing she had offended the being and he was planning on retaliating, she flings herself to the ground before the portal, begging for her existence.

"I will do anything!" She cries, head pressing against the glowing green stone underneath her. "Mercy, please, Lord Star Weaver."

"Anything? Then you shall be my guide in the new Earth, " a human voice says. Shocked, she raises her head only to see that the Ancient has vanished and that a human teenager with soft fluffy hair, big baby blue eyes, and the most innocent demeanor is staring back at her.

Were it not for the soul she could feel carefully folded up inside him, she would have thought him a human who stumbled through the portal.

"My....Lord?" she dares to ask, and she's rewarded with a soft smile. Honestly, the human body the Star Weaver has chosen is an odd one. It looks like a strong gust of wind could knock him over.

"Yes. Where does this portal lead?"

"Gotham," She shutters out, "The city within the United States of Earth. This portal is in te middle of a human outlaw named Joker, but humans there aren't able to see us very well so he never bothers me."

"Gotham" Danny rolls the name on his human tongue, tasting it as the sound vibrates through his bones and his heart. It's been so long since he last felt this alive, and if that was what the name could do, who knows what the city could bring him. "What a wonderful place to get lost in, don't you agree, big sister?"

"Um...I beg your pardon?" Lunch Box blinks, but he shifts her fate with a snap of his fingers. Since she had never been alive, having been a Realms born, Danny has control of her guiding star. He moved it for one that belonged to a version of herself born in the human world.

Lunch Box's body shifts into flesh and blood. Her draw drops as she stares at her human hands. Danny grins. "I'm Danny Fenotn, moving to Gotham with my older sister. Adopted, of course. Who might you be?"

She looks at him with horror and heartbreak, but what leaves her mouth is only three words: "I'm Della Fenton."

"Della." He repeats the name, nodding his head and smiling. "It's lovely."

"It was my mother's Earth name before her death, " she says in a daze, and Danny smiles, striding into the portal without a second glance.

"Come on, Della, I want to see our new home."

He steps into the portal, while she can only look out over the Realms that no longer whisper and speak to her. How could it? She was no longer a ghost. She silently apologizes to her parents, who would likely be waiting at their haunt for her, and turns away from the only home she's ever known.

She can not afford to anger the Star Weaver. If he can breathe life into her with a mere snap of her fingers, she fears what he can do to take it away.

On the other side of the portal Della finds that her King has been caught by humans, who have tied him up to a chair and a snickering clown waved a knife in his face.

His gentle smile did not leave his face even as the Joker sliced two thin lines on his cheek.

"Della" Danny calls never taking his eyes off the clown. "Is this the outlaw you spoke of?"

Human goons swarm her. She is shocked to find that they can touch her as she is thrown on the ground, only to remember she is now human. The dull ache in her chin is her new reality.

"Yes. That's the Joker," She says after getting her wits about her. One of the goons presses the heel of his foot on top of her head, slamming her back to the ground and breaking her nose. A scatter of snickers echoes through the room as Joker loudly cackles.

"That's right, little boy. I'm the Joker, and this is my Fun House. What were you two doing sneaking about here uninvited?"

There are teeth in the Star Weaver's answer, and she shivers in place, wondering how she will survive him. "Oh, I just felt like star gazing. Say, did you know your guiding star is becoming dim?"

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Split Second

Bob Floyd x fem!aviator!reader

call sign: Bolt

The squadroom buzzed with tired energy—helmets off, hair tousled from the Gs, and sweat slicking flight suits as bodies crashed into worn leather chairs.

Phoenix tossed her gloves on the table. “Hangman, if you’d flown any looser, you’d have circled the carrier.”

Hangman grinned, cocky as ever. “You’re just mad Bolt smoked you on that last vertical climb.”

“She smoked all of you,” Rooster said, voice dry. “Again.”

At the far end of the table, you sat with one leg crossed over the other, flight suit halfway unzipped, tank top soaked with sweat and salt and victory.

“Maybe if y’all spent less time talking and more time flying,” you said without looking up from your notepad,

“I wouldn’t keep embarrassing you in front of Maverick.”

Hangman pointed a finger at you. “Someday, Bolt, I’m gonna knock you out of the sky.”

You smiled—lazy, lethal.

“Then I’ll know I’m dreaming.”

Laughter rippled around the room.

Bob leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, smiling to himself. He hadn’t said a word since you landed. He never had to. The quiet way he watched you said more than anything else.

You didn’t see it—but he always saw you.

⸻

Maverick walked in, tossed his clipboard onto the table.

“Good work today. Debrief’s short—we’ll run again tomorrow at 0500.”

Everyone groaned.

“Unless Bolt gets bored and laps you again,” he added, without glancing up.

You saluted with two fingers and a wicked grin.

“I’ll try to keep it interesting.”

⸻

It happened in a blink.

Your phone buzzed.

You glanced down.

Stopped smiling.

One beat. Two.

Your hand tightened around the phone. Then you stood up—abrupt, stiff—and turned away from the table.

Phoenix noticed first. “Bolt?”

You didn’t answer.

You were already out the door.

Bob pushed off the wall.

When it lights up again—Incoming call – Mom—you don’t hesitate.

“Hey,” you say, voice flat. “What’s going on?”

And then you just… listen.

The room fades. So do the voices and the banter and the scrape of Phoenix’s helmet hitting the bench beside you.

Your fingers curl tight around the phone. Your throat goes dry.

“How long?” you whisper.

Your mother’s voice cracks.

“They’re waiting for you.”

You close your eyes.

“I’ll be on the next flight.”

———

The airport is loud in the way all airports are—metal chairs scraping the floor, heels clicking past, toddlers crying in spurts of exhaustion.

But around you, it’s muffled. Hollow. Like you’re hearing everything from underwater.

You sit by the window. Shoulders stiff. Hands in your lap. Your flight to Vegas boards in thirteen minutes.

You haven’t blinked in twice that.

Your duffel is under the chair. You packed it in six minutes flat. Just enough to get through the night and the next day.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t say goodbye to anyone.

You didn’t let Bob or Phoenix or anyone walk you out of the squadroom.

You just left.

Ordered an Uber. Didn’t speak to the driver. Watched the base fade behind you in the rearview mirror.

“We’re waiting for you,” your mom had said.

You can’t stop replaying it. The way her voice cracked around it. The way the silence afterward said what she couldn’t:

She’s not going to wake up.

⸻

You stare out at the tarmac. A jet lifts off somewhere across the field. You don’t follow it.

You’re not thinking about flying.

You’re thinking about the last text your sister ever sent.

Don’t die in a training accident before my wedding.

I still haven’t found another maid of honor.

You smile. Barely. It hurts.

She’ll never have a wedding now.

⸻

You rub your palms against your thighs. Hard. Like maybe if you move fast enough, think sharp enough, you can stay ahead of the grief crawling up your spine.

You’re the strong one.

The sharp one.

The bolt of lightning that everyone watches hit but no one dares to follow.

You’re not the one who breaks.

Not in public.

Not ever.

But your throat aches. Your chest is tight. And suddenly the thought of walking into that hospital room alone—seeing her face, hearing the machines—makes your stomach lurch.

“Just make it through the flight,” you whisper.

“Just make it to Vegas.”

You fold your arms. Press your chin to your knuckles. Close your eyes and pretend you’re somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

———

The lights in the hallway are too bright.

The nurse at the front desk knows your name when you give it. She doesn’t look surprised to see you. Just sad. Like she’s done this a hundred times.

“Room 614. Take the elevator on your left.”

“They’re all in there.”

Your feet move before your mind does.

The tile is cold. The elevator hums. And when the doors open, you have to make yourself step out.

It’s late, but the waiting room outside the ICU is still full. Your mom’s on the couch, her hands clenched in her lap. Her mascara’s been smudged down her cheeks for hours. You’ve never seen her cry before.

Your cousin looks up. Tries to smile. Doesn’t make it.

You stand there for one long moment, and no one says a word.

Because you’re here. And that means it’s time.

“They’ll let you have a few minutes,” someone says.

You nod. Walk past them.

Your mother reaches for your hand. You don’t stop walking.

⸻

ICU – Room 614

The first thing you notice is the sound.

Machines. Steady, rhythmic. One long exhale at a time.

Then her face.

Pale. Still. Too still.

Your sister lies in the bed like she’s asleep. But her chest doesn’t rise on its own.

A machine breathes for her.

Her fingers twitch slightly, but it’s not real. You know that.

You close the door behind you.

It clicks too loud.

Your knees almost give out.

You walk to the side of the bed and sit down. Her hand is small in yours. Cold from the IVs. From the stillness.

She used to be louder than you. Bigger than you, somehow, even though you shared everything—blood, bones, birthdays.

She used to say, “If I die before you, you better do something dramatic. Like start a war or name your kid after me or tattoo my face on your ass.”

You let out a sound—half laugh, half sob.

“Hey,” you whisper, brushing hair off her forehead.

“You can hear me, right?”

She doesn’t move.

“It’s me. Obviously. Who else would drive like a maniac through McCarran just to get here in time?”

Your voice breaks.

“You weren’t supposed to go first.”

You bend forward, forehead to hers.

“We were supposed to be old and wrinkled and yelling at people in a retirement home together. Remember that?”

A tear slips down your nose onto the blanket.

“I don’t know how to do this without you.”

“You’ve been here my whole life.”

You take a shaky breath.

“If you’re still in there… I need you to know I’m going to be okay.”

“I’ll fly. I’ll live. I’ll make you proud.”

You bite your lip so hard it bleeds.

“But it’s gonna hurt for a long time.”

You lean down and kiss her temple.

The machine sighs.

A nurse knocks gently. You only nod.

“We’re ready when you are,” she says.

You press your forehead to hers again. One last time.

“I love you.”

And then?

You let her go.

The air is dry and too warm.

You don’t remember taking the elevator back down. You don’t remember hugging your mom. You don’t remember walking out.

But you’re outside now.

Standing beneath a flickering streetlight, your duffel slung over one shoulder. There’s a vending machine humming nearby. A car alarm going off in the distance. And that smell—the city’s strange mix of heat, oil, and stale cigarettes.

You blink, and for one horrible second, you think,

I need to text her and let her know I made it in time.

But there’s no one to text.

You grip your phone anyway, knuckles white.

“She’s really gone,” you whisper.

Your voice doesn’t sound like yours.

You sit down on the curb because your legs won’t hold you anymore.

And you just sit there. Not crying. Not speaking. Just breathing through the throb in your chest and the silence she left behind.

People walk past. Cars roll by. Nobody stops.

The world keeps moving.

And you’re standing still.

⸻

Five Days Later – North Island Naval Base – Hangar 2

You walk back into base like nothing happened.

Aviators on. Hair pinned. Flight suit zipped to your collarbone. Clipboard in hand.

You nod at a few people in passing. Dodge Phoenix’s eyes. Pretend not to hear Hangman say “Glad you’re back.”

You don’t stop walking.

You head straight to the locker room. Your locker’s exactly how you left it. Helmet perched up top. Notes tucked into the door.

You sit down slowly. Flex your fingers once. Open your flight log.

And breathe.

Just like always.

⸻

The squad briefing room – 1345 hours

The room smells like sweat and old coffee. Everyone’s still in flight suits, sunburned and buzzing from adrenaline.

You sit at the far end of the long table, one leg crossed, hands folded neatly in your lap.

You haven’t taken off your gloves.

“Bolt was clean on that vertical loop,” Phoenix says, flipping through her notes. “Fastest response time I’ve seen in three weeks.”

“I told you,” Hangman mutters. “She flies like she’s got something to prove.”

You don’t react.

Rooster glances at you. His brows lift slightly. Not teasing—curious.

You keep your face still.

Your body moves automatically. You nod at the right beats. Tap your pen. Mark your page. You’re here. You’re sharp. You’re Bolt.

Just like always.

⸻

Maverick leans forward, elbows on the table.

“Clean drills. No gaps. Team cohesion is tight.”

He looks around the room.

Then his eyes land on you.

“Lieutenant Bolt,” he says, calm. Measured. “How are you holding up?”

You blink.

The room goes still.

You open your mouth.

“I’m good.”

A pause.

He doesn’t move.

“That wasn’t the question.”

It’s so quiet you can hear the AC kick on.

You shift in your chair. Glance at the notepad in front of you. Your hands suddenly feel too small. Your gloves too tight.

Everyone’s watching.

Phoenix. Rooster. Hangman.

And Bob—Bob is watching closer than anyone.

Your throat starts to close. Your chest tightens.

“I’m—”

“I’m—”

But the words die in your mouth.

And then—

Your hand flies up to cover it.

Your shoulders jerk.

And the first sob rips out of you without permission.

Not graceful. Not quiet.

You break. Hard.

Your head bows down into your arms as everything crashes out of you—sobs so deep they shake your whole body, so loud they echo in the stunned silence.

You can’t breathe.

You can’t—

“I’m sorry,” you gasp, voice wrecked.

“I didn’t mean to—I can’t—”

A chair scrapes back.

You feel motion beside you.

Bob.

He doesn’t say a word.

He just kneels beside your chair, both hands steady on your arms, and says your name once—soft, like something holy.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re not alone.”

You turn into him without thinking.

Clutch his shoulders like you’re drowning. Let yourself cry into his neck. Shake and sob and break while the entire squad watches in stunned silence.

“She’s gone,” you sob.

“My twin. She’s gone. And I don’t know how to be here without her.”

Bob doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hesitate.

He wraps his arms around you and holds on like he’ll never let go.

“Then don’t be here alone,” he whispers.

“Let me help carry it.”

And for the first time since Vegas…

You do.

———

North Island – Bob Floyd’s Apartment – 6:42 PM

You don’t remember agreeing to go home with him.

You just remember the feel of his hand on the small of your back—steady, warm, there—and the way he kept pace with your silence.

No one spoke as you walked off base. Not Phoenix. Not Rooster.

Not you.

You don’t remember how the car smelled. Or what song was playing. Or how long it took.

But now you’re sitting on his couch.

Still in your flight suit. Helmet on the floor. Back pressed into the corner of the cushion like you’re trying to disappear.

Bob’s in the kitchen.

You can hear him moving—quietly. A pan sizzling. The soft clink of silverware. A drawer closing.

He brings you a plate of food.

Sets it on the table without a word.

You don’t touch it.

You stare at the steam curling off the rice. The color of the sauce. The fork he’s already placed in your hand.

“You don’t have to eat,” he says, gently.

You set the fork down.

Then—

“It’s like… she took part of me with her,” you whisper.

Bob doesn’t answer right away.

He just lowers himself into the chair across from you. Elbows on his knees. Hands folded like he’s praying.

“Of course she did,” he says softly.

You look at him.

He meets your eyes.

“You were built together,” he says.

“You shared space before you even had names.”

Your chest tightens.

“How do you know that?” you rasp.

“I read,” he says with a small smile.

“And I watch people.”

He leans forward a little.

“And I’ve watched you long enough to know that losing her feels like losing gravity.”

You press your knuckles to your mouth.

Tears spring again. Not as sharp this time. Not as loud.

Just soft. Slow.

“I’m so tired, Bob.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“You don’t have to be.”

⸻

Later – 9:26 PM

You’re lying on your side in one of Bob’s T-shirts. He gave it to you without asking. Just handed it over and turned around while you changed in the bathroom.

You’re curled on his couch with a blanket pulled up to your chin.

He’s on the floor beside you—back resting against the cushions, long legs stretched out, one arm resting along the back of the couch where your shoulder touches.

You’re not speaking. You don’t have to.

Your fingers drift toward him slowly.

He doesn’t move.

Just lets you find him.

You end up tangled.

Your cheek pressed against his chest.

His hand in your hair.

And he doesn’t say a thing when your breathing gets shallow. Or when you whisper “Don’t go.”

He just nods.

“I won’t.”

———

Bob Floyd’s Apartment – 6:47 AM

You wake slowly.

The light through the blinds is soft—gold cutting across the sheets in warm stripes. The kind of light that makes the world feel distant. Weightless.

But you don’t feel weightless.

Your chest still hurts. That tight, aching sort of grief that lingers in your bones.

You shift.

You’re in a T-shirt that isn’t yours.

Your duffel is still zipped in the corner.

And this… this is Bob’s bed.

But Bob isn’t beside you.

You sit up slowly.

And that’s when you see it—

He’s on the floor.

Pillow tucked behind his head. Blanket kicked off. One arm flung across his chest. Still in yesterday’s clothes.

You stare.

Your heart twists.

He gave you the bed.

And never left the room.

⸻

You slide off the mattress, careful not to wake him, but the second your feet hit the ground—

“Mornin’.”

His voice is gravel and warmth and something too gentle to name.

You freeze.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

He sits up slowly. Blinks at you. His hair’s a mess. His spine probably hates him.

But he smiles.

“Didn’t sleep too deep.”

You nod.

“Me neither.”

A beat.

He pushes himself to his feet.

“You want coffee?”

You should say no. You should say you need to go.

But—

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Please.”

———

The coffee’s gone cold in your mug.

You’ve barely touched it.

You’re just watching him.

The sunlight hits the side of his face, and for one second—one long, aching second—you want to tell him everything.

So you do.

“I have feelings for you.”

Bob stills.

His head turns slowly toward you.

“You’re exhausted,” he says gently. “You’ve been through hell.”

You don’t blink.

“That doesn’t make it untrue.”

He sets his cup down. Carefully.

“Y/N—”

“I’ve felt this way for a while,” you interrupt, voice cracking. “Before Vegas. Before the hospital. Before the flight drills. Before all of it.”

He goes still.

His throat moves, but no sound comes out.

“I didn’t say anything because I thought…”

“I thought someone like you could never love someone like me.”

That makes him flinch.

“What does that mean?”

You let out a breath, sharp and shaking.

“It means I’m loud. I’m fast. I don’t know how to slow down unless someone makes me. I don’t do quiet. I don’t do soft.”

“And you—you’re gentle. You’re… the safe thing. The thing I’ve never been allowed to want.”

Your eyes sting. You look down at the table.

“But I did. I do. I want you.”

A long silence.

Then—

“Y/N,” he says quietly. “You’re grieving. You just lost the most important person in your world. You don’t—”

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t say I don’t know what I’m feeling.”

He presses his lips together.

Doesn’t speak.

So you do.

“I know what grief is,” you say. “I know how it twists things and makes you reach for the closest lifeline.”

“But that’s not what this is.”

You meet his eyes.

“I don’t need you to fix me, Bob.”

“I just want you to believe me.”

⸻

He looks wrecked.

More wrecked than you’ve ever seen him.

“I want to believe you,” he says. “God, I do.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because you’re everything I never let myself want. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

You stare at him.

And suddenly—there’s no anger. No panic. Just something heavy and aching in your chest.

You nod once.

“Okay.”

You push your chair back. Stand slowly.

“I’m gonna go.”

“Y/N—”

“It’s okay,” you say gently, even though it isn’t. “I just needed to say it out loud.”

You don’t slam the door.

You don’t cry until you’re already outside.

And you don’t look back.

———

The door doesn’t slam.

You just… leave.

And for a long time after, Bob doesn’t move.

He sits at the table, coffee cold in front of him, his hands gripping the edges like they’re the only thing keeping him tethered.

Your chair is still warm.

Your mug is still half-full.

And he’s still trying to breathe.

⸻

I’ve felt this way for a while.

The words echo in his head.

He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes.

Hard.

I want you.

He wants to believe it.

He wants to believe it so badly it physically hurts.

But all he can hear underneath it is that low, cruel voice he’s carried for years:

She’s lightning.

You’re not meant to catch lightning.

She’ll realize it was just the grief talking. Just the moment.

⸻

He stands up too fast. His chair scrapes the floor.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He walks into the bedroom.

Stops.

Stares.

Your duffel bag is gone.

But your flight patch—the spare one from your jacket—is still sitting on his nightstand.

Folded. Deliberate. Like you left it for him.

He walks over slowly.

Picks it up.

Just holds it in his hands.

The stitching is worn. The call sign BOLT stitched in faded silver thread.

He runs a thumb over it, and suddenly he can hear your laugh from a few weeks ago—sharp and bright and reckless as hell after a good landing.

“You’re too good for me, Bobby.”

He thought you were joking when you said it.

But maybe you meant it.

Maybe you’ve always meant it.

⸻

He sinks onto the edge of the bed.

Drops his head into his hands.

And whispers—

“Goddammit.”

Because the truth is?

You’re not just grief.

You’re not just lightning.

You’re the only thing that’s ever made him want more than quiet.

More than safety.

More than staying invisible.

And he let you walk away.

 ———

North Island – Five Days Later – 1440 Hours

You haven’t spoken to Bob since that morning in his kitchen.

You haven’t spoken to anyone, really.

You show up to drills early. You finish debrief late. You don’t joke. You don’t answer Phoenix’s texts. You don’t even glance at Hangman’s stupid grin.

You’re locked in.

Dead silent.

Untouchable.

Just the way they expect you to be.

Bolt, the unbreakable.

And that’s exactly what you give them.

⸻

In the air, you’re terrifying.

Faster than ever.

Sharp turns. No hesitation.

You take corners like you’re trying to rip yourself out of your own skin.

It earns you silence over the comms.

And then a single word from Maverick at the end of the flight:

“Dangerous.”

You don’t argue.

You land. Strip your helmet. Walk away.

⸻

Hangar 2 – 5:17 PM

You’re the last one inside.

Everyone else is gone.

You sit on the wing of your jet, wiping down the surface with a cloth you don’t need. Just an excuse to not go home.

You’re still in your flight suit. Your hair’s still tucked up tight. You haven’t eaten today.

You’re not sure you care.

The ache in your chest is quieter now.

Not gone. Just… dull. Numb.

Like scar tissue forming around something that used to be soft.

⸻

And then you hear the door open.

Footsteps.

You know who it is without turning.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say.

“Neither should you.”

You freeze.

Bob’s voice is low. Careful. Like he’s approaching something wounded.

You don’t move.

“Don’t worry,” you say flatly. “I’m not about to fall apart in front of you again.”

A pause.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

You turn around slowly.

Bob’s standing near the back of the hangar. Still in uniform. Still looking at you like he’s not sure you’ll let him close.

You stare.

Your voice is quiet when you speak.

“You made your choice.”

“No,” he says. “I made a mistake.”

⸻

Your hands curl tight around the rag in your fist.

“Don’t do that.”

“Y/N—”

“Don’t come here and try to take it back because you feel guilty.”

“It’s not guilt,” he says, stepping forward. “It’s clarity.”

You shake your head.

“I don’t need clarity. I needed honesty.”

“Then here it is.”

He’s in front of you now. Not touching. But close.

“You scare the hell out of me,” he says quietly. “You’re everything I’ve ever told myself I couldn’t have.”

“And I didn’t believe you when you said you wanted me, because I’ve spent my whole life thinking someone like you would never choose someone like me.”

You look up at him.

Eyes sharp. Shoulders stiff.

“And now?”

He swallows hard.

“Now I don’t care how scared I am.”

“Because letting you walk away was worse.”

⸻

He reaches into his jacket.

Pulls something out.

Your patch.

“You left this.”

You stare at it. Frozen.

He holds it out.

“I’ve been carrying it every day.”

You don’t speak.

You take it from his hand slowly. Let your fingers graze his.

And finally—

Your voice cracks.

“You hurt me.”

“I know,” he whispers.

“And I’ll never stop being sorry for that.”

“You made me feel small.”

“You were never small,” he says. “You were never anything but lightning.”

“Then why couldn’t you believe I meant it?”

“Because I wanted it too much.”

⸻

Silence.

Then:

“Do you still want me?” you ask, barely audible.

His breath hitches.

“Every goddamn second.”

⸻

You fall into his arms like gravity wins.

And this time?

He doesn’t let go.

Your hands fist into the front of his flight suit and drag him forward like you’ve run out of time, like you’ve run out of air, like the only thing left that makes sense is his mouth on yours.

⸻

The kiss is hard.

Messy.

Hungry.

Your lips crash against his like a threat—like don’t ever leave me again, like you should’ve said this sooner, like you’re mine if you mean it.

And he answers every word of it.

His hands slide up your back. Slow at first. But once he feels you shake—once he hears the sound you make when he kisses you deeper—

He breaks.

“God, I missed you,” he breathes between kisses.

“I didn’t even have you, and I missed you.”

You shudder.

Your fingers slide up into his hair. Tug tight. You pull him closer.

“Tell me again,” you whisper against his mouth.

“What?”

“That you want me.”

He kisses you once. Then again.

Then says it between every single one—

“I want you.”

kiss

“I want you.”

kiss

“I want you, I want you, I want you.”

Like he’s trying to make up for every second you thought he didn’t.

⸻

Your back hits the side of the jet.

Your helmet falls from the wing and clatters on the floor.

You barely notice.

You’re breathless now. Both of you. Heat and sweat and grief and want tangled in every rough slide of lips and teeth and tongue.

But it’s not sex.

Not yet.

This is something deeper. Rawer.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper.

“Never.”

⸻

You slow down. Eventually. But your hands stay on his chest, and his forehead stays pressed to yours.

You’re not done. You’re just catching your breath.

And for the first time in weeks, you believe him.

He wants you.

He always did.

[loved-reid]

Sweet Dreams

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: The team discovers that all it takes for Spencer to shut up is a specific someone to fall asleep on him.

Warnings: Mentioning of admiring someone while they sleep? Fluff!!

Note: AHHH I LIVE FOR FLUFFY SPENCER FICS

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, for his mouth always seemed to be moving, yet the she wasn’t one to complain.

She liked watching the excitement dance in his eyes as he spoke about science and fun facts that she for sure didn’t know about.

Sometimes, she was going to be honest, she would go to the library and get some fancy book just to rant some facts to him to make her seem smart. Or maybe it was the look on his face when he recognized a reference she made, or how his eyes crinkle when he laughed at her nerdy jokes.

It wasn’t much, just a laugh, but to her they meant everything.

But today, today she was too tied to listen to Spencer, for the words he was saying we’re going right out the other ear once they entered one, yet his voice was something she was always happy to hear.

He was sitting on the jet seat, his bag next to him and his sleeves rolled up, the purple doing wonders to the sight of him. His wrist held a watch, the hands ticking as each second went by, each one occupied with his facts and stories. She was laying beside him, resting her head in her bended elbow, eyes dropping every once in a while before they would flutter open again.

She wanted to stay awake and listen, she really did, but the soothing sound of his voice and the draining case they recently solved prevented her from resisting the urge to sleep.

The only thing truly preventing her from falling into slumber was the fact that her elbow wasn’t the best pillow. She decided to wear a sweater that day, and, as one should know, the texture of the yarn wasn’t too pleasant on one’s cheek, therefore not providing comfort.

She turned her head to and fro, wishing she’d eventually get a sleeping position, therefore getting sleep during the flight that way she’d have at least a little energy to make her way home.

Yet, as hard as she tried, she couldn’t get the right angle.

So, she turned to Spencer. A practical living teddy bear.

And who was Spencer to know that at that moment that he got into the theories of how people started celebrating birthdays she decided to lay her head on his leg?

And, for the first time in years that the time the team has known him, his lips stopped mid-pronunciation of a word, the sound dying on his tongue as he grew absolutely speechless.

He swallowed thickly at the sight of her sleeping on his lap, murmuring little sweet nothings to herself as she slept.

He couldn’t help but admire, staring at her sleeping face (not in a creepy way of course) and eventually built up the courage to play with her hair strands, running the soft material between his finger tips.

Garcia noticed first, for she was one of the few actually listening, therefore causing her to look up. When she did, and what she saw something that she hadn’t expected, and that something was the sweetest thing ever.

Her friend was laying on Spencer’s leg, sleeping soundly as if nothing could bother her. Her arm was draped over his leg as well, hand carelessly on the jet seat between his legs.

The absolute expression of peace had taken over her face, eyelashes fluttering once in a while.

And what surprised her the most was that Spencer didn’t seem bothered at the physical contact. He instead seemed to encourage it, for his fingers were in her hair.

The rest of the team soon noticed, yet they didn’t dare to tease Pretty Boy, for the contentment radiating off them seemed to prevent them from doing so.

[flux1563]

A Regret ft. Yujin, Karina, Wonyoung

Words : 13k

"You know what I've been craving lately?" Karina mused, her eyes glinting mischievously at her friends Yujin and Wonyoung. They were lounging in their shared apartment, the walls adorned with posters of their favorite rock bands and the faint smell of incense lingering in the air.

"What's that?" Yujin asked, her curiosity piqued as she glanced up from her phone.

"To lick the sweat off a hot, muscular guy's body," Karina said, her voice dripping with desire.

Wonyoung chuckled, setting down her magazine. "Only you would say something like that out of the blue."

"But seriously," Karina leaned in, her voice a sultry whisper, "Wouldn't that be amazing? The saltiness, the warmth... it's like a forbidden dessert."

Yujin's cheeks flushed a shade darker as she considered the idea. "I've never thought about it that way before."

"Well, I have," Wonyoung confessed, a sly smile playing on her lips. "And I've always wanted to try it."

The three friends looked at each other, their thoughts racing. They had always shared a unique bond, their friendship unshakeable despite their wildly different personalities. Karina was the fearless leader, always eager to explore new boundaries, while Yujin was the more cautious one, preferring to think things through. Wonyoung, the youngest, often found herself caught in the middle, but her adventurous spirit made her a perfect fit for their trio.

"What if we made a pact?" Karina suggested, her eyes lighting up. "We'll travel to America, find the sweatiest, most muscular guys, and live out our fantasies."

The room grew quiet as they contemplated the idea. It was daring, it was risky, but it was also incredibly tempting. They had all heard the rumors about the men in America, particularly the ones who frequented gyms. The thought of their desires becoming reality was intoxicating.

"But guys in gyms are usually... well, not exactly our type," Yujin pointed out, breaking the spell.

"That's where the challenge comes in," Karina said with a wink. "We're not looking for just any guys. We want the ones with the biggest... assets."

Wonyoung's eyes widened. "You mean...?"

"Yes," Karina nodded, her voice growing more excited, "Big, black cocks. We're going to find them and make them ours."

The room was electrified with anticipation. They had always shared their kinks and desires with each other, but this was a step beyond anything they had ever dared to dream.

"But where would we even start?" Wonyoung asked, her voice a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Karina had it all figured out. "We'll start at the gym. It's the perfect place to find guys who are both fit and sweaty. And who knows, we might even get to fulfill our other little fantasy."

Yujin bit her bottom lip, her pulse quickening at the thought. "Double penetration?"

Karina nodded. "Yeah, baby. And not just by any guys. By the biggest, blackest, and sweatiest ones we can find."

Their conversation grew heated, and the three friends knew that there was no turning back. They had set their sights on a wild adventure, and they were going to see it through. Little did they know that their journey would lead them to a fateful encounter with six men named Marcus, Tyronne, Darius, Omari, Amon, and Zubari. These men would change their lives forever, fulfilling desires they had never dared to speak aloud.

The three friends decided to make their fantasy a reality. They packed their bags, booked their flights, and set off to conquer America, one gym at a time. As they stepped into the bustling New York City, their hearts raced with excitement and nerves. The Big Apple was their playground, and they were ready to indulge in the sweetest fruit it had to offer.

Their first evening in the apartment was filled with anticipation. Karina, ever the planner, had found a place that was close to a gym that was known for its diverse and fit clientele. The apartment itself was modern and minimalist, with a single, large bed that they would share for the duration of their stay. It was a small sacrifice for the thrill that awaited them tomorrow.

"Let's go rest up," Karina suggested after they had settled in. "Tomorrow is going to be a big day."

Yujin and Wonyoung nodded in agreement.

The following morning, the sun began to rise, casting a warm glow through the apartment's windows. The trio woke up with a sense of excitement that was palpable in the air. They each picked out their most revealing gym outfits, showcasing their toned bodies and ample curves. Karina went with a neon pink sports bra and tiny shorts that accentuated her voluptuous figure, while Yujin chose a pair of tight black yoga pants and a crop top that highlighted her slender waist. Wonyoung, not to be outdone, wore a skimpy red ensemble that left little to the imagination. They were dressed to impress, each outfit designed to catch the eye of the men they so desired.

As they got ready, they giggled nervously, applying just the right amount of makeup to look both natural and seductive. The scent of their perfumes mingled with the faint aroma of coffee, creating an atmosphere of anticipation. They were about to embark on an adventure that would push their boundaries and fulfill their wildest fantasies.

Finally, dressed and ready, they made their way to the gym. The streets of New York were already bustling with life, but the gym was their destination. Their hearts raced as they stepped through the doors, the thumping bass of the workout music echoing in their ears. They scanned the room, eyes darting from one sweaty, muscular body to the next.

The gym was a veritable buffet of fitness enthusiasts, but it was the six black men that had caught their eye the day before that truly stood out. Marcus, Tyronne, Darius, Omari, Amon, and Zubari were all present, their dark skin glistening with sweat as they pushed their bodies to the limit. The sight of them made the three friends' knees wobble slightly, their stomachs fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves.

They approached the water fountain, each taking a deep breath before they started their workout. As they hydrated, they couldn't help but feel the heat of the men's gazes on them. They knew they had the power to make their desires come true, and they were going to use it.

The gym was a dance of muscles and sweat, with each machine and weight station filled with grunts and the clank of metal. The women began their workout, subtly positioning themselves near the men they had their sights set on. The tension grew as they stretched and bent, their eyes meeting and holding, the promise of something more hanging in the air.

Marcus, the tallest and most muscular of the group, noticed them first. His eyes locked onto Karina as she bent over to tie her shoe, her ass sticking out in a way that was both innocent and tantalizing. He licked his lips, his eyes filled with a hunger that was unmistakable. The other men followed his gaze, and soon all six were watching the three friends with open interest.

The women continued their workout, their movements growing more sensual with each passing minute. They knew they had the men's attention and they reveled in it, their confidence soaring. The air in the gym grew thick with desire, and it was clear that the game had begun.

Marcus, unable to resist the allure of Karina's voluptuous figure, sauntered over to her, a towel slung low over his hips. His muscles bulged beneath his tight tank top, and his deep-set eyes bore into her as he spoke. "Can we join you?" he asked, his voice a smooth rumble that seemed to vibrate through her very core.

Karina looked up, her heart racing. "Sure," she breathed, her voice a seductive purr. "I'm Zubari," he said with a smile, his teeth gleaming. "And this is my friend Marcus."

While Tyronne and Darius came close to Yujin, they couldn't help but be drawn to her sleek, black hair and piercing gaze. Yujin felt a shiver run down her spine as their muscular forms approached. She had never been so close to such power and masculinity before. Her legs trembled slightly as Tyronne offered her a hand to help her up from the floor, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her.

"Hey, I'm Tyronne," he said with a grin, his teeth shimmering against his dark skin. He was tall with broad shoulders, his abs rippling as he breathed. Darius followed suit, extending his hand as well. "And I'm Darius," he said, his voice a low growl that made her knees feel like jelly. His eyes were a piercing blue, a stark contrast to his chocolate skin.

Wonyoung looked up at the towering figures before her, feeling a thrill of excitement. "I'm Wonyoung," she replied, her voice a little shakier than she intended. "What can I do for you two?"

"Oh, you're gonna do more than enough," Omari said, his grin widening as he took in her skimpy outfit. His eyes roved over her body, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, with a beard that was trimmed to perfection. "I'm Omari," he introduced himself, placing a hand on her shoulder. "And this is my friend, Amon."

Amon, equally as tall and muscular, stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with interest. He had a shaved head and a tattoo that snaked down his neck and disappeared beneath his shirt. "We couldn't help but notice you three," he said, his voice deep and gruff. "You seem like you know how to handle yourselves around some real men."

Wonyoung felt a blush spread across her cheeks as she took in their impressive forms. "We like to think we can handle ourselves," she said, a coy smile playing on her lips.

"Well, let's see," Omari challenged, guiding her over to the hip abductor machine. He positioned her in front of the contraption, her legs spread apart and her ass sticking out just enough to be provocative. "Ever tried this before?"

Wonyoung's eyes widened, but she nodded eagerly. The thought of having two such powerful men train her was thrilling beyond belief. Amon took up position behind her, his bulging biceps flexing as he adjusted the weight. She felt his hot breath on the back of her neck as he leaned in close, whispering instructions in her ear.

Her heart raced as she began to lift the weight, the sensation of her muscles stretching and contracting almost as tantalizing as the feel of Amon's hands on her hips, guiding her movements. The fabric of her shorts grew wetter with each rep, the outline of her arousal becoming more and more prominent.

Marcus and Zubari led Karina to the bench press, the metal gleaming under the fluorescent lights. She positioned herself on the bench, her legs spread open to accommodate the wide stance required for the exercise. The fabric of her shorts grew damp as her pussy grew wetter with each passing second. Marcus took the weight from her, placing it gently on the rack before taking a spot beside her. "Let me show you how it's done," he said, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down her spine.

He laid down, his muscles bulging as he pushed the barbell upwards, his eyes never leaving hers. Karina could feel the heat emanating from his body, and she knew that he was just as turned on as she was. Zubari stood behind the bench, spotting Marcus, his own eyes glued to the apex of her thighs. Her breath grew ragged as she watched the two men, their power and strength an aphrodisiac that she couldn't resist.

As Marcus completed his final rep, he sat up, his chest heaving with exertion. He took a sip of water, his eyes never leaving hers as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "Your turn," he said, his voice thick with desire. Karina's legs trembled as she laid down on the bench, the cold metal pressing against her hot skin. She knew that she was on display, that the other men in the gym could see her wetness, and she reveled in it.

Marcus took his place at the end of the bench, his thigh brushing against hers. Zubari took the barbell from her, placing it on her chest with surprising gentleness. "Remember to breathe," he said, his voice a soothing balm to her racing thoughts.

With a deep breath, she pushed the weight up, her muscles straining with the effort.

Darius and Tyronne watched as Yujin approached the chest fly machine, her tight black yoga pants stretching over her curvy ass as she walked. They exchanged knowing glances, both aware of the effect they had on the Asian beauty.

"You've got a good form," Darius said, his voice a low rumble as he stepped closer to her, his hand brushing against her hip. "But I think you could use a little help."

Yujin's pulse quickened as she felt the heat of his body beside her. She nodded, trying to keep her cool as Tyronne took the opposite side of the machine, his muscular arm reaching over her to grab the handle. Together, they guided her through the motion, their bodies so close she could feel the heat of their skin.

As she pushed the weight away from her body, she could feel the fabric of her pants stretching against her growing arousal. The smell of sweat and cologne was intoxicating, and she had to bite back a moan.

The two men made a show of adjusting the weight for her, their hands lingering on the bars, their eyes never leaving her chest as it bounced with each rep. They whispered instructions, their breath hot against her ear, their fingers brushing against her skin as if by accident.

The tension grew with each passing moment, the air around them thick with desire. Yujin knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn't help herself. She was so close to the men she had fantasized about for so long, and she wanted to feel their touch, to taste their sweat.

Her breath grew ragged, her body responding to the intimate dance of muscles and power. She could feel the heat of their gazes on her, and it only served to fuel her passion.

Marcus leaned in closer, whispering in her ear, "You're doing great, baby," as his hand slid down to grip her hip firmly. His thumb brushed against her skin, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. Karina's cheeks flushed, and she bit her lip, trying to focus on her reps as the pressure of his grip grew more insistent.

On the other side of the gym, Tyronne and Darius had moved on to helping Yujin with her leg press. They positioned themselves at the base of the machine, each taking one of her legs and placing it on the platform. As she began to push the weight, their hands slid up her thighs, their grips tightening around her hips.

Their touch was electric, sending waves of desire through her body. Yujin's eyes fluttered closed as she felt them tease her, their fingers digging into her flesh just enough to leave marks. She knew she was their plaything, and the thrill of it all made her pussy throb.

The men's laughter filled the room as they watched the women struggle under their watchful eyes, their grips on their hips growing firmer with every passing second. The sound of metal clanking and the scent of sweat grew more intense as the tension mounted.

Wonyoung's heart raced as Omari and Amon pushed her limits on the hip abductor, their hands on her hips, guiding her movements. They leaned in closer, their breath hot against her neck, whispering words of encouragement that had her pussy begging for more. The fabric of her shorts was soaked through, and she knew that everyone in the gym could see her arousal.

As the women pushed themselves further into their workout, the men's grips grew more possessive. They whispered sweet nothings into their ears, their breath hot and ragged. The girls couldn't help but let out soft moans, their bodies responding to the power dynamics at play.

Suddenly, Darius's deep voice echoed through the gym. "Alright, ladies, it's time for a new kind of workout," he said with a smirk, his eyes gleaming with a wicked intent. "Let's go to the locker room, we'll teach you the next routine."

The other men chuckled in agreement, their eyes never leaving the three friends. The air was thick with desire and the promise of something more. The gym-goers around them had noticed the intense scene playing out, and whispers began to spread.

Karina, Yujin, and Wonyoung exchanged glances, their hearts racing with excitement. This was it, the moment they had been waiting for. They nodded in unison, their bodies trembling with anticipation. The six men led them through the gym, the eyes of everyone in the room following their every move.

As they approached the locker room, Marcus couldn't resist the temptation anymore. He reached out and squeezed Karina's ass, his fingers digging into her flesh. She gasped, her body reacting instinctively, arching into his touch. The sound of his hand connecting with her skin echoed through the room, and the other men followed suit, their hands roaming over the three women's bodies.

Yujin felt the hot, firm grip of Darius on her ass as he guided her through the door. She bit her lip to stifle a moan, the pressure from his hand sending waves of pleasure through her. Tyronne was right behind her, his hands caressing her curves as they walked. The feel of their hands on her made her legs weak, but she managed to stay upright, her body buzzing with desire.

Wonyoung's eyes rolled back in her head as Omari and Amon took turns squeezing her ass, their fingers brushing against the fabric of her shorts. The sensation was overwhelming, and she stumbled slightly, only to be caught by their strong arms. They chuckled, their grips tightening, as if they were claiming her as their own.

When they finally entered the locker room, the men didn't waste any time. With a swift motion, Marcus tore the fabric of Karina's pink sports bra, exposing her heavy breasts to the cool air. The sound of ripping fabric echoed through the room, and the other girls gasped in shock.

Yujin felt Tyronne's hands on her yoga pants, his thumbs hooking into the waistband as he began to pull them down. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his, and she saw the hunger in his gaze. He was going to take her, and she was going to let him. The fabric gave way easily, and her pants slid down to her ankles, revealing her bare pussy.

Wonyoung watched in amazement as the men's expressions grew more intense. They had expected some resistance, some shyness, but these girls were ready, willing, and completely bare. The sight was almost too much for them to handle.

"Wow, these girls are sluts," Amon exclaimed, his eyes wide with lust as he took in the scene. "They're not even wearing panties."

The locker room erupted into laughter, a mix of shock and excitement. The tension was palpable, the air thick with the scent of sweat and desire. The men couldn't believe their luck, and the women basked in the attention.

"Now, all of you get to your knees," one of the men said, his voice commanding and authoritative. The three friends obeyed without hesitation, dropping down to the cold, tiled floor.

The six men had shed their gym clothes, standing before them in all their naked glory. The sight was overwhelming: each one more muscular and more intimidating than the last. Their cocks stood erect, varying in size and girth, but all of them were substantial. The girls looked at each other, their eyes wide with excitement and a hint of trepidation.

Marcus and Zubari stood before Karina, their chests heaving with excitement. Marcus's cock was the largest she had ever seen, thick and veiny, the tip glistening with pre-cum. Zubari's was slightly smaller, but no less impressive, curving slightly upwards as if begging for attention.

Yujin couldn't tear her eyes away from Tyronne and Darius. Tyronne's cock was long and lean, bobbing slightly as he stepped closer. Darius's was thick and powerful, the head a dark shade of purple, promising a night of unbridled passion.

Wonyoung's knees grew even weaker as she took in Omari and Amon. Omari's cock was thick and heavy, the kind that would fill her to the brim, while Amon's was long and smooth, the perfect length to hit all the right spots.

Karina licked her lips, her eyes locked on Marcus and Zubari's cocks. "Our fantasy," she began, her voice a seductive whisper, "is to lick every inch of your sweaty bodies. We want to taste your power, your strength, and your passion."

The men's eyes grew dark with lust, their cocks twitching in response to her words. Yujin added, "And we want to be filled by the biggest black cocks we can find. Double penetration is the ultimate prize."

Wonyoung nodded in agreement, her voice shaky with anticipation. "We've never been with guys like you before," she confessed. "But we've dreamed of it. We want to be taken, to be used, to feel what it's like to have no control."

The men's grips on their hips tightened, and they shared a knowing look. This was more than they could have hoped for. They had stumbled upon a trio of eager, submissive women who were begging to be claimed.

With a nod from Marcus, Karina leaned in, her tongue darting out to taste the salty tang of sweat on his inner thigh. She traced the path of his muscles, moving closer and closer to his ass. The room grew silent as the sound of her tongue slurping against his skin filled the air. She took her time, savoring every inch of him, her eyes closed in ecstasy.

Her hands followed her tongue, cupping his firm cheeks before moving to his tight asshole. She licked around the edges, her tongue delving into his crack as he let out a low groan. His cock grew harder beneath her, the precum pooling at the tip.

Zubari watched, his own cock twitching with anticipation. He knew that he was next, and the thought made him lightheaded. He stepped closer, his hand guiding Karina's face to his own body, urging her to taste him. She didn't need much encouragement, eagerly lapping at his sweat-slicked skin.

Her tongue slid over his muscled ass, tracing the contours of his cheeks before she moved to his asshole. She licked it, her tongue probing gently, the taste of him making her pussy throb. The sound of her moan was muffled by the flesh she was worshipping.

Marcus's hand reached down to stroke her hair, his cock bobbing in front of her face. She looked up at him, her eyes glazed with desire, and took his length into her mouth, sucking and licking him with an enthusiasm that had him grunting with pleasure.

Meanwhile, Yujin had Darius's cock in her hand, her slender fingers barely able to wrap around his girth. She licked a path from his ass to his balls, her tongue swirling around each one before moving to the base of his cock. Tyronne stepped closer, his cock brushing against her cheek, and she eagerly opened her mouth to take him in as well, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked him off.

Wonyoung couldn't help but copy Karina's movements, her eyes on fire as she licked her way down Omari's muscular body. Amon's cock was next, and she took him in her mouth, her cheeks bulging as she tried to accommodate his size. She could feel his hands in her hair, guiding her movements, his hips bucking slightly as she worked her magic.

The men watched, their cocks swelling as the three friends took turns pleasuring them. The locker room was filled with the sounds of wet, sloppy kisses and guttural moans, the sight of the women on their knees, eager to serve, was more than they could have ever asked for.

The tension grew as the men grew closer to climax. Karina's eyes watered as she deep-throated Zubari, her throat muscles working overtime as she tried to take all of him. Marcus's hand tightened in her hair, his hips rocking back and forth as he fucked her mouth.

Yujin's jaw grew sore as she switched between Tyronne and Darius, her tongue dancing around their swollen heads. Darius's fingers tightened around her ponytail, pulling her closer as he neared his peak.

Wonyoung's eyes rolled back in her head as she tasted the precum from Amon's cock, her pussy begging for the same attention she was giving the men. Omari's hand slid down to cup her face, his thumb tracing her plump bottom lip as she worked on his cock.

"You're all so good at this," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

The girls took the compliment as a challenge, redoubling their efforts. They knew what was coming and were eager to be the ones to push the men over the edge. Yujin could feel Tyronne's cock pulsing in her mouth, and she knew he was close.

Karina felt a sudden warmth on her face as Marcus and Zubari both erupted with a roar. Their cum shot out, painting her face in thick ropes, the sticky fluid dripping down her chin and onto her chest. She didn't flinch, instead leaning into it, letting it cover her as a badge of honor. Yujin and Wonyoung watched, their own mouths watering at the sight.

Yujin took Darius's cock out of her mouth and turned to Tyronne, her cheeks already flushed from his earlier attentions. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading, and with a smirk, he stepped closer. His cock twitched in her hand as she stroked him, her other hand playing with the tip of Darius's still-hard shaft.

With a grunt, Tyronne came, his cum spurting across her face, mixing with Darius's as it painted her features. Yujin's eyes widened with shock and pleasure as she felt the hot jets hit her nose, her cheeks, her eyes. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision, her heart racing with excitement.

Wonyoung watched as Karina and Yujin were showered with cum, her own pussy dripping with need. She had never felt so alive, so wanted, so consumed by desire. Omari and Amon's eyes bore into hers, their cocks rock-hard and demanding. She knew it was her turn.

The men stepped back, watching as the three friends knelt before them, their faces a canvas of their desire. Omari stepped closer, his cock in his hand, stroking it slowly as he admired Wonyoung's eager expression. She leaned in, her tongue darting out to lick the precum from the tip, her eyes never leaving his.

With a growl, Omari came, his cum spurting across her face, a warm, sticky mess that she greedily licked away. Amon was next, his cock pulsing in her hand as he painted her features with his seed. Wonyoung reveled in the feeling of being used, the power dynamic making her wetter and wetter.

As the men caught their breath, the girls turned to each other, their faces a mess of cum. Without a word, they leaned in, their tongues reaching out to clean the sticky residue from each other's skin. They tasted the salty, musky flavor of the men's release, the intimate act driving their arousal to new heights.

Karina looked up at Yujin, her eyes glazed with lust. She reached out and wiped a trail of cum from Yujin's cheek, bringing her fingers to her own mouth to lick them clean. Yujin watched, her breath hitching, before leaning in to kiss her friend, sharing the taste of their conquests. Wonyoung moaned, feeling left out, and they both turned to her, their tongues swirling together, sharing the cum that had been spilled.

The men watched, their cocks already starting to harden again. The sight of the three friends so eagerly devouring each other was more than they could take. "Let's take this to the next level," Marcus suggested, his eyes dark with hunger. The girls looked up at him, their lips swollen and shiny with cum, nodding eagerly.

Without hesitation, they dropped to their knees and began to lick the men's feet. The feeling of their tongues on his skin was like nothing Marcus had ever experienced before. He could feel the hunger in their movements, the desperation in every flick of their tongues. His cock grew harder as he watched them worship him and his friends.

Yujin took her time with Tyronne's foot, her tongue tracing the arch before moving to his toes. She could feel him shivering with pleasure, his cock jutting out towards her. She took each toe into her mouth, sucking gently, savoring the taste of his sweat and the power she had over him. Darius watched, his hand stroking his own cock as he felt the beginnings of his own climax build again.

Wonyoung licked her way up Omari's leg, her eyes never leaving his as she approached his cock. She took his foot in her hand, her thumb circling the sole before moving up to his toes. He groaned, the sensation driving him wild. "More," he murmured, his hips jerking forward slightly. She didn't need any further encouragement, her mouth closing around the tip of his foot.

Her teeth grazed the sensitive skin between his toes before she moved on to the next one, her eyes locked with Amon's. He watched her every move, his cock growing harder by the second. The smell of their sweat was intoxicating, a potent mix of pheromones and power that had the girls drooling.

Their mouths moved upwards, latching onto the men's sweaty armpits. They took deep breaths, inhaling the scent of their musk, the taste of their manhood. Karina moaned as she took in the scent of Marcus, her tongue swirling in circles, cleaning him of any trace of sweat.

"It's like nothing I've ever smelled before," Wonyoung said, her voice muffled by Omari's arm. "It's like... it's like the essence of a real man."

The men's chests rose and fell with excitement, their bodies trembling slightly as the girls worshiped them. The gym had become their personal playground, their desires laid bare for the world to see.

Yujin looked up at Darius, her eyes glazed with lust as she licked his armpit. "You taste so good," she whispered, her voice breathy. "I want more."

With a smirk, Darius leaned down, bringing his cock closer to her face. She took it in her hand, her eyes never leaving his as she took him into her mouth, her tongue flicking at his balls.

The locker room was filled with the sounds of wet licks and sighs of pleasure. The men's cocks grew harder with every touch, their bodies responding to the women's eager attentions. They had never felt so desired, so needed.

The tension grew as the girls continued their sensual exploration. They licked and sucked, their tongues tracing the paths of their muscles, tasting the salt of their sweat. The men's hands roamed, caressing their breasts, pinching their nipples, their touch setting the girls' skin alight.

"It's our time to give pleasure to yours," Marcus rumbled, his voice deep with desire. The six men stepped closer, their cocks standing at attention, eager to return the favor.

Karina, Yujin, and Wonyoung looked at each other, their eyes sparkling with excitement. They had come so far, their fantasy coming to life before their eyes. They lay back on the locker room benches, spreading their legs, offering themselves up to the men.

Marcus knelt before Karina, his tongue sliding along her inner thigh, moving closer and closer to her wet pussy. She gasped as he reached her clit, the sensation making her body arch off the bench. "So sweet," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.

Yujin felt Tyronne's mouth on her neck, his teeth grazing her collarbone as his hand slid down to cup her breast. Darius took her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently at first, then more firmly as she whimpered.

Wonyoung looked up to see Omari leaning over her, his dark eyes filled with lust as he took in the sight of her swollen pussy. He leaned in, his breath hot against her skin before his tongue touched her clit. She let out a sharp cry, her body trembling with pleasure.

The girls' moans grew louder as the men worked their magic, their tongues and teeth exploring every inch of their bodies. The sensation of being licked and sucked by such powerful men was overwhelming, their every nerve ending alive with sensation.

They were lost in a haze of pleasure, their bodies writhing under the men's expert touch. The locker room echoed with their cries of ecstasy as the men took their time, savoring every moment.

Karina felt Zubari's hands spread her ass cheeks, his tongue delving into her tight hole. She gripped the bench, her knuckles white as she held on, her body tightening as she approached climax.

Yujin's eyes rolled back in her head as Tyronne and Darius took turns lapping at her clit, their tongues swirling and flicking in perfect harmony. She was close, so close, and she didn't want it to end.

Wonyoung's breath hitched as Amon's tongue slid into her ass, his hands playing with her pussy. She had never felt so full, so complete. Her moans grew more frantic as she felt herself on the brink.

The men didn't stop, their tongues and teeth working in tandem, bringing the girls closer and closer to the edge. They knew exactly what they were doing, and the girls were putty in their hands.

Their cries grew more urgent, their bodies begging for release. The air was thick with the scent of sex, the sound of wet licks and moans bouncing off the tiled walls.

Karina's pussy clenched around Marcus's tongue as he worked her clit, his thumb sliding into her tight asshole. She felt the beginnings of a squirt building deep within her, and she knew it was going to be intense. Her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to hold back, but it was no use. With a loud gasp, she squirted, her juices spraying across the bench and onto Marcus's face. He pulled away, laughing, and she looked down to see his face covered in her cum.

Yujin's body tightened as Tyronne and Darius took turns flicking her clit with their tongues, their fingers delving into her pussy and ass. The sensation was too much, and she lost control, her body spasming as she squirted all over them. They didn't flinch, instead, they eagerly lapped up her juices, sharing them in a passionate kiss.

Wonyoung felt the pressure build as Amon and Omari worked her over, their tongues swirling and probing her most intimate spots. She couldn't hold back any longer, and with a scream, she squirted, her juices coating the floor beneath her. They watched with fascination before leaning in to clean her up, their mouths greedily sucking up her sweet release.

The men were insatiable, and they didn't wait for the girls to catch their breath. "Back on your knees," Marcus growled, his cock still standing proud and gleaming from Karina's eager mouth. The girls obeyed, eager to continue their journey into the depths of their shared fantasy.

The sound of slapping skin filled the locker room as the six men began to slap their cocks against the girls' faces. The impact was surprisingly gentle, but the sensation was intense. Karina felt Zubari's thick cock hit her cheek, leaving a sticky trail of precum behind. She opened her mouth, eager to catch the next slap.

Yujin's eyes watered as Tyronne's and Darius's cocks slapped her face in unison, the smack echoing through the room. She leaned into the sensation, her mouth open, tongue flicking out to taste their salty, musky flavor.

Wonyoung took in the sight of Omari and Amon, their cocks slapping against her cheeks, leaving a sticky mess she was eager to clean up. She stuck her tongue out, catching a drop of precum, and the taste sent a jolt of electricity through her body.

"We want to taste all of you," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the symphony of moans and slaps. "We want to be spit-roasted, filled to the brim with your big, black cocks."

The men's eyes lit up at the mention of their favorite position. Marcus looked over at Tyronne and Darius, who had already moved into place behind Yujin. "Looks like our little sluts are eager to be used," he said with a wicked grin.

"More than you can imagine," Yujin panted, her face flushed and eyes sparkling with lust. She leaned back, her ass in the air, offering herself up to the men. "Take us, please. We're ready."

Marcus and Zubari didn't need any more encouragement. They positioned Karina on the bench, her legs spread wide as they lined up their cocks, both men eager to claim her. Marcus slid into her pussy first, his thick cock stretching her to the brink as he pushed deep. She gasped, her eyes squeezing shut as she felt the fullness of him. Then, without warning, Zubari pushed into her ass, his cock thick and unyielding as he filled her completely.

"Ahh!" Karina's scream echoed through the locker room, the pain and pleasure mixing in a heady cocktail. She had never felt so full before, so stretched, so claimed. Her body tensed as they both began to move, their rhythm matching perfectly as they fucked her.

Yujin watched, her own desire mounting as Tyronne and Darius positioned themselves behind her. Her heart raced as she felt the tip of Tyronne's cock at her pussy, Darius's at her ass. The men didn't hold back, pushing into her simultaneously. The pain was intense, but it only served to heighten the pleasure.

"Ahh, it hurts!" she screamed, her voice raw and desperate. But she didn't want them to stop. No, she wanted more. She pushed back, taking them deeper, her body adjusting to the intrusion. The men groaned, their cocks sinking into her tight holes, the pressure building.

They began to move in tandem, their thrusts long and deep. Yujin's screams grew louder as she was filled and stretched to the limit. The sensation was indescribable, a delicious agony that had her nails digging into the bench, her body writhing in ecstasy.

But the show wasn't just for them. Marcus and Zubari had moved aside to give Omari and Amon their turn with Wonyoung. They took their place behind her, their cocks slick with precum and desire. Wonyoung's eyes widened as she felt the tip of Omari's cock at her pussy, and Amon's at her ass. She braced herself, her heart racing.

With a powerful thrust, Omari filled her pussy, his thickness making her gasp. Amon didn't wait, pushing into her tight asshole, his cock stretching her even further. Wonyoung's scream of "Ahh, it hurts! I can't!" echoed through the locker room, but instead of pulling out, the men took it as a challenge, their strokes growing more forceful.

Her cries grew more desperate as they fucked her, the pain mixing with pleasure until she couldn't tell which was which. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she felt her body start to convulse, the pressure building, building, until she thought she'd explode.

Marcus and Zubari watched her intently, their own pleasure reflected in their eyes. "Her ass is so fucking tight," Marcus groaned, his voice strained with effort. "I've never felt anything like it."

Zubari nodded in agreement, his cock buried to the hilt in Karina's ass. "And that pussy," he added, his voice low and reverent. "It's like a vice grip around my dick."

The other men chuckled, their cocks slapping against the girls' faces as they watched their friends take the Asian beauties. "Look at her," Tyronne murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Look at how much she loves it."

Yujin's face was a mask of pleasure and pain as Tyronne and Darius fucked her, their cocks sliding in and out of her stretched holes. "It's like she was made for this," Darius said, his eyes never leaving the sight of his cock disappearing into her ass.

Wonyoung's moans grew louder as Omari and Amon took her, their powerful strokes pushing her closer and closer to the edge. "Her pussy is so tight," Omari grunted, his teeth clenched. "It's like a second skin around my cock."

Amon's breath was hot in her ear. "And that ass," he groaned. "It's like heaven."

The men's praise only spurred the girls on, their bodies moving in time with their partners'. They were lost in the moment, their every thought focused on the cocks inside them, the sweat and cum that coated their skin.

"Ahh, fuck!" Karina's scream pierced the air, her voice high and keening. "It's like being split in two, but in the best way possible!" She threw her head back, her eyes rolling up into her head. Marcus and Zubari's strokes grew more forceful, their muscles straining with the effort of holding back. "It's like you're tearing me apart," she panted, her voice trembling. "But I don't want it to stop. It's so good, so fucking good!"

Their rhythm grew more erratic, their bodies slapping together with every thrust. Karina's breasts bounced with the force of it, her nipples hard and sensitive. She felt the pressure building, her pussy clenching around Marcus's cock as Zubari hit her G-spot with every push into her ass. "I'm going to cum," she yelled, her voice echoing in the tiled locker room. "Oh my god, I'm going to cum so hard!"

Yujin watched her friend, the sight pushing her own pleasure to new heights. She could feel her own orgasm building, the sensation of being split open by two massive cocks driving her wild. She threw her head back and screamed, her voice joining the cacophony of passion. "It's so good," she panted. "So full, so deep."

Wonyoung's eyes rolled back in her head as Omari and Amon fucked her harder, their cocks moving in perfect sync. "Ahh, fuck me," she begged, her voice a desperate whine. "Fuck me like the sluts we are!"

The men laughed, their strokes growing more powerful as they felt the girls' bodies tighten around them. "It's like they're begging for it," Darius said, his voice filled with a mix of amazement and lust.

Marcus looked down at Karina, her pussy clenching around his cock. "You're getting tight, baby," he said, his voice low and seductive. "You're going to squirt all over us."

Sure enough, Karina's pussy tightened further, her body spasming as she felt the beginnings of her orgasm. "Ahh, I'm gonna... I'm gonna...," she stuttered, unable to form coherent words.

The men watched, their eyes widening as they felt the pressure build around their cocks. "Her pussy's like a vice," Zubari groaned, his grip on her hips tightening. "It's so fucking tight."

Marcus nodded, his breath coming in short gasps. "Yeah, she's going to squirt," he said, his voice filled with excitement.

The tension grew unbearable as the girls' squirts grew stronger. Yujin's body was wracked with spasms as Tyronne and Darius pounded into her, their cocks stretching her to the limit. "Fuck, I'm going to cum," she screamed, her voice breaking. "Make me squirt, please!"

The men didn't need any encouragement. They picked up their pace, their hips smacking against the girls' asses in a frenzied rhythm. Wonyoung felt the pressure in her own pussy and ass building, her body begging for release. "Do it," she panted. "Make us squirt all over you."

The force of their orgasms was explosive. Yujin's pussy clamped down around Tyronne and Darius's cocks, the sudden release of pressure sending them flying out of her. She collapsed forward, her body shaking with the aftershocks of pleasure. "Oh my god," she gasped, her voice hoarse. "That was incredible."

Marcus and Zubari pulled out of Karina with a wet pop, their cocks glistening with her juices. She looked up at them with a sly smile, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. "Your turn," she murmured, her voice still filled with desire.

Wonyoung's pussy and ass clenched around Omari and Amon, and with a final, powerful thrust, they were expelled from her tight holes. She slumped down onto the bench, her legs trembling. The men stepped back, their cocks still hard, their eyes glittering with excitement.

The locker room was a mess, a testament to the intense sexual encounter that had just taken place. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the sound of heavy breathing and the occasional giggle from the girls as they looked at each other with a mix of satisfaction and amazement.

"Alright, it's done," Karina said with a sigh, her legs still trembling from the exertion. "Our bodies just got what we need."

The girls walked out with trembling legs, and when they reached the door, they were shocked; suddenly, they were stopped by all the men."We're not done yet, I haven't cum." One of the men said.

Karina looked at her friends with a mix of fear and excitement. They had never gone this far before. But the desperate look in the men's eyes made it clear that they weren't going anywhere until they had all had their fill. "Please," she whimpered, "my ass is so sore, I can't take any more."

Yujin and Wonyoung nodded in agreement, their voices filled with a needy plea. "Our pussies are sore too," Yujin managed to say, her voice cracking. "We need a break."

But the men didn't listen. With a grin that was half mischief, half determination, Tyronne grabbed Yujin's hips and flipped her over, pushing her face-first into the bench. "You're not done until we say you are," he murmured, his hand smacking her ass playfully.

Darius chuckled, moving behind her, his cock still rock-hard. "You're going to love this," he said, lining up with her pussy. He didn't wait for a response, sliding in smoothly, his cock hitting her G-spot with ease.

Yujin's scream was muffled by the bench, her body jolting as she was filled once more. Tyronne's cock slammed into her ass, the pain making her eyes water. "Please," she whimpered, "not so deep."

But the men were lost in their lust, their eyes glazed over as they took what they wanted. The sound of their hips slapping against the girls' asses grew louder, the slap of flesh on flesh echoing through the locker room.

Karina felt her own pussy clench around Marcus's cock, the pain and pleasure blurring into one intense sensation. Zubari didn't wait, pushing into her ass, his girth stretching her even further. She screamed, her voice raw and desperate. "It's too much," she sobbed. "I can't take it!"

The men's laughter was low and dark, their hands moving to squeeze the girls' breasts and pinch their nipples. "You're going to take it," Marcus growled. "And you're going to love every second of it."

Their strokes grew more erratic, their bodies moving in a frenzied dance of desire. The girls' moans grew more frantic, their pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. The men were like animals, driven by instinct and lust, their every thought consumed by the need to cum.

Wonyoung felt the beginnings of another orgasm building, her body already over-sensitized from the previous ones. "I can't," she moaned, her voice high and desperate. "I can't take it anymore."

But Omari and Amon didn't stop, their strokes growing more forceful. "You can," Omari murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "You can and you will."

The girls' bodies began to spasm once again, their juices spraying out as the men fucked them, painting the floor and benches with their desire. They couldn't believe they had another orgasm in them, but the men's relentless pounding brought it out of them, their cries of pleasure mixing with the sounds of the men's grunts and slaps.

Wonyoung looked over her shoulder at Omari and Amon, her eyes glazed with a mix of pain and pleasure. "My holes are getting sore," she panted, her voice barely above a whisper. "They feel like they're going to break."

The men's grins grew wider at her admission, their strokes becoming more powerful as they pushed her closer and closer to the edge. "Don't worry, baby," Amon murmured, his cock sliding in and out of her ass with ease. "We're going to fill you up until you can't take anymore."

Her pussy clenched around Omari's cock as he thrust into her, the sensation of being used so thoroughly sending her over the edge. "Ahh, I'm cumming!" she screamed, her body bucking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

The men didn't stop, their cocks pumping into her until she thought she'd pass out. But she didn't. Instead, she felt another orgasm building, this one more intense than the last. "Fuck, it's too much," she moaned, her body trembling with the effort of taking them both.

Marcus and Zubari watched, their eyes on Karina's tight asshole as it stretched around their cocks. "Look at her," Zubari said with a smirk. "Her ass is going to be sore for days."

"And her pussy," Marcus added, his hips moving in a steady rhythm. "It's never been this good."

The room was a symphony of pleasure and pain, the girls' cries growing more desperate as the men pushed them to their limits. Yujin felt her body tighten around Tyronne and Darius, their cocks pounding into her with a force she had never felt before. "Please," she begged, "I can't take anymore."

But the men were too far gone, their own need for release driving them to fuck the girls harder and deeper. "You're going to take it," Tyronne said, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror. "You're going to take it all."

Their strokes grew more erratic, their breathing ragged. The girls knew it was coming, the moment they had been waiting for, the moment they had all been building to. The pressure grew unbearable, their bodies begging for the release that was so close.

And then it was upon them, the men's cocks pulsing with their climax, filling the girls' pussies and asses with hot cum. The girls' screams were music to their ears, their bodies milking the men for every drop, eager for more.

As the men pulled out, their cocks still twitching, the girls collapsed onto the bench, their bodies spent and sore. They looked at each other, their eyes wide with amazement. They had done it. They had pushed their boundaries and come out the other side, forever changed by the experience.

The men stood before them, their cocks still hard, their bodies glistening with sweat and cum. "That was amazing," Marcus said, his voice filled with awe.

"The best we've ever had," Tyronne agreed, his eyes never leaving the girls' faces.

The girls giggled, their bodies still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. They had found what they were looking for, and it was better than they could have ever imagined. They had become the sluts they had always dreamed of being, and they had never felt more alive.

But the men weren't done with them yet. Marcus and Zubari stepped forward, their cocks still rock-hard and gleaming with Karina's juices. "We've got an idea," Marcus said, a wicked glint in his eye. "Something that will make you scream even louder."

Without waiting for a response, they pushed their cocks together, the heads touching and sliding along each other. Karina watched, her eyes widening in shock and excitement as they positioned themselves at her pussy, their cocks touching and teasing her swollen lips. "Oh my god," she whispered, her voice trembling. "What are you doing?"

The men chuckled darkly, their eyes meeting in the mirror. "We're going to give you a taste of something new," Marcus said, his voice low and seductive. "Something you've never had before."

With a grin, Zubari lined up his cock with Marcus's, both of them pressing the heads against Karina's stretched pussy. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt before, the heat and pressure of two massive cocks at her entrance. She gasped, her eyes wide with fear and anticipation. "Oh god, please," she whimpered, her body quivering.

The men didn't wait for further encouragement. With a powerful thrust, they pushed into her together, their cocks sliding in side by side. Karina's scream echoed through the locker room, the sensation of being split open so wide was almost too much to bear.

"It's painful," she gasped, her voice strained with the effort of speaking. "It's like nothing I've ever felt before."

Her eyes squeezed shut tightly, and she clutched the sides of the bench, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grip. The sensation of two thick cocks pushing into her at once was overwhelming, the pain so intense it was almost unbearable. But there was something else there, something dark and thrilling that had her hips bucking back to meet them, desperate for more.

"It's... it's too much," Karina managed to whisper, her voice tight with strain. The fullness was unbelievable, a pressure so great she thought she might burst. Yet she couldn't help but crave it, the pain morphing into a strange, twisted pleasure that made her wetter, her pussy clenching around the invading cocks.

Marcus leaned down, his breath hot on her neck. "You can take it, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Take it all."

Karina felt her body stretching to accommodate them, the pressure building until she thought she'd scream. And then she did, her voice echoing off the tiles as the men pushed deeper, filling her completely. The pain was intense, but there was something else there, a dark pleasure that had her hips rising to meet them, her body begging for more.

The men began to move, their strokes long and deep, their cocks sliding in and out of her in a rhythm that made her vision swim. Karina's screams grew louder, filling the locker room with the sound of her pleasure. "It's too much," she sobbed, her voice lost to the intensity of the moment. "It's so fucking good, but it's too much!"

But the men didn't stop, their bodies moving in a frenzied dance of lust and power. They watched her in the mirror, their eyes glittering with excitement as she took them both. "You can do it," Marcus whispered, his voice soothing despite the fierce grip he had on her hips. "You're a good girl."

Yujin, still face down on the bench, felt Tyronne and Darius move closer. She knew what they wanted, and the thought made her heart race. She tried to push herself up, to protest, but she didn't have the strength. "No," she whimpered, her voice weak. "It won't fit, I can't..."

Her protests fell on deaf ears as the men positioned themselves, their cocks pressing against her sore pussy. The head of one cock slid inside her, and she gasped, the pain making her eyes water. But the pleasure was there too, a dark, thrilling sensation that had her hips moving back, trying to take more. And then the second cock pushed in, and she felt herself stretched to the limit. "Ahh," she moaned, her voice strangled. "It's too much, please..."

But the men didn't stop, didn't even pause. They pushed in together, their cocks stretching her beyond what she thought possible. The pain was white-hot, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the feeling of fullness, of being utterly owned and used. "Fuck," she screamed, her voice hoarse with desire. "It's so good, so fucking good!"

Wonyoung's eyes widened in shock as Omari and Amon approached, their cocks still hard and gleaming. She tried to scoot away, her voice trembling. "No, please," she begged. "My pussy is too small."

They just laughed, the sound deep and dark. "That's what makes it even better," Omari said, his hand reaching out to stroke her cheek. "The tighter the better."

Their fingers trailed down her body, exploring her curves, and she shivered with anticipation. She knew she couldn't take them both, not after what she'd just been through, but the thought of trying had her pussy clenching with need. "I'll break," she whimpered, her voice small and scared.

"We'll go slow," Amon assured her, his voice a gentle rumble in her ear. "We'll make it good for you, baby."

Their cocks touched her, the tips sliding along her slit, teasing her clit. Wonyoung felt her body respond, felt her pussy start to clench and pulse with the need for release. "Please," she begged, her voice desperate. "Please make it feel good."

They didn't need any further invitation. With a grin, Omari pushed into her, his cock stretching her open with a delicious pain that had her nails digging into the bench. "Look at her," Amon murmured, his cock sliding in beside Omari's. "Look how much she wants it."

Wonyoung's eyes rolled back in her head as they began to fuck her, their strokes slow and deliberate. It was a new kind of fullness, a new kind of pleasure that had her toes curling and her back arching. "Oh god," she moaned, her voice shaking. "Oh god, it's too much, I can't... I can't..."

The men watched her in the mirror, their eyes filled with a hunger that made her stomach clench. They were enjoying every second of her struggle, every gasp and whine that escaped her lips. "You can take it," Omari murmured, his cock moving in a steady rhythm. "You're doing so good, baby."

Their strokes grew faster, their hands moving to grip her hips, holding her in place as they pushed deeper. Wonyoung felt her body start to shake, her pussy tightening around them as the orgasm built. "I'm going to cum," she panted, her voice tight with the effort of holding back. "Oh god, I'm going to cum so hard!"

The men grinned at each other, their eyes locked on Wonyoung's face as she squirted around their cocks. The sensation was unlike anything they had felt before, her pussy spasming and clenching as she came. "Fuck, she's squirting," Amon murmured, his voice filled with amazement.

Yujin watched her friend, her own pussy clenching with envy. The thought of being filled so completely, of having no control over her own body, was intoxicating. "I want to cum like that," she moaned, her voice desperate.

"And you will," Tyronne assured her, his strokes growing more forceful. "You're going to squirt all over us, baby."

The pressure in Karina's pussy grew, her body stretching to accommodate the two massive cocks. She could feel the beginnings of another orgasm, her pussy clenching around them as they fucked her with a ferocity that bordered on brutal. "I can't," she gasped, her eyes squeezed shut. "It's too much, I'm going to pass out."

Marcus chuckled darkly, his grip on her hips tightening. "Not before you cum for us," he said, his voice a command. "You're going to scream our names as you squirt all over our cocks."

The girls' bodies were a symphony of pleasure and pain, their cries of ecstasy mixing with the sounds of the men's grunts. They had never felt so full, so used, and it was driving them wild. Their pussies spasmed, releasing a flood of juices that soaked the bench beneath them.

Marcus and Zubari didn't let up, their strokes deep and punishing. Karina's pussy was stretched to the limit, the pain and pleasure melding into a white-hot need that had her begging for more. "Cum for us," Marcus growled, his teeth clenched as he watched her in the mirror.

Yujin felt her pussy tightening around Tyronne and Darius, their cocks pumping in and out of her like pistons. The men's eyes were locked on her, their smiles predatory as they watched her approach the edge. "Do it," Darius murmured, his hand sliding up to pinch her clit. "Squirt for us."

Their words were like a command, and her body obeyed, her pussy clenching around their cocks as she squirted, the warmth of her release coating their cocks. "Ahh, yes," she screamed, her body bucking with the force of her orgasm.

Wonyoung's pussy was on fire, the sensation of Omari and Amon's cocks moving inside her almost unbearable. "I can't," she whimpered, her voice tight with strain. "Please, I need to cum."

The men chuckled, their strokes growing more forceful. "You will," Omari promised, his voice dark and seductive. "You're going to cum all over us."

Their hips slammed into her, their cocks hitting her deepest spots, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. And then it was there, the orgasm tearing through her like a storm, making her body shake and her eyes roll back in her head. "Oh fuck," she screamed, her voice hoarse with need. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!"

The men watched the girls, their cocks swelling with every scream and spurt of juice. They knew they were close, their balls tight and heavy with the need to release. "Ready to fill these sluts up?" Tyronne asked, his voice a low growl.

"More than ready," Darius grinned, his cock pumping in and out of Yujin's tight pussy.

The men moved together, their cocks sliding out of the girls' pussies with a wet sound that made them all shiver. They stepped back, their eyes on the prize, their bodies tense with anticipation. "Open up," Marcus said, his voice a low, guttural growl.

The girls obeyed, their legs spread wide, their pussies gaping and begging for more. The men didn't waste any time, pushing back in, filling them to the brim with their cum. The girls' bodies jerked as the hot, thick fluid filled them, the sensation overwhelming.

They came together, their screams mixing with the sound of the men's grunts. The locker room was a sea of sweat, cum, and desire, the air thick with the scent of sex. The men's cocks twitched as they emptied themselves into the girls, their eyes never leaving the sight of their swollen, filled pussies.

But the men weren't done. They had been waiting for this moment for too long, and they were going to take everything they wanted. As the girls lay there, panting and exhausted, the men pulled out, their cocks still hard. "Again," Marcus said, his voice a command.

Karina's eyes snapped open, her body tensing. "No," she gasped. "Please, no more." But the men didn't listen. Zubari pushed her legs apart, his cock sliding back into her pussy with ease. Marcus followed suit, filling her ass with his own thick length.

Yujin and Wonyoung watched in horror as the men began to fuck Karina once more, her body already stretched to the brink. They knew that if they didn't do something, they'd be next. But their protests were cut short as Tyronne and Darius pushed their cocks back into them, filling their pussies and asses with their thick, cum-covered lengths.

The men fucked them without mercy, their strokes powerful and relentless. They switched positions, sometimes filling their pussies together, sometimes taking turns with their asses, the girls' cries of pain and pleasure melding into one. "Please," Wonyoung begged, her voice a desperate whimper. "Please, I can't take anymore."

But the men just laughed, their eyes gleaming with lust. They were in control now, and they weren't going to stop until they were fully satisfied. They pounded into the girls, their balls slapping against their asses, their cocks hitting deep inside them, making them scream.

The girls felt their bodies betray them, their pussies clenching and releasing, their muscles spasming with each thrust. They were powerless to resist, their need for release overwhelming them. They begged and pleaded, but the men just fucked them harder, their strokes never slowing.

The locker room was a cacophony of sounds, the slap of skin on skin, the wet squelch of cocks sliding in and out of tight, filled pussies, the girls' desperate cries for mercy. But the men didn't stop, didn't even slow down. They fucked them through one orgasm and into the next, their own pleasure building with every thrust.

Karina felt her body giving out, her pussy and ass feeling like they were on fire. She was so full, so used, she didn't think she could take anymore. "Please," she sobbed. "Please, no more."

Marcus leaned down, his teeth grazing her ear. "You're going to take every drop," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You're going to be our little cum sluts."

The girls looked at each other, their eyes wide with terror and desire. They knew that they had no choice but to submit, to take everything the men had to give. And as they felt the cocks inside them swell, they knew that the end was near.

The men's strokes grew faster, their bodies tense as they approached their climax. The girls could feel it, the pressure building inside them, the inevitable release that would fill them once more. And then it was upon them, the men's cum flooding into their pussies and asses, mixing with their own juices and spilling out onto the floor.

They screamed, their bodies shaking with the force of it, their pussies clenching around the cocks, desperately trying to hold onto every drop. But the men kept fucking them, their cocks never leaving, their seed never stopping. It was an endless cycle of pain and pleasure that the girls were trapped in, their cries for help lost in the symphony of their own desperate moans.

Finally, with a roar of triumph, the men pulled out, their cocks still spurting cum. It rained down on the girls, mixing with the sweat and the juices that coated their bodies. They lay there, panting and spent, their eyes glazed with the overwhelming sensation of being completely used.

The men stepped back, their chests heaving with the exertion. They looked at each other, grinning with satisfaction. "That was some of the best pussy I've ever had," Darius said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Agreed," Tyronne chuckled, his eyes still on Yujin's trembling body. "But I think we've worn them out."

The girls lay there, unable to move, their muscles quivering with the aftermath of their orgasms. They were covered in cum, their bodies sticky and wet, their pussies and asses gaping. They had never felt so used, so utterly owned.

But the men weren't finished. With a wicked grin, Marcus picked Karina up by the neck, lifting her to her knees. "Open your mouth," he ordered, his cock pointing at her face. She tried to shake her head, her eyes wide with horror, but she had no strength to resist.

Wonyoung watched in shock as Omari and Amon did the same to her, their cocks thick and pulsing. "No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It's not what we... we didn't agree to this."

The men ignored her protests, their eyes dark with desire. They had taken them to the edge of pleasure, and now they were going to push them over into something else entirely. "You're going to swallow," Tyronne said, his grip on Yujin's neck tightening. "You're going to swallow every drop."

The first spurt of hot, golden liquid hit Karina's face, making her gasp. She tried to turn away, but Marcus's grip was like steel, forcing her to take the stream of piss into her mouth. She gagged, her eyes watering, but she couldn't stop the flow. The taste was bitter, the sensation overwhelming, and she choked, trying to breathe.

Yujin and Wonyoung watched in horror as their friends were degraded before them. "No," Wonyoung sobbed, her voice weak. "Please, no more." But the men just laughed, their piss arcing through the air as they emptied their bladders into the girls' mouths.

The scene was one of complete domination, the men's power on full display. The girls' bodies trembled, their eyes wide with shock and fear. They had come looking for a kinky adventure, but this was more than they had bargained for. They had become the toys of these six black gods, their desires and boundaries pushed to the limit.

The piss filled their mouths, their throats, their stomachs, and the smell of it filled the locker room. They choked and gagged, their eyes watering, as the men used them for their own pleasure. It was a final act of submission, a demonstration of just how far they would go to satisfy their dark desires.

The men watched them, their smiles wide and cruel. They knew they had broken the girls, pushed them to a place they had never been before. And as they finished, their cocks still twitching with the last drops of piss, they felt a sense of triumph that was almost as intense as their orgasms.

But the girls had reached their breaking point. As the last drops fell from their chins, they collapsed onto the floor, their bodies heaving with sobs. They had never felt so violated, so used. And yet, as they lay there, their pussies clenched, the faintest echo of pleasure still lingering.

The men stepped back, their eyes on the sobbing, trembling girls. They had given them an experience they would never forget, one that would stay with them forever. And as they zipped up their pants, their eyes never leaving the scene before them, they knew they had found what they were looking for. They had found the ultimate in submission, the ultimate in pleasure.

With a laugh, Marcus turned to the others. "Spread the word," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "We've got living toilets in here."

The men filed out of the locker room, their footsteps echoing in the silence. The door swung open, and in streamed a line of eager gym-goers, their eyes on the girls on the floor. Karina, Yujin, and Wonyoung looked up, their eyes wide with terror as they realized what was about to happen.

One by one, the men approached, their cocks in hand. They didn't even bother to aim, just letting their piss spray over the girls, soaking them from head to toe. The girls choked on the foul liquid, their bodies convulsing with the humiliation and the pain. They had never felt so low, so used.

But even as the piss rained down on them, their bodies betrayed them. Their pussies clenched and released, their asses quivered, and they couldn't help but feel a dark thrill at the degradation. It was as if their kink had been taken to a new level, one that they had never even imagined.

The gym patrons took turns, some pissing in their mouths, some on their faces, and others on their breasts and stomachs. The girls' bodies were a canvas for the men's desires, their cries of protest lost in the symphony of male laughter and the hiss of piss hitting the tiles.

The scene was one of complete and utter degradation, a testament to the power of the men's desire. And as the last man finished, the locker room was filled with the acrid smell of urine, a scent that would stay with the girls forever.

They lay there, sobbing, their bodies trembling with the aftermath of their ordeal. They had never felt so dirty, so used, so completely owned. But somewhere in the back of their minds, a part of them knew that they had found what they were looking for, a part of them that reveled in the pain and the pleasure of it all.

Slowly, they managed to get to their hands and knees, their legs wobbly as they crawled towards the locker room door. The floor was sticky with cum and piss, making it difficult to move, but they had to get out. They had to find someone to help them, to save them from this living nightmare.

But as they reached the door, it was blocked by a figure, a man they hadn't seen before. He was tall and muscular, his skin dark like the night, his eyes gleaming with lust. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice a low purr.

The girls looked up at him, their eyes wide with fear. "Please," Wonyoung begged, her voice barely a whisper. "Help us."

The stranger chuckled, his hand reaching out to stroke her cheek. "Oh, I'll help you alright," he said, his eyes raking over their bodies. "But first, you're going to show me what you're really made of."

With surprising strength, he grabbed them by the hair, dragging them out of the locker room and down the empty walk street. They struggled, their cries echoing off the walls, but it was no use. He was too strong, too powerful. They were helpless in his grasp, their bodies his to do with as he pleased.

As they stumbled out into the night, the cool air hit their soaked skin, sending shivers down their spines. The street was deserted, a perfect stage for their ongoing degradation. The stranger's words hung in the air, a promise of further humiliation that made their stomachs churn. "You're going to be the talk of the town," he sneered. "Living toilets, ready for anyone to use."

The girls looked around frantically, their eyes searching for an escape, for a glimmer of hope. But the street was eerily silent, the only sounds the distant sirens of the city and the squelch of their cum-filled pussies. They were trapped, their fates in the hands of this sadistic man.

"Please," Karina managed to gasp, her voice hoarse from screaming. "We'll do anything."

He chuckled, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "Oh, I know you will," he said, his voice a dark caress. "You're going to be everyone's little sluts, aren't you?" He said.

The girls complied, their bodies trembling with fear and arousal. They couldn't believe what was happening to them, that their kink had led them to this dark, twisted place.

The news of their depraved activities in the gym had spread like wildfire, reaching every corner of the city. Men from all walks of life now sought them out, eager to use their bodies for their own perverse pleasures. Each day brought new faces, new cocks, new humiliations.

The streets were their new playground, where they were fucked by the homeless, criminals, and any kind of people their cries of pleasure and pain echoing through the alleyways. They had become the ultimate sex toys, available for anyone's use.

Their lives had become a never-ending cycle of degradation, each day a blur of sweat, cum, and piss. They had lost count of the number of times they had been filled and emptied, their pussies and asses stretched beyond their limits.

The regret grew with each passing moment, a constant reminder of their fall from grace. If only they had been able to control their desires, they wouldn't be the public sluts and toilets they had become.

Their days were spent on their knees, servicing the never-ending line of men who sought them out, their nights were even worse, as they were passed around like property, their bodies used and discarded without a second thought.

Their fantasies had become a prison, a nightmare they couldn't escape. They had become the very thing they had once dreamed of, but now, it was a reality they wished they could wake up from.

Their eyes held a haunting mix of desperation and lust, a testament to the depths they had sunk. They had no control, no say in what happened to them, their lives now dictated by the whims of the men who used them.

Each new act of debasement brought a fresh wave of pain, yet they couldn't help but crave more. The very thing that had brought them to this point had now become their undoing, a cycle they were trapped in with no end in sight.

Their cries for help fell on deaf ears, their pleas for mercy only serving to excite their users further. They were no longer Karina, Yujin, and Wonyoung, just three holes to be filled, three mouths to be used, three sets of tits to be played with.

And yet, amidst the pain and the humiliation, there was a dark thrill that pulsed through them, a need to be used, to be owned, to be filled with cum and piss. It was a part of them now, a twisted part that had grown too strong to ignore.

As the days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, they became known as the gym sluts, the girls who would do anything for a taste of a black cock. They were the talk of the town, the legend that grew with every retelling, their degradation becoming a part of the fabric of the city's underbelly.

Their names were forgotten, their past lives a distant memory. They had become living embodiments of the darkest desires of the men who used them, their existence solely to satisfy the most depraved appetites.

The regret lingered, a constant presence in their minds, a reminder of what they had lost. But with each passing day, it grew fainter, replaced by a need to serve, to be used, to be filled with the very fluids that had once disgusted them.

Their bodies had become a canvas for the men's lust, a toilet for their cum and piss. They had become what they had once fantasized about, and the only thing they had left was the hope that one day, they might find a way out of the hell they had created for themselves.

[tarotwithavi]

You from the eyes of your lover

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

How to choose a pile?

Close your eyes and take a deep breath and ask the angels to show you the right pile for you and open your eyes. The first pile that catches your attention is the right pile for you.

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THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR LOVE AND SUPPORT 💞🫶🏻

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 1

When I look at you, it feels like the world slows down just a little. You are the place where my restless heart finds its rhythm. With you, it’s not just love, it’s recognition like my soul has been looking for you in every lifetime and finally, finally found you.

There’s a fire in you that keeps me awake at night, a spark that makes me want to dream bigger, run faster, live louder. You move through life like a storm wrapped in sunlight, fierce, beautiful, unforgettable. You make me believe that maybe, just maybe, love is supposed to feel like this. Wild and free and terrifying in the best way.

You make me want to build a life, not just a moment. To hold traditions close, to create a world with you where things are sacred and real. You’re not just someone I love you’re someone I trust without even trying. Someone who feels like something ancient and holy written into my bones.

I see the way you guard your heart sometimes. I see the walls you’ve built, and I see the strength it took to still leave the door open. And I swear to you, every time I see that quiet bravery in your eyes, I fall in love with you all over again.

With you, love isn’t just a feeling. It’s a journey I want to be on every single day. Through storms, through silences, through dreams I haven't even dared to speak yet.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 2

You are the warmth that fills the empty spaces inside me. You are laughter echoing through lonely rooms, sunlight spilling over broken places I thought would never heal. With you, love feels real, not something imagined or wished for, but something I can hold, something I can build a forever with.

When I look at you, it feels like watching a heart in motion, choosing between fear and hope with every breath. You carry such a soft strength, the kind that does not scream for attention but moves mountains quietly. You are the pause before the promise, the calm before the celebration. Being near you feels like arriving somewhere I have been searching for my whole life.

I know you have seen the kind of endings that leave marks on a soul. I know there are mornings when you still carry the weight of yesterday in your chest. But to me, even your scars are sacred. Even your sadness is beautiful. You are not what happened to you. You are what rose after it.

Sometimes I see you lost in thought, drifting away from the moment, wondering if you are enough, if happiness is something meant for you. I wish I could press my hands against your doubts and kiss them away. I wish you could see yourself the way I do, not just beautiful, but unforgettable.

With you, love feels like building something real with hands full of dreams and a heart full of courage. You are my foundation and my flight. You are my reason to believe that love can be both soft and strong at once.

You are not standing still, my love. You are moving toward everything you ever deserved. And I will be right here, choosing you over and over, with every step, with every breath, with every piece of who I am

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 3

When I look at you, it feels like every forgotten piece of me wakes up. You are laughter wrapped in sunlight, a melody sweeter than anything I could have ever asked for. Being near you feels like breathing in a life I had only dreamed of from a distance.

You are my warmth, my safe place, my wild joy. You are the reason the world feels beautiful again. Your smile could tear down walls I built around my heart without even trying. You carry a kind of happiness that feels like magic, the kind that stays, the kind that heals without asking for anything in return.

I see your strength, the way you carry your battles inside you and still choose to shine. There is a power in you that humbles me, a softness that makes me believe in forever. You are made of the kind of courage that bends but never breaks, the kind of love that holds and forgives and chooses again, even on the hard days.

There is something about you I cannot escape. Something that pulls at me like gravity, like a song that only my heart can hear. You are fire and freedom, temptation and tenderness. Every time I touch you, it feels like being set alight and saved all at once.

You awaken every dream in me. Every hunger. Every hope I thought I had buried. With you, love feels like creation itself, raw and wild and sacred. You are the spark behind every risk I am willing to take, every future I dare to imagine.

And still, beyond all the wildness, there is a quiet in you that I worship just as much. A soul that needs space and silence, a spirit that goes deep where the world cannot follow. I would wait a lifetime just to sit beside you in your silence, to be the hand you reach for when you come back into the light.

You are not just my love. You are the universe written in skin and soul. You are the reason I believe that some loves are written long before we are even born

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

[lamb-teaa]

` last of his kind, or not

` C.1 - dragons, flowers and what?

—⁠ tags: AU for Sylus's myth. canon divergence. Sylus x fem!reader. human-dragon hybrids. comedy/crack me thinks.

—⁠ teaa’s note: short scenario. possible future fic. or not lol. cliffhanger am sorry (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

—⁠ edited: caved in and wrote C.2 ooft. happy reading!

—⁠ ` C.2 - first impression failed successfully

Sylus believed he was the last of his kind. Doomed to a life of solitude as an extinct race and condemned by the humans as an abomination.

Yet he persevered, survived and lived out of spite against those foolish humans - creating havoc everywhere he goes, stealing treasures for his trove of collections, and when he's feeling mischievous, he'd toy around with humans that dared to even dream to cross him.

Or stupid enough to try to kill him.

Sylus wouldn't even grant them an instant death, no no, that'd be too boring. He'd let them live for a short while, torture them as he deemed fit and watched in amusement as they begged for mercy. Truly, these humans are much more entraining alive than dead.

That is until he gets bored of them and stabs them straight in the throat with his sharp tail.

Just another normal day for the last dragon of Philos.

Only the rarest day when Sylus isn't being a menace is when he took himself to the skies to observe the lands below, especially towards a certain flower field that gave him even just the tiniest taste of tranquility.

His large wings flutter behind his back, his eyes gazing down at the field of red daturas coming into view. The sight of the flower field that brought solace to his empty heart.

Until he saw something that made him freeze mid-air.

He saw you.

You were crouching down slightly amidst the vast field, picking the flowers into your arms to make a lovely bouquet, your dress fluttering as you moved around, your light blue tail swaying calmly behind you, your moonlight horns shone slightly by the evening sunset - completely oblivious to the dumbfounded dragon watching you from above the sky.

Sylus thought he might have lost it. That the centuries of isolation and loneliness finally caught up to him that he hallucinated the existence of another dragon like himself.

A trick of the light. An illusion. It can't be rea-

But the moment you stood up with an armful of daturas, your eyes flickered up towards the sky, locking gaze with Sylus - he felt time stilled around him.

The confused tilt in your head, the wondering gaze in your eyes and the slightest of movement as you took a step back while still maintaining eye contact with him.

His eyes widened at the sight of you, his heart raced both in anticipation and trepidation, his fist clenched so hard that his claws stung his palm.

You looked alive.

You weren't an illusion.

You are real.

You -

His body reacted in an instant, his wings flapped strongly behind him and before Sylus knew it, he was flying fast towards the alarmed humanoid female dragon.

He didn't even think, subconsciously causing the speed of his flight to increase. In his mind, he'd already be thinking of landing calmly and gracefully in front of you.

Unfortunately for him, his lost control of his own speed caused him to crash unceremoniously into you, sending both of you tumbling across the flower field until he ended up hovering above you.

His breath hitched as stared down at you sprawled on the ground, jaw slightly agape as he took in your similar draconic scales like his, only yours shone in light blue unlike his dark red ones.

Sylus opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, too stunned at the prospect of finding another dragon like him in this lonesome world.

But he should say something, anything, just speak damnit-

Sylus snapped out of his reverie when he felt a strong smack of the flowers against his cheek, causing him to freeze up for the umpteenth time that day. His gaze flickered between your bewildered eyes to the flowers in your hand - he could only continue to stare at you in utter silence, flabbergasted.

You had just slapped him with the daturas.

[solxamber]

VALENTINES EVENT IM HERE AND IM SAT

Rook, Romantic, I bet on losing dogs by mitski plssss

"I bet on losing dogs" || Rook Hunt

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: I bet on losing dogs by Mitski

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 650

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Angst with a happy ending, Pining

Rook Hunt has always loved things that would never love him back.

He has known this since childhood, since the first time he reached for a bird with trembling hands only to watch it take flight, startled by the mere thought of his touch. He learned it in poetry, in old stories where knights swore themselves to princesses who wed kings instead, in the lonely way the moon followed the earth—close enough to see, never close enough to hold.

He learned it when he loved his first masterpiece, a painting so beautiful he wept at the sight of it, only to realize the brushstrokes would never look back at him.

And he learned it again, years later, when he met you.

Because Rook has always been a fool for beauty, for brilliance, for things that shine so brightly they leave him blind. And you—you were dazzling. You existed with the kind of presence that made the world shift around you, made the air hum with the echo of your laughter. You burned like a star, and Rook was foolish enough to stand too close.

He loved you. Of course, he loved you.

But love, for Rook, was never meant to be something returned.

So he did what he had always done—he watched. He loved you quietly, from the shadows, from the sidelines, from just beyond your reach. He made himself your friend, your confidant, your ever-present companion, never once daring to hope for more.

Because that was not the way the story went.

He was the fool, the poet, the audience. You were the masterpiece. And masterpieces did not love the people who admired them.

So he swallowed it down, this unbearable, aching devotion. He stood at your side, smiling as you chased after others, as you dreamed of things that did not include him, as you built a future where he was merely an afterthought.

And it was enough. It had to be enough.

Because Rook did not love expecting to be loved in return. He loved because it was in his nature, because it was what he was made for.

Until one night, when you shattered everything.

"Why do you do this to yourself?"

The question was soft, but it cut sharper than any blade. Rook turned, startled, but your expression was unreadable.

"Mon trésor?" His voice did not waver, though his heart did.

"You love things that never love you back," you said, and it was unbearable—the way you looked at him, the way your voice wrapped around the words like a secret, like a confession. "You love things that leave. That fade. That slip away. You love like you expect to lose."

His breath hitched. Because it was true. It was always true.

And yet, hearing you say it—hearing you see it—felt like being stripped bare.

"You don't have to," you murmured.

He wanted to laugh. Oh, but you did not understand. He did not know how to exist outside of longing. Outside of being the one who waits, who watches, who loves and loves and loves without ever being held in return.

He opened his mouth to tell you as much, but then—

You reached for him.

Fingers slipping through his, anchoring him to something real. Something solid. Something that had never, not once, slipped away.

A breath trembled from his lips, the weight of longing so deeply ingrained in his bones that he barely knew what it felt like to let go. But then you shifted, close enough that he could feel your warmth, and when you pulled him forward—hesitant but certain—he let himself lean into you.

His forehead brushed against your shoulder, the tension in his body slowly unwinding as you squeezed his hand. And maybe, just maybe, Rook Hunt had been wrong all along.

Because in this moment, in the quiet hush of your presence beside him, he realized—

Some masterpieces love their admirers, too.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[luvbinnies]

i made a promise, to distance myself

A boy who kept his feelings locked away and someone who wore their heart on their sleeve. When he walked away, it was without warning, without reason. And they refused to wait for an explanation. Now few months later, forced to work together on a project neither can escape, old wounds resurface. Silence turns into stolen glances, resentments bleeds into something dangerously familiar, and the past refuses to stay buried.

Genre: fluff, angst, exs to lovers, el oh el.

warnings: swearing, isaac newton mentioned, could be sad ig (?), i can't think of anything else

a/n: im back from the dead, recently fell under a moving car and got dumped el oh el, some parts in here are inspo by like my actual life, i have a list of all the similarities if anyone is curiosu at the end of the story. basically wake up from a dream where me and my ex got back together and wrote this.

wc: 9.6k (longest fic ever el oh el)

Jumping off a flight of stairs was probably not the best idea, but it was the only thing you could think of at the moment.

Reluctantly moving down the stairs and following the loud clunk sounds of your stupid bright neon green water bottle. Books and papers of drawings and blueprints that won't fit into your messenger bag without getting damaged. Maybe you should’ve listened to when people said getting a regular backpack was much more convenient than the bag you had now, but it was much more fashionable. 

Landing at the bottom of the staircase, take a moment to breathe and prepare yourself for having to go back up five flights of stairs to get to class. Because even though the school is one of the prestigious in the country, they refuse to have any sort of elevators to ruin their “dark academic” aesthetic of the building. 

Eyes traveling on the old cobbled stoned flooring, trying to locate a neo-coded water bottle, your mother insisted on getting since she read somewhere green is this year's lucky colour. Probably found in some ridiculous article, really got to get her off social media. 

Bright neon green slipped through your peripheral vision, turning to face the still rolling bottle and walking towards it before it makes you late for your next class. It stops in front of a pair of solid black shoes, one that looks all too familiar. The figure stops at the feeling of the ratchet bottle that wants to ruin your day even more than it already has. 

A recognizable pale hand, with a silver ring on the index,  hesitantly drops down to pick up the bottle that led you down a path to the literal pits of hell for you. Eyes not dare looking up from the ground, taking your somewhat free hand and extending out your pinky to the now stranger you have a bitter taste in your mouth everytime you come near. Once the feeling of your pinky is weighted down by the feeling of the water bottle’s hook, you take off up the stairs with energy that you didn’t think you had anymore left of, as it’s your third time climbing these stairs in the past ten minutes. 

Not a care in the world if a stranger walks by and deem you as a rude bastard who can’t even say thank you, because you can;t even say a word to the “nice stranger” who handed you your water bottle. All you can do around him now is just run and avoid. That’s what you continue to do until you reach your class, probably looking a little weird as you were also cursing at your bottle and gravity, mainly isaac newton, he’s usually the bane of all your problems lately, besides the man you used to call yours. 

—

His friends would sometimes joke to him that the world is too fast for him at times, usually when he doesn’t get a joke right away or for him zoning out, especially as it has been worse in these past few months. 

But that happened so fast, he has no idea what to do, or how to react but just to stare at your figure rushing up the stairs. Sunghoon’s jaw tightens as you fade away up the many flights of stairs. Acting like he is some contagious virus, even afraid to touch him, much less look at him. 

He would remember when their friend group was still intact and when they would all hang out, how sometimes the gang would get too overwhelming, even from the other side of the room you would catch his eye and always give him a comforting smile. And the simple eye contact with one another, while the world moves along around them. 

But he had lost that with you and it’s all his fault. 

—

Taking a little break from the assignment in front of you to angrily tap on your phone so the ads on your music app stop, knowing you aren’t really actually doing anything to get rid of them unless you become one of the apps victims and pay for music. But your stubbornness and being broke, so aggressively hitting your phone is your next best solution. 

The little silence after the ad is finally done and the next song is about to start, you can hear a mechanical pencil roll off of a desk. A quiet clatter could barely be noticed in the slight hum of the library. You didn’t hear it at first, the angry high you had because of the ad made you lock out of concentrating from your work— until you noticed the hand reaching for it making you pause.

Long pale fingers. A silver ring on the index.

You know those hands, it's your second time seeing them in… you weren’t too sure the last time you saw those hands when they were wrapped around your water bottle. All you knew was that you were seeing those hands much sooner than you needed to. 

Those hands, you remember the weight of those hands in yours, the way they used to hold your face and caress your cheek, the way they tug at your sleeves on your sweater absentmindedly. 

And you recognize the pencil.

It’s yours.

Not exactly, but you did buy that pencil. 

Something in you starts feeling nauseous, or light-headed, you couldn’t really figure out in the moment because without thinking, you reach out and yank that pencil right out of his grip. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have done that, because now that gross boy opened his mouth, but you didn’t care. 

Sunghoon blinks. “Hey did you just—”

Whenever you were bored in class you would always do fun pencil tricks and even taught him how to do some with this said pencil in your hands. 

Spinning the pencil around, inspecting it with feigned interest, not caring about the boy next to you with his mouth open like a fish staring at you. “Huh. I forgot how nice this pencil was.”

Now his mouth is close as he clenches his jaw, his  stare sharpening. “You can’t be serious.”

Finally turning your head to look at him, trying to maintain the emotions on your face. Instead of saying something you might end up regretting, in the fear of sounding cringe, you just shrug. 

“Give it back.”

“Why?” Resting your chin on your hand. “It’s mine.”

He exhales sharply, the kind of exasperated breath he used to let out when you teased for taking things too seriously. Except now there’s a little bit of an edge to everything. 

“You gave it to me.”

You tilt your head “Did I?”

You weren’t sure if he could clench his jaw any harder, but somehow he does. “Yeah. You did.”

Your grip on the pencil tightens. You can’t say you remember everything that was said the night of the break up, but you remember the way you felt, the way he left without explanation— like he couldn’t bear to stay with you any second longer. As if he couldn’t stand to hold on to something that was already slipping away. 

He didn’t even let you have a say, you didn’t get the chance to do anything, not even fight for what was yours then. 

So now you hold on to that damn pencil. 

“Well,” you say, voice light, “technically, it was mine first.”

Sunghoon lets out a humorless laugh, one you don’t recognize in this fever dream daze of nostalgia. Leaning against the table, he’s close now, closer than you could've prepared for. You hate the way your heart stumbles over itself at the lack of distance, at the way he still smells the same— like something clean and sharp, a little cologne you had bought him about a year ago for his birthday. 

His voice drops an octave. “You’re seriously pulling this shit?”

Shrugging again, simply just pulling a stare you hope doesn’t reveal how fast your heart is beating stupidly like it used to. 

He watches you for a long second, his brown eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure out what type of game you were playing. But then, not arguing, instead of pushing back, he just exhales softly. 

“Fine,” he mutters, “Keep it.”

And then, right before he turns away— so quiet you almost think you had imagined it—

“It suits you better anyways.”

You blink.

Before you could say anything, maybe asking what the fuck he meant by what he said, he’s already walking off. Leaving you with a mechanical pencil in your hands and this time you watching him as he walks away, with a taste of words you don’t quite understand.

—

Two year ago

Rain pitter patters against the windows, a dull hum in the background in the near-empty classroom. It’s late— too late for anyone to be here— you didn’t care, you were too stubborn. Chewing on your nail, brows furrowed in concentration as you glare at your notebook, completely oblivious to the fact that Sunghoon hasn’t turned a page in the last ten minutes. 

He should be focusing. He should be running through formulas in his head, thinking about the test tomorrow, or at the very least be pretending to be studying. Instead, he’s watching you— watching the way you puff out your cheeks when you stop understanding what you were just doing, the way you spin the pencil in your hand absentmindedly, the way you whisper to yourself while doing each exercise when you think no one’s listening.

You’re always like this– loud without meaning to be, pulling attention without even trying. 

He should’ve known sooner. That you were dangerous in the kind of way that crept up on him, slipping past his defenses before he had the chance to stop it. 

“Sunghoon.”

Your voice snaps him back to reality, he straightens, forcing his face into something neutral. “What?”

Pushing your notebook towards him, sighing dramatically. “Did you do this one yet? I don’t know if I did it correctly.”

He glances at your notebook, eyes widening a little, as to the most he could see on the page was a bunch of scribbles and some incoherent formulas and calculation. Having a hard time reading it , before shifting his chair closer. You don’t think twice about it when your shoulders brush. You never do. 

But he does.

He always does. 

“Is this your answer, at the corner?” he asks, taking your pencil without thinking, to circle the little number at the bottom of the page. Your fingers graze for a second, and he wonders if you feel the static the way he does. Probably not. You’d pull away if you did.

He attempted to go over your work, commenting on what you have written in a voice that’s much steadier than he feels. You nod along, resting your chin on your hand, eye flickering between his face and page. 

“I hate Isaac Newton and that stupid apple.” you grumble.

Sunghoon huffs a quiet laugh shaking his head. “You just overthink everything.”

You groan. “I wish that apple killed that stupid white man.” 

He watches as you bury your head in your arms on the table, tapping your forehead lightly with the end of the pencil before setting it back down. “Just stop overthinking and wishing death upon an already dead man.”

Lifting your head, you blink at him, lips parting like you want to argue, but for a brief moment, something passes between the two of you— something neither of you have a name for yet.

And then you roll your eyes, reaching for your notebook. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, idiot.”

Sunghoon watches as you turn your pages to start a new question, completely unaware of the way his fingers twitch against his knee, resisting the urge to brush a stray strand of hair from your face.

Yeah.

He’s in trouble. 

—

A few months ago

The night air is cold, but not as cold as the space between you.

Your arms are crossed. His hands are shoved into his pockets.

A street light flickers overhead. A car passes in the distance. 

Sunghoon exhales, steadying himself.

Then. before he can stop it— before he can think too hard about what he’s about to lose—

“I think we should break up.”

Silence.

The kind that swallows everything whole.

Your lips part, but no words come out. 

Your lips part, but no words come out.

The look in your eyes— confusion, disbelief, then something else, something that burns— 

“What-Why?”

He doesn’t answer. Or maybe he does, but it’s not the right thing.

It’s never the right thing.

The air is heavy, thick with things neither of you are saying.

Then, finally— your voice, quieter this time.

“Okay.”

A single step back. Then another.

And then—

Nothing. 

—

The classroom hums with chatter, students moving around and the teacher speaking about some project, but you were barely listening. Your attention is elsewhere— on your notebook, on the scratches of pen against paper, literally anything but him.

He was two rows ahead, resting his chin on his hand, half-focused on his laptop. Almost similar to you right now. Too similar. 

You don’t look at him. You don’t let yourself.

But then—

“For the project, you’ll be working in pairs.”

There is a ripple of movement through the room, students glancing around already choosing their partners. 

“I’ve assigned them to you.”

Your stomach twists. 

You sit a little straighter. Your fingers tighten around your pen. 

 The professor starts listing off names. One by one, students find their partner. You’re holding your breath, waiting for—

And then—

Your name.

And then, immediately after—

His. 

You freeze.

The room suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. 

Someone nudges your arm, murmuring something about how lucky you are since you get to work with the “hottest guy on campus”, but their voice is distant, muffled by the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

Slowly, hesitantly, you lift your gaze. 

Sunghoon had turned in his seat. 

For the first time in months, you’re looking at each other. 

And the worst part? He doesn’t even look surprised. 

—

Sunghoon doesn’t hear from you for the rest of the day. 

Not a text, not a call— nothing.

And the, at exactly 11:51 pm., an email lands in his inbox.

Subject: Project Task

From: yn@beliftuniversity.com

To: parksunghoon@beliftuniversity.com 

Attached is the project outline. I’ve divided the tasks. I’ll handle the structural analysis and concept sketches. You can do the mechanical components. Tell me when you are done. 

Sent from my phone

That’s it. No greeting. No unnecessary words. Not  even your name.

Sunghoon exhales through his nose, clicking open the file. You’ve already set up everything— titles, labels, even deadlines. You’ve practically built a wall of professionalism between you, as if you were never anything but classmates. 

And it pisses him off.

Fine. two can play this game. 

He types a reply, short and to the point.

Subject: Re: Project Tasks

Got it. 

He doesn’t hit send. 

His fingers hover over the keyboard. His jaw clenches.

Then, in a moment of stubborn impulse, he types—

You can’t avoid me forever.

And hits send before he can take it back.

—

“You know, he’s right.”

You shoot a glare over at Sunoo. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, kicking his feet up on the bench. “You can’t ignore him forever.”

“I can, actually.” you sip your matcha pointedly. “It’s called email.”

He snorts. “You sound like a middle-aged professor.”

“Good. Maybe he’ll leave me alone then.”

Sunoo raises an eyebrow. “He literally told you, ‘You can’t avoid me forever.’”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, and? I don’t care.”

The words are barely out of your mouth when Sunoo suddenly stiffens, eyes darting over your shoulder. 

“Uh—”

You don’t even have to ask. You just know.

There’s a familiar shift to the air, an awareness pressing down on your skin. 

And then, just to confirm it—

“Shit,” Sunoo mutters. “He’s down the hall.”

You don’t think. You just move.

Your hands shoot out, gripping his sleeve as you drag them down the corridor. 

“Are you serious?!” he hiss between stumbling steps.

“Shut up, shut up , shut up—”

“Please can we stop running, I don’t think he would be chasing us down for sport.”

You don’t care. You don’t turn around because you know if you do, you’ll see Sunghoon standing there, staring after you, that unreadable look on his face. 

And you are not giving him that satisfaction.

Not today. 

—

Staring at your laptop screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, the flashing cursor blinking back at you in defiance. You’ve been avoiding this email for days— every time you think about it your stomach churns, and you mind races with excuses. 

You don’t want to deal with him. Not now. Not ever again.

The project, the meeting, the unavoidable tension. You had hoped, foolishly, that you could really just avoid Sunghoon completely— keep everything strictly professional, send email, handle the assignment without having to face him in person. But that plan was crushed the moment the email landed in your inbox, his name in bold. 

“Let’s meet in person tomorrow to go over the project. I’ll bring the drafts.”

Of course, Sunghoon had to take the initiative. You had a suspicion he’d never let you hide behind your screen forever. He was stubborn, too, in a way that always seemed to get under your skin. 

You arrived at the library, dragging your feet, already feeling the weight of the situation settle in your chest. The project was an assignment, but the real challenge was having to sit across from him, pretending that nothing had happened, pretending that the last year— no, the last months— hadn’t been a whirlwind of frustration and heartache.

But here you were, faced with reality. You walked into the library, hoping to avoid eye contact, but you couldn’t escape the familiar sight of him sitting at a table with all his papers neatly organized, a slight form on his face as he scanned the documents. 

His eyes flicked up when he saw you enter, and for a second, your heart skipped a beat. But you force yourself to remain calm. He was just a classmate now, just another part of your academic routine. Nothing more. 

You set your things down at the table across from him, pulling your laptop out with the practiced motions of someone who had done this a thousand times before. You weren;t going to make this more personal than it had to be. No small talk. No catching up. Just the project. 

“Hey,” Sunghoon greeted, his voice neutral but carrying the weight of something unsaid. He glanced at the papers in front of you and then back to you. “Are you okay with everything so far? I made some revisions to the outline.”

You didn;t look at him. Instead, you glanced at the project papers and began sorting through them, avoiding his gaze entirely. “I’ll read them over later. Just… let’s focus on getting it done.”

You felt his eyes on you, the tension palpable in the air, but you refused to acknowledge it. You had your own part to do, your own work to focus on. Nothing else mattered right now. The project was the only thing that mattered. 

—

Sunghoon sighed, and you could hear the edge of frustration creeping into his voice. “Look, I know this isn;t easy for either of us, but we’re stuck with each other for this project. We might as well get it done right.”

“I’m not here to talk,” you snapped back, the words sharp and defensive. “Just focus on your part. I’ll handle mine.��

His expression hardened , but he didn’t push it any further. He opened up his own laptop and began typing, the sound of the keyboard tapping filling the silence between the both of you. 

For a while, it was quiet— just the sound of typing, rustling of papers. But no matter how hard you tried to focus, you couldn;’t shake the nagging feeling that he was watching you. His presence was like a shadow that followed your every move you made, and you hated how it made your chest tighten. You shouldn’t feel like this. You had no reason to. This wasn’t supposed to be personal. It was just a project. 

But then, suddenly, Sunghoon spoke again, his voice quieter, almost reluctant.

“You know,” he said, voice low but insistent, “we used to work well together. Back in high school. Why are you making this harder than it has to be?”

You froze, your fingers still on the keyboard. You could feel the old pain creep up your throat, but you swallowed it down, shoving it away. No. Don’t go there.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice steady but with a hint of something you don’t want to put a name to. And then, with a sigh, he turned his attention back to his laptop, typing in silence for a long time. 

—

Two year ago

 It had been a late night at the library, the kind where the air felt thick with concentration and the promise of deadlines hanging over every student in the building. You were sitting at the same table as Sunghoon, both of you buried in textbooks, trying to get ahead before the weekend.

It was supposed to be just another study session, but something felt different. Maybe it was the way the soft overhead lights cast shadows over his features or how the silence between you two wasn’t awkward but comfortable. You couldn’t help it— his face was so focused, his lips slightly pursed in concentration, and for some reason, the sight of him studying like that made your heart skip. 

“Is there something on my face?” he asked, his voice teasing but gentle.

You blinked and quickly looked away, flustered. “No … it’s just, you look… nice when you study.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. He leaned forward slightly, his voice lower than usual. “Nice, huh? That’s a first.”

You wanted to curl up and die from embarrassment, but instead you found yourself smiling despite the heat in your cheeks. Something about being with him felt so easy, so natural.

And then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out. “You look… pretty. When you study.”

There was a long pause, and then Sunghoon chuckled, his smile widening. “Pretty, huh? Well, that’s new.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed too, the awkwardness melting away in the warmth of his gaze. That moment— when you both realized that maybe there was something more there— was when it all started. 

—

The silence in the library stretches again. You go back to your laptop, trying to focus on the work in front of you. But the memory of that moment, of those words you’d said so long ago, hangs in the air like a ghost.

Sunghoon’s presence is undeniable now. Every time his shoulder brushes against yours as he reaches for his drink, it feels like a jolt of electricity. You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to keep working, to ignore the way his proximity makes your heart race. 

“You know, if we just worked together instead of pretending we’re strangers, this would be a lot easier,” Sunghoon says again, his voice a little more insistent now, but still carrying that gentle tone. 

You refuse to look up, clenching your jaw. “Just finish your part. I’ll finish mine.”

“I’ve always liked how stubborn you are,” he mutters, but there’s a soft fondness behind the words. “But you’re going to make this harder than it has to be, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to snap back. But the reality is that he’s right. You are making this harder. You’re making everything harder by refusing to acknowledge how much you still feel for him.

But you can’t admit that, not now, not when the walls between you two are so high, so insurmountable. 

—

It’s late—too late for anyone to be at the library anymore. The harsh overhead lights flicker in the empty room, casting long shadows on the tables where students usually sat, buried in their books. But not you. You’re still here, alone, a stack of textbooks and papers spread out before you. The hum of the fluorescent lights fills the air, broken only by the soft tapping of your fingers on the keyboard.

You’ve been here for hours, the deadline looming closer with every passing second. Your mind is tired, but you won’t leave until you finish. It’s like a race against time. A way to distract yourself from everything else.

But then, you feel it. A presence.

You look up, and there’s Sunghoon, standing by the entrance, his gaze scanning the room. You immediately look away, pretending you hadn’t seen him. Why is he here? You weren’t supposed to see him, not tonight.

He walks toward you slowly, his footsteps soft but deliberate. You keep your eyes down, focused on the papers in front of you, but you can feel him getting closer.

“You’re still here?” Sunghoon says, his voice low, like he’s not sure what to make of the situation.

You sigh, unwilling to make this a conversation. “I’m working. Is that a problem?”

“No,” he answers quickly, but there’s a softness to his tone now. Something gentler. “Just... thought you’d left by now.”

You don’t look up, but you hear him pull out the chair opposite you. He sits down, but doesn’t speak immediately. You don’t say anything either. It’s awkward. You try to focus on the work in front of you, trying to ignore the feeling of his presence, so close but still so far away.

You keep your head down, but the longer you stay in the silence, the more you feel the walls you’ve built start to crumble, piece by piece. He doesn’t push you. Doesn’t force a conversation. He just... stays.

You try not to think too much about it. It’s just Sunghoon. Just a classmate.

But then, hours later, you’re blinking, your head feeling heavy as you try to focus on the screen in front of you. You hadn’t realized how tired you were until your eyelids started to flutter. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the exhaustion catches up with you.

You don’t even realize you’ve nodded off until you’re suddenly jerked awake, your head jerking up from the desk. The library is quiet, almost too quiet, and the light from the desk lamp casts a soft glow around the room. That’s when you notice it.

A jacket—dark, heavy, and familiar—draped over your shoulders.

You blink, still groggy from sleep, and turn to see that Sunghoon is gone, his chair empty. You try to shake the fogginess from your mind, but there’s no denying it: He left his jacket with you.

You didn’t hear him come back. Didn’t feel him approaching. But somehow, he’d slipped it onto you while you were asleep, without a sound.

You sit there for a moment, the jacket still warm against your skin. His scent clings to it, and you find yourself unable to take it off. It feels wrong to just leave it behind, but you’re not sure why it feels so important to keep it on.

You look down at your own hands, your fingers grazing the sleeve, feeling the weight of the jacket, both literally and emotionally. You’re not sure if it’s the jacket that’s weighing on you or the memories that come with it. But it’s there. And so is he.

You stay there for a few more minutes, just sitting in the quiet, knowing that it would be impossible to get anything more done tonight. You pack up your things, but you don’t take off the jacket. Instead, you walk out of the library with it on, your heart a little heavier than when you came in.

—

It was dark outside, and the bus was filled with the soft chatter of your classmates. You and Sunghoon were sitting in the same seat, your shoulders brushing as you both leaned against the window, tired from the day’s activities.

You’d always been close, never quite aware of how it felt to have someone just be there with you. But that day, there was something different about it. It was like you both had settled into this quiet rhythm—comfortable, easy.

You leaned your head against the window, gazing out at the passing lights. The bus was warm, and your eyes were starting to grow heavy from the day’s exhaustion. Without realizing it, you drifted off, your head slipping onto Sunghoon’s shoulder.

He didn’t immediately pull away, didn’t complain. He just let you sleep, his body slightly tensing at the sudden closeness, but not enough to push you away.

And when you woke up, it wasn’t awkward. You just rubbed your eyes, looked up at him, and smiled.

“You’re comfy,” you murmured.

Sunghoon chuckled softly. “You really just fell asleep on me, huh?”

You laughed, feeling a warmth in your chest. “It’s not like I did it on purpose. I didn’t even realize.”

And even though it had only been a few seconds, you both lingered in that moment, your eyes meeting briefly before he gave you a smile that made your heart flutter.

You’d brushed it off as nothing—just a friendly gesture.

—

You’re still sitting in your room, the jacket still on your shoulders. It feels like a weight, not because it’s heavy, but because of the memories it brings. The warmth lingers on your skin, but so does the uncertainty. You can’t figure out why this is bothering you so much.

Your phone buzzes on the table, pulling you from your thoughts. A new email. You don’t need to look at it to know it’s from him. Sunghoon.

The message is simple: “Still need help with the project. Let me know if you want to meet up.”

You close your eyes and let out a slow breath. You want to ignore it. Pretend you didn’t see it. But you can’t. Because part of you wants him to be there. Part of you wants him to still be the one to help you, even if you don’t want to admit it.

You stand up, pacing around the room, the jacket slipping slightly off your shoulders as you move. You pull it tighter around you, almost subconsciously.

You know you’ll have to face him again. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe sooner. Hopefully later. But right now, with his jacket still draped over you, you’re not sure if you're ready.

But for some reason, you know you’re going to have to take it off.

—

You walk into the classroom, clutching the jacket in your hands. It’s been a couple of days since you woke up to find it draped over your shoulders, Sunghoon’s jacket—a silent gesture that spoke more than words ever could. He hadn’t said anything when you first found it. It had simply been there. At first, you thought it was an accident, but the longer you held onto it, the more it felt like something else. You hadn’t returned it immediately, unsure why you kept it. But now, with the fact the two of you share a class together, it felt like the right time.

You spot him sitting by the window, alone, lost in whatever thoughts occupy his mind. He doesn’t notice you as you approach, and the moment feels strangely... intimate, even though you're still far from the comfort you once shared.

You stand in front of him, holding out the jacket, but he doesn’t immediately take it. His eyes flicker up, and for a split second, something unreadable passes between you. He reaches for the jacket, but as his fingers brush yours, it’s more of a reflex than any real desire to touch.

Before you can pull away, a voice from behind you cuts through the moment.

"Are you two... together or just friends?"

You glance over to find a couple of classmates watching you both curiously. It’s a casual question, but the curiosity in their eyes is unmistakable. Sunghoon’s hand freezes mid-motion, his fingers still hovering over the jacket. He looks back at them briefly, his gaze faltering, not quite meeting yours.

For a moment, you’re not sure what to say. You notice how Sunghoon looks at the ground, avoiding any real response. His lips press together, his hand still unsure of whether to take the jacket back or not. He’s hesitant, as always.

You, on the other hand, feel the weight of the question, but you don’t shy away from it. Not this time. You stand tall, glancing over at your classmates and meeting their gaze.

“We’re just friends,” you say, your voice steady and clear. “Nothing more.”

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything. He just takes the jacket from your hand, his fingers brushing yours again, but this time it’s almost mechanical. You turn away quickly, the moment lingering behind you like an unspoken tension.

Your classmates exchange glances, their curiosity piqued, but they don’t push further. They turn their attention to the front of the room as class starts, but the question still lingers in the air.

You sit down at your desk, feeling the eyes of your classmates on you for a moment longer than usual. You force yourself to focus, pretending it doesn’t matter, but the thought of that brief interaction, the way Sunghoon avoided the question, settles heavily in your chest.

The class continues, but your mind drifts, back to that jacket and the weight of unspoken words. You can’t help but wonder what he might’ve said if you hadn’t answered for both of you.

No, that’s what he should’ve said because you guys were not dating, he broke up with you, and now the two of you were simply forced to work together. That’s it. 

—

The autumn air was crisp, carrying the scent of fallen leaves as the two of you walked side by side down the quiet street. The school festival had just ended, and the distant hum of laughter and music still echoed behind you. Groups of students were lingering back at the event, but somehow, the two of you ended up here, together, away from it all. 

It wasn’t planned. It never was with him. It was just how things always seemed to happen.

You hugged your arms around yourself because of the cold, cursing at yourself for not bringing a bigger jacket knowing the weather but wanting to look good for the event. He walked a little ahead, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jackets, his head tilted slightly towards you as if he was waiting for you to say something. 

You had always been the talker between the both of you. The one who made friends easily, the one who never hesitated. But right now, the words sat heavy on your tongue, unspoken. 

He let out a small sigh, looking up at the sky. “It’s late.”

“You should’ve left earlier then.”

He huffed, a tiny, almost-smile tugging at his lips before he looked back ahead. “You didn’t have to leave, you know.”

You shrugged. “Didn’t feel like staying.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. The festival had been fine, fun even. But then you’d seen him standing by himself, lingering near the edges of the crowd, not quite a part of it. And suddenly, the excitement of it all had dimmed. 

He kicked a small rock with the tip of his shoe, watching it tumble along the pavement. “Didn’t think you were the type to leave a party early.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

A breeze picked up, and instinctively, you crossed your arms tighter over yourself. Without a word, Sunghoon shrugged off his jacket and held it out to you.

You blinked at him. “What are you doing?”

“You’re cold.”

You scoffed. “I’m not cold.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept holding the jacket out with that blank expression of his— the one that meant he wasn;t going to argue. You hesitated for a second too long, and then, as if deciding for you, he draped it over your shoulders himself. 

You looked up at him, a retort on the tip of your tongue, but then you caught the way his fingers lingered just a second longer against your shoulder, the way he swallowed, like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. 

It was nothing.

It was everything.

Your heart did something stranger in your chest, a quiet stutter. But then he pulled away, shoving his hands back into his pockets, eyes flickering elsewhere like it was no big deal.

Like he didn’t just leave you standing there in the middle of the empty street, drowning in the scent of his cologne, trying not to overthink what had just happened. 

“Let’s go.” he said, his voice calm, steady. Like always. 

You didn’t move right away. You just watched him, this boy who always seemed out of reach.

Then you exhaled and started walking again, side by side, your steps falling in sync.

And if your hands brushed once— just once— neither of you said a word about it. 

—

After class, you head out of the room, your mind still lingering on the awkward exchange. As you walk down the hallway, you notice Sunghoon a few paces behind you, his expression neutral. You don’t turn around, but you can feel his presence. It;s the same as always, but somehow it’s different.

The hallway stretches ahead of you both, and you find yourself wondering if it’s the same for him, if he’s feeling the same weight of the unsaid words hanging in the air between you. But then you push the thought away. You can’t keep thinking about it. Not now. Not like this.

The day continues, but it doesn’t feel the same. Something has shifted again. Not a big thing, just the subtle change in the air whenever Sunghoon is around. But for now, you focus on the present. The project. The work. There’s no room for anything else. At least not yet. 

—

Sunghoon hated studying in public places. He hated the noise, the crowded spaces, the way it was impossible to concentrate. But for some reason, he was here.

With you.

The library was dimly lit, the only sounds coming from the occasional turning of pages and the soft clicking of keyboards. It was nearly empty at this hour, just the two of you tucked away in a corner, buried under textbooks and notes.

You sighed dramatically, stretching your arms over your head before slumping onto the desk. “I’m going to die here.”

Sunghoon didn’t look up from his notes. “You say that every time we study.”

“Yeah, and one day it’ll be true. And when that day comes, I hope you feel bad about it.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Dramatic.”

You turned your head to look at him, resting your cheek against your arm. The lamplight softened his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his skin. 

He was so pretty.

Unfairly so.

You frowned, furrowing your brows. “Do you know you’re pretty?”

That finally made him look up. He blinked at you, pen pausing mid-air. “What?”

“What?”

There was a flicker of something in his expression— surprise, amusement, something unreadable. He tilted his head slightly. “I don’t think about that kind of stuff.”

You scoff. “Oh shut up.”

Sunghoon shook his head, turning back to his notes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Because it’s a weird question.”

“It’s not weird.” You sighed, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. “I just think it’s unfair that some people get to be smart and pretty.”

His lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile. “You’re calling me smart too?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You hadn’t meant anything by it. It was just a passing thought, casual observation. But for some reason. Sunghoon kept stealing glances at you for the rest of the night, his fingers tapping idly against his notebook, like he was trying to figure something out. 

—

The library is quieter than usual tonight. The steady hum of air conditioning fills the space, and the dim, golden glow of the desk lamps casts long shadows on the wooden tables. It’s late— too late to still be working— but neither of you have left.

At first, you barely acknowledged each other. The project was the only thing keeping you here and even then, you refused to speak unless absolutely necessary. You typed your sections. He worked on his. Simple.

But at some point, between the furious clicking of keys and the scratching of his pen against paper, something shifted. 

The silence wasn’t as sharpe anymore. The air between you wasn’t quite so cold.

You were still stubborn, still keeping your distance, but Sunghoon had started to slip through the cracks. 

It was in the way he quietly slid your match closer when he noticed you reaching for it absentmindedly. In the way his eyes lingered a second longer than necessary whenever you furrowed your brows at the screen, lost in thought. In the way he wordlessly handed you a new pen when yours ran out of ink, his fingers brushing yours just for a second.

Little things.

Things you didn’t want to acknowledge.

Things that made it harder to pretend that you hadn’t missed this— missed him.

You force yourself to focus on the words in front of you, but your mind is elsewhere. On him. On the past. 

—

It had been a long night.

You weren’t supposed to stay out this late, but somehow, time slipped away. It was just the two of you, walking home after an evening study session, the sky stretched out in a blanket of deep navy blue. The air was crisp, autumn settling in with a quiet chill, and your footsteps echoed against the empty sidewalk.

“I can’t feel my fingers,” you muttered, shoving your hands into your hoodie pockets.

Sunghoon glanced at you, amused. “Then why didn’t you bring gloves?”

“Because I didn’t know it’d be this cold.”

“You say that every year.”

You huffed, nudging him with your shoulder. “And every year, I am caught off guard.”

He rolled his eyes but reached for your sleeve, tugging your arm towards him. Before you could react, he took one of your hands in his, tucking it into the pocket of his jacket along with his own.

The warmth of his palm against yours sent a shiver up your spine— not from the cold, but from something else. 

Something you hadn’t quite named yet.

Neither of you said anything about it. You just kept walkin, the streelights casting soft golden halos around you.

You reached your doorstep too soon. 

Sunghoon stood there, shifting on his feet, his fingers still loosely curled around yours.

You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve said goodnight. But instead, you just stood there staring at him.

The light from the porch illuminated the sharp angles of his face, the way his dark eyes softened when they met yours. His gaze flickered down— just for a second— before he quickly looked away.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were. “Are you gonna keep standing there, or—”

“Shut up,” he muttered.

And then—-

He kissed you. 

It was hesitant, barely a whisper of contact. But it sent your heart into a frenzy, your breath hitching, fingers tightening around him without thinking. 

When he pulled away, his ears were red, and he wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I— I wasn’t planning to do that.”

You blinked at him, mind still catching up. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeated, this time smiling.

Sunghoon exhaled, sometimes easing his shoulders.

“You;re still holding my hand.” you pointed out. 

He let go immediately, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Shut up.”

But you could see the way the corners of his lips twitched upwards. 

—

You stare at the screen in front of you, but the words are a blur. The memory lingers, making your chest feel tight.

Sunghoon shifts besides you stretching out his arms. His sleeves push up slightly, revealing the faint outline of veins along his forearms. You look away quickly, annoyed with yourself. 

This is ridiculous.

You don’t care. You don’t.

“Take a break,” he says, voice low.

You exhale, rubbing at your temples. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

You shoot him a glare, but he’s already looking back at his screen, unaffected. Typical. 

Silence settles between you again, but it’s different now. He’s too close, the air between you too charged. 

And then—

“Do you still hate me?”

Your breath catches. The question is quiet, but it feels deafening.

You turn to him, meeting his gaze for the first time in what feels like hours. His eyes are steady, but there’s something else there— something raw, something careful. 

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

He swallows. “ you won’t even look at me.”

You force yourself to scoff, to roll your eyes. “I look at you all the time.”

“Not like before.”

That makes you freeze.

Because he’s right. 

Before— before everything— you had looked at him like he held the universe in his hands. And maybe, in some ways, he had.

But that was then.

And now—

Now you don’t know what to do with this version of him, this version of you.

The air is thick with something you don’t want to name. 

And before you can think better of it, before you can stop yourself—

You kiss him. 

It's reckless, desperate, a collision of past and present, of things left unsaid and things you don’t want to admit.

His lips part slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in, his fingers grazing your jaw, like he’s afraid to break the moment.

And maybe you are too. 

But then—

Reality crashed back in.

Your eyes widen, and you pull away abruptly, breathless, heart hammering.

Sunghoon blinks, still processing, “Wait—”

But you’re already pushing away from the table, standing up too quickly, your chair scraping against the floor.

“I have to go,” you say, voice unsteady.

And before he can stop you, before he can say anything else—

You turn and walk away.

Leaving him sitting there, watching you go.

Again. 

—

Avoidance has always been your best defense.

You mastered it after the breakup, convincing yourself that if you could just stay out of Sunghoon’s orbit, then none of it— none of the pain, none of the unanswered questions, none of him— could touch you.

But ever since that kiss, it’s been impossible to keep up the act.

You stop sitting in your usual spots in the library. You change your walking routes between classes. You leave early to avoid any chance of running into him. Your emails about the project become even shorter, even more detached.

And still— it doesn’t feel like enough

Because the problem isn’t just him.

It’s you.

It’s the way your mind keeps replaying that night in the library, the way your lips still burn with the memory of his, the way your chest aches everytime you think about how you didn’t pull away immediately.

You shouldn’t have let it happen.

You shouldn’t have wanted it to.

But worst of all— you shouldn’t still want it now.

You tell yourself this over and over again. But nine of it matters when you turn the corner one evening, only to find yourself face-to-face with the one person you’ve been trying so hard to avoid. 

Sunghoon.

Waiting for you.

Like he knew.

“You’re avoiding me again,” he says, his voice eerily calm.

You grip your bag tighter and look away. “I’m busy.”

“Liar.”

The word lands heavier than it should.

You take a step back, but he matches it, blocking your way. His eyes search yours, and you can feel how tired he is— tired of the silence, of the pretending, of whatever this is. 

“Do you hate me that much?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, something sharp and desperate. 

You exhale hardly. “Sunghoon—”

“Just answer me,” he pressed, jaw clenched. “Do you hate me?”

The words catch in your throat. 

You should say yes. You should give him the finality he seems to be looking for. 

But you can’t. 

And maybe he sees it— maybe he sees the way you falter, the way your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag— because his expression shifts.

And then—

The door beside you suddenly swings open. A group of students spills out, laughing and chatting, shoving past both of you. 

You barely register it before someone crashes into you from behind, sending you stumbling backwards—

Right into the supply closet.

And of course— because the universe must hate you— the force of it slams Sunghoon into the tiny space as well. 

And before either of you can react— click.

The door locks

Silence.

Then—

“You have got to be kidding me,” you hiss. 

Sunghoon tries the handle, but it doesn’t budge. He exhales sharply, resting his forehead against the door for a second before turning back to you. 

“Great.”

You let out a bitter laugh, crossing your arms. “What, you think I planned this?”

“No, but it’s convenient, isn’t it?” He glares at you, frustration bleeding into every word. “You’re always running away, and now you can’t.”

Your pulse spikes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he mutters. “You left the night. You’ve been avoiding me ever since. You won’t even talk to me—”

“Because there’s nothing to say!” you snap.

“Bullshit!” His voice rises, his patience unraveling. “Don’t act like you don’t care. You kissed me, and then you ran away like it meant nothing.”

You freeze.

Because he’s right.

It wasn’t nothing.

But admitting that? Giving him that satisfaction? You can’t.

So you do what you do best. 

You push back

“You don’t get to act like you’re the victim here, Sunghoon,” you say, voice colder now. “Not when you broke up with me.”

Something flickers across his face.

“And not just that,” you continue, the weight of everything you’ve bottled up finally breaking through. “You left me without any warning. You didn’t talk to me about what was wrong. You didn’t even try. You just decided one day that it was over and that was it.”

—

It had been an ordinary afternoon. You remember it oo well— how he wouldn’t look at you, how his hands trembled slightly as he shoved them into his pockets.

And then—

“I think we should break up.”

The words hit you like a slap.

You laughed at first, thinking it was some sort of joke. But then you saw the way he avoided your gaze. The way his fingers curled into fists.

“Why?” Your voice had cracked. “What happened? Did I do something?”

He had only shaken his head. “It’s just…. I don’t think this is going to work.”

“What—”

“I am not sure I am what you really need.”

It was the last thing you expected to hear.

But it was the only explanation he ever gave you.

That's what started it, why you just started running away from him. 

—

“You thought it wouldn’t work?” you glare at him now, eye burning. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Sunghoon pressed his lips together, like he regretted saying it. But it’s too late.

“You didn’t even give us a chance,” you continue, voice rising. “You just decided that it wasn’t going to work out for the both of us.” 

“I wasn’t sure if I was what you really needed.”

Your breath catches. “Sunghoon—”

“You’re always surrounded by people. You make friends so easily. I wasn’t like that, I am not like that.” His voice is quiet now. “I feel like I was always holding you back.”

You shake your head, feeling something sharp and painful twist in your chest. “That’s what you thought?” You let out another bitter laugh. “You know, I thought that’s what brought us together. That we were so different. That worked because of that.”

Sunghoon looks at you then, something unreadable in his expression. 

“There were two people in our relationship, you and me. You made that decision that we don’t work well, for the both of us.” you say, voice shaking. “And now you think it’s going to work now just because you want it to?”

He doesn’t answer. 

And you hate how much that silence still hurts.

You exhale shakily, turning away. “I don’t trust you., Sunghoon.”

His jaw clenches. “I know.”

“And I don’t trust myself to let this happen again. Because if you could leave that easily once, what makes you think I believe you won’t do it again?”

This time, he doesn’t try to deny it. 

Because he knows.

Because he did leave. 

And you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forgive him for that. You hated yourself for never being able to hate him at all. 

The only sound in the tiny space is the faint buzz of the overhead light—

And the deafening weight of everything left unsaid. 

The supply closet is cold, but the tension in the air is suffocating. When the door finally swings open, neither of you move right away. Sunghoon steps back first, his jaw clenched, like he’s holding back something he’ll never say. You follow a second later, not looking at him as you walk away.

After that, things are different.

You don’t avoid him anymore. Not really. You still exchange emails about the project, still sit across from each other in the library, still in the same space without outright hostility. But the sharpness between you dulls— replaced by something softer, something sadder. 

One night, long after the library should’ve closed, you look up from your notes to see Sunghoon staring at you. He doesn’t look away this time. Neither do you. For a moment, the world stills. 

Then you blink, and the moment is gone.

—

The project ends.

So does your reason to stay in each other’s orbits.

You expect things to go back to normal, whether normal is supposed to be. You expect distance to creep back in, the silence to settle. 

But somehow, Sunghoon lingers. 

He doesn’t force conversation, doesn’t push. But you catch him in the corners of your vision— watching, waiting, hesitation. As if he’s waiting for you to decide what happens next.

—

Then one evening, you run into him.

It’s late. The air is cold, thick with the scent of winter. Sunghoon is standing outside the campus gates, hands shoved into his pockets, the street lights casting long shadows around him. He notices you before you can turn away.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

You hesitate. Then, “Hey.”

There’s so much unsaid between you, so much left unfinished. 

A part of you wonders— is this it? The last conversation before you both fade from each other’s lives completely?

Sunghoon opens his mouth, like he wants to say something more, but you shake your head, stopping him. 

“It’s okay.” you say. “You don’t have to.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. He nods.

The streetlamps flicker above you. A car passes, its headlights flashing between you like a border, a final dividing line. 

You should say something else. You should tell him you’ll see him around, that you’ll stay in touch, that you’ll find your way back to him someday.

But you don’t.

Instead you step back, offering a small, almost imperceptible smile.

“Take care, okay?”

For a second, you think he won’t respond. But then, finally— softly— he nods.

“You too.”

You turn around first. You don’t look back.

Sunghoon watches you walk away, his hands still in his pockets, his lips parts like he wants to stop you— but he never does.

The night swallows the both of you whole.

And just like that, it’s over. 

—

The city hums in silence in the distance, but here, on the rooftop, it’s quiet/ the two of you sit side by side, legs dangling over the edge, the skyline stretching endlessly before you. The night is warm, the stars barely visible through the glow of streetlights. 

“You’re gonna fall,” Sunghoon murmurs, eyeing the way you lean forwards slightly, hands bracing against the ledge. 

You grin, tilting your head towards him. “You’d catch me.”

He doesn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitches, like he wants to smile but won’t let himself.

A soft breeze ruffles his hair. You reach out before you can stop yourself, fingers brushing through the strand, smoothing them down. Sunghoon stills at the touch, but he doesn’t pull away. 

“You do that a lot,” he says after a moment.

“What?” 

“Touch my hair.”

You blink, your hand dropping back to your lap. “Does it bother you?”

He exhales, looking away, down at the glittering streets below. “No.”

That’s all he says. But in the way his fingers clench slightly against his knee, in the way his shoulders stay tense even as the night air cools his skin— you realize something.

Sunghoon likes it.

He likes being close to you.

The thought makes your chest feel warm, something soft and fluttering settling behind your ribs. You don’t say anything about it, don’t tease or push. Instead, you lean back on your palms staring up at the sky. 

“Feels like we could stay here forever,” you murmur.

Sunghoon glances at you, his expression unreadable.

Then, so quietly you almost don’t hear it—

“Yeah.” 

-

author's note: basically everything in here thats inpso from irl with my actaully ex. the water bottle incident but it was in a classroom. us actually having fucking class with each other the next semester. me running away constantly every time i see him now. me buying him a pencil as a present and him still using it (i really want to steal it back). him asking me if i hate him cuz i keep running away and even dragged a friend as i run away from him. him saying "i dont think it's going to work out" and thinking becuase im very outgoing and him being a big introvert was something that would lead to us breaking up, haha but it was just him and him not communicating with me about his feelings. el oh el.

[puppym3]

felix x reader ─── two-time thing

synopsis - after everything that happened last time, you couldn't bare to see him face-to-face, but after restless nights and finding him in your dreams, you made it to his bed.

wc: 9.1k

silly tags: MDNI! 18+, bsf!felix, afab!reader, definitely pining, angst, questionable dreams, idiots to (eventually) lovers, realization of feelings, awkwardness, other members appear, pt 3 will come!!, pt 1 -> here - PT 3 -> here

MDNI!! smut warnings under cut!!

WARNINGS: smut, lots of kissing, lowkey dry-humping, grinding, masturbation (m. rec), hair pulling, handjob, a lot of sounds are made

Fight or flight? No doubt you chose flight.

You weren't sure how long you stayed in your room, but the tension was so thick throughout the entire house that you couldn't dare to step out of your comfort place.

Embarrassment clung to your skin like a second layer, suffocating and unrelenting. You, too mortified to face reality, had trapped yourself in your room.

Your friends had noticed, of course. You couldn’t completely cut yourself off without them catching on, especially when meals became a problem. The reliance on others for basic needs was humiliating, but the thought of stepping outside your self-imposed prison made your stomach churn.

Chan, ever the nurturing friend, complied without question at first, bringing you food with a furrowed brow and soft reminders. “You’re gonna get sick if you stay in here,” he’d say gently, setting the plate on your desk before retreating without prying too much- though the concern in his eyes lingered long after he left.

Lee Know, on the other hand, was less forgiving. When you’d sheepishly asked him through text for a favor, he left you on read without a single reply. The message was clear: get your act together.

Then there were Seungmin and Han. Unlike the others, they weren’t content to just drop off food and go. Seungmin, sharp-eyed and intuitive, had crossed his arms and leaned against your doorframe one afternoon, his voice tinged with amusement but lined with curiosity. “You wanna tell me what’s really going on?” he’d asked, his tone deceptively casual. When you shook your head, he’d sighed dramatically. “You’re lucky I’m nice.”

Han was less subtle. He’d plopped down outside your door once, knocking rhythmically until you opened up just a crack. “C’mon,” he coaxed, grinning mischievously. “Whatever happened can’t be that bad. Spill it.” You’d slammed the door in his face before he could say more, your face burning.

But tonight was different.

"So you like pulling hair, hm?" A deep voice drawled, the words barely a whisper before the tug on your hair sent a jolt through your entire body.

Your knees hit the floor, the sharp sting of the impact radiating through your legs, but it was nothing compared to the scorching heat that coursed through your veins. Felix stood above you, his dark eyes gleaming with an amusement that made your pulse quicken. His hand remained in your hair, pulling your head back with an ease that made you feel entirely at his mercy.

"Tell me, is that all you want from me?" His voice was low, teasing, almost dangerous. The question lingered in the air, thick and charged, as if daring you to admit something you weren’t sure you wanted to say.

You wanted to answer, wanted to insist that wasn’t the case at all. You couldn’t think like this about Felix. He was your best friend. He always had been. But the words stuck in your throat, none of the words formed in your head being able to come out. Instead, a single, breathless "Yes" escaped, and it felt like your whole world tilted.

"If I’d known sooner," Felix murmured, his breath ghosting against your ear, "I would've just given you what you wanted right away. Saved us both the trouble, huh?"

Heat flushed your skin. Shame mixed with something more dangerous, as his words settled into your chest like a weight. The rough pull on your hair made your breath catch. He didn’t have to speak again for you to understand the power he wielded over you in that moment.

"You thought you could hide it, didn’t you? Pervert."

The word hit like a slap, but it only stoked the fire burning deep inside you, a dangerous mixture of arousal and guilt. The feeling was intoxicating, suffocating, leaving you dizzy.

Your eyes flew open, your body jerking awake with a gasp as if you'd just surfaced from deep water. The darkness of your room enveloped you, but it did little to soothe the wild thrum in your chest. Your skin was sticky with sweat, the sheets clinging to you in uncomfortable heat.

Felix’s voice lingered in your ears, a faint whisper that refused to leave you. The echo of his touch, his hand in your hair, was still present, the warmth of it searing your scalp and making your body ache in places you didn’t want to acknowledge.

What the hell?

Your heart hammered in your chest, too fast, too loud. You couldn’t get his words out of your head: Pervert. The way he had looked down at you, amused, like he knew exactly what you were feeling. The power, the control. It was all wrong, and yet the heat between your legs told a different story.

"God," you whispered hoarsely, your body betraying you as you squeezed your thighs together, trying in vain to will the ache away. It was irrational, unwanted, but you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t stop thinking about Felix. Your best friend.

You shifted in the bed, throwing an arm over your face in a feeble attempt to block it all out. This was all your mind playing tricks on you. Your subconscious messing with you because of that stupid night, the one when you'd been curled up against him, your fingers brushing through his hair absently. The sound he made when you tugged at the strands had been so soft, so unexpected, that it had sent a bolt of heat straight to your core.

You hadn’t meant to pull his hair. You hadn’t meant to like it. You hadn’t meant for anything that followed to happen, either. But there was only so long you could tell yourself it was a mistake before it stopped feeling like one.

That night. That night when you’d asked- no, pleaded with him to let you watch. It had been an accident, a slip of the tongue, a momentary lapse in judgment. But it wasn’t just a mistake.

It wasn’t just one.

That was the part that made your chest tight with panic, the feeling that it had already happened once, and now you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

No. You wouldn’t let yourself do this again. You couldn’t.

It was just a dream, you repeated aloud, as if saying the words would make them true. Just a dream.

But even as the words left your lips, you knew they didn’t make sense. The ache, the heat, the guilt, they were real, and they felt dangerously real.

Just a dream.

-

You tried. You really did.

You buried yourself under your blankets, squeezed your eyes shut, and willed your mind to drift anywhere but back to him- to Felix’s voice, his touch, the ghost of his breath against your skin. But the harder you tried to suppress it, the more it clawed its way to the surface, relentless and consuming.

Sleep wouldn’t come. It never did on nights like this.

You rolled onto your side, gripping the sheets in frustration, your heart still unsteady. The dreams had unsettled you in ways you weren’t ready to confront. It wasn’t just the weight of his words, the way they had sent a shiver down your spine, it was everything else. The longing. The loss. The quiet, aching realization that you missed him.

Not just his touch, not just the confusing way your body had responded to him in your dream. You missed him.

His laugh would make his eyes sparkle, and always broke through the heaviest of silences. The way he clung to you without hesitation, throwing his arms around your shoulders or draping himself over you like it was second nature. You used to roll your eyes, shove him off playfully, but now? Now you felt cold without the weight of him, without the warmth of his presence filling the space beside you.

And you’d been avoiding him.

You’d kept your distance, hoping that space would clear your head, but it only made it worse. The days felt empty without his voice in them, without his brightness cutting through your usual gloom. Now everything seemed unbearably quiet.

A choked sound slipped past your lips before you even realized you were crying.

Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, and you curled into yourself, gripping the pillow like it could somehow fill the space Felix left behind. You felt stupid. Weak. But no matter how hard you tried to push the feeling down, it only swelled, filling your chest with a pressure you couldn’t escape.

You missed him. You missed him so much it hurt.

You hated this. You hated yourself for feeling this way, for wanting him so badly when you weren’t even sure what it was you wanted. For running away when all you really wanted to do was run straight to him.

Why couldn't you have just said nothing that day? Why did you have to make a mess of things and then disappear? Why did you have to ruin everything with a few stupid words?

"Lixie..."

Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears, the words a strained, choked whisper.

"I miss you."

-

The next morning, the sky was overcast, threatening rain. A dull grey had settled over the world, the clouds hanging low in the sky, the air heavy and damp.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You were exhausted, having barely slept a wink, and the last thing you wanted to do was get up.

But there was a nagging sense of guilt, a persistent feeling that you should at least try. So, with great effort, you dragged yourself out of bed.

The house was quiet, the silence broken only by the distant patter of rain against the window. The kitchen was empty, the countertop clean and bare, as if nobody had touched it.

You stood in the empty kitchen, fingers ghosting over the cold countertop. The house was eerily still. No clatter of dishes, no muffled voices from the other rooms, no muffled music playing through the walls, nothing.

Felix wasn’t here.

Your feet moved before your mind caught up.

The hallway was dim, the soft patter of rain against the windows the only sound accompanying you as you stopped in front of his door. It was cracked open, just enough for you to push it the rest of the way without much effort.

The moment you stepped inside, his scent wrapped around you.

Warm, familiar, Felix.

A mix of something subtly sweet; maybe vanilla, and the faint trace of his cologne. It was so distinctly him that your chest tightened painfully, a strange feeling simmering under your skin.

Your gaze drifted over the room, taking in the familiar chaos. His desk was cluttered, papers scattered haphazardly, some crumpled at the edges like he’d been frustrated while working. His PC sat idle, a dark screen reflecting the dim light filtering in through the rain-streaked window.

And your eyes roamed to the other side, you saw them.

An array of different kinds of photos all together on his desk.

Your breath caught as you stepped closer, fingers hesitantly brushing over the small collection of photos.

It was you. Both of you.

Photos you don't even remember taking, one of you and him dressed for a formal night, a photo strip you guys took at a mall together, a picture of you sleeping on him.

He had kept these.

You swallowed hard, a wave of something you didn’t know how to name crashing over you. You didn't know what this meant right now, sure, it was normal to keep photos of your friends, but so close to his desk? A place he spends a lot of his time at?

Slowly, you turned away from the desk, eyes landing on his bed. The blanket on his mattress was messy, like he’d left in a hurry, and the sight of them made your stomach twist.

You shouldn’t. And you knew you shouldn’t.

But the weight of everything was too much, the pull of him too strong. Before you could second-guess yourself, you were crawling into his bed, sinking into the warmth of his space, his scent enveloping you completely.

Had he been sleeping well? Hopefully, he had some peace at night compared to you.

Or did he spend his nights thinking of you as well? Did he miss you too?

Did he stare at your photos until his eyes started to hurt, and then close them, wishing he could fall asleep and see you instead of the back of his eyelids?

Was it wrong to imagine him like this? To think about him the same way he had thought about you?

You weren’t sure. Maybe, probably, definitely.

But in the safety of his room, surrounded by his scent, the thought was too tempting to ignore.

Felix was your best friend. He had been since forever. And yet, you couldn’t help but think about him like this. The way he had looked at you, the way his fingers had curled around your chin, his gaze focused on you. The way his breath had hitched, the way he had pulled his lower lip between his teeth. The way his cheeks flushed.

He was beautiful. You knew that, you always had, but the thought never felt this... dangerous.

And he had looked at you. Just, only at you.

Like you were the only thing he could see. Like you were the only thing that mattered. Like he wanted to devour you, and it scared the shit out of you.

It was stupid. Irrational.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his sheets, his scent overwhelming you in the best and worst way possible. It made your skin burn, your stomach twist, your mind spiral into places you shouldn’t let it go.

It wasn’t just missing him anymore.

It was wanting him.

The weight of it pressed down on you, suffocating in its intensity. You squeezed your eyes shut, biting down on your lip, desperately trying to will the feeling away. But it was useless.

You could still feel the ghost of his touch, the way his fingers had brushed against your skin, the way he had looked at you, really looked at you. Not as a friend. Not as someone he’d known forever. But as something else. Something more.

The memory of it sent a shiver down your spine.

Your thighs pressed together involuntarily, but it only made things worse. The ache was unbearable, sharp and all-consuming. Your body was betraying you, responding to something you weren’t ready to admit to yourself.

You let out a shaky breath, barely a whimper, and before you could stop it, a sob ripped through your chest.

Tears burned hot as they slid down your cheeks, frustration and guilt tangling into something unbearable. What was wrong with you? Why were you like this? Why did you have to ruin everything by feeling this way?

Felix was your best friend. Your best friend.

And yet, here you were, crying into his pillow because you wanted him so badly it hurt.

The sound of the door creaking open barely registered at first.

"Y/N?"

You froze.

The sound of Felix’s voice cut through the haze of your emotions like a blade, sharp and inescapable. It shouldn’t have been this way. You shouldn’t be in his bed, gripping his sheets like they were the only thing tethering you to the world. You shouldn’t be crying over him, missing him so desperately that it physically hurt.

You shouldn’t want him.

But you did.

And now, standing at the foot of the bed, Felix was looking at you, really looking at you, his damp hair from the rain clinging to his forehead, his lips slightly parted in shock. His eyes, warm and deep, flickered with too many emotions to decipher.

“Shit,” he breathed.

His voice was unsteady, like he wasn’t sure what to say, like he was trying to understand why you were here, curled up in his sheets, looking at him like he was the only thing keeping you from shattering completely.

He said your name again, softer this time, laced with concern.

You forced yourself to sit up, your fingers trembling as you swiped at your tear-streaked cheeks. The weight of his stare was suffocating. What are you even supposed to say? That you missed him? That you had spent nights aching for him, haunted by the way he used to fit into your life, into your space, into you?

You swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper. "Sorry."

Felix’s brows furrowed. That was the last thing he expected you to say.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was quiet, but there was something else beneath it. Something careful. Something dangerous.

You hesitated. “I… I was looking for you.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Felix’s expression softened, his sharp features easing into something more familiar, something more him. He took a step closer, then another, hesitance flickering in his eyes like he was afraid you might bolt.

You didn’t.

Instead, you stayed still as he slowly, cautiously, sat down on the edge of the bed beside you.

The space between you was barely there, just inches separating your leg from his, the warmth of him reaching you before his touch did. The tension was suffocating, thick enough to drown in. It was the closest you had been to him in weeks, and the reality of it sent your pulse into a dizzying rhythm.

"Y/N…"

The way he said your name; gentle, almost pleading, made something inside you splinter.

He turned his body toward you, leaning in slightly, his voice softer than the rain against the window. “Are you okay?”

You wished he hadn’t asked.

The moment the words left his lips, something inside you gave way, cracking under the weight of everything you’d been holding back.

You squeezed your eyes shut, but it was useless. The flood was already coming.

A choked sob tore from your throat, your body betraying you as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. You shook your head, barely able to breathe through the tightness in your chest.

“No,” you whispered, broken and raw.

And then Felix moved. No hesitation as he reached for you, pulling you against him in one fluid motion, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt effortless. Like this is where you were meant to be.

His warmth consumed you instantly, the steady rise and fall of his chest grounding you even as your own breath came out uneven and shaky. He smelled like rain and something distinctly him, vanilla, musk, and home, it made your head spin.

You clung to him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie like he might disappear if you let go. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, his skin warm against your cheek. The scent of him, the weight of his arms around you, it was everything you had missed, everything you had craved but refused to admit.

Felix let out a breath against your hair, his grip tightening, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles against your back. But you could feel it, the way his heartbeat wasn’t steady, the way his own breath was just slightly uneven.

Was he feeling this too?

Was this affecting him the way it was breaking you apart?

"Lix…" Your voice came out in a desperate whisper, muffled against his skin.

His arms flexed around you, just for a second.

"Don't-" he sighed, his tone heavy with something you couldn't quite place, "-don't say anything now."

He sounded tired, almost resigned, like he had finally come to terms with something he couldn't fight.

"I want to be selfish for a moment," he said quietly, his words sending a shiver down your spine, "just for a little while."

Your heart thudded against your ribs, too fast, too loud, a painful reminder that this was real. That he was holding you, that he was whispering against your hair, that he was breathing in your scent, and god, this wasn't supposed to be this way.

It wasn't supposed to be this painful.

You closed your eyes, willing yourself not to let more tears fall, not now, not when you were already clinging to him like a lifeline.

You weren't sure how long the two of you stayed like that, tangled in each other's arms, his hands tracing patterns against your back.

The rain continued to fall, a soft patter against the windows. The faint glow of the sky had shifted, the grey giving way to a warm orange hue as the sun dipped below the horizon. You weren't quite sure what happened in that time, the exhaustion finally kept up to you and the feeling in his arms was too good, and soon, sleep was pulling you under.

But just before the darkness took over, Felix spoke again, so quietly you could barely hear it, his breath ghosting against the shell of your ear.

"I missed you, too."

-

The first thing you registered upon waking was warmth.

The steady rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek lulling you into a state of half-consciousness. For a moment, you forgot where you were, caught in the hazy in-between of dreams and reality. Then, the scent of him filled your lungs, the slow, even heartbeat under your palm grounding you, and it all came rushing back.

You were in his bed.

Your breath hitched as the realization settled. He was still right next to you, you were still curled into him, his arms still loosely draped around you like he had never let go.

Maybe he hadn’t.

You barely dared to move, afraid of shattering whatever fragile moment this was. But the ache in your chest, the longing you had buried so deep, was unbearable. You wanted- no, needed to be closer. Just a little more.

Slowly, carefully, you shifted, nuzzling deeper into the crook of his neck, your nose brushing against his collarbone. His scent surrounded you, overwhelming and intoxicating, a cruel reminder of everything you had missed. Your fingers hesitated for only a second before they moved, ghosting along the hem of his hoodie before slipping underneath, meeting the warmth of his skin.

You could feel how he tensed under you.

It was barely perceptible, just the smallest hitch in his breath, the subtle tightening of his fingers against your waist. If you weren’t pressed against him, you might’ve missed it.

But you didn’t.

You stayed still for a moment, waiting. His breathing remained steady, deceptively even, as if he were still asleep. But you knew better. You knew him. The way his fingers twitched, the way his chest rose just a little too sharply, the way his lips were parted just so... it was all too careful.

Felix was awake.

But now, you couldn't afford to care. Your fingers, still under his hoodie, traced the bare skin of his stomach, featherlight, barely there. The muscles beneath your touch tensed slightly, his breath faltering for half a second before evening out again.

He was pretending.

You swallowed back a laugh, feeling emboldened by the way his body reacted despite his act. Slowly, you tilted your head up, your lips barely grazing the line of his jaw, soft and unintentional, or at least, that’s how you wanted it to seem. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallowed breath, and the smallest noise, something between a sigh and a hum, escaped his throat.

That was all the confirmation you needed.

“Felix,” you murmured against his skin, your voice low and sweet, testing, teasing.

His grip on your waist tightened, a fraction too firm, and this time, he didn’t bother to hide the way he inhaled sharply.

You smiled against his jaw. “Are you asleep?”

Nothing.

No response.

Just silence and the pounding of both your hearts in the space between you.

Your lips ghosted down, soft and unhurried, tracing the line of his throat. You could feel his pulse hammering beneath his skin, fast and uneven, betraying him in a way his stillness couldn’t. Your hand slid higher under his hoodie, your fingertips brushing over the warm planes of his abdomen, teasing along the defined lines.

Then, just as your lips met the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, Felix finally broke.

A sharp inhale, a barely contained shudder, and then—

“Y/N.”

His voice was rough, breathless, like he had been holding it back for too long.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, and he was staring back at you, heavy-lidded, filled with something unreadable yet entirely unmistakable. His lips were parted slightly, his breath uneven, and the way he was looking at you sent a shiver down your spine.

You felt him shift, his hand sliding up your back, his fingers grazing your skin beneath your shirt. His touch was deliberate, careful, like he was grounding himself. Or maybe grounding you.

“You knew,” you accused, voice barely above a whisper.

Felix’s lips curved into something dangerously close to a smirk, but there was something softer beneath it, something hesitant.

“Of course I knew,” he murmured, his thumb stroking absent patterns against your hip. “You’re not subtle.”

Heat curled low in your stomach, and you hated how easily he could turn the tables with just a look, a touch, a word.

His eyes flickered to your lips.

Your breath caught.

Then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, Felix whispered, “What are you doing?”

Your fingers curled against his chest, gripping his hoodie as if that would steady you. You didn’t have an answer. Or maybe, you had too many.

But right now, in this moment, none of them mattered.

Because all you could think about was how close he was, how his hand was splayed against your skin, how his lips were right there, and how neither of you seemed willing to pull away.

How easy it would be to just lean in.

Your breath trembled, shaky and desperate, as you leaned in, just enough for your lips to graze his, barely a whisper of a touch. But it was enough. The moment they made contact, a sharp, electric shiver shot down your spine, spreading heat through your entire body. Felix’s breath hitched, and for a fleeting second, he stayed still, holding his breath, as if unsure how to respond.

But the moment you started to pull back, his fingers dug into your hip, pulling you back toward him with a quiet urgency that sent your heart pounding. His lips parted, and the sound that escaped him; a relieved sigh, broke you completely. It was so raw, so needy, and it undid you in ways you hadn’t expected.

You couldn’t stop yourself. Your fingers found their way into his hair again, tugging gently, guiding him closer as you let him pull you in. The soft strands slipped through your fingers, and you could hear him, so close to you, making those quiet, broken, desperate sounds that made everything inside you burn. The heat in your stomach twisted, a knot of need that only seemed to grow tighter as his hand slid higher along your back, pulling you flush against him, pressing you harder into him like he couldn’t get enough.

The second kiss wasn’t tentative. It was hungry. A deep, urgent collision of lips and tongues, slow but with a hunger that left you both breathless. His lips moved against yours, teasing and tasting, savoring. When you sighed into him, something broke, both of you, releasing any last semblance of restraint.

His grip on you tightened, turning desperate, pulling you impossibly closer. His lips parted against yours, moving over you with an intensity that sent a wave of heat crashing over you. You moaned quietly, fingers framing his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheeks before your hands tangled deeper into his hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, to taste him, to lose yourself in him.

A low sound rumbled in his chest, raw and broken, as he exhaled shakily against your lips. His fingers slipped under your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending waves of fire over your skin as they traced the curve of your spine, leaving a trail of heated promises. You could feel him trembling beneath you, his body taut, his breath a shallow, uneven rhythm. He was barely holding back.

“Y/N,” he rasped, and the way he said your name; like it was the only tether keeping him grounded, sent a shiver straight through you.

Your breath came in sharp, uneven pulls, your mind spinning as you forced yourself to break away. Your forehead pressed against his, and for a brief moment, you tried to gather your thoughts, but the haze of heat clouded your mind, leaving nothing but need, nothing but him.

What the hell were you doing?

Felix was your best friend. Your sweet, goofy, sunshine of a best friend. But right now, there was nothing sweet or goofy about the way he looked at you.

You were now- somehow, straddling his lap, your fingers tangled in his hair, your lips swollen from his kisses. And Felix- Felix looked absolutely wrecked. His pupils were blown wide, his breath coming in shallow, uneven pants as he stared at you like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming. His hoodie had slipped off one shoulder, exposing smooth skin, flushed with heat, and the sight of him like this; disheveled, desperate, waiting, had your stomach twisting with pure, aching want.

“Fuck.” The curse slipped out before you could stop it, your voice shaking with everything you were feeling. Because you knew.

You weren’t stopping.

His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and that was it. That was all it took for the last fraying thread of restraint to snap.

You crashed into him, and he met you with just as much desperation.

The kiss was nothing like before. It was raw, all heat and hunger, lips moving together in a mess of gasps and teeth and need. His hands were on you in an instant, gripping your waist, sliding up beneath your shirt, fingers splayed across your back like he needed to feel every inch of your skin against his.

You gasped into his mouth, and the sound made him shudder beneath you, his nails pressing into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. The friction sent a dizzying wave of heat through you, making your stomach tighten, making you crave more, more, more.

Your hands roamed, desperate to touch him, to make him fall apart beneath you. You dragged your nails lightly down his scalp, and the noise that left his lips; low, needy, wrecked, shot straight through you, pooling molten heat between your legs.

“Fuck, Felix,” you breathed against his lips, your voice barely a whisper, but he heard it. You knew he did, because he groaned, his hands gripping your waist harder, grinding up into you without thinking. The feeling of him beneath you, warm and hard and completely lost in you, sent a sharp thrill through your veins.

Your lips parted, and he took the opportunity, his tongue sliding against yours, deep and slow, tasting, savoring. The way he kissed you; like he was drowning in it, in you, had you whimpering into his mouth, had your fingers fisting his hoodie, holding on for dear life.

“Shit-” He pulled back just enough to breathe, but his forehead was still pressed against yours, his lips hovering over yours like he couldn’t bear to be too far away. His voice was hoarse, ruined, his breath warm and heavy against your mouth. “Y/N…”

He couldn't seem to say anything else.

You swallowed, the ache between your legs growing more insistent by the second. Your body was burning, aching for him, and the fact that he was so hard beneath you, grinding up into you without hesitation, only made it worse.

You could feel the way his body tensed, the way his hips moved against yours, slow, experimental. His breaths were coming out in shallow pants, his lips parted, and his expression... he looked completely and utterly wrecked.

Your heart stuttered as it hit you all at once.

This was why you had kept him at a distance, why you had refused to let yourself linger too long in the warmth of his presence, why you had forced yourself to ignore every stolen glance, every lingering touch.

The realization crashed into you, knocking the air from your lungs.

You liked him.

Not just as your best friend. Not just in the way you always told yourself was innocent. No, this was something deeper, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for longer than you cared to admit. And now, with him beneath you, his lips swollen, his breath ragged, his body trembling with want, you couldn’t deny it anymore.

Felix was wrecked. But so were you.

A shaky exhale fell from your lips. You didn't want to think. Not now, not when everything was falling apart. All you wanted, all you could think about, was him.

Felix was unraveling beneath you. And you, God, you weren’t any better.

His hands trembled against your skin, his grip on you tight, unrelenting, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His chest rose and fell in uneven, ragged breaths, his swollen lips parted, so aching.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, it felt like your heart was working overtime—what you were feeling in other places wasn't any better. And yet, when you shifted in his lap, when you rolled your hips against him, just to see, just to feel, Felix gasped, his head tipping back, a low moan falling from his lips.

“Y/N-” His voice wavered, his fingers digging into your waist. “Fuck, don’t-”

He cut himself off with a shuddering breath, his body tensing, his eyes screwing shut. You feel him trembling beneath you as you did it again, slower this time, you could feel your clothed core rub against the length of him with an unhurried, intoxicating friction. It caused your swollen clit to drag deliciously against the fabric of both of your clothes, causing you to throw your head back.

His hands flew to your thighs, gripping hard, as if to steady himself. A sound tore from his throat, breathless and wrecked, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, so desperate it made your entire body burn. So deep that it brought a chill up and down each vertebra of your spine.

“Shit-” His fingers flexed against your skin, his breathing erratic. “I can’t- I can’t fucking think when you do that.”

The confession sent a heady rush through you, and made something dark and hungry curl in your stomach. You wanted more. You wanted to hear him fall apart even more. You leaned in, lips ghosting over his jaw, down the column of his throat, feeling the way his pulse pounded beneath your mouth.

A soft whine left his lips, his hips jerking up into yours without warning, and the feeling, the friction, had you moaning softly into his skin. His fingers gripped your thighs, digging into the soft flesh, and the slight sting, the thought of his grip leaving a mark had heat pooling low in your stomach.

A sharp knock at the door sent a jolt through both of you, the sound cutting through the thick haze of heat that had settled in the room.

“Felix?”

Chan’s voice was muffled through the wood, but it was clear, steady, completely unaware of the way you and Felix were currently tangled together, breathless and trembling.

Felix went rigid beneath you, fingers twitching against your thighs before they fell away entirely, like he’d just realized where they were. His wide, dazed eyes snapped up to yours, his expression shifting from desperate hunger to sheer panic in a matter of seconds.

You barely had time to process the loss of his touch before Chan spoke again.

“Have you seen Y/N?” A pause. “She wasn’t in her room when I checked, and I- oh, uh, I brought breakfast for everyone.”

Felix made a choked sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a cough and a quiet curse.

Your stomach dropped.

Your face burned, your breath still coming in short, uneven pulls as reality came crashing back down on you.

Felix looked just as wrecked, just as breathless, his chest still heaving beneath you, lips swollen and parted like he was still stuck somewhere between the moment you’d shared and the one you were currently panicking through.

You had to move. You had to get up, act normal, open the door, something-

But then you shifted, and the second you felt the hard press of him against you, felt the way your own body was still burning from the friction of before, you realized something else entirely.

You couldn’t leave like this.

Felix must have come to the same realization at the same time, because his hands shot out, gripping your waist, holding you still before you could make it worse. His jaw clenched, his eyes screwing shut as he inhaled sharply through his nose, trying- failing to steady himself.

A quiet curse slipped from his lips.

You swallowed thickly, your heart hammering as Chan’s voice rang out again, a little more hesitant this time.

“Felix?”

Felix’s throat bobbed, his grip on you tightening for a fleeting moment before he forced himself to speak, voice hoarse and uneven.

“Uhm- yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

There was a pause.

“…Are you okay?”

Felix glanced at you, but you felt like you were on fire.

“Yeah!” He cleared his throat, scrambling for composure, but the breathless edge to his voice betrayed him immediately.

Felix’s grip on your waist tightened, as if desperately begging you not to move.

Chan hummed on the other side of the door, completely oblivious. “Alright, well, hurry up and come eat. I got enough for everyone. And please- please," he paused for a moment, trying to find the right words, "just call Y/N, it's not good for either of you to keep fighting.”

A beat of silence. Then-

The sound of retreating footsteps.

You both exhaled at the same time.

It took a second for the tension to shift, for the weight of what had just happened to sink in.

And then-

Felix groaned, dropping his head back against his pillow, running a hand over his face. “Oh my God.”

You swallowed, staring at him, your entire body still burning from the inside out.

He was still hard beneath you.

And you- well, you weren’t exactly in a better state.

You licked your lips, nerves twisting in your stomach as you tried to force yourself to move, to think, to figure out how you were supposed to get out of this mess without making it even worse.

Felix beat you to it.

“We can’t leave like this.” His voice was low, strained.

You nodded, heat creeping up your neck. “I know.”

A pause.

His throat bobbed. “I-” He hesitated, his fingers twitching against your waist like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “I can- figure something out. Just- just give me a second.”

He was trying so hard to be responsible about this, to be rational, to get through this without making it worse.

But your mind was still spinning from before, still drowning in the memory of his body beneath yours, the sounds he had made, the way he had looked at you like he couldn’t think about anything else.

And maybe that was why the next words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I can take care of it.”

Silence.

Felix froze.

Your stomach twisted at the way his breath hitched, at the way his fingers tightened against your skin like he wasn’t sure he had heard you correctly.

His eyes found yours, searching, disbelieving.

“…What?”

You swallowed, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin. “Just- just let me, please.”

Something flickered across his expression, something hesitant and utterly wrecked. You could see the thoughts racing through his mind, the questions, the uncertainty, the sheer disbelief at what you had just suggested.

But when he spoke, his voice was quieter this time, more vulnerable.

“But..." he swallowed, his eyes searching your face, "you won’t run away after?”

You paused, something in his voice making your chest ache.

How could he think you would do that? After everything?

But then again, hadn't you pushed him away first? Didn't he have every right to think something like that from you?

Guilt simmered in your chest, you couldn't run this time.

"No, I won’t run," you said softly.

Felix held your gaze, and for a brief moment, it seemed like he was trying to figure out if you meant it.

"J- Just this once... then..?" His voice wavered, unsure, hesitant, but you could tell how much he wanted this. How much he had been waiting for this.

Just this once?

You don't know why, but even though you've heard those words before, this time they left a sharp sting in your chest.

You couldn't tell if it was guilt or not. Maybe it was the idea that he just saw this as a one-time thing. Or I guess, two-time thing now.

You shook the thoughts away, letting out a deep breath as you slowly got off of him, moving into a spot in between his legs and crouching down, and his head raises at the sudden change in position.

You don't have much experience when it comes to giving handjobs, so you were just going to follow what he did last time with the addition of a few things that you researched yourself. You had already seen him do it up close, the way his fingers tightened around the base of his shaft before sliding upwards in a slow movement. He had taken his time with himself, drawing it out and keeping it steady, the movements practiced and sure.

His breathing grew a little more ragged when he realized where this was heading. He started to sit up, his expression wary, a protest rising to his lips. But the moment his hand dropped to cover himself, your fingers found his. You could feel them twitching.

He fell still.

Your chest tightened.

His lips parted, a small gasp escaping, eyes fluttering closed as you let your hand hesitantly outline the trace of his length, replacing his hand. Your hand slid upwards, mimicking what his other hand did.

You didn't look up, didn't dare meet his eyes. But you could feel the weight of his gaze.

It's the same, yet different. This time you are touching him, it's you making him feel that way, the soft gasps falling from his lips, the way he's biting back a moan, it's because of you. You try to copy the things you saw him do, tightening your grip just enough and letting the pressure slide slowly upwards. Your heart skips at the sound of Felix's breath stuttering, the way his muscles tense, the way his fingers dig into his thighs, holding on, struggling not to react too much.

His lips were parted, his breaths coming in shallow, uneven pulls as your hand moved against his clothed length in an unhurried, almost lazy pace. You kept your eyes down, unable to bear seeing what was in his eyes. Unable to bear seeing the look you'd put on his face.

Felix wasn't unaffected either. You could feel the tension in his muscles, feel the way his thighs twitched when you stroked his cock through his pants, the way he gasped and whimpered softly. You were suddenly very aware of just how close you were, your fingers moving beneath him, brushing his own every few moments as he moved. The air in the room had changed, shifted.

You were acutely aware of every sound, every hitch of breath, every shaky exhale, of the heat coming from his skin and the scent of his skin so close, and it was like every one of your senses had sharpened.

"Uhm..." you hestitate, wondering how to ask without embarrassing yourself too much, "can- can I?" You asked shyly, gesturing to his pants and hoping he'd get the idea, and when he doesn't respond for a while you looked up to see his face filled with confusion.

You exhaled, feeling your cheeks burn as you finally forced yourself to meet his eyes, trying not to stare too long at his swollen lips, his mussed hair, at how utterly disheveled he looked, and tried to make your voice more clear, "can I touch you... like- without... the pants?"

His throat bobbed, his Adam's apple dipping before his lips parted to say something, but it took him a while before he finally managed to let out a choked sound. "O- Oh-" his voice faltered, cracking under pressure. He took in a shuddering breath, nodding hesitantly. "Y- Yeah- Yeah, okay."

You swallowed, shifting in your spot between his legs as your hands went down to tug at his waistband, letting your knuckles brush against his skin as you pulled his pants lower, feeling a flutter of heat low in your stomach.

He was watching you with half-lidded eyes, his gaze dark and unreadable. His breath was coming in short, uneven pulls as he leaned back, bracing himself against his hands. You couldn't help but glance at his chest, watching it rise and fall with every unsteady breath. He looked... vulnerable, almost soft in the dim light of his bedroom, like this, in a way he never usually did.

His jaw was still clenched tight, and he swallowed, the bobbing motion of his throat drawing your eye for a moment before you dragged your gaze back down.

Your fingers trailed along his waist, feeling his muscles tense under your touch as you finally pulled his pants down enough, freeing him from the restraints of his clothes.

He was aching, and hard, the tip swollen and pink. Your stomach tightened at the sight of him, at the memory of last time and everything you felt then.

You started slow, like he did. Letting your palm glide smoothly over his tip, his hips stuttering into the air at the contact, letting out a broken noise, and when you didn't move your hand any further, he let out a breath. His body was wound up like a coil, every muscle taut and rigid, waiting for your next move.

Your grip tightened, stroking upwards in a slow movement that drew a low groan from deep within his throat. He gasped, his chest heaving, his breaths ragged and uneven.

"God- fuck, you-" he let out another strangled moan, his voice strained and raw.

His hips rocked into the air, thrusting up to meet your palm, his movements needy and desperate. The sound of him panting beneath you was sending shivers down your spine, sending heat coursing through you like electricity.

He was reacting way more than last time, every touch, every brush of your skin against his sending him into a spiral of pleasure. It was intoxicating, watching him lose himself under your hands, hearing him gasp and whine, his moans and groans like music to your ears, knowing you're the one doing this to him, to make him lose control, to fall apart at your fingertips, knowing how much power you had over him at that moment.

The knowledge left you lightheaded, dizzy with a rush of heady power as you sped up your hand just slightly. He was completely and utterly lost, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly, his fingers twisting in the sheets as he struggled to breathe, to hold himself together. You felt the tension in his thighs, heard the sharp hiss that escaped through clenched teeth, felt the tremors running through him.

You felt your clit pulse, the sore feeling causing you to squeeze your thighs together. It felt so good. You could feel the wetness pooling between your thighs, soaking your underwear.

It wasn't long before he was teetering on the edge, his head thrown back against his pillow, eyes screwed shut, his chest heaving as he tried to hold himself together.

"Felix..?" you whispered, your voice trembling with desire, the sound of your name falling from his lips only serving to make you throb harder, the feeling between your thighs almost too much to handle.

"Yes-" his voice was raw and rough, broken as it was forced from his throat, a groan cutting through the silence, a desperate whimper escaping him as he finally let himself go. "Yes, I'm so fucking close-"

It didn't take long before he was shaking apart beneath your touch, a shuddering moan leaving his lips as his back arched, his hips bucking up into the air. He came undone with your name on his lips, his fingers twisting in the bed sheets. The way he sounded as he came was the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. His voice was hoarse and shaky as he whispered your name like a prayer, as he trembled and shook and let himself unravel under your touch.

He fell apart and came undone, spilling himself on his own stomach with your name on his lips. The sight made something warm and fuzzy pool in the pit of your stomach, something you'd never felt before, something you'd never let yourself feel. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him, from the way he looked in that moment. It was so intense, so intimate. It felt so real and raw, and it hit you in a way you never expected it to.

Your gaze drifted lower, your heart stuttering at the sight of his mess, his stomach painted with white. You were transfixed by the sight, unable to stop staring even as he shuddered beneath you, gasping and trembling as the waves of pleasure slowly subsided. He collapsed back on the bed with a sigh, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His hair was plastered against his forehead, his face flushed and sweaty, but he looked so extremely hot nonetheless. His lips were swollen and parted as he stared at you with half-lidded eyes, completely blown from arousal, from how good you'd made him feel.

The sight had you aching for release. You bit back a groan as your cunt throbbed.

He watched you with glazed eyes as you leaned over and grabbed the towel you'd seen on the ground. You pressed it gently against his stomach to wipe him.

It's like he didn't care if you'd seen it or not, he was completely undone, boneless, his entire body still buzzing, still high from his release. He let out a soft hum when he felt you touch his stomach. He was so warm. He looked like a cat who got what it wanted.

Felix let out a content sigh as you wiped him down, his body loose and pliant beneath your touch. His head was still tilted back against the pillow, eyes heavy-lidded and glassy, but when you shifted to move away, he blinked up at you, something soft and almost hesitant in his gaze.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “I-” He swallowed, his fingers twitching where they rested by his sides. “I can help you, too.”

Your breath caught.

The air between you shifted again, his offer sending a rush of heat through you, settling low in your stomach. The way he looked at you, all earnest and drowsy and still so, so beautiful- it had you aching all over again.

"But-"

You hesitated, panic creeping in around the edges of your mind. It wasn’t that you didn’t want it. You did. But now that the haze was clearing, now that the heat of the moment was cooling just slightly, reality started creeping back in.

Too much time had passed.

You couldn’t still be in here when breakfast had already been announced.

You forced yourself to swallow down the nervous lump in your throat, shaking your head as you pulled away. “No, it’s fine. We should-” You cleared your throat, trying to sound as normal as possible. “We should clean up. Breakfast is waiting.”

Felix stilled for a second, his expression flickering- hurt, then understanding, then something else entirely.

He didn’t argue.

But you saw it- the way his face fell slightly, the way guilt settled in his features. Like he thought he’d done something wrong.

You reached out, squeezing his wrist briefly.

“It’s okay,” you murmured.

He nodded, but you could tell he wasn’t fully convinced.

Still, he got up, following your lead as you both cleaned yourselves up. You made sure to go first, slipping out of his room quickly so it wouldn’t look suspicious.

The moment you stepped into the dining area, a chorus of voices erupted around you.

“Oh my God, she lives.”

“Finally out of your room, huh?”

“You good? You were MIA for a while.”

You barely had time to sit down before a hand smacked your back playfully. Jisung grinned at you from across the table, a knowing glint in his eyes. “We were just about to plan a funeral for you, what happened?”

You swallowed thickly, your face burning. “I was sick,” you blurted out, the first excuse that popped into your head.

Jisung’s brows shot up. “Sick?”

Hyunjin snorted. “What, like love sick?”

Your stomach flipped, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes. “No, dumbass. Just… sick.”

Jisung hummed, unconvinced, but he let it go in favor of stuffing his mouth full of food.

The table returned to its usual chaotic energy, playful banter bouncing back and forth between the members. You joined in where you could, laughing when Changbin and Minho bickered over the last pancake, Chan stepping in, telling them they had to leave it for Felix. You felt a little lighter now that the focus had shifted off of you.

But then, you felt him before you saw him.

Felix.

Emerging from his room, freshly cleaned up, hair still slightly damp, eyes sweeping the room before they landed on you.

Your stomach clenched, your breath catching in your throat.

He looked normal. He looked composed. Like nothing had happened.

But the second his gaze met yours, you knew.

You clenched your thighs together instinctively, forcing yourself to look away, shoving a spoonful of food into your mouth as a distraction.

Felix sat down across from you, grabbing a plate, acting as if everything was normal.

But you could feel it.

The tension still lingered, simmering beneath the surface, waiting.

And you had no idea how long you could keep pretending it wasn’t there.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

tags for beauties : @loverbangchan, @reignessance, @imperfectlyperfectprincess1, @armystay89, @ihrtlix, @lovestaysblogs, @jeyelleohe, @celebration88, @velvetmoonlght, @honeyybbuubblleess, @skzswife, @c9b7luv, @lixies-favorite-cookie, @yeetfellx, @lailac13, @amortiff, @crazylinofangirl, @sunshinesfreckless, @darkwitchoferie, @sanriomilk, @st4rv3lly, @skybluelixie, @potentialgay, @ana006banankica-blog

[pointlesscandies]

GMMTV 2025

Dare you to Death: JoongDunk: rival investigators crime drama where they have to catch a serial killer. Baby Ohm is one of their bothers (will air mid 2026)

📹Head to Head: SeaKeen: frenemies to lovers set in college with death premonitions thrown in

✅I Love a Lot of you: Nanon straight romance where he has to "cure" love interest suffering from dissociative identity disorder

Burnout Syndrome: OffGun: Gun is an escort and artist hired by businessman Off to help deal with customers, love triangle with Dew

✅Whale Store: MilkLove: Milk inherits her father’s store, meets Love, they must work together to make it successful

📹Only Friends Dream on: OhmLeng replaced by AouBoom, EarthMix, JossGawin as actors and musicians putting on a play with all the drama you can imagine

📹That Summer: WinnySatang: Satang is a prince in disguise, Winny becomes his caretaker after an accident

My Romance Scammer: JuniorMark, OhmFluke: Con artists falling in love with their victims. There’s weddings involved.

Melody of Secrets: ForceBook: crime drama/psychological horror with dopplegangers

Love you Teacher: PerthSanta: established boyfriends until an accident causes Santa to lose his memories and think he's a kid again

Mu-te-Luv: Ensamble cast: 7 love stories revolving around fate, fortune, and magic (SeaKeen, and OhmLeng have stories, among others)

Cat for Cash: FirstKhaotung: Debt collector who can talk to cats ends up running a cat cafe with Khaotung

Girl Rules: NamtamFilm, MilkLove, ViewMim: Messy lesbians, models and actresses

✅Boys in Love: PaulKen, PapangPodd, ChokunAston, MickLuke: High school romances with Papang and Podd as teachers

📹 My Magic Prophesy: JimmySea, FrancTee: Doctor and fortune teller flee from someone who is trying to kill them and must hide out together

A Dog and a Plane: TayNew, MarkPoon: EMT and flight attendant, messy enemies to lovers with Poon playing New's cheating boyfriend

Me and Thee: PondPhuwin: Photographer Phuwin accidentally gets involved with rich, troubled, mafia wannabe who begins to pursue him

Wu: Sky and Nani: Dark fated soulmates

✅Memoir of Rati: GreatInn, AouBoom: Moody period drama, teacher and bureaucrat, forbidden love

Ticket to Heaven: GeminiFourth: A Catholic seminary student struggles with his faith while falling in love with bad boy Gemini (will air late 2026 at earliest)

[dilf-docs]

Saturday But in Your Sunday Best

bfd!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel has a co-worker's wedding in las vegas. everything that can go wrong, does.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., creampie, oral (f. and m. receiving), breast play, fingering, dacryphilia, degradation kink, ANGST (as in i've suffered so will my characters. this wasn't at all what i had envisioned at first for this part), hurt/comfort, a bit of fluff (that's new), pls be nice this writer's block shot me in the foot

word count: 11,121 words

side note: sorry this took so long. between movie watching for the oscars, my other works, midterms, pedro pascal horny hours, my wattpad fic, the max fic you citizens let flop (ĉüřşę ÿoụ āĺļ), the brat taming fic that made numbers among my oomfs on twitter, a very shitty date (the situational irony of letting a man ruin my women's day) a ptwt fic gc in twitter (love u frens), and uni again, i let the ttdik series collect dust, my bad. as compensation, take this girthy chapter altho it makes me kinda insecure IDK. this is why i don't do series okay!! i'm my worst enemy and i fear procrastination is a chronical disease of mine atp

part: prev | masterlist | next

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas

His foot taps anxiously against the marble floor, sound drowned by the bustling crowd.

People come and go. Some hug, others cry. And Joel? Well, he's just waiting for you to come.

He checks his watch, the one Sarah gifted him, and sighs. Should've known better.

It's been two months since the pregnancy scare, and ever since then, you have put a bit of a distance between yourselves.

It was slow, gradual: first the excuses then nights were you wouldn't stay or ask him to. And, even if your affair was that, just an affair, he missed sleeping in the warmth of your embrace. He also missed the way your nose would crinkle when you laughed. You didn't laugh that often anymore, and if you did, it sounded like you were holding in: as if you were afraid to let loose and let him see through you. And to be honest, it was killing him.

So when he reached out to you for this, he should've expected for you to say no. That you wouldn't show up after that I'll see if I'm free text: no, Joel Miller simply shouldn't have harbored that much hope for his daughter's bestfriend he happened to be banging.

If he hadn't confirmed his invitation, he'd probably gone home and layed down. Watch some garbage TV with Sarah and some beer in hand, but here he was, like a lonely loser, luggage in hand.

(Sarah helped him pack. He didn't even know what to wear to a wedding, and then she showed up with his old suit-- that still fit, somehow, albeit a bit more tight, from the dry cleaning. Joel would be lost without her)

The speaker announces his flight is about to leave. Joel gets up, trying not to be dissappointed about the whole thing. He's got no right to, after all.

"Joel?"

He'd end up breaking his neck by how fast he turned.

There you are, and it's like the weight he wasn't aware of, settling on his chest, had been removed.

"You made it" is the first thing that makes it out of his lips.

You softly laugh, "Hello, Joel"

He gets closer to you, slowly, like if he where to do it faster, he'd scare you off. Or you'd be gone, as if a dream.

(It'd be a nightmare, though, because you wouldn't be here)

"Sorry. I-" he cuts off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. There's some tension lingering in the air, the same when you left his house a week ago. Joel had been too much of a coward to invite you then, rather hiding behind a screen.

But now you were here.

"I didn't think you'd come" he says after a beat of silence.

You tilt your head to the side, eyebrow up as if you hadn't been acting weird at all.

"Why wouldn't I?"

(Because it seems like being in the same room as me tires you. That your eyes don't shine anymore, and the starry sky looks like a storm when you dare search my gaze as we fuck. Every time you breath, its like breathing the same air as me burns)

He rather not press, so instead, he says:

"I'm jus' glad ya' came. 'S all"

You nod, not adding anything at all. Then, both you walk to your gate, side by side in silence, the same that had seemed to seep inside your romance for the past weeks.

Well, romance was definitely a stretch. An affair seemed more like it.

Of course, you're aware the change it's on you. It would've been dumb of you to think Joel wouldn't notice your withdrawal, or how more often than not you'd be stuck in your head. But still, he didn't comment on it, and like you, danced around the subject, afraid for different reasons as yours. Or the same. Yet, you'll never know. No, you're aware you both are too stubborn, and that whatever it started on that day, had settled in between like a burning flame.

(Had you been engulfed by the fire yet?)

You try not to think about it. After all, you had the option not to come. But a weekend away in Las Vegas after midterms? Too tempting to let go.

(And it's not like images of a stood up Joel in the airport, looking miserable, had made you restless the last couple of days after his text)

"Ya' can take the window" he says, even if it's his seat.

He knows you're nervous about flying, a little detail that came up during a post-sex small talk.

(What're you're dreams? Joel asked. You had answered that you'd love to travel the world after graduating, but that you had a fear for flying, despite having only done it once. It may have been because the first time you did, it was to fly for your grandma's funeral. Perhaps it was by association then, that the bad feelings about boarding a plane could be related to that)

"Thanks" you mumble, sitting down. You're avoiding his gaze, but know he's looking at you.

"What?" a little harsher than intended.

He looks taken back, looking at his lap as he let's out a soft whisper, sheepishly:

"Nothin'. Jus' thinkin' you look pretty today"

A light blush creeps up your cheeks as you huff out a Whatever.

Joel let's a breath of relief out his tight chest and allows himself to smile.

(At least, he's still got an effect on you)

The wedding Joel was supposed to attend is in the Ángel De La Guarda cathedral. You'd be staying nearby, at a hotel room Joel's coworker had paid for, the same where the reception would take place.

Being in the same room as Joel one night should be the least of your worries, but then the space is even smaller than it was supposed to (given by Joel's cursing as he paced around, anxiously), and the strain of your relationship settles in the air, physically so, tight around your throat.

Then, it's the bed issue: there's only one. It's not like you haven't slept in the same bed before, obviously, but there's a certain dread deep in your stomach about sharing the enclosed space when you're at your most vulnerable. He moves around a lot during night, and something tells you you'd wake up to his strong arms and hot breath fanning over your neck, hairs rising at the proximity, making it harded to calm your heart.

"You okay?" he's asking, dropping the bags in a corner.

"At what time is the wedding?" you ask.

He checks his watch. "In about seven hours"

The glass bounces a ray right into your face, and you have to close your eyes at yet nother reminder of why this is all so wrong.

Sarah.

"We should rest..." he says, plopping on the bed. His plaid t-shirt rises up at the same time the color of your cheeks does, when the glimpse of soft tanned skin reveals itself. He looks up to your stiff standing figure, bulk arms behind his neck as he rests his head on his biceps. "Don't 'cha think?"

Lay with me. Not outloud.

"No" you say, hastily so, not missing the way a flicker of dull akin to the pain of rejection finds its way to his brown eyes. "I..." your voice softens. "I'd rather take a tour of the place, you know? It's not like I'll come every weekend here"

He's about to raise up. I'm coming with you, again not out loud, in case you'd reject his offering again.

Which you do.

"I'm fine" you say, grabbing your purse. "Just... I need a moment"

Away from you.

"Suit yourself" but there's a sharp edge on his apparent kindness.

Closing the door behind you, it takes all of you to not turn around and see his face one last time.

You wander off through the bright lights and noisy hallways, walking until the sun of the outdoors filters a ray over the carpet through the glass doors. Strides take you to the pool area, kids giggling, parents sunbathing and youngsters chilling.

You sigh, dipping your feet in the pool, chlorine up your nose and water baterly grazing your sundress.

But you're drowning.

Drowning on his presence, every room he's in now smaller. Walls of the room collapsing, as the ones of your lungs, every breath tight if your nose catches a whiff of his scent lingering in the air. You'd wash the sheets almost immediately, crying when your head hit the pillow and it smelled like lavender and not Joel.

It was the only right choice: to erase him out of your life, because with every new kiss and thrust, he'd take another part of you with him, and you don't know how much more you can give of yourself without dying. A part of you dies every time he walks out the door, anxious heart pondering when will he walk out for good. When he'll realize the thrill is gone, that your escapades were all but a product of his crisis, and what started as a mutual use of bodies, ends in the waste of your heart.

Joel has become a drug for you: knowing it's destructive, but the high so addictive, you don't mind the crash. It's unevitable, and a small treacherous voice in the back of your head says you're just postponing a foretold death.

Yet Joel Miller makes you feel alive. Alive as a spring, grassbed full of blooming flowers. As sun carressing your skin: if you stay too long, the warm becoming burning.

A kid walks up to your sad lonely pensive corner, splashing water onto you.

"Hey!" but he's gone, and it's Vegas, so his parents are three mojitos down from the open bar, asleep under the sun. You curse, getting up and back to your room to change.

When you get to your room, is eerily quiet. And dark, the curtains closed.

You rumage through your suitcase, pulling out a change. The dress slips off, falling to the carpet with a pathetic drowned sound. You're about to change into the t-shirt when the lights flicker.

"You back?"

You scream, trying to cover yourself.

"Woah!" Joel covers his eyes, both your reactions ironically funny. Your cheeks burn as you finish dressing yourself up, and if he takes a small peak between his fingers, well, you'll never know. "Jesus, doll. If ya' wanted it so bad, could've asked"

Something akin to anger and deception morph into a burning flame in the pit of your stomach. Even after all this months, after this imminent fight, Joel can't bring himself to ask, dancing around the fragile line that barely holds on with the clap of skin against skin and sweat, as to replace the tears that will never see the light of the day.

"Right, because that's all I want"

He raises an eyebrow at your tone. "S' a joke"

"Jokes are supposed to make people laugh"

He shoots you a look, before standing from the bed.

"What's gotten into ya'?"

He walks closer, yet you give him your back, tossing the sundress with too much force in your bag.

"Don't know what you're talking about" as nonchalant as you can muster.

"Look at me" you keep the harsh packing going on. Joel grows impatient at your confusing demeanor, not just from today, but days ago. He's had enough. He spins you around, losing his cool as he shouts. "Damn it, y/n, stop actin' like a brat!"

"Don't touch me!" you yell back, pulling away.

"So that's how's it now?" Joel lets out a scoff. "Y' get on ma' bed but the moment I put a finger in ya', y'act all coy and angry?"

"Right, 'cause I'm a slut. That's what sluts do: we get on lonely men's bed and fuck them"

He grabs the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily. His voice is laced with frustration, and you know it's your fault.

"Never said that"

Why not talk it like adults? No. Too much of a coward to do that.

"Jus' tell me, doll. What's goin' on?"

I think I love you, and I'm fucking scared.

His voice is soft, pleading. In your lifetime, you never thought you'd see Joel Miller beg. You did once, but it wasn't like this. Please, he'd say. Now, here he is, standing before you like the smallest man who ever lived and not the unstoppable force you made him out to be.

It should be easy. But words never come easy. Not to you. Neither love, so foreign it makes you shiver with fear. So natural, one day you opened your eyes to him laying next to you, Sarah staying in another city for a soccer tournament, and decided that was what you wanted. All his mornings. His bed voice, thick from sleep. His droopy eyes and tired smile, facil hair tickling your face as he says Good mornin', Southern drawl never more prominent, kisses in between. Let's get sum coffee after, because he always had to drink the bitter liquid out of his owl mug or wouldn't be able to make it through the day.

You want him to be the first thing you see when you open your eyes.

You want Joel Miller. Want. Want. Want.

"I hate you"

You have ruined me.

He probably expected anything but that, given his crestfallen face. Joel wishes for time to go back, at the beach. He'd say no, push you away. Fought a little harder. Never gotten into your bed.

The worst part is, he's a fucking liar: he'd probably still choose the same, even if the end is near.

"You ain't mean that" not knowing if he's trying to convince you or himself. "Jus' wanna hurt me"

You don't humor him with an answer.

"I shouldn't have come" is what you say instead, the bitter taste of defeat and hurt etched in your voice.

Would've been easier to stop when we should've.

His words run through the tense air like a bullet.

"I agree"

Weddings had always made you cry.

You weren't even a romantic, but the whole thing-- the promise of forever, it seemed to move your heart a bit.

So, if your eyes shimmer when the bride makes her entrance and the groom, Joel's co-worker, tears up, you feel your chest tight and stomach drop. It clenches with something akin to dread and want, as if suddenly, all that mattered to you was love. A year ago, if you told yourself-- the one who got on her knees to suck Joel's dick at the beach that night, that you'd be here?

You would've laughed.

Falling for the grumpy old man who also happens to be your bestfriend's dad?

Right. Imagine that.

Except there is nothing to imagine. All of it is real.

From his quiet laughter, the sound foreign and not frequent by the way it rasps against his throat. But now the wrinkles around his eyes are more prominent, forbidden laughs marking his blushing face. as he looks away, embarrassed. You can laugh, you had said, I won't tell anyone, yet he made you swore like the sight of Joel Miller laughing was the worst thing in the world. So had become the grey strands on his hair, more sprouting each time, as his damp curls twisted in your fingers.

It is also in the way his sweat that drops over your body as he tries hard to last longer, to his grunts that fill the room as he fills you to the brim with his warm cum. How his rough seems to meet every inch of your soft skin, like pieces of a puzzle.

Something clicks when you're with Joel, and you can't help but feel it's your fault this rift has been created, aggressively peeling the white off your nails as some form of anxious torture. But, he too, aside from his initial Just glad you came, hadn't said a word about it again. Even if he had noticed it all, before Vegas too. Nothing. And then Joel told you it was best if you didn't come. Fucking great.

You feel him tense next to you, body stiff when your arm accidentally brushes his when you stand up from the bench, making you roll your eyes.

The fallout had been awkward. The elevator ride took forever, and then the space on the cab felt too small. He took you to the back, on the benches near the exit, like he didn't want to be seen with you. It got you fuming: why bother to invite you at all?

In all truth, you could've picked up your bags and left after the fight, yet you stayed. You wonder who's more of a coward. In this weird dancing around you've got going on, walking in circles over the words Stay and Leave, like both are too delicate to say out loud. Even as the couple speak their vows, amid the claps and tears, your mind keeps drifting back to one question: Which would hurt less?

It's not until it ricochets on your arm that you realize the tears are also your own. You brush it fast, but by the corner of your eye, you know Joel notices. Still, he doesn't say anything, which contributes to your spite.

The ceremony is over, and just as you can feel the anticipation of the reception's drinks to buzz your nerves down, someone blocks you the exit. A couple, more like it.

Before fully registering their faces, Joel's hand flies to your back, pressed in a firm manner that oozes protectiveness. It makes your heart flutter, no matter how much you try to suffocate the treacherous butterflies in your stomach. You try not to think too much about it as you take them in: a man, looking in his middle forties, probably around the same age as Joel, so as the woman next to him, who smiles warmly. Not like the man, who seems unwelcoming.

"Joel" he pronounces his name, manners coming out cold. "It's nice to see you made it"

His grip on your back becomes more firm.

"Mark" he uses the same tone. "Well, when ya' confirm, y'gotta come"

"And who may this be?" Mark's wife asks, not thinking there's harm in her words. You swear you can hear him snicker next to her.

"She's-"

Joel stops midtrack. How is he supposed to even call you?

"I'm his girlfriend"

You don't know why you did that but you did. You also don't know why it causes you such satisfaction to see their wide eyes and Mark's disdain.

"Oh, I didn't know you had a girlfriend. How lovely!"

His cheeks go pink. "Thanks, Laura"

"Yes, Joel. Didn't think you'd move on" but his tone isn't like his wife's. "I just assumed that being with someone wasn't on your list anymore, you know, at your age. Especially one so... young"

Laura shots him a look.

Maybe it wasn't your place to get angry, not after how you've subjected Joel to your silent treatment this past months. Not after the fight you've just had hours ago. But he is also the same man who held your hand after you thought you were pregnant. He was the one who stayed. It is too how his shoulders slump, like he believes it to be true. You can't bear to see him sad, as contradictory as that may sound.

"Mark, right?"

The man nods, still sickly smiling.

"To me it sounds like you're jealous. Which is awful, because you've got a lovely wife" she looks away embarrassed while Mark fumes. "Also, when I turn around, try not to stare at my ass. I saw you when we arrived"

There's nothing left to say, so you walk past them.

"I think that was funny. Don't you?"

He avoids looking at you.

"I called a cab. Should take us back to the hotel"

No thanks. Nothing.

"Alright" your tone is dry. "Do as you please"

He opens the door for you, but his movements seem stiff and unnatural. Like he's second guessing every breath and step.

The car begins to move. You lean against the window, seeing the hues of neon through the glass. Joel's eyes burn holes on your head, a glimpse of brown in the reflection.

"I liked the wedding"

Joel looks at you properly for the first time since the fight. Your hair falls gracefully in cascades, hinting at an effort that tries to pass as a nonexistent one. Your makeup is soft, but your lips are in a shade he can't quite name, yet manage to make them even more fuller than usual. God, he thinks of it smeared on his clothes and mouth, feeling dumb all of the sudden. Then there's the dress. He doesn't have a favorite color, but as of now, it may be red: specially if its the red that hugs your curves, pushes your tits up and gives a little peak of your leg with its open cut, dangerously close to the start of your inner thigh. Not appropriate to wear at a church, maybe not a wedding either, but fuck didn't he care. He'd even rip it off, if it was such a problem.

"It was beautiful" he agrees, softly. "Never been to one. Maybe's why I think so"

You remove yourself from the window, now holding his gaze.

"What?" your mouth drops in surprise. "What about yours? Weren't you married?"

He smiles, but it appears to be sad. "Never got time for a wedding thought"

Joel has told you things. Things he'd never say outloud to anyone else. So whenever he opens up, letting you in, you let him, feeling that familiar pleasing ache in your chest at the thought of being enough: enough to be trusted with a piece of him. Of Joel Miller's heart.

The rest of the ride is silent, your mind still on Joel's hand on your back, on his words, and how the sting never goes.

In every thought of yours, he is.

"What'appened to your nails?"

The question catches you off guard. You're surprised he even noticed at all. But your hand lays in the space between his and your dish, stiff, as if waiting for him to hold it.

"Oh" you remove it from the table, placing it in your lap. "I chipped the polish off"

"Why?"

You turn to look at him, brown eyes examining you curiously, as if he didn't know you. Like he hadn't almost whisper those three words you had been tettering around as well.

"Why what Joel?" tone brash.

He scoffs at the change again, shoulders slumping a bit. Probably in annoyance, perhaps in defeat.

"Dunno" he goes back to his dish, cutting the steak with a bit too much force. I thought we were okay again. "S'rry I asked"

Your chest tightens, as it had been doing lately.

Was this the only thing you knew how to do now? Hurting Joel?

"No, I'm sorry"

It's his turn to get back at you. "Sorry for what?"

You swallow the lump that's formed in your throat, avoiding his gaze.

"I-"

Your eyes nervously dart across the room, trying to ignore the churn of your stomach and knot on your throat. You then catch the perfect distraction.

"I think Mark is staring at us again"

"What?" Joel asks in disbelief at your change of topic.

"Mark is staring" you sigh, getting up and dusting your dress off. "Wanna put on a show?"

"I didn't come to a wedding and wore this dress to be seated all night" you extend your hand. A quiet truce settles in between. "Let's dance"

At some point he gets up and takes your hand. It feels good. For a moment, be it childish or foolish, your mind thinks this is how it is: with no one around to know you, you're his and he's yours. It's just the two of you, dancing and laughing under the lights. He'd know the song that's playing, and when you'd ask, unfamiliar, Joel would joke: how could ya' know it, if you ain't even born yet?

For just a moment, it feels like it could be.

The music is soft. It's some sort of rendition of Lady, Lady, Lady by the band Jim hired to play at his wedding.

Joel's clammy hands slip against your cold palms as you walk to the dance floor.

"Nervous?" you ask, biting back a smile.

He squints his eyes at you. "I'm just outta practice, 's all"

You laugh. "I would've never guessed"

He shakes his head, but the ghost of a smirk hides in his lips.

"Cheeky baby. Now you actin' funny?"

Joel's hand finds its place in your waist, holding firmly as the first verses go by.

Dancing behind masks, just sort of pantomime.

But images reveal whatever lonely hearts can hide.

"Maybe I'm just tired" you reply, placing your head against his chest. His heart starts drumming faster, and you hear him gulp.

"It ain't even midnight yet"

You close your eyes, feeling every breath of his chest against your cheek.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about"

Lady, lady, lady, lady

I know it's in your heart to stay

"Y/n-"

Lady, lady, lady, lady

"I'm sorry" this time clearer.

His body rocks yours slowly to the tempo of the music, and for a brief moment, amongst the sea of guests and the voice of the singer, time stops, and it's just him and you.

"Don't"

He can't bear it. Not tonight.

When will I ever hear you say

I love you

Not when your body feels so well against his, your head resting on his chest like all those nights ago, where Joel held you close, the silent promise of never letting you go on his warm strong embrace. Not when just the thought of losing you is too unbearable to even think of. Not when today, he can let his mind drift away and heart beat, dreaming of things that'll make him the butt of the joke. For a moment, you're not wearing this red dress that's making him insane. You're all in white and there's a ring in your hand, just as there's one in his. You'd dance and say I'm yours, forever. A giggle. You can't get rid of me. And he'd smile and reply a Good, wasn't plannin' to.

But now he feels like he's going to lose you forever.

"I missed you" it's your way of trying, again.

His head is a whirlwind of emotions.

"Yeah?"

You lean closer, until his cologne burns in your nostrils.

"Yeah"

Time like silent stares, with no apology

"Joel"

Move towards the stars, and be my only one

This time, he finds it impossible to shut you up. Not when you've raised your head until your eyes meet his, and the constellations he very much loves are ever present in your stare.

Reach into the light, and feel love's gravity

"Yeah?"

You pull in closer, and he can feel the whiff of champagne coming out of your mouth. Your lips are parted, and a shaky whisper is all it takes for his head to spin, drunk in love.

"Please"

That pulls you to my side, where you should always be

Your lips are so inviting. All he has to do is cut the centimeters separating your mouths.

But it's a wall. One filled with doubts, fear and the quiet rage of rejection.

His voice wavers when he starts speaking.

"I think-"

He hasn't even finished his sentence, but your heart is already broken.

No wonder why you've always treated it like a burden: nothing is worst than a heavy heart.

Maybe he'd come to realize just how absurd this all was. Him, much older than you and Sarah's dad. How could he let his daughter's bestfriend go this far. That he was a forty something guy, dancing with a twenty two year old girl. That love comes in all shapes and sizes, but there's no name for this you have going on since last summer. Perhaps, there'll never be.

"Please" you hear yourself repeat.

It started as a plea for a kiss. You don't know what you're begging for anymore.

"No, baby-"

And Joel is the first to step back.

Lady, lady, lady, lady, I know it's in your heart to stay

The cold water of rejection hits you in the face, far from his warm embrace, the contour of his face, centimeters away, now meters.

"We can't"

An ocean away.

"Joel-" your throat tightens, panic bubbling in your chest.

"I think we should stop"

The whole world around you does as soon as those words leave his mouth.

Sorrow is quick to turn into anger, and all those months of guilt, rush, thrill, labored breaths, broken rules and promises you held to your heart as an oath, sweet whispered cons in your pillow that smelled like him. It all comes crashing down with force.

A dry laugh escapes past your lips. Joel winces at the sound.

"A bit too late for that, isn't it?"

"Baby-"

"Don't call me baby" you hiss, feeling your vision blurry. "Don't call me like you meant it"

"I do" the music has reduced to a buzz in the back of your head. His firm voice borders between desperate and pathetic. "Which is why am making 'tis"

"Fucking coward" you spit, feeling your skin on fire.

Don't give up. Please.

Fight for me. Fight for this.

For us.

"Coward?" it's Joel's turn to laugh. His dark chuckle sends shivers through your skin. "Y' shouldn't be talkin' 'bout that"

"Don't put all of this on me" you raise your shaky finger, accusing. "Don't you fucking dare"

"Thought Mark was watchin'. Or 's that 'nother one of y'r lies?" Joel seethes. "Or maybe ya' don't give a shit 'bout it. Jus' like you ain't give a shit 'bout us!"

"You think this is easy?" your voice raises. "You think I wanted this?"

You think I don't care? That I'm doing well? That I wanted to pull away from you? That I knew things would got as bad as they are?

You think I wanted to fall for you?

His eyes darken. "You started this"

Your heart stops beating. People laugh, the band is still playing and chatter bubbles like the champagne flutes waiters carry by.

But all you can hear is the moment your palm meets his face.

"I wish I never met you, Joel Miller"

And then you rush out the door, your heels burning as much as your eyes and chest. Far from the party, far from the world.

Far from him.

"We ain't done yet!"

You hear him bark behind you, yet your legs don't stop, despite the buzz in your ears and the slight stumble in your walk.

Your voice sounds like it doesn't belong to you when you hear yourself speak, without turning around.

"I think we are"

But Joel doesn't give up, making you feel trapped between wanting to hit him again and let yourself be held.

"Y/n!" he calls out just like he used to when you were a kid. Like you knew no better. Reckless. Berating. But now the taste of bitter mingles with his punishing demeanor.

You spin your heel, walking menacingly towards him.

"Don't call me that" you seethe, jabbing a finger to his chest.

"That's your fucken name!" he shouts.

Tears spring in the corner of your eyes. "You know what I mean"

"Enlighten me, doll" the nickname feels like a slap to your face, and for a moment, you wish he called you by your name again, instead of tainting the always sweet calling with his vitriol, as if the four letters meant something sacred he had profaned. "S'a matter of fact, why don't y'enlight me 'bout everythin' that's goin' on. 'Cause guess what? I'ont know what the fuck is happenin'!"

And it terrifies me.

His shout probably ran across the empty hallway. The music coming from inside sounds like a muffled heartbeat, mirroring your own.

To lose you. I might as well have.

"I don't know why you seem'a hate me now" quiet this time, like every word coming from his mouth take his voice little by little. "Why ya' get all sweet on me after weeks of leavin' me, pushin' me to the side... I'm old, doll. I ain't capable of takin' this anymore"

I'm not capable of surviving a broken heart.

The possibility of losing Joel, foever, had never crossed your mind, not even as you closed off, ignoring the way his brown sad eyes would search yours to try and find answers, maybe scraps of the... whatever it was you shared.

Now, it was real, and it shook you to the bone.

"Was fun while it lasted" closing off, trying to shut the doors he let you in, clawing back to that Joel Miller who couldn't be bent. The one Sarah deemed unbreakable. But it's the same that didn't know when to back down, now praying the price of his foolishness.

I don't regret it, but Joel doesn't have it in him to give you more of his heart for you to take. If he cuts it now, from the root, he'll spare his brain from saving more seconds of the image of you he'd have to get rid off: you, taking your coffee with two bags of sugar because you hated uneven numbers, and three seemed too much for your latte. You, standing on his room like you belonged there. You, on his car, the leather having absorbed some of the floral scent you seemed to carry with you. In your clothes, your skin, your hair. He'd have to go to bed knowing he'd never get to feel your strands in his fingers, tickling the remmanents of desolation he'd been carrying like a second skin ever since Sarah's mother walked away.

Your blood runs cold.

"Fun?" the words spill in a bitter incredulous tone, all the while you're trying to hold to him without raising your hand for him to take it, like just the thought of it would be enough to choose you. Words seem to fail you, and grasping at him feels like holding sand: it keeps falling from your fingers, a cruel reminder of your borrowed time. "Joel"

"Fun" he repeats the word, feeling sick. "As in, you'd marry someone who's worth for ya'. Probably choose Texas, maybe you'll stay away. 'Cause you're smart, and know what's good. But if ya' came back, livin' at the same neighbour, in the house across mine, you'd glance up and see my porch, thinkin' 'bout us, and this will become a joke with y'r husband, 'bout your rebel days. To your kids, summ cautionary tale. To you? An'scape of summ sorts of y'r other wise boring life"

Your shaking at this point, not knowing if it's anger, humilliation or sorrow.

I'm sorry. Please, don't give up on me. Stay.

"I'd be an experience. But to me? Doll" Joel chuckles, humorlessly. "You were everythin'"

A choked up sob bubbles from your chest.

"So that's what you think of me?" you laugh, a sound so hollow it makes his skin shiver. "That this is for the thrill? For the fucking anecdote?!"

"Trust me. I've lived long 'nough, kid. You'll understand later"

It's like all those months next to him meant nothing. Like pulling away from your lips was the easiest thing to do.

"Don't you fucking dare call me a kid!" you push him. "I'm not a kid"

"I know you ain't!" he roars back. "But you don't know shit!"

"Neither do you!" your quick to counter. "You think you've got me all figured out, huh? Bet you think that I'm some helpless naive idiot who doesn't know what I want. I don't know what I'm doing, that you're right. But I do know what I signed up for, the price I would pay" losing you or Sarah. Both. "I wanted it, and newsflash: so did you" you breath, running your hands through your hair, trying to comb some sense of normalcy to ground yourself while you try to recover your composture. His arms lay weakly by his sides, restraining himself from running to you and craddle you on his arms. "You chose this. You chose me, Joel Miller" each word pronounced with contempt. "I'm not a victim. Neither are you"

A dry chuckle escapes past his chapped lips. "What are we, then?"

(Two lonely souls who seek warmth. People who fell into the same bed. Shared time they shouldn't have. Selfish. Living on borrowed time. Always tettering around the edge, so easy to fall. History repeating itself. The dancing around. Dirty, like the Texan roads: and they all lead back to his bed)

"So do it" you shove him again, as if by doing so, you could push him away forever. From your mind, from your heart. From your life. "Say it"

He shakes his head, as if you'd insulted him.

"Sweetheart-"

"Say. It" you bark, tasting the venom on your tongue. "Say it!"

"I can't" looking so small, your resolve almost crumbles. Almost.

"Coward" you spit, repeatedly punching him feebly on the chest as tears stream down your cheeks. He tries to grab your hands, to stop you. "Don't touch me! Let me go"

"I can't" this time louder.

Tears sprout with more intensity at the desperate weight on his tone.

A single drop runs down when you say, defeated: "Quit me"

"I can't!" he shouts in your face, voice breaking slightly.

"Why?!"

"'Cause I fucking can't!" Joel breaks. He crumbles in your arms, body shaking as he buries himself in your reluctant embrace. He speaks again, this time softer, "I can't lose 'cha, baby. If that makes me sum goddamn coward, then so be it"

Something in you stirs. Like a lost boat, finding a lighthouse during a storm. Arriving to shore with gentle waves. Home, where it belongs.

"Joel-"

"I'm sorry for bein' selfish" between agitated and terrified, afraid of the silence and what you may say. "For noticin' your quiet and still carryin' on"

"Joel"

"Believe me, doll. I tried to stop. To leave ya'" he swallows, "but then I got invited and my mind went to ya'. Fast. You were the first person in my mind. Always are. I think that's when I knew. S'okay if you don't-"

"Joel!" you shout this time.

He raises his view from his little spot on your chest.

"It isn't just you" in a whisper that could easily pass as the wind that sweeps inside from the main door. Voice so fragile it hurts like glass. "I feel this too"

Just like that, he's both gone and back. His heart beats on his throat, voice raw when he searches for your eyes and asks:

"You do?"

The big unbreakable Joel Miller, looking at you not like a force to be reckoned with, but as a man, worn down by years of solitude and the weight of a secret.

You smile through the tears. "I've been many things, but a liar never"

He chuckles, softly. "Always was a bad one"

"See?" softly teasing, "you can attest to that"

"Twenty one years seem 'nough"

"Soon to be twenty two" pause. "And I would love it if you were there to see it"

A breath hitches somewhere in the middle of the new aphonia that's settled.

"You don't mean all'at. Think 'bout it-"

"I do" you interrupt him, firmly. You hold his gaze while cupping his face, the fright on his face mirroring your own. "You asked before, remember? There's your answer"

Joel is at loss for words. Was never good with them, less when it came to you: like your presence unsettled him in the same way tornadoes made him quiver when he was a child, rattling him to the bone. But there was a morbid fascination to them, in their destructive nature. Like beauty could be horror too, and he had learnt it thanks to your unforgiving winds that had swept him away from his feet.

He was flying. Fucking flying. Never quite landing. Afraid of the fall.

"I'm scared"

Joel leans in, forehead touching yours. His skin is warm, something about it soothing your nerves down.

"Me too"

You bite back a smile. "Big broody Miller, scared?"

"Y' know how'da disarm a man. I'll give ya' that"

You laugh, eyes crinkling while you swat his chest playfully. It's the same sound he missed so dearly. Joel can feel himself breath with relief.

"Now that's the story I'll tell my kids" could be our own. "The one where I won over Joel Miller"

A deep, rich rumble erupts from his chest as he pulls you even closer, this time, your head the one on his chest.

"I'll do you one better" he slowly moves his leg closer to the inner part of your thighs. "Wanna hear how it ends?"

"Jesus, Joel" laugh tense. Your heart pulses like his cock. Hard. "You sure are a mood killer"

He presses further. "But ya' want it, don't 'cha?"

You whimper, weakly. Truth is, you've been wet since you saw him dress on his rather tight suit. Now, after what you just confessed, you're not sure you can hold back any longer.

"Use y'r words, baby"

"Our room" the possesive adjective making his stomach rumble with need. "Now"

Stumbling feet. Whispered breaths oozing with drunk desire. Giggles. Buttons of an elevator pressed forcefully. A crammed space that felt even smaller. More giggles in a hallway full of doors that looked the same. Some mumbling, trying to remember the room. Grabbing the card from his pocket. You somehow make it to your room. Fumbling fingers. One swipe. Two. Try slower, but his voice is as urgent as strained. The door gives in. Finally, couldn't wait any longer. And he's chastising you, for being so impatient. Yet his eyes are all dark and sweet when looking it at you.

"We're here" and then the door closes with a loud thud. And Joel is yours again, just like he was that night, and forever was since.

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him back fervently. You open your mouth and let his tongue get inside as you moan his name.

"Please" you whine.

"Please what?" Joel chuckles, enamoured at your hanging mouth and heaving chest. Fucking tease. "Use y'r words, doll"

"Please, Joel" and hearing your name fall out of your lips like it's the most sacred prayer brings him weak to his knees. "I need you"

(I need you, as in I need you here. With me. Now. To never let go and hold my hand, not only when we fuck, but also when we walk, side by side, hands brushing like a touch it's too much to bear. Because if we held hands, I'd never be able to pull back. I need you to look at me as you undress me, because I'm bearing all of me for you, scars, body and secrets, trembling like a scared child, because no one's ever had me. Not like you. Not like you)

"'S right, sweet thing" he drawls out in a husky whisper, like his slick tongue was coated in honey. He pulls your head back, nipping and sucking on your skin. "Say ma' name like 's the only thing you know"

And in a way, it is. Because you'd always call Joel, fingers itching at a number you've memorized until it's burned in your eyelids, like when you close your eyes, you can see him standing in front of you, Texan accent and heavy boots in your doorstep, later to be discarded and hidden beneath your bed.

He pulls back, making you involuntary whine at the loss of his lips and tongue on you.

"Tell me you want this" he's saying, and for a moment, past the fire and the need, you see Joel as not the man who can bring you to come two times in a row, but your bestfriend's dad, who's slept in a bed alone for the past two decades, who can't meet you in the eyes when he undresses himself, looking like the one who's got the more to lose when his lips press aginst yours in a soft manner, not out of tenderness but out of fear.

"I do" without hesitation, as if you would tattoo your promise and wear it like your heart on your sleeve. "I want you, Joel"

You want all of him: from his boring Sundays sprawled on the couch watching a rerun of some old sitcom to his greying hair, aching joints and creaking bones, that despite so, would still kneel and eat your pussy like a man starved, tongue sliding through your folds with a learned ache, pouring the same yearn, longing and hunger that he wears on his eyes when they land on you, no matter if his brown are miles away, because they'd always find your own, like a boat lost in translation and a sea of sorrow coming back home, as if you're the only important thing in the world. His anchor. The lighthouse of his vast ocean of forlorness.

"That's my girl" but no smirk adorns his face, rather a small smile that warms your chest, right as he pulls you back in. There's a shift in the aire as he kisses you know, as if not only his tongue is in your insides but his soul, without holding back this time, like all limits have blurred and melted into a pool of desire and affection.

Joel pushes you down onto the wide bed, climbing on top of you as he kisses your jawline, leaving wet kisses along your warm skin. You moan as every contact of his mouth sends shudders to your body, him taking his time as he works over your jaw, down to your chest.

"Such'a pretty doll. And's mine" his calloused fingers fiddle with your bra, unclasping the lingerie until it falls messily discarded next to the bed. "Got summ nice tits on you, baby" and Joel's eyes sparkle with excitement, lighting up like the neon lights of the Vegas sign, "don't 'cha think?"

Your back arches with his touches, mouth ghosting over your nipple, already pebbled at just Joel's breath.

"Fuck, Joel" you mewl his name, dragged with difficulty as he laps his tongue over your breasts greedily. You can feel Joel's cock pulse and throbb in your thigh as his body hovers over yours, lips still wrapped around your nipple as he suckles and nibbles at the tender flesh.

"'S sorry, doll" he's apologizing in a mocking manner as you whimper at the contact of him against you, suckling hard, tongue swirling and flicking over the sensitive bud as he drew it deeper into the wet heat of his mouth. "Ain't know you'd be so fucken responsive with just a lil' lick at y'r pretty tits"

As your body trembles and quakes, he speaks again.

"Open y'r mouth" you do so, because honestly, you'd never deny him a thing. "Want 'cha to suck on 'tis fingers, like the slut ya're. Get them wet so they feel good against 'tis greedy pussy"

You take the fingers as you'd take his cock, sucking on the skin that tastes like salt and gasoline, a slight bitter taste but you take them as deep as you can, until your lips brush his rough knuckles.

"Good greedy whore" he praises. "Now let me help ya' with that"

Joel gestures your damp panties, taking them off and putting them up his nose, inhaling like he did the first time you ever fucked, back at the beach house that summer that feels a life ago, seawaves crashing onto the shore as they drowned out your moans.

"Sweet" as if your arousal was his favorite dessert, gripping the sticky lingerine until his knuckles turn white. "Fucken wet and drippin', and s'all for me"

He feels your greedy hands fumble with his pants and belt, pulling him closer as the feeling of unfairness at his clothed figure dawns upon you.

"I like how you look in a suit, but right now-"

He laughs, a deep rich sound bubbling up from his chest.

"Ma' baby wants it that bad, huh?" you nod your head feverishly, a beg threatening past your lips.

"Please, Joel. I want to suck your cock" the dirty words come out as quick as a breath. "I missed it so so bad" not caring at all about how desperate you come across or the pitiful begging that's a plea away from drooling out of your mouth with an aching hunger.

"'S that what you want? Draggin' me out'a reception 'cause y'r greedy dirty mouth couldn't keep still? Bet you'd crawl on da' floor just to get a taste of this dick" every word makes you mewl. "Might have to see ya' beggin' for it"

"I'll do it" you beg, voice a wanton plea. "I'll do whatever, I just need to-"

"I see ya' really do"

He removes your hands from his body, chuckling as you pout and whine like a baby.

"Love hearin' ya' so eager fo'me" Joel says, tugging the pants finally down. Through the cloth of his underwear, it's impossible not to see the silhoutte of his hard throbbing dick.

The sight of him, hair disheveled, pupils blown wide, white button shirt now wrinkled and sticky with sweat, tie loose and that faint smell of champagne that clung to his mouth and scent like a second layer of his skin.

"Get on the floor. Now" he commands, and you're quick to obey. "Gonna fuck that dirty mouth of yours until my cum dribbles outta your cheek. S' now? Be obedient if ya' want a taste, slut"

You let out a small whimper as Joel frees his cock from his underwear.

"That's right, baby. Like what ya' see?" his cock is straddling your face in your current kneeling form. "Need that mouth to open wider"

You obey in an instant.

"Good girl"

Joel shoves his cock inside your mouth, giving you a few seconds to adjust before pushing a little further. You bob your head forward but the task proved to be hard when he was thrusting at the same time. His big hard dick hits the back of your throat, a gag dying past your busy lips. 

"'S it bad if I tell ya' I like watchin' you squirm and struggle with my cock? 'S fuckin' hot"

You narrow your eyes, struggling to keep your throat relaxed as he thrusts forward, fucking your mouth and throat. Your thighs clasp together, the slick pooling down your legs in the absence of underwear.

Joel's groans become raspier as his body begins to tense.

"'M gonna fuck y'r throat raw, doll. And then, I'm gonna cum. Down y'r greedy throat. 'S my girl okay with that" he can see the plea in your eyes as you choke on his cock once more. "S'alright then. Ya' know I love to spoil ma' girl"

As his body starts to edge closer, his tongue runs loose.

"Love watching you suck ma' dick" he looks down on you, eyes glossy, probably because he was drunk in alcohol and you. "Love how it feels. Love how you feel. Love- I love you"

(There's an involuntary gag somewhere)

Joel's body tenses and it doesn't take that much for you to feel the warmth of his cum go down your throat.

You choke again and he brings his dick out of your throat and let you swallow the rest. 

There's a beat of silence, as dense as his fluids down your throat. You avoid his gaze, heart drumming on your chest.

"Doll..." he whispers, the last bits of climax sweating off his skin; all that's left is shame. "C'mere"

(Say it back, he should plead. I know your eyes don't lie, but if I heard those three silly words out of your mouth, I could die happy tonight. A bigger man would beg, but he's never been good, even if he tried)

He helps you get up, wobbly legs not being of help when it comes to the shock of his confession.

I love you.

As much as a tender touch as a knife slitting your chest open in a clean cut.

(You're bleeding love)

Love.

Such a foreign word, one you've never felt before. Yet, what's scary is recognizing that latent warmth on every stolen glance; brush of a hand. The tingles provoked by getting the largest serving, even if his daughter sat at the same table. The flutter of your chest when he tried to be there for you when you thought you were pregnant, even if he was as scared as you. In every little thing he had done since you first started playing with fire, how you wore his heartbeat as an echo and his skin like a second layer to your own.

His lips are swollen when they take yours.

"'S fine" some kind of tiredness seeping through the cracks of his gruff exterior and composed rejected posture. "Ya' don't have to-"

"I love you" you croack out.

His voice comes out impossibly small as he whispers. "What...?"

A fireworks show explodes out somewhere in the background.

"I love you" you repeat, words dripping with an adoration only known to captain's going down with their sinking ships.

You're drowning, but the water doesn't burn your lungs anymore.

"Lemme help with that sore throat of yours" he's tugging down your bottom lip, fingers playing with your mouth to open it. He gazes at you with a look that tugs at your heartstrings. "Open, baby"

Your dry throat and warm mouth welcomes the spit he lands inside.

"There ya' go" and you swallow it, making him curse. "Fuck. 'S so hot seein' you do that, my lil' sweet slut"

"Joel" you whine, hands curled up in white fists as you grab him by the collar of his button shirt.

"Whoa, baby. What's goin' on?" he chuckles softly. "Use y'r words"

"Y-You made a mess-" you blabber, the wet slick between your thigh sticky. "I-It hurts, Joel"

"Hurt?" he cocks an eyebrow. "Care to show me where?"

You sit in the bed, parting your legs, finger pointing out the moist zone.

"Here"

His adam's apple bobs, and the gulp reverberates against the walls of the room.

"Fuck... I see" each word strained. "Don't worry, doll. I can help ya' with'at"

It's his turn to kneel, knees burying on the carpet.

He places one of his big hands on your knee, his calloused fingers tracing absent patterns over the skin. His other hand drums slighty against your trembling leg, so close yet so far. You're so impossibly eager, and a part of him, that fragile ego, is boosted to the roof at your (actual and very real) want for him.

All that glistening pussy was his work. Joel really disarmed you like that.

"If I do this, maybe it won't hurt anymore" his mustache and recently trimmed beard tickle against your sensitive folds as he presses a kiss to your core. You writhe, throwing your head back as your hands fly to his hair, gripping the greying loose curls tightly at the contact. "Will ya' let me eat out this pretty pussy, doll?"

"Please" you let out, breathlessly.

"Love hearin' ya' beg" and he dives in, strong hands holding your thighs on place as he sucks your clit lightly. Your hips buck, his face burying into your cunt to the point his nose touches the warm folds. You moan at the feeling, his tongue now circling against your center.

"J-Joel"

"Feels s'good, right? As good as I feel feastin' on this tight little cunt" and his deep voice sends jolts when it echoes against your walls. You squirm at the sensation, stomach tight with his sucking and licking, misntrations sending you to the edge.

"Joel?"

Barely above a whisper, voice tight.

He looks up to you, pupils blown wide. "Yes?"

"C-Can you finger me, please?"

"Fuck, baby" he whistles. "You really know how'da bring a man to his knees"

And you chuckle at his lame attempt of a joke, not laughing at him but with him.

Joel slides one of his thick, calloused fingers through your soaked folds, feeling the velvet softness of your inner walls clench down on the invading digit, a demonstration of how impatient they were to take his cock. He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves in tight, slow circles.

"Wanna hear you, y/n" just your name alone on his mouth makes you writhe, and Joel's encouragement as his finger dips lower to tease at your entrance. He slides a second finger into your cunt, pumping in and out of your tight walls in a steady, driving rhythm. You roll against his hand as he curls his fingers. "Fuck yourself on my fingers, baby. Wanna see you ride 'em 'til you come undone. Wanna taste your cum on my tongue as you scream ma' name"

He can feel your body start to tremble, pussy clenching down on his fingers as he fucks you with a relentless pace.

"Shit" he groans, tongue lapping firmly at your clit, "s' fucking tight"

"I-I can't help it" you feel the burning sensation in the corner of your eyes, "I-I feel every inch of you in me"

(Up to your body, head and heart)

"And you ain't even had my cock yet" he's quick to tease. "But I know you'll feel s'good, baby. Takin' my cock like da' good girl y'are"

Tears begin to stream down your face freely, the salty drops hot against your warm skin.

You sniffle, and Joel's movements stop for a bit.

"You cryin'?" but you know damn well he's aroused, by the way he licks his lips absentmindedly as his brown orbs stare back at you, dilatated. You still remember the last time you cried during sex, and how his reaction was practically the same, except this time, it's received with a grateful welcome home. "Fuck, baby- I love when you cry like a lil' cocksleeve over ma' dick"

Despite the lewd words, he's wiping your tears away with his thumb in a soft gentle touch.

"S'okay, baby" he coos, kissing up your throat and onto your chin. Then, you feel a wet sensation on your cheek: but it isn't the tears, yet his tongue, licking the hot stream. "I'll give ya' ma' cock if you want it so much. Now quit your cryin', yeah?"

But you keep sniffling, impossible to close the dam once it's broken.

"My sweet crybaby" Joel mumbles, "I love ya', doll"

"I love you too" each time you said it, a new flower blooming in your heart. It could be. "I do, Joel"

He smiles, the kind of smile that is painful to watch. The kind that says: Is this real? Do I deserve this?

"Y'know I'm bad with words, so lemme show you instead"

He's climbing on top of you as you push yourself into the middle of the bed, lips tangled into a demanding kiss, his tongue dominating your mouth like he wants to tame it. He drops his underwear again, but he's still wearing the goddamn shirt. You whine, and for a second, while over you, he stops.

"What is it, baby?" Joel pants.

"T-take it off" you huff, worked up. You let the tie loose first, starting to unbutton his shirt after. "I want to see you, Joel"

His hand is quick to fly and stop you from taking it off. Even in the dim lit room, you can see the faintest of a blush covering his cheeks.

"Sweetheart..." he mumbles, "I dunno-"

"Please" trying to remove his hand.

"You really wanna?" but behind his teasing smile there's both a hopeful and vulnerable glint to his voice.

You extend your hand, cupping his cheek. He leans into the touch, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist, and it's just you, your ragged breaths and the light tickle of his growing beard on your palm.

It could be.

"Because I love you" holding his gaze firmly. "All of you"

"Fuck, baby" Joel starts to get off the shirt, "ya' really made those fuckers downstairs drop their damn mouths when ya' walked in with me. Couldn't believe it, such'a pretty girl could be mine" he snarls, grabbing your face by the chin. "Hell, I'ont believe it either. That you could wanna be with me"

But then you're touching his now naked form before you, fingers slowly tracing through his face to his tense jawline. Then across his broad shoulders to his tummy, feeling the soft swell against your stomach as he leans over your eager form. It's the way you look at him, as if he's the most beautiful man in the world, that makes his breath catch on his throat, staggering.

Your sweet broken voice rings in his head.

It isn't just you. I feel this too.

(Scared. Confused. Happy. Grieving. Loving)

It should be his ego boosted and cock stroked, but when his eyes find yours, it's his heart that feels the fullest.

Fuck, he was too old for this shit.

"Look at 'cha, making lame ol' me a sappy motherfucker" he laughs, the same blush from earlier now more prominent. He leans down to kiss you, his moustache brushing your lips. "If ya' don't stop, I'll take ya' right now and we're gettin' married tonight by summ random Elvis guy"

"What If I wanted that?" you challenge as your mouth presses fluttering kisses to his caging arm, lips stopping on each spot and mole peppered through his thick bicep.

"Then get dressed" you feel him squirm under your insistent lips, "'cause I ain't gettin' married again while naked"

"Where you married, Joel?" you can feel the salt air up your nose of the first night again, asking the same questions. The fact that he's opening to you warms your chest in a pleasant way.

He looks at you absentmindedly, humming as to confirm.

"We were too damn young. Had to, for the baby on the way" he tells. You remember Sarah's aversion to the topic, and given his next words, it makes sense. "Then she left"

I would never leave.

"I'm sorry" you offer instead.

"Don't" the atmosphere is quick to change again as thise words leave his mouth. "Now, where were we?"

You're quick to spread your legs to him, gilstening cunt on full view.

"Good girl" he smirks, lining himself with your warm entrance. "If ya' keep behavin', I might give ya' my cum"

His tip against your clit for a few seconds before pushing down against your hole. Joel groans as his length sinks in your gummy walls, feeling the tightness from before.

"You feel s'good" grunting as he slowly pushes in, letting you adjust to his girth. "Always do" 

He presses a gentle kiss to your sweaty hairline. 

"Tell me how it feels"

"Good" you mewl. "Big"

"Ain't that right" he chuckles.

"Need it all. Please" and you grip his neck tightly, arms around it. His nose brushes against yours as he grunts out a You little minx. "Want it, Joel. I can take it"

He bottoms out. "Then do"

"Fuck" you curse, cunt stretched to adapt to his girth. You breath in painfully, and Joel's eyes lace with concern. "I-It's fine"

"Sure? I can wait"

"I’m okay" you assure him, moved by his care for you. You buck your hips. "You can move"

He starts by setting a slow pace, taking all the space insade your clutching heat. Joel groans at the sensation, your walls gripping him like a vice as he continues to move in a slow motion, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes. Yet, as his arms cage you by your sides and you look at him with certainty, he picks up a brutal pace, just as you like it, slamming into you over and over again, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the small bathroom.

"K-keep going" you grip his left arm. Joel lets out a hiss as your nails dig on his skin. "Feels so good"

"Good'nough for you to cum on m'dick?" he groans huskily in your ear, breath ghosting on your skin like a hot kiss. "Gonna fill you up, doll. I'll mark you as mine, now and for da' rest of y'r life"

The way his voice drips with dominance as he commands you, filled with a rough rich baritone tinted with a possesive hunger, his hips moving faster as he drives into you with force, pistoning harder is enough to set you on edge.

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss. 

"Cum f'me, baby. Let me hear ya' cryin' over my cock"

Tears. Stars. Grunts. Moans. Cum.

Your cry for his name against his lips is how you announce your orgasm, washing over you. Your walls flutter as Joel lets you ride slowly through your climax.

"There ya' go, baby. Go on, ride it" then, he pauses. His face strains. "Hold on tight. I'm gonna- I'm gonna cum. Right there, baby. Stay"

Somewhere along the moans and the writhes of your soft skin against his hard planes and soft belly, Joel asks where you want it. Inside, you hear yourself say, eager to feel all of him again, filling your insides, invading every inch of your body until a part of himself leaks into your heart. He's then blabbering as your walls and heart flutter, about kids and other things you both want but can't have. Tonight, though, as he Joel buries himself deep inside you, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he starts to come, grinding against you, making sure you feel every last spurt, every last bit of his release, you allow yourself to believe.

He pumps some shallows thrusts inside of your slick dripping cunt, emptying himself, before pulling out and looking down at you with a tired smile.

"I love you" he says again in fervent whisper, as if by repeating it, he could materialize it. "I love you so fucking much, y/n. And if ya' can't accept that, can't believe in that, then... then I'ont know what the fuck I'm gonna do. 'Cause I can't lose ya', baby. I can't"

"You won't" you don't know why it comes so easy, or why the promise slips as natural as a breath. "I'm here, Joel Miller. You won't lose me"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @loregifs

[h3nderyss]

you as nct 127's 9th member (headcanons)

pairing: ot8 x fem!reader . . . masterlist . . . 127 part 2 dream ver wayv ver genre: fluff a/n: romantic headcanons for each member if you were the 9th member and only girl in 127! u can imagine if ur in a secret relationship or not!

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

taeyong

after long schedules he'd immediately check on you either irl or call/text to make sure you're okay, and his soft voice and concern literally making u melt.

he gets soso shy from ur compliments, usually laughs it off meanwhile it's stuck on replay in his head for the rest of the day..

he'd fix ur hair during photoshoots and pretends it's professionalism while his fingers linger a little longer..!

customizes some choreos so u guys are purposely together! he sometimes says it's "a pure coincidence"???

i feel like he'd bake cookies for u. then say the members helped. but it truly was all him.

during meetings he'd sometimes lose focus bc he's distracted by u!

during your alone times in the practice room, you'd find romantic and sweet notes taeyong had made hidden in your bag

i want to say he's the king of words of affirmation.

johnny

teaser. but as soon as u guys are alone, his teases get softer and more flirty.

DEF the type to pull a random cheesy ass pickup line out of the blue. "did it hurt? ... when u fell from heaven." (THOSE kinds)

purposely shows off his strength to u during practice, lifting heavy props as if it was nothing

if he notices u haven't drank water in a while during practice or before rehearsals or WHENEVER, he'd actually place a drink in ur hand and go "gotta keep my girl hydrated." JBJSJSBDS??

always insist on walking u home or offering to stay at his dorm if it's late. he wants u to be safe!

calls u late at night to yap sometimes, he loves to hear u laugh

pls steal his hoodie, he might act like he doesn't care but trust me, he loves it

always manages to find a way to sit next to u during interviews or flights

yuta

he just likes calling u "pretty girl" so casually? how dare he.

surprises u with small gifts! like a hairtie or hairpin, he loves when u do different things w ur hair

he'd stay close to u in group activities to ensure ur comfortable and feel included (my sweetie pie)

walking anywhere in public if there was a mob of fans, you will ALWAYS be in front of him. he needs to make sure ur safe at all times.

he'd compliment ur stage outfits. a lot. most of the time he can't hold back his smile!

he'd teach u japanese FOR SURE. if you suck at pronounciation, he's patient as hell, and find your mistakes actually cute.

loooooong hugs if ur feeling down/upset!!!!!

lowkey steal ur phone to take selfies of himself (idk??)

loves deep late-night convos abt life and dreams and allat, he'd throw in a little "you're part of my dreams too."

doyoung

always always always notices when ur feeling down, literally offers u ur fav snack or drink!

stays up late rehearsing with u, soft encouragement pushing u through.

but it's hard bc.. how could u not fall asleep to his angelic voice ?!

lovesss teaching u new things, always there to guide u through new songs and choreo, his hand brushing urs every now & then

becomes surprisingly shy when the members tease him for how much he cares abt u (hes so cute ☹️)

takes lots of candid photos! if ur not confident in yourself that day, he deletes the photos upon ur request

always saves a spot next to him reserved for YOU and ONLY YOU. lowkey subtly tho, he just wants u close tbh

ur the only one that can make him flustered when u compliment his singing voice bc it's just... special to him??

he'll literally insist on giving u his scarf or coat on chilly days, as long as ur warm it's enough for him!

jaehyun

he'd offer u his jacket even if it's freezing. he doesn't care.

literally the epitome of a gentleman?! holds the door open for u, walks on the sidewalk nearest to the road, and all that shizzle.

very often watches u quietly during practice, just gazes at u honestly

loves taking u out to places quiet and intimate and shares personal stories

gets jealous. but like SO subtly, he just becomes extra attentive if he sees any sort of human flirt with u.

he'd help with vocal practices but honestly, he just does it so u guys are in a private area tg. only u two.

jungwoo

loves making u laugh and smile

subtly touching ur hand in group activites, pretending it's unintentional

idk i feel like he's an emoji guy... expect emojis every time u text!

i feel like he'd always share food with u and offers u bites like it's so natural, yall do it a lot

if u have long hair, expect him to play with it often!

also gets flustered when the members tease him abt how much he likes you!!!!!

u guys would often have movie nights, being cuddled up tg under a blanket.

he'd start serenading u just out of the blue. bursting out a random love song and singing it!

mark

don't even get me started on how many songs/raps this man has made about you.

he'd perform some of them only for u but he's madly blushing during!

he'd ask for ur opinion on everything. he values ur thoughts sooo much

becomes so tongue-tied every compliment u give him, he actually can't function ?? mark.exe has stopped working. he'd be smiling like a loser

actually gets excited if ur paired tg for interviews and projects! his energy gets so high, it's like ur presence just gives him dopamine

he gets protective when you're overwhelmed, "let me handle this, okay?" ......heh...

he'd learn ur fav songs on the guitar and play them when ur around to see ur reaction.

i think he'd be a kissy guy. he just loves giving & receiving kisses.

haechan

oh he'd flirt with u even in front of the members

pretends to steal ur food but ends up giving u the last bite

he'd poke u every now and then, laughing at ur reaction every time

playfully try to hold ur hand in group photos, either discreetly or evidently

during karaoke nights he'd sooo dramatically sing love songs to u, he loves showing off his voice since it's one of ur absolute fav things about him

surprisingly gets serious when ur upset!

we all know how offline his insta is.. literally cobwebs forming.

but somehow he'd send you a memes late at night saying "this is us" .. is this man really as chronically offline as u thought?

he'd call u at night and just say "did u miss me yet?" this cheeky man..

gets jokingly jealous if u hang out with another member for so long, "hey, i'm your favourite, right?"

he'd make sure you're NEVER left out, he'll be hanging around with u a lot

[snail-day]

Suguru with a darling that is very forgetful and oblivious to the "dangers" around them. Keys they had them yesterday. They swear how else did they get home? Did they have breakfast this morning? Drink any water? Almost fell down a flight of stairs bc they didn't properly tie a shoe. Go down a dark ally bc they black ally cat looks lonely. So suguru has to step in and take care of them (kidnap)

dfskdfjsdkhjadf

tw: yandere, slight ddlg elements

Okay, but this is just so Suguru. Of course, he obviously had to kidnap you. What other choice did he have? You stress him the heck out. You're the reason why he has to start buying wrinkle cream. Honestly, you're lucky he's attached enough to take care of you, because by yourself? Well, he's not sure you'd still be alive.

You lost your keys again. Didn’t eat breakfast. Forgot to drink water. Almost tripped down an entire flight of stairs because you didn’t tie your shoes properly. And then you thought it was a bright idea to wander into a dark alley because a stray black cat looked “lonely.”

Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep you safe?

So yes. He kidnapped you. He calls it “taking initiative.” And if you dare to throw one of your little tantrums about it? To cross your arms, pout, stomp your cute little foot, and call him a monster?

He’ll just sigh, ignore the bad behaviors, and wrap you in the fluffiest blanket he owns, kiss your forehead, and murmur, “Sweet dreams, princess.” Because monsters don’t tuck their girls in and stroke their hair until they fall asleep. Monsters don’t bottle-feed you water when you’re too stubborn to drink it on your own.

(Yes, he will do that. Sit you on his lap and tilt the bottle to your lips, thumb stroking your throat so you remember to swallow. “Good girl,” he’ll hum when you do. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”)

You're just lucky he’s patient. That he adores you. Every forgetful, chaotic, utterly helpless little piece of you. You make it so easy for him to justify this. So easy to keep you. To love you.

Because someone has to.

And if that someone has to tie your shoes for you, track your water intake, and keep the doors locked so you don’t go off and get yourself killed?

Then so be it. You’re his little girl now.