#I hate that so here is the good ending for it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pearlymel · 1 day ago

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Dandelion

love is in the air.

"These other flowers, don’t grow the same / So just leave it here with me, let’s get dirty, dirty."

warnings: NSFW, MDNI. extremely soft soft husband Sylus x fem reader. there's really no plot, it's just the life of a married couple (plus celebrating his birthday), contains oral (fem rec), dry humping, unprotected, it's just soft, fluff, multiple petnames. 2.8k words.

notes: lyric reference from "dandelion" by Ariana grande. happy birthday to my baby <3

You can feel your hands sweating against Sylus’ as you turn your head around the different departments and stores in the mall.

You pray that he doesn't notice you trying to stay cool while you were dying inside to get his gift.

Sylus guides you to a chic, high-end shopping arcade. It's filled with rows of luxurious stores. Places you're already familiar with.

He guides you through the sea of designer clothes, his thumb occasionally rubbing circles on the back of your hand.

"see anything you like so far?” He begins. you don't look interested enough, he notes. "Why don't you find something that you like, and don't look at the price tag.”

Not now, you weren't here to shop for you.

“I'll be back, stay here.” He watches you dash off with a bemused expression.

This little escapade feels almost like a game. He's not bothered by it, not really. But it almost felt like you were avoiding him all day.

Little did he know you were silent from overthinking of getting something as simple as a gift.

"Don't get into any trouble, sweetie—" he calls out, but he knows you'll be too preoccupied to listen.

He waits there, looking the picture of nonchalant.

—

“honey, stop,”

Honey.

That's a little unfair.

“I was supposed to—” Though Sylus doesn't listen, his tongue laves over your clothed cunt in long, languid strokes.

What did you even do for him to be this eager after coming back from the mall?

“what? Can't have my favorite snack after a long day?” His grip on your wrist tightens just when he senses you were about to push him off.

It's not like you hate it. No, never. It's just you were supposed do something that you completely forgot because of how he's making your head blank.

His teeth then find the hem of your panties. Slowly, he pulls the fabric down, leaving your pussy exposed to his eyes when he spreads your legs further apart.

He takes a moment just to look. And you're almost embarrassed.

He’d call you a work of art, like he always does, but he knows if he does it now while focusing on the wetness smeared on your pussy, you'll be dying from embarrassment.

“don't stare at it,” you pout.

His eyes flick up to your face, and he can’t help smirking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sylus brushes the pad of a finger directly on your clit, and you're immediately shivering.

He circles your bundle of nerves in a slow and soothing way, the type that makes you moan softly while pushing your hips to seek more.

His head dips down, and his tongue quickly replaces his finger, making you gasp as you immediately grab a handful of his hair to tug at.

He continues the onslaught with his mouth, his fingers now sliding through your wet folds and pressing against your entrance. He hears your soft gasp once again, the way your breathing hitches when he pushes one inside—not nearly enough, but it’s all he can give you like this.

“I’ll give you more than this later, be patient. ” He breaks away to murmur against your inner thigh, he sucks in a breath at the way you cry out for him, and presses another finger inside you, pumping them in and out. He wants to hear more of it, every single noise you make, so he returns to teasing your clit with his tongue.

“Oh, sylus, you're being so good for me—”

The words make him feel dizzy—he thrives on praise, the same way that you crave his touch.

His fingers press in deeper, curving just right to stroke the sensitive spot inside you. He’s not going to be gentle at this point; he’s already too far gone, drunk on you.

“Mmhn, faster—” you demand with a whine, and his fingers move to your request, faster, rougher, curling just right against that sensitive spot and—

Ding dong.

Your eyes shoot open, you're both suddenly interrupted by the doorbell leading to the entry of the manor, loud voices coming from the entrance.

Damn it all to hell. The twins.

Right, you remember the thing you wanted to do, you were going to bake with them since everyday is of this month (April) is their boss man's birthday.

Sylus wants you, desperately, and the last thing he needs right now is company, especially their company.

—

The house is quiet, finally quiet.

Sylus stands back from his desk, staring down at a pile of documents strewn across the wood. But he’s not reading a single thing.

He’s frustrated, but not for the usual reasons. Just thinking about earlier (before you were interrupted), it makes him hard again.

—

Your idea of help to ease his stress is definitely… interesting

He’s standing between your legs, eyes watching your furrowed eyebrows, your face is nothing but focused as you glide the razor across his jaw.

How adorable.

Sylus was in the middle of shaving after a long night, but of course, you insisted on sitting on the sink to “help out.”

no, you weren't helping. Sylus wanted to get rid of his hard on by doing something else and letting you relax. You basically walked into his trap.

He can't help but lean into your hands, eyes slightly closed as you finish up shaving the last bits right above his lips. You then grab a towel to pat dry the remaining foam on his face.

“you're all fresh for your upcoming birthday,” you comment, followed by leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

A kiss greets your cheek back from his own lips, “I have you to thank for that, apparently.”

He pulls back, giving you a playful smirk. “I suppose I’ll look pretty for you then, won’t I?”

You grin back, “you're like prince charming, annoyingly handsome,”

A snort escapes him before he can help it. He looks at your face, trying to look serious but failing completely.

“I prefer to be a dragon keeping you in the top of my tower, so that prince charming can't reach you, princess.”

Oh, that sounds hot alright.

You're both laughing after a moment of silence, Sylus buries his face on your shoulder while he holds you close to him. my precious.

—

it's midnight before you realize it, his birthday.

Sylus shivers under your touch, tilting his head into your hand at once like an obedient dog. An obedient dragon, perhaps—but a tamed one. Or, well. A semi-tamed one.

"You don't need to worry," he whispers, "I'll be gentle with you,"

You melt at his reassuring words, even while he promises he'll behave, his hands wander a little. Sliding up beneath your nightgown.

“I prepared a gift for you,” you say as you continue caressing his face, “but you'll receive it in the morning. At our garden.”

It took effort to not throw you back onto the bed and devour you then and there. You and your sweet, kind words, your sweet and kind touches.

Sylus chuckles, "I appreciate the thought, sweetie," he hums, his voice rough and low. "But this is all I want for my birthday."

His fingers trail higher, teasing the edge of your underwear and sending heat straight to your core.

His hand wanders higher, gently rubbing against the dampening fabric of your underwear. all the while, his eyes remain locked on yours. "Is this all for me?" he murmurs, "All this excitement, this anticipation...?”

A soft grunt escapes his lips when you suddenly climb into his lap, his hands automatically coming to rest on your sides.

Your thighs on either side of his thighs, your arms around his neck. The weight of you, the warmth of you, it's driving him insane.

Your lips are over his, and he returns the kiss eagerly, one hand winding in your hair, the other roaming across your skin to settle on the small of your back.

You're so close, so close that you both can't help but grind against each other impatiently. He groans your name, his hips instinctively bucking up to meet yours, desperate to feel even more of you.

"Sweetie,"

“I love you, pretty boy,” you whisper in between short kisses, and a lopsided grin spreads across his face at your words, his heart giving a little flutter in spite of the heat of the moment.

“love you too, my jewel,” he whispers just before his mouth captures yours in another deep, passionate kiss.

He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down the column of your throat, Sylus nips and licks his way down your body, pulling down your nightgown just enough until your pretty breasts are in display for him.

gorgeous, Sylus thinks as he leans down to take one nipple into his mouth, suckling greedily while you whine from the stimulation as his hand kneads the other breast.

“Sylus—” your fingers tug at his hair when you felt his teeth graze the sensitive peak, and he releases your breast with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your damp nipple.

You're in a daze, and before you know it, he's lifting your hips up to gently lay you back on the mattress and unbuckle his belt, to free his aching cock from it's tight confinements.

He rocks his hips forward, grinding the tip of his cock over your slick folds, teasing your clit before pushing just slightly inside you then pulling back out.

Sylus huffs out a breathy chuckle when he watches how you try to take more of his inches, yet he continues teasing you again and again, without giving you what you need.

Finally, he rolls his hips slowly, the thick head of his cock parting your folds, slipping inside you with a low groan. He took his time, inch by inch, letting you feel every throb of his length sinking into you, stretching you around him.

When he was finally fully sheathed inside you, he paused, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with your own. One hand slid down to your belly, cupping the gentle curve, his thumb tracing the line where your bodies joined.

“Oh, you feel incredible.”

“i-I do?”

Sylus raises a brow just slightly before he gives you a slow, deep roll of his hips, grinding his pelvis against yours, and this man moans out just for you to hear.

“does this answer your question, pretty girl?”

His hand then slides down to your knee, pushing it up and back towards your chest until your thigh was draped over his shoulder, opening you even wider to him.

Your nails scratch at his chest, you feel like you're above the clouds, but at the same time it feels like you're on fire.

You hiss when he starts to move faster, his strokes growing longer and harder, each thrust pushing you up the bed slightly. The new angle let him hit that secret spot deep inside you with every drive of his hips, and you couldn't help but cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“C-careful,” Sylus almost stops at your plea. Instead, he slows his thrusts before pressing a kiss to your forehead, “i’ve got you, beloved.” he doesn't question anything, he'd rather listen to you and do it without questioning it.

Sylus grinds his pelvis against yours, rubbing your clit firmly as he buries himself balls-deep inside your spasming cunt.

He feels your body go rigid, then—he senses you shudder violently as your orgasm crashes over you, wave of pure, unadulterated bliss radiating out from your core, and you almost feel relaxed.

your walls clench around his length, milking his own impending release. Sylus slots his lips over yours messily as he finds his own release, his cock pulsing as he pumps stream of thick, hot cum deep into your still fluttering pussy.

Though, he doesn't stop afterwards, he continues overstimulating himself, slowly grinding his softening cock into you while you both moan and whimper into each other's lips.

you both stay still, and he gives your cheek one last kiss, “is my wife sleepy?”

“… happy birthday.”

“thank you, dearest.”

—

As you stepped outside, you couldn't help but appreciate the perfect weather; the sun shined gently in the sky, a light breeze passed through the garden. It was as if the sun was setting up a romantic scene.

Sylus let out a soft hum of contentment when the picnic setup comes to view, a small twitch of surprise on his face. His gaze immediately went to yours, a subtle smile tugging on his lips.

"You did this? For me?" He asked, raising his eyebrows somewhat as he gently pulled you closer to him by the waist.

"happy birthday!"

your husband definitely didn't expect to be tackled to the ground, but he couldn't stop the wide grin on his face as you rolled both of you down. He lands on the soft grass with a soft thump, his hands landing on your waist to stabilize you both.

"You little-" Sylus' words are cut off when he feels you hands cupping his face, his expression softens, it’s like you could almost see his eyes sparkle.

he couldn't help but close his eyes instinctively when you started showering his face with soft, gentle kisses. He let out a light laugh at the feeling of your lips. The subtle feeling of the leaves falling from the trees above you and landing on you both added to the atmosphere, and Sylus felt a strange sense of peace wash over him. Opening his eyes, he looked at you, “you’re beautiful.”

you grin, “thank you, handsome.”

The grass beneath you was soft, almost like a bed of feathers.

"come," you stand up to take Sylus' hands in yours, guiding him towards the little set up.

As you reached the blanket on the grass, he sits down to lean back, and his eyes roams over the food that was laid out.

"You went all out, huh? Did you plan all this by yourself?" He asked, still somewhat not believing that this scene was set up for his birthday.

"anything for you," you clear your throat, sitting right in front of him with a box on your lap, “food or gift first?”

you seem even more excited than he is, which makes him pretty excited. "The gift, then. You didn't really expect me to choose food over your present, did you?” Sylus chuckled as he watched you excitedly handing him the small box, "… Should I be worried that you're going to burst from excitement?”

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms as if to silently tell him open it already.

He lifts the lid off.

... And he contents of the box was not what he expected, as it only had two items.

a onesie. And baby shoes next to it.

His expression went blank as he stared at the two items: the onesie and the baby shoes. For a moment, he was completely speechless, unable to process what he was looking at, then slowly, he lifted his gaze to look at you, his wide eyes filled with bewilderment.

"Are you—” He could only manage to say the first two words, but the rest got caught in his throat.

at first, you were smiling at the anticipation of what his reaction might be, but your expression falls when you sense his face pale slightly.

before you could even ask him what’s wrong, he turns to you, “did i hurt you last night? did i press anywhere too hard? did i—”

you wrap your arms around his neck as a gesture of reassurance, Sylus couldn't help but bury his face in your shoulder, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him completely. He wrapped his own arms around you, holding you tight, as if trying to anchor himself in the reality of this moment.

“i’m perfectly fine, hon. don’t worry.” you try soothing him, your hand rubbing his back.

“you’re pregnant.” His voice was soft and shaky as he spoke, his words muffled by your skin. "I can't believe it."

“don’t cry.” you tease, and he couldn't help but let out another small laugh, his heart swells with affection. He held you just a bit tighter, a small smile on his face.

A family. You're expecting. You're going to be parents. Oh god, now he has to make sure the house is safe for the baby.

This is truly, the best gift he has ever received.

"We're going to be three," he says in awe, the words bringing joy and pride to him. He leaned in, his forehead gently touching yours, "You, me, and our little one.”

Sylus might not be crying this time, but when he holds his little one for the first time, his emotions might betray him.

#pearlwrites☆#sylus x reader #sylus lads #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #sylus love and deepspace #lnds sylus #lads sylus #sylus #lads x reader #lads smut #sylus smut #sylus birthday

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nadvs · 7 hours ago

Text

the power play (part four)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

< prev

Rafe is at his best right before a game. His blades hit the ice, cold air fills his lungs, and for the next two hours, he needs to focus on only one thing: winning.

He circles the rink in line with his team, a quick warm-up before the visitors come on. The crowd’s cheers echo across the arena as he rips past the far penalty box, looking through the glass to see if you followed his advice to start coming to games again.

You did. He catches your smile, and his jersey on you, as he races by. He’s sure you’ve been even more chipper lately. If that’s possible.

You’d texted him after you woke up in his bed a few days ago: I bumped into Beck on my way out and he doesn’t approve of our relationship lol

He responded: Told you

He hasn’t heard from Emma, but at least he knows this act he’s putting on with you is affecting her. She wouldn’t have been looking over so much the other night if it wasn’t.

And if she was telling you the truth, that she still likes coming to games, she’s probably in the stands right now, watching him. She must still care, at least a little.

His grip on his stick tightens when he remembers that she left that frat party with another guy. And because the universe has a vendetta against him, he catches her in the spotty crowd, with that same guy’s arm around her.

He grits his teeth, rage rushing through him. He’ll just have to lay it on thicker with you and make it real obvious how much happier he is without her.

════════

“How are things going with you and Rafe?” Lyla asks, gently squeezing your arm as you sit together in the stands.

“Good,” you say, your eyes following Beck as he glides across the ice. You wish you could gush to her about how bothered he seemed to see you leaving Rafe’s room.

“Moving pretty fast if you’re already wearing his jersey,” she chuckles. “He’s nicer than I expected.”

You have to stifle a laugh. In front of Lyla, Rafe managed to come off as kind of a sweetheart.

“There’s a lot more to him than he lets on,” you respond. And you mean it. Although he has an aggressive exterior, you’ve seen glimpses of softness, of depth.

“He treats you well?” she asks.

You smile at her, appreciative that she’s looking out for you, ashamed that you’re lying about what you and Rafe really are.

“He does,” you say.

════════

From the moment the horn signals the start of the game, you tell yourself to watch who you’re meant to be here for – your supposed boyfriend.

Within minutes, it’s not a conscious decision anymore. You can’t take your eyes off of him, even if you tried.

Rafe is in another element. He doesn’t lose focus for a second. He sharply intercepts passes and doesn’t hesitate to throw himself where he needs to go. He’s fearless, giving and taking hits like he’s indestructible.

As you watch him and think about all that’s happened between you since he walked into that study room, you realize he’s not who you thought he was when you met him.

Emma was right about a few things, but the man is nowhere near pathetic. He’s not a trainwreck.

He’s complicated, and he hates it about himself, because the way he looked at you when he called himself fucked up the other night is something you can’t forget.

Near the end of the first period, Rafe is sent to the penalty box for cross-checking. He skates to the box with a scowl and sits on the bench to frustratingly tap his stick against the floor.

Scattered knocks rattle the glass behind him and he looks over his shoulder to see you’re trying to get his attention.

You’re pressing up your phone against the glass to show him a note on your screen, a reminder of his joke from the night at the bar.

Penalty Count is typed at the top, with 1 :( underneath it.

His anger dissipates, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk as his eyes dart up to yours from behind his helmet’s visor.

You’re wearing a bright smile and for the first time since he started playing hockey, he doesn’t entirely hate sitting in the penalty box.

════════

You walk into the study room the next day to see Rafe in his usual seat.

“You’re here already,” you tease, shutting the door behind you.

“You’re late,” he murmurs as he scrolls on his phone.

“No, you’re early.” You settle in your seat. “You must really love my company.”

He scoffs, but doesn’t deny it.

Truthfully, you’ve been looking forward to seeing him again. Even when he’s tightly wound, which is most of the time, you’re starting to enjoy being with Rafe.

You have a suspicion that he’s starting to enjoy being with you, too.

“So…?” you ask, eyes on the novel sitting in front of him. “What’d you think?”

“It was fine,” he says.

“Big deal coming from you,” you say. “Do you like reading yet?”

“No,” Rafe responds abruptly. “This one just wasn’t as boring. Things actually happen.”

“True,” you say, feeling triumphant nonetheless. “Have you checked your grades lately?”

He shakes his head. You pop open his laptop and see that the first essay you worked on together has been graded.

“An A,” you say happily. Rafe doesn’t know the last time he hit an A. He coasts on B’s and C’s and it’s been enough. “That’s amazing. See what happens when you apply yourself?”

“Alright, relax,” he says, although admittedly, telling Coach about this is going to feel really good.

You smile and shrug, then open the folder of essays you’ve worked on together. You tap on the most recent one to see a full page of small paragraphs.

“You liked the book and you wrote a whole page?”

“Didn’t say I liked it,” Rafe clarifies.

You start to look over his work. He usually finds quotes and very obviously pastes their meanings from online study guides, but at least he’s starting to put time and effort into it.

“I can tell you put more work in,” you say. You read over an excerpt near the end.

“There are times in life when the most comfortable thing is to do nothing at all.” Conway says this to the other travelers so they get used to a situation they can't change.

“This part has a lot of potential,” you say, pointing to the paragraph. “The discussion question is about how Conway’s personality affects his quest, so this would be a good point to work from. Can you relate to it?”

“To what?”

“To his adaptability,” you say.

“No.”

“So…” You tap your fingers. “The opposite? You’d say you’re not adaptable?”

He shrugs, guarded and distant.

You gaze at him curiously. You don’t even try to do it, but you do; you tug at his strings, all while smiling at him in that frustratingly pretty way.

“I think you are,” you observe. “You got used to these sessions pretty quickly. You obviously didn’t want to be tutored, and you really didn’t want to read, but you’re doing it. You could’ve been way more stubborn.”

Rafe glances down at the closed book. He never thought of himself that way. He’s always just noticed the flaws, the gaps. Maybe you’re right. Maybe he handles change better than he thought.

The same rush he felt at that frat party hits him. You stared at him in a way that made him think he was seconds away from being seen for who he really is. And you’re doing it again.

“It’s ‘cause you nag so much,” he says dismissively.

“Yeah, but you listen to my nagging,” you laugh. “I’m serious. Give yourself some credit. You could write about it for the reflection portion.”

You direct your attention back to the laptop.

Rafe looks at you again, watching you read, and he realizes that he can’t remember the last time someone pointed out something good about him the way that you just did.

════════

Near the end of the hour, you’re almost done the assignment. You glance at the time, sit up in your cushioned seat, and save the file.

“Try to finish this before the next session and then we can give it a final edit,” you say as you shut the laptop and slide it towards Rafe. “And start the next book if you can. It’s a good one.”

You hand him a paperback.

“I know the championship starts the weekend after next and it’s going to be midterm season,” you continue. “You’re going to be really busy. I’m here to support you, but I’m not writing anything for you.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, already well-versed with your I’m not doing work for you spiel. He turns to put the book in his bag, but you stop him.

“Wait. I have an idea. Can you pretend to read that real quick?” You pull your phone out of your pocket and tap the camera. “Girls post their boyfriends, right?”

After your encounter with Beck in the hallway, you’ve been riding a high. For whatever reason, he cares that you’re with Rafe. It’s given you a sense of power you’ve never felt. And it makes you want to test just how much you can get to him.

“Does it have to be me reading?” Rafe asks flatly.

“Your love for literature is what made me fall for you,” you fawn.

Rafe frowns, but he gives in. He opens the book and pretends to focus on a page, giving you the opportunity to snap a photo that looks candid. You type a heart into the caption and post it to your story.

“I wonder if Beck will watch it,” you murmur. “Or even care.”

“He will. He’s been shootin’ me looks since he saw you leave my room.”

You still.

“How did you not tell me this?” you say.

Rafe scoffs, “You already know he’s jealous.”

You don’t match his confidence, letting out a short hmph as you start to pack up your things.

“He could just be worried about me,” you mumble. “As a friend.”

“What the hell is there to worry about?”

You don’t want to tell him what Beck said, that he called Rafe intense. He would easily clue in that he didn’t mean it as a compliment.

“Not worried,” you say. “Confused. I just… I spent years getting my hopes up over him and I don’t want to keep doing it. I don’t know if he’s jealous, but I want him to think I’ve moved on.”

“For the tenth time, he’s jealous,” Rafe states, swinging his backpack over his shoulder as he stands. “You’re smart. You should know that.”

“Smart?” you beam. ��That’s the first nice thing you’ve said about me.”

“And the last,” he says before he steps out of the room. He paces away slower than usual to make sure he hears you laugh.

You finish packing up and check your phone again. It’s satisfying to see that Beck already viewed your story, minutes after you posted it. You never knew a lie could feel this good.

════════

Two nights later, you’re at the campus arena for the last home game before the championship, sitting next to Lyla behind the net. As you expected, it’s harder to get good seats now that more spectators are attending.

The game is in full swing as you chat with your best friend about her upcoming joint birthday party. When you’d first talked about it a couple of months ago, you were excited to go back to her and Beck’s childhood home, which always felt like your childhood home, too, and to see all your old friends from high school.

You remember daydreaming about the party when Lyla had told you about it, and the way you’d wondered if by then, Beck would’ve asked you to be his girlfriend.

The more you’ve distanced yourself, the sadder you are that you hinged so much hope on him. It’s a painful wave every time, remembering the wasted years.

“My mom accidentally spoiled my present,” Lyla says, showing you a photo of a bracelet on her phone with a string of texts from her mother below it, frantically saying that she meant to send that to her dad.

“Oh, no,” you laugh. “It’s really pretty, though.”

“It is. I’m going to pretend I didn’t see it,” she says. “Are you still driving up with us? Or did you want to come with Rafe? My parents would love to meet him.”

“They know?”

Just a few days ago, you were proud of how convincing you’ve been, but the thought of the lie spreading to Lyla and Beck’s parents overshadows any satisfaction, making your stomach cold with guilt.

“My mom asked about you,” she replies. “I told her you’ve been seeing someone. You should bring him.”

Even though this is what you both agreed to, the thought of dragging Rafe to a party and surrounding him with strangers he’s expected to fool feels unfair.

He’d loathe every second. And you’re not sure how well you could lie to the people you grew up with that this brooding, prickly man has stolen your heart.

But not having Rafe with you when Beck’s around is more daunting than ever. You want to look secure. Happy. And it’d feel good for all your high school friends to see how hot your new boyfriend is.

And you should probably stop thinking about Rafe as hot.

“I don’t know,” you reply, looking out at the ice again, unsure if he’ll agree.

“Well, the invitation stands,” she says. “I’m not done vetting him.”

“I’ll see what he says,” you say with a laugh.

The seconds tick closer to the end of the last period. The opponents charge down the ice, a final effort to tie up the game and head into overtime.

Rafe is quick on his skates, ready to take on the charge, but when he gains possession of the puck, an opposing player rapidly checks him from the side.

He slams into the wall and drops to the ground. He’s not doing what he always does; he’s not getting back up, shoving the guy who shoved him.

You’re standing without even realizing you made the effort to, trying to see his face as his teammates and the referee surround him.

“What just happened?” Lyla says.

“Rafe got knocked down,” you answer, not expecting the tremble in your voice. “Really hard.”

Moments later, he stands, keeping his head down as the referee leads him off the ice. The collision was bad enough that he needs to leave. Worry wrings out your insides.

“I hope he’s okay,” she says.

You nod, your heart pounding loud, so loud that you can’t hear anything else going on around you.

════════

You’d normally hang out with Lyla after a game, but you can’t ignore the worry sitting in the pit of your stomach. You tell her you’ll stay at the arena to make sure Rafe is alright, and meet her at her dorm after.

You’re standing outside the double doors that lead into the home team’s block, the volume in the main hall starting to slowly drop as spectators pool out. Every time the doors squeak open, you’re disappointed when you see it’s not him.

When you eventually meet Beck’s eyes, sorrow and happiness cling to you, a confusing mix of all the things he’s made you feel over the years.

“Hey,” you say, your voice thin as he comes through the doors. “Is he okay?”

“He was just getting checked out,” Beck tells you. His eyes drift down for a moment, no doubt noticing Rafe’s jersey on you. “He should be out soon.”

Your eyes widen in relief when you spot Rafe pushing through the door, his duffle bag hanging from his shoulder, his hair damp and messy.

You step towards him and for the first time, the embrace you give him isn’t for show. It’s genuine.

“That guy was an asshole,” you say, your cheek pressed against his chest as he leans over to meet you halfway in the hug. His hand glides over the small of your back. “He didn’t have to slam into you that hard.”

“Stupid’s a bad word, but you can say asshole?” Rafe mumbles.

You snort a laugh and pull back. Rafe notices Beck, the reason you’re touching him like this, watching from behind you.

“Did it hurt?” you ask.

“No,” he lies, his shoulder still throbbing, his pride too loud to silence. “Just came outta nowhere.”

“Did they find anything they’re worried about?” you ask. “A concussion or…?”

Rafe notices that Beck steps away, his lips in a tight line, looking like he just realized he isn’t a part of this conversation, clueless to the fact that it’s only happening because he’s there.

“No,” Rafe answers. He leans a little closer, his gaze sweeping past your shoulder. “He left.”

Your brows pull together in confusion.

“I’m not here for him.”

Rafe stares down at you. Your words, and how simply you said them, tighten the knot in his chest.

He’s still trying to catch up with everything that happened in the last half hour, so the unwelcome confusion of why his legs are suddenly weak, of why an unexpected thrill is consuming him when you look up at him like that, just adds to the chaos in his mind.

“It was nothing,” he finally says.

You take in his tense expression. It’s like he’s in shock that you care so much. You thought by now he knew. Did he think you didn’t mean it when you said you wanted to be friends?

“Okay,” you say. “So, I may have spiralled a little, but in my defense, that was scary. If you were concussed, I really would have to do your work for you.”

Rafe doesn’t understand how you make him smile before he even realizes it’s happening. It’s alarming at this point.

“Good game,” you tell him. “Other than that one part.”

He’s stuck in place as he watches you walk away with his last name draped across your back.

════════

It’s Monday evening and the campus dining hall is growing busier as you finish up your dinner. Your eyes travel over the words in your book, blocking out the noise around you.

When you stand to pack up, you see a figure approach from the corner of your eye. You look up and recognize her. Emma’s friend, Gabby offers a disingenuous smile.

“Hey,” you say, the word coming out like a question.

“Hi,” she replies flatly, not nearly as friendly as she was when you first met her a few weeks ago. She tucks her hair behind her ear, fidgeting before she speaks again. “Are you and Rafe really a thing?”

You can’t imagine she’s asking to satisfy her own curiosity. Emma must want to know, too. And you’re prepared to lie through your teeth.

“Yeah,” you say. “Why?”

“Were you waiting for them to break up or something?” she asks with a chuckle devoid of any real amusement.

You realize she must think you’d had your sights set on Rafe while he was in a relationship, swooping in once he was single.

“I didn’t know they were together until I met you guys,” you say. “And the first time I even talked to him was the day after that.”

“He was begging for her back like, two nights before then,” she reminds you, the implication heavy. You knew this was a risk going into it. You look like his rebound.

“Yeah, but then he met me,” you say with a soft laugh.

“Lucky you,” Gabby scoffs.

Rafe had confided in you about how much it bothered him that his ex’s friends never approved of him. If you weren’t sure you truly cared about him, you are now. Agitation pricks at you. You have no desire to be nice to this girl.

You collect the rest of your things, disinterested in carrying on the conversation. Regardless, you need to play your part, to act careless and confident. But she doesn’t leave.

“How could you want him after what Emma said?” Gabby mutters.

“Most people would say the kind of stuff she did after a messy break-up,” you reply with a nonchalant shrug.

“What does he say about her?”

“He doesn’t bring her up,” you lie.

Every word will get back to Emma. You remind yourself of what Rafe said when you first agreed to do this. Make it look like we’re better off without them.

“He did say once that now he can see what it’s like to actually be happy with someone,” you say, “but that’s it.”

Gabby’s visibly irritated, saying nothing else before she walks away.

You text Rafe the moment she’s out of your sight: Your ex’s friend just asked me how serious our relationship is

He replies almost instantly: What did you say

You tell him that you’re on your way to your dorm room if he wants to talk in person. He tells you he’ll be there in fifteen minutes.

════════

Rafe’s still frustrated that the team’s physical therapist told him he needs to skip practice for the next week, which benches him for the first championship game.

He’s even more frustrated that his shoulder keeps radiating in pain, days after he took that hit on the ice. He’s been hurt countless times before, but an injury has never bothered him for this long. And never right before such an important stretch of games.

So, hearing that something’s going right, that Emma must’ve sent her friend to you to get information, gives him the boost he needed.

You answer your door with the bright smile that’s seemingly always on your face.

“Boyfriend!” you say happily. “Come in.”

He sighs to feign annoyance, but his smile gives him away. He walks into your dorm room and sits in your desk chair.

“So, turns out we’re really good at this,” you tell him, settling on your bed with a bounce. “I ran into Gabby and she was all like, are you really with him? And I was like, yeah, and then she implied that I waited for you guys to break up to swoop in on you.”

“What a joke,” he chuckles.

“And she asked me if you’ve talked about Emma. I said you only said that now you can see what it’s like to actually be happy.”

He flashes an impressed grin. Emma will hate hearing that. After everything she’s done to him, it’s a win to know that this will mess with her.

“I take it that was a good answer?” you ask.

“No shit,” he laughs. He scratches his jaw, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Anything else?”

“Not really.”

Rafe’s stomach twists when your eyes dart away.

“No?” he says, a note of accusation in his tone.

You’d already decided that you wouldn’t echo the cruel things his ex said, how she’d laughed over the fact that he called her in tears. There’s no point in kicking him when he’s down.

But there’s also no point in being dishonest. He’s either great at calling you out on your bullshit or you’re terrible at lying to him or it’s a winning combination of the two.

“She seemed confused that I wanted to date you after I heard what Emma said about you,” you relent. “And before you ask, I already told you I won’t repeat it.”

Rafe stiffens, a palpable shift in his demeanor, his mood turning on a dime right in front of you. You’re used to it by now.

“Just be straight with me,” he says.

“It’s not important,” you reply. “She obviously got her friend to talk to me. That’s what matters.”

Rafe sharply whispers your name, his voice dripping with irritation as he rubs his forehead.

“What?” you sigh.

“I bet whatever she said to you was shit she already said to me before.”

“So, then what’s the point of me saying it?”

“Why are you being like this?” he asks sharply, his face contorted in frustration, his blue eyes hard with anger.

You cross your arms, blinking slowly. You won’t fight his fire with your own. He’s brokenhearted and you know how fragile it feels to be in that state, because you’ve been living in it yourself for far too long.

And you refuse to tell him something that would just hurt and embarrass him.

“You’re done with her, right?” you say. “You don’t need to hang onto her words. It’s for your own good.”

Rafe shakes his head again, knees bouncing as he stares at the floor.

It’s infuriating that you think you know what’s best for him. You have no idea what his fights with Emma were like. He can stomach what she said about him and he hates that you think he can’t. As if he’s weak.

He’s gotten this far in his life without anyone trying to protect him like you are right now, and the last thing he needs is your pity. He’s already had a rough day and the spur to make you feel just as bad as he feels is an impulse he can’t curb.

“Might as well end this, then,” he mutters. “They’re both jealous. We got what we wanted.”

He watches the light leave your eyes, the dissatisfaction bristle over your face. He should have known that someone like you would eventually run out of hope in him. It was inevitable that once you looked too hard, you’d be disappointed.

You pout, exhaling a humorless laugh. His spiteful words are a sucker punch. And you’re sure he knows that.

“End it? Right when it starts working?” you say. You sigh, your shoulders sinking. “Okay. We’ll say it was just a fling that fizzled out. Easy-out clause. Like we agreed.”

Rafe’s lips screw up in discontented annoyance before he storms out of your room, leaving you with an empty feeling you didn’t know he was capable of giving you.

(to be continued)

>>> new parts drop every friday at 8:30 pm eastern

author’s note there will absolutely be grovelling in the next part 🙂‍↕️

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fic

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mr-tony-stark · 2 days ago

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Tony shrugged. “It’s okay if you’re nervous. That happens sometimes. I’m just trying to set your mind at ease. It’ll be okay.” He took Clint’s hand. “And even if it’s terrible and everything goes wrong and we’re hounded, and our photos get splashed everywhere and everyone’s saying terrible things, we’re gonna be okay. Right? Because it’s a couple of days and none of their opinions matter,” he said, looking into Clint’s eyes. It was half question half statement. He couldn’t say for sure that’s how Clint felt, but honestly, if Tony’s fans opinion of Clint was important and affected him, there really wasn’t much that Tony could do about it, and it might be a sign this wasn’t ultimately going to work. But Clint had kept reassuring him that it would, so he stated it as fact in the hope that it was. “And if you really hate it, then next time I go, you can just hang out here and do your thing. It won’t be the end of the world.”

Tony shook his head. “No. I’m good. Thank you though.”

Clint smiled and nodded a bit wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “I don’t mean to be nervous. I’m just not used to it is all,” he spoke and nodded a bit. “Either way I can’t wait for New York pizza,” he spoke and smirks a little as he finished his coffee.

“You want any more food, baby?” He spoke gently and brushed his nose against Tony’s cheek humming happily.

#norabarnes143 #tony x clint #hooking up

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emilys-bangs · 2 days ago

Note

14 from hydrangea and the “you should wear the red one tonight” where em’s painfully jealous that r is going but wants her to be happy, and r literally is only going bc em is avoiding making a move bc its “unprofessional”

I love it when they're down bad idiots >_< part of the 800 celebration!

Tags: jealous emily, idiots in love, reader gets all up in emily's face lol, uc emily

Word count: 0.7k

She just had to be here for this, didn’t she? Hip against the doorframe like she owns your damn house, arms crossed against her bruised heart as she watches you style your hair and muse over the multiple outfits you’d laid on your bed, indecision creasing your brow in a frown. Even half-ready, still dressed in your home clothes, you twist her stomach into nauseous knots. Emily digs her nails deep into her arm, trying to look away from the purse of your lips.

“You should wear the red one tonight.” She says when your silence lingers too long.

Your eyes flick up to hers, narrowing the slightest bit.

What the fuck is she doing again?

Emily clears her throat, “You look good in red.”

“You think?” You say, not bothering to hide the flatness of your tone. It pokes at her skin, razor sharp, drawing blood the same color of the fabric spread out over your sheets.

She hates this. She hates the glare in your eyes, the bitter poison on your tongue. Emily’s not fooling anyone. You both know what you’re doing; this endless game of cat and mouse, pushing and pulling—it’s gotten predictable.

You’re her best friend. Her subordinate. Fire and gasoline, continually reignited and doused with water.

She can’t control the flame now.

“Pretty enough for a guy from corporate,” you drawl, your voice dark with scorn. “But not for an ambassador’s daughter, right?”

Her heart jumps to her throat.

“It’s not that.”

“Not that, huh?” You scoff. “You can’t even give me a better excuse?”

Emily’s neck heats, her shoulders pressing flat against the doorframe as you lessen the useless space she’d put between you. She holds her breath as you crowd against her, palpable anger and your familiar perfume heavy in her bloodstream. “What is it then, Emily? It can’t be work, can it?” Your volume drops. Her ears strain for your whisper. “I’ve seen you cozying up with Laura from the B team. Work didn’t seem too important then.”

Laura wasn’t anything. She was just stressed, overworked, tired of seeing nothing but a hopeless dead end when her eyes met yours. It was just a few hours, hardly a night; she left before the sun came up. What she did with her she couldn’t do with you.

“You’re a coward.”

Emily flinches. It doesn’t matter that you say it softly, the words caressing her skin. They lodge into her chest like a bullet.

“Be braver than me.” She wets her lips, already unraveling between your body and the wall. It never takes much with you. “Please.”

“So you can shut me down again?”

“I won’t. I won’t.” She breathes, her hand finding the nape of your neck. Your skin is fever-hot. “I can’t do this anymore. Seeing you like this, getting ready for someone else—” her head jerks, “it’s killing me.”

You’re unfazed as you press your hand to the wall behind her head. “And when you’re not seeing me like this?” You murmur. “What then? You’ll come back to your senses? Be the sensible Unit Chief who won’t stoop down low enough to fuck her subordinate?”

The words ring in her ears.

“Don’t, stop. You’re more than that.” There’s not enough air. Too much you. “You’re not just some fling I can forget about. People will talk.”

“You’ve never cared.”

“I do when it comes to you.” She slides her hand up, cups your cheek. “Baby, I’m just—”

“If you say you’re just trying to protect me, I swear to god, I’ll dropkick your ass.”

Emily’s smile is faint. Her hand finds the curve of your waist, her palm molding to its shape. “I love you.” She says softly.

You go still.

“I love you, and you’re right, I’m a coward. But”—she runs her tongue over her lip—“I’m trying to be brave. So I’ll kiss you. Okay?”

Your mouth opens, moves, but no sound comes out. Emily can feel the fast pace of your heart under her thumb, drumming through your warm skin. Her own heart picks up as your hand slides down to her shoulder, then up to the line of her jaw, your pupils blown. You clear your throat.

“Okay.”

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @piiinco@jareavsheavn @mourningthewicked @heartoreadallthequeerthingz

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss fics #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss drabble #emily prentiss blurb #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #fic #eb800

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levanterhaze · 2 days ago

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── GAMEBOY, BANGCHAN

♡ ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader praise kink, protected sex, rough sex, fluff & angst.

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[12.3k words ]♡― here we are, at the last chapter of gameboy. writing this series has been so much fun and having the opportunity to tell the stories i love to write is a privilege. i hope i don't disappoint you with this ending, that you understand each choice made for the characters. i also hope you continue to support me, this has been so special and welcoming to me, i can't thank you enough for everything. thank you for embracing gameboy, for continuing to read and for all your support. from the bottom of my heart. PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡[part two]♡ [part three] ♡[part four] ♡[part five] ♡[part six] ♡[part seven]

'Cause I'm right here waiting for us 때로는 두려웠�� 다신 오지 않을 것 같아서 두 손 꼭 잡은 채 그 어떤 순간이 덮쳐 와도 �� 놓지 않을게

After all the chaos, the only thing that made sense was leaving.

So you did.

You shot Hyunjin a text, practically begging him to take you to the bus stop. He didn’t ask questions—he was too pissed off about the whole thing, ranting the entire drive about how it was bullshit that you had to be the one to go. In his mind, Eunji and Mingyu should’ve been the ones packing their bags.

And maybe he was right. But you were exhausted. Your body ached from the tension, your head was a tangled mess of emotions, and honestly? You just didn’t have it in you to fight anymore.

By the time you got back to campus, you had a plan—or at least, a temporary bandage disguised as one. You marched straight to the admin office and spun some tragic, half-true sob story about needing to “regain focus” on your studies. A few forced tears later — maybe slightly real ones— they handed you the keys to a new dorm on the other side of campus.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. You packed what little you had and moved in before anyone even realized you were gone.

And then you disappeared.

One day after another, like clockwork. No calls, no texts, no explanations. Just silence.

Your life has shrunk down to a routine: rehearsals, studying, sleep, repeat.

Hyunjin and Seungmin still tried to pull you out of your self-imposed exile, inviting you to lunch, cracking jokes at rehearsals to get a reaction out of you—but you always politely refused. You weren’t rude, just... distant. Like a ghost of yourself.

Bangchan had tried. Over and over. Messages sent and then deleted, calls he never made, moments of hesitation that stretched into frustration. He wanted to give you space, wanted to respect whatever it was you needed, but that didn’t make it any easier. Every time he saw you, it felt like his chest was caving in.

He’d even asked Hyunjin about you, but the guy was like a vault. Hyunjin wasn’t about to betray you—not even for him. “She’s busy,” was all he ever got. “Leave her alone, man.”

But how could he, when you were right there? When you were always the last to show up at rehearsals and the first to leave, slipping away before he even had a chance to try? It was torture. Watching you go about your life like he wasn’t part of it anymore. Like he never had been.

And it was worse because he could still feel you.

In his bed, between the sheets. In his hands, aching for your touch. In his mind, where your laugh and your voice were stuck on a loop, growing more distant with every passing day—like a dream he was trapped in, running but never getting anywhere.

And you wouldn’t even look at him.

If your eyes ever landed on him in the theater, they flicked away like it physically hurt you to see him. If you spotted him on campus, walking with the boys, you immediately turned your head.

So you buried yourself in anything that wasn’t him. Anything that wasn’t Eunji. Because thinking about either of them was the only thing more unbearable than being alone.

And Eunji—who didn’t even look at you, let alone speak to you. Every time your paths crossed, she barely acknowledged your existence, like you were something rotten in her periphery. A stranger. No, worse—something beneath her.

And that hurt. Maybe even more than Bangchan.

Because you’d believed in her. In you two. In the kind of unspoken loyalty that came with late-night talks, inside jokes, and secrets exchanged under dim dorm room lights. You thought there was sisterhood in that. Something unshakable.

But in the end, it was nothing. A mirage. A mist that vanished the second you tried to hold on.

A few weeks had passed and you were enjoying your own company in the library, an iced coffee and your headphones. You were studying your lines for the next class, until someone took the seat in front of you and your eyes looked up in surprise to see Sohee sitting with her arms crossed.

“Sohee.” you murmured, almost not believing she was there.

Sohee arched her brow, unimpressed. “Oh, so you do remember me.”

You blinked, scrambling for words. “I—of course, I do. I just—”

“Disappeared?” she finished for you, leaning back in her chair. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Guilt twisted in your stomach, but you kept your expression neutral. “I’ve been busy.”

She let out a dry laugh. “Right. Busy. Too busy to text? Too busy to tell me why you packed up and moved to the other side of campus?” Her eyes narrowed. “Eunji won’t tell me what happened. Neither will Hyunjin. Which means something happened, and I need you to stop bullshitting me.”

Your mouth went dry, fingers tightening around your coffee cup. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, bitter and unspeakable.

What if she looked at you the way Eunji did?

Sohee exhaled, her sharpness softening just a fraction. “Look, I don’t know what went down, but I missed you, okay?”

Your heart clenched. She wasn’t angry. She was hurt. And that somehow made it worse.

You put your headphones aside and took a deep breath, gathering the courage to begin.

So you started from the very beginning. Bangchan, the secrets, then Mingyu, Eunji finding out, all your emotions, the fight between Bangchan and Mingyu, and how completely broken you’d been ever since.

Sohee listened, her expression shifting from shock to disbelief. “That’s... insane. I can’t believe Eunji would do something like that.”

“I know.” You gave a small, bitter smile. “That’s why it hurts.”

“And rightfully so. She had no right to interfere in your life or come at you like that.” Sohee leaned on the table, eyes searching yours. “But please, don’t let this kill your spark. Everyone misses you.”

And you missed them too. All of them. Without exception.

“If you must know,” Sohee drawled, cocking her head with a little smirk, “I’d already kind of guessed there was something going on with you and Bangchan.”

You shot her a look, but she kept going, unbothered.

“I just figured you’d spill when you were ready. No pressure. Not my circus.” She shrugged, then narrowed her eyes playfully. “But seriously… you do like him, right?”

Your chest tightened. Because the answer was obvious.

Sohee gave you a pointed look, like she could see right through you. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me that I guess it doesn’t matter bullshit.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “It doesn’t.”

“It does.” She leaned in, voice low but firm. “You’re miserable. He’s miserable. And all of this is because of what? Miscommunication and some high school level drama?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah, it kinda is.” She shrugged. “You like him. He clearly likes you. But instead of dealing with it, you ran.”

“That’s not fair—”

Sohee held up a hand. “I’m not saying you didn’t have your reasons. I’m saying that if you keep avoiding it, you’re just gonna hurt yourself more. Let things cool down, sure. But don’t wait until it’s too late.”

You stared at her, words caught in your throat. Because the truth was, you were terrified. Terrified that if you faced him, he’d look at you differently. That the damage was already done.

But another, quieter part of you—the part that still remembered the warmth of his touch, the way he looked at you like you were it for him—wondered if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late at all.

You were alone in the theater, the crumpled sheets of your solo scattered around you like forgotten love letters. You were dead set on nailing that high note — the heartbreak one, the kind that’s supposed to rip your chest open and bleed on stage. Humming through the first verse, you air-strummed like your life depended on it, lost in the rhythm.

“Am I crashing a rockstar's private concert?” Changbin’s voice broke through your focus, making your head snap up so fast it almost hurt. He was in his basketball jacket, the team logo front and center, and that usual mischievous grin was pulling at his mouth. He stepped closer, then plopped down next to you on the edge of the stage like he belonged there. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re fine.” You flashed him a crooked little smile as you scooped up the sheets from the floor. “I’ll just pretend you weren’t suspiciously wandering the theater.”

“Busted.” He lifted both hands in mock surrender. “What can I say? If you hadn’t pulled a full-on undercover mission and vanished from campus, I wouldn’t have to play detective just to track you down.”

You shot him a look. “Busted.”

His smile softened a bit, but it didn’t reach his usual brand of easy humor. Changbin had always been the steady one — loyal to Bangchan, to the whole group really. But right now, there was something quieter in him, like he’d pocketed the jokes for later.

And even though you kept your expression cool, you felt it too — the weight of whatever he wasn’t saying yet. “The guys miss you, you know that, right?”

His voice was casual, but it landed heavier than he probably meant it to. You dragged in a breath, sharp like it might actually clear out the guilt clogging your chest.

Spoiler: it didn’t. You’d gone ghost on them, the second life got messy, and there was no pretending otherwise.

Before you could open your mouth, probably to spit out some lame excuse, Changbin raised a hand like he could see it coming from a mile away. “And no, before you even ask, he didn’t send me,” he said, shooting you a knowing look. “Didn’t even bring you up. But it wasn’t rocket science, you know? Mingyu stormed off, then Chan showed up looking like he lost a bar or something.”

You winced. “Bin… I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” He shook his head, like that wasn’t what he came here for. “This isn’t a guilt trip, alright? Whatever Mingyu pulled, he had it coming. Trust me, no one’s crying over him.”

A pause. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

You straightened up, catching the shift in his tone. Less playful, more real. The kind of real that you couldn’t dodge even if you wanted to.

“I’m just—look, I’m just trying to knock some sense into both of you,” Changbin went on, like he’d been carrying this around too long. “I don’t know all the details, and honestly? I don’t need to. But I do know my best friend’s been walking around like the lights are on, but nobody’s home.”

Your chest tightened, the words slipping past your guard way too easily.

“And I’m not saying this to dump it on you, okay? I swear,” he added, catching your expression before you could speak. “It’s just... he’s a mess. And it’s not just the basketball thing, or the usual stress — it’s you. He misses you. Bad.”

The way he said it — simple, no drama, no exaggeration — hit you harder than any speech could’ve.

And you hated it. You hated that part of you wanted to hear it. You hated that it hurt more than you expected. Because deep down, you already knew.

“I’m only doing this because he’s my guy,” Changbin started, running a hand through his hair like this whole conversation weighed more than he let on. “Chan’s always been the one to clean up after the rest of us, you know? First to show up with advice or some half-baked plan to save the day.”

You tilted your head, a small smile sneaking onto your lips despite yourself. Classic Chan.

Changbin caught it, and his own grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, softer this time. “Yeah, exactly. And when he met you? Man, it was like someone turned the lights on in his head. Swear to God, I’ve never seen him like that. He was just... lighter.”

The way he said it twisted something in your chest, but you held his gaze, letting him finish.

“What I’m saying is,” he went on, “even if you two don’t go back to being, like, whatever you were before—” he waved a vague hand between you, “—at least talk to him. He’s stuck in that ‘she hates me, so I better give her space’ spiral, and you know how Chan is. He’ll bury it to do what’s best for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how much that stung. “Wait... so he doesn’t hate me?”

Changbin actually laughed at that, a real, rough-around-the-edges laugh. “Hate you? Please. I don’t think that man has it in him, even if he tried.”

Your fingers tangled together, fidgeting without you meaning to. The truth slipped out before you could stop it. “I care about him. I really do.”

“Yeah,” Changbin said simply, no teasing this time, just plain fact. “I know you do. And I know you’ll figure this out.”

After a beat of quiet, Changbin pushed himself up, casually brushing nonexistent dust off his jersey like he’d just wrapped up something way more dramatic than a heart-to-heart.

“Thanks, Binnie,” you said, flashing him a crooked smile as he gave you an overly formal little bow.

He started toward the door but paused right at the exit, glancing back over his shoulder with that familiar spark in his eye. “You know I love you, right? But if you mess with my best friend’s heart, I will write the nastiest diss track you’ve ever heard. Full production. No skips.”

That earned a laugh out of you, real and warm. “Gonna throw in choreography too?”

He smirked like you’d just dared him to. “Obviously. Backup dancers and everything."

And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, his voice echoing back as he called out, “You’re not getting off that easy!”

And just like that, you were alone again—surrounded by a whole storm of thoughts you weren’t quite ready to untangle.

You’d swallowed that whole conversation with Changbin like it was a bad shot of cheap tequila — still burning in your chest, still impossible to forget. And yet, life rolled on, dragging you with it while you kept trying to figure out when the hell would be the right time to talk to Bangchan.

Problem was, the whole thing still felt like an open wound — not bleeding anymore, but definitely not ready for anyone to poke at it either.

Sohee was in your new room, fussing with the straps of her dress in front of the mirror. The place wasn’t as roomy as the one you used to share with her and Eunji, but it did the job.

“I talked to Eunji," Sohee said, swiping mascara on with laser focus. "Well — argued is probably the more accurate term. She wouldn’t even let me finish when I tried to tell her she was being a bitch."

You were sprawled across your bed, cozy in your oldest, softest pajamas, like this whole conversation wasn’t tying your stomach in knots.

"I didn’t want you two fighting because of me," you muttered, playing with the hem of your sleeve.

Sohee whipped around, one eye still missing eyeliner but her energy fully charged. “Please. I’m morally allergic to bullshit. What she did was a straight-up foul. And until she figures out how to act like a halfway decent human being, maybe it’s time we put that friendship on ice.”

You sighed, a tangled mess of guilt and low-key relief knotting in your chest. "Yeah, well... it still kinda sucks."

“Everyone’s gotta make their own choices…” Sohee went back to her makeup like it was no big deal, but then spun around again, narrowing her eyes at you. “Speaking of choices… you’re really not going to the game? It’s the final. Literally, everyone’s gonna be there.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh and flopped onto the pillows like your life depended on it.

“Yeah, hard pass. Not in the mood to humiliate myself in public, thanks.”

“Girl, come on,” Sohee groaned. “This is your perfect excuse to finally talk to Bangchan and fix things. I know he’d love to see you there, especially at his last game this semester.”

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know… Feels like showing up would just make it worse.”

Sohee snapped the mascara shut like it personally offended her. “Stubborn as hell, I swear. Fine. Just—promise me you won’t do something you’re gonna regret later, alright?”

“I know, I know,” you waved her off, a little smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll figure it out when the time’s right. Go have fun, kiss your boyfriend, and drink an unreasonable amount of beer in my honor.”

She grabbed her bag off the bed, but before heading out, she paused at the door and shot you a final look over her shoulder. “Last chance. Are you sure you’re staying?”

“Yeah. Have fun at the game,” you said, forcing a half-smile.

Sohee shrugged like she’d expected that answer. “Alright… I tried. Don’t say I didn’t.” She shot you a quick grin over her shoulder as she headed out. “Catch you later!”

As the minutes dragged on, boredom hit you like a brick. Your brain was way too wired to even think about running lines for the play. You tried putting on a movie, but you zoned out every five minutes and had to keep rewinding just to figure out what the hell was going on.

That’s when you decided: screw it. Time to hit the campus café and drown your existential crisis in hot chocolate and maybe the most sugar-loaded cupcake you could get your hands on. Comfort food therapy, top tier.

You threw on some cute but cozy clothes, something to shake off the emotional slump clinging to you like a bad ex. Skirt, sweater, your trusty boots — the holy trinity.

The second you stepped outside, it felt like the whole weather system had joined your pity party. What started as a light breeze had upgraded to full-blown dramatic gusts, and the sky was throwing major moody vibes with all those gloomy gray clouds.

The cafeteria was basically a ghost town. No surprise there — most people were off hyping up the basketball final, the very game everyone had been pushing you to go to. But showing up last-minute just to cause a scene was so not your style. If you were going to fix things, you’d do it on your own terms, not crash the party like some soap opera twist.

Inside, the café was warm but dead quiet. The staff looked just as miserable as you felt, probably counting down the seconds till they could ditch work and catch the game too. You kind of felt bad for bothering them. Kind of. But hey, desperate times. Your soul needed sugar before life threw another plot twist your way.

You went for the hot chocolate — obvious choice — and threw in a slice of strawberry sponge cake for good measure. Not exactly a gourmet pairing, but at this point, flavor combos were the least of your problems.

You slid into the table by the window, pulling out your phone like it could somehow save you from your own restless brain.

Sohee had just posted a story: her, Minho, and Felix, all grins and mid-cheers. Typical. You kept scrolling, letting the endless stream of everyone else’s highlight reel wash over you. Felix, Jisung, and Hyunjin had apparently hit up a barbecue place recently, and yeah — that one stung. Hard. Like a punch right in the ribs, just above where you’d been keeping all your unresolved guilt.

Brilliant. Love that for me.

“Hey.”

The voice snapped you out of your spiral so fast you damn near fumbled your phone like it was evidence in a crime. Guiltily, you locked the screen and glanced up.

Mingyu stood there, iced coffee in hand, wearing that soft, easy smile.

“Hi…” you answered, a little awkward. He hadn’t exactly been on your recent contact list either.

"Can I sit?" He gestured at the chair across from you. "I won’t take up too much of your time, scout’s honor."

You nodded, curiosity getting the better of you. Might as well — it’s not like you were killing it at the whole “alone with your thoughts” thing anyway.

“You kinda vanished,” Mingyu said as he set his coffee down and folded his arms casually over the table. “Haven’t seen you around at all.”

You let out a humorless little laugh, more of a scoff really. “Didn’t exactly feel like I had a choice.”

“I see,” Mingyu exhaled, slow and steady, like he was gearing up to unload something heavy. “Look, I’m really sorry about everything. Honestly. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, coming out swinging at Bangchan like that.” He shook his head, as if still baffled by his own actions. “That’s not me. At all. And I’m sorry for dragging you into the mess.”

Well. That was... unexpectedly nice of him.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected — maybe some half-baked excuse or him brushing it off — but an actual, straight-up apology? Kind of refreshing.

“I should’ve seen it, you know?” He gave a small, hollow laugh. “The way he looked at you... yeah, it was pretty obvious. Can’t really blame the guy.”

There was a flicker of something in his smile, something resigned and maybe a little bit sad.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” you added, softer this time.

He shrugged, a wry twist to his lips. “No need. Things happen the way they’re supposed to, right? We had a good run. And well... I guess that’s it.”

“No hard feelings?” he asked, reaching his hand across the table like he was closing a deal.

You didn’t even hesitate — you took it, gave it a firm squeeze. “No hard feelings.”

“Right.” He nodded, like it was the final period of a sentence. Then he got up, grabbed his coffee, and shot you a parting smile. “I—I just hope you’re happy.”

And just like that, Mingyu walked out through the glass doors, disappearing across campus like he was just another passerby in your life. It wasn’t until the door swung shut behind him that his words really hit you, settling deep in your stomach like a lead weight.

I hope you’re happy.

And you weren’t happy. Not even close.

The brutal truth? You had no one to blame but yourself. Every twist, every wrong turn, it all traced back to your own fear, your own hesitation. If you’d been just a little braver — if you’d let people in instead of keeping them at arm’s length — maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe you’d be happy.

The cruel part? It took hearing it from Mingyu to finally see it for what it was. It was always you.

Your half-eaten cake sat abandoned on the table, the hot chocolate cooling into something sad and forgotten. Without thinking twice, you pushed back your chair and stormed out of the café, straight into the chaos waiting outside.

The wind hit you like a wall, and then, as if the universe was feeling especially theatrical today, fat, icy drops of rain began to fall — fast and merciless.

Karma? Maybe. Challenge accepted.

You didn’t slow down. You ran.

Your biker boots pounded against the slick grass, water splashing up your legs as the rain came down harder, so heavy it blurred the world into a messy watercolor. But you didn’t care. You weren’t stopping now — not when your heart was finally awake after pretending to sleep for so long.

The gym was all the way across campus, of course it was. Far enough that you were completely drenched by the time the courtyard came into view. Your chest heaved with every breath, burning like you’d sprinted through fire instead of rain. Your clothes clung to your skin, soaked to the bone, and your hair stuck to your forehead, your cheeks, your neck — like the rain wanted to wear you down.

But you kept going. You had to get there. No matter how soaked, no matter how late.

You had to.

You squared your shoulders, puffed out your chest like you had a whole army at your back, and stomped straight toward the gym doors. No hesitation. Okay — a little hesitation. Your heart was doing somersaults in your chest, adrenaline crashing into nerves like they were fighting for control.

But you pushed the doors open anyway.

Only to be greeted by... absolutely no one.

Just the janitor, casually mopping the far end of the court like this was any other boring Saturday.

Your pulse stumbled, like it tripped over itself. No way.

You yanked out your soaked phone, fingers slipping against the drenched screen, and checked the time. Way too late. The game had ended — you’d missed it. They were probably already at some bar downing cheap drinks and yelling over greasy plates of fries, and here you were, a walking raincloud with nothing to show for it.

Your thumb hovered over Sohee’s number, ready to call, beg, something — but before you could hit the dial, a voice cut through the empty court.

“Your plan is to flood the gym or what?”

Your heart flat-out stopped.

Slowly, you turned, every inch of you shivering from the rain and a healthy dose of panic.

Bangchan.

He was right there, leaning against the entrance like he hadn’t just flipped your entire internal system upside down. His hair was a mess of wet strands, some falling over his forehead in a way that should’ve been illegal.

Your mouth went dry, brain buffering like a bad connection.

"I'm... um... a little soaked," you managed, glancing down at yourself and the puddle spreading beneath your feet. A tremor ran through you, part chill, part nerves, leaving your words thin and shaky.

Bangchan gave a quiet, amused breath — almost a laugh, but softer — before he started walking toward you.

It was only then, as he drew closer, that you really saw him. His hair had grown longer, the damp curls now brushing the nape of his neck, framing his face in a way that felt painfully unfair. Draped over his shoulders was a black jacket, the kind that made him look like he’d stepped right off a movie scene.

"What are you doing here?" Bangchan’s voice cut through the hollow echo of the gym, roughened by surprise but threaded with something deeper.

With one simple movement, he removed the jacket from his shoulders and placed it over yours. You gulped, the words knotting in your throat. "I—I'm leaving," you managed, barely above a whisper.

"You're leaving?" His brows pulled together, like the thought alone caused him genuine pain.

Instinctively, you took a step back, clutching his jacket tighter around your soaked frame. Coward. Even now, even with him standing right in front of you, you were slipping into old habits, retreating when you should be reaching out.

Bangchan tilted his head, eyes flicking over your rain-soaked figure. "You really think I’m gonna buy that? After you ran through a damn storm to get here?" His voice was low, rough around the edges, but his gaze was soft.

Your throat felt like it was closing in on itself, your breath turning shallow and uneven. "I thought the game was still on," you confessed, your voice small, almost childlike.

"It ended early," he said, his tone softening. "Thunderstorm warning." He gestured toward the windows, where the rain continued to batter the glass in relentless sheets. "Most people cleared out fast. But I stayed behind."

Why? you wanted to ask. But maybe you didn’t need to — his eyes already told you everything you needed to know.

"You stayed," you echoed, almost in disbelief, as if saying it aloud would make it real.

He stepped closer, his gaze dipping to your hands, which clung to his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you afloat. When his eyes met yours again, something flickered in them — something deep and quiet, something that felt dangerously close to hope.

Bangchan’s gaze didn’t waver. "You came here for a reason," he said, his voice rough at the edges. "So stop pretending you didn’t."

Your heart twisted painfully, tangled in the unsaid. The truth clawed at your chest, desperate to surface. I wanted to see you. I wanted to stop running.

"I..." But your voice trembled, fragile as glass stretched too thin.

Bangchan’s expression softened, like he could see straight through the façade, like he saw every crack you were trying to hide. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached up and brushed a damp strand of hair from your cheek. His fingers were warm against your chilled skin, and despite yourself, you leaned into his touch.

"You’re freezing," he murmured.

"I'm fine," you lied, even as your body betrayed you with a violent shiver.

A faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Liar."

"I need to ask you something," you said, your voice tighter than you wanted. "That night on the beach… were you serious? About everything you said?"

His expression twisted, disbelief written all over him. “Really? Really? Don’t waste my time pretending you don’t know.”

You let out a breath, sharp through your nose. Fair enough. But you had to say it, get it off your chest before it ate you alive.

"I messed it all up," you admitted, the words tumbling out. "I kept telling myself I didn’t care what people thought, like I was above all that crap. But it turns out I care. Way more than I should. And that fear? It had me choking on my own feelings."

You risked a glance at him. He was watching you like you were the only thing left in the world worth looking at. No interruptions, no sarcastic quips — just quiet focus.

"I mean, you were— God, you were so good to me," you kept going, voice thick with regret. "And I think I freaked out because I’d already fallen for you way before I let myself admit it. Like, properly fallen. And that scared the hell out of me because I never thought I’d actually… like you. Not like this."

Your throat tightened, a painful lump that wouldn’t go away. "I liked everything. Being around you. Talking to you. Even the way you annoyed me." you smiled softly.

Your eyes stung, tears slipping free, but you kept going like you couldn’t stop. "I hate what I did to you. I hate that I messed this up beyond fixing it. And I know it’s too late... yeah. I get it. I understand."

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, words tumbling out too fast. "I just needed you to know, before I go — I’m sorry. For everything. You didn’t deserve any of it."

Your breath hitched, but you met his eyes anyway — full on, no flinching. "I’m so sorry."

Tears blurred your vision as you crossed the court toward the exit, not even bothering to shield yourself from the rain. What was the point? You were already soaked, inside and out.

You let out a choked sob, hating yourself for being such a coward — for always running when it mattered most.

“Wait—” Bangchan’s voice cut through the downpour, rough and almost swallowed by the storm.

You froze, eyes narrowing against the sheets of rain, blinking fast to see through the water streaming down your face.

“Wait," he called out again, sharper now, like the rain itself had finally lit a fuse. "What gives you the right to drop that on me and just walk away?” His anger was written all over him, carved deep into the lines of his face.

"What?" you shot back, breath catching, but the storm swallowed your voice, forcing you to yell just to be heard.

Bangchan raked a hand through his soaked hair, slicking it back as he stepped closer, chest rising fast, like he couldn’t breathe right with you this far away. "You’re running," he said, rough and tight. "Running from me. From us. Again."

And hell, he wasn’t wrong.

"Everything I’ve done," he said, the words rough-edged and raw, "since the second I met you — it’s been about you. Always you." He caught his breath, like saying it out loud made it real. "Because I wanted you. More than anything."

The confession hit like a punch to the ribs, sharp and breath-stealing.

"Since Hyunjin introduced us and you barely noticed I existed," he kept going, like he couldn’t stop now. "Since you breezed right past me without a second thought. Since you crashed into my life and wrecked every single thing I thought I had figured out."

Your heart was beating out of rhythm, too fast for your own body to keep up, like it was trying to outrun the storm — or maybe run straight to him.

"You don’t get to stand there and tell me it’s too late," Bangchan shouted over the rain, his voice tearing through the downpour like it had something to prove. His eyes burned so bright, it almost hurt to look at him. "Not when I’ve been standing here this whole time, heart wide open, just waiting for you to see me."

His chest heaved, rain sliding off him like he didn’t even notice, like all he could see was you. "I’ve been waiting for you," he said, softer this time, but it was the kind of softness that carried weight. Heavy. Unshakable. "So if you want me — really want me — you’ve got to say it. I need to hear you say it."

The storm raged around you, but it felt like the eye of it had landed right here, right between the two of you. Your pulse throbbed in your ears, every muscle strung so tight you could barely breathe.

This was terrifying. This was exhilarating. This was everything you had been too scared to want.

Your lips parted, but for a heartbeat, all you could do was try to swallow the lump in your throat. Then, steadying your breath, you let a small, shaky smile tug at the corner of your mouth. A flicker of defiance, maybe even a little hope.

"Bangchan," you said, your voice rough but sure, "there’s never been anyone else. It’s only ever been you."

There wasn’t a second of hesitation when your lips found his — only the wild, breathless certainty of two people who had run out of ways to pretend they didn’t need this.

The desperation between you felt electric, almost feverish, like your skin couldn’t decide if it was burning or freezing in the rain. You’d never felt anything like it — like the whole world had finally spun off its axis and was crashing headfirst into this moment. Into him.

When his hands, just as cold and trembling as yours, cupped your face like he was terrified you might slip away, you gasped, a sharp breath of shock and longing tangled together. Bangchan made you feel reckless. Young. Like you were caught in the middle of one of those ridiculous romance high-school movies you always scoffed at, the kind where the girl lifts her leg during the kiss — and for once, you understood why.

This kiss, soaked to the bone and laced with every scrap of resentment and longing, felt like proof. Proof that what you had wasn’t just real, but unstoppable.

You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the earth, fingers fisting in his drenched shirt as the rain poured over you both, careless and wild. And still, beneath the chaos, something pure unfurled in your chest — something terrifyingly beautiful, raw and undeniable.

Bangchan kissed you like he was starving, like he had been starving for you. He deepened the kiss, tasting every inch of you like it had haunted him in dreams and in every quiet, aching moment you’d spent apart.

It wasn’t new, this hunger — you’d felt it before. But tonight, in this storm, in his arms, it felt entirely different. Like you’d finally let yourself give in to the fire you’d been dancing around for far too long.

How you ended up sprinting down the hallway with soaked shoes that squeaked like a bad joke didn’t even matter at this point. Thunder growled overhead like it was personally offended by your existence, and Bangchan was fumbling with the dorm keys like his life depended on it.

“Could you not kill the key while you’re at it?” you shot at him, half breathless, half laughing despite the anxiety twisting in your stomach.

“I'm trying, damn it,” he muttered, jamming the key into the lock with a speed that was both impressive and completely ridiculous.

The door finally gave in, and the two of you stumbled inside, drenched to the bone. The room was dim, only lit by the bruised grey daylight leaking through the window, and for a second, the world just... stopped spinning so fast.

You didn’t even think about it. Your hand found his face like it belonged there — like you were tracing something ancient and sacred, a statue carved by the gods, Apollo himself if Apollo wore wet hair and a breathless grin. Your thumb brushed his cheekbone, and you caught yourself smiling, then sinking your teeth into your lip to hold it back.

Bangchan swore under his breath, like your touch was enough to short-circuit his whole system. He closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, then caught your hand in his, holding it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I missed you…” you admitted, your voice low and honest, like the words had been burning a hole in your lungs.

Bangchan’s breath hitched. He caught your hand gently, his fingers wrapping around yours like he was scared you might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. His eyes — god, his eyes — they searched your face like you were something holy, like every answer he’d ever wanted was written in the curve of your smile.

He kissed your knuckles, slow and passionate, and that tiny gesture nearly undid you. The way he was looking at you sent a shiver down your spine. Tears pricked behind your eyes, not from sadness, but from the insane, overwhelming relief of finally feeling. Like your chest had cracked open and light was pouring in, fierce and free.

And damn, it felt so, so good to finally breathe again.

The best part, freedom didn’t need an invitation — it just showed up, slipped right between you two like it belonged there all along.

And then, his lips found yours. No hesitation, no second-guessing, just there — warm and certain and carrying every shred of doubt far, far away. If those questions still existed, you sure as hell weren’t looking for them.

Bangchan kissed you like he knew. Like he knew exactly how long you’d been waiting for this, and he wasn’t about to ruin it with panic or rush. He was careful, but not shy — calculated without making it feel forced, a perfect balance of hunger and restraint that made your heart stutter in your chest.

This wasn’t reckless. No, this was something else entirely. This felt like he was handling something precious, like you were made of glass and he wasn’t sure if you’d shatter or melt in his hands. Maybe a bit of both.

Your arms looped around his neck, a familiar move, but now it felt charged. You’d always been secretly obsessed with how he towered over you, how his presence alone seemed to wrap around you like a second skin. Like gravity had picked favorites and he was yours.

Without even breaking the kiss, you found the hem of his drenched T-shirt, fingers brushing over cool skin as you tugged it upward. He caught the hint, helping you pull it over his head in one smooth motion before tossing it somewhere behind him like it didn’t matter — because it didn’t.

The jacket he’d draped over your shoulders slipped to the floor with a quiet thud. Your lips were still tangled in his, tasting rain and fire and something dangerously close to forever. Every brush of your mouth against his felt like a spark in a storm, friction building and building until you were certain you’d catch flame.

You didn’t know how long you’d been kissing him, and honestly? You didn’t care. All you knew was this moment — soaked skin, racing pulse, and the wild, breathless certainty that whatever this was between you, it was finally, finally real.

Before he even thought about sitting down, Bangchan stripped off every soaked, useless layer like it personally offended him. His shirt hit the floor with a wet splat, followed by the rest, and then he dropped onto the edge of the bed like he owned the damn place — which, technically, he did, but still.

You stood between his knees, and for a second, it felt like the air got thinner.

Slowly — painfully slowly, because he had to know exactly what he was doing to you — he tugged your skirt lower, knuckles grazing your skin like it was an accident. His fingers made quick work of your boots, then your sweater, all without breaking eye contact. His gaze had this impossible mix: soft but hungry, steady but burning with something you couldn’t quite name. Like you were some kind of inevitable he’d been waiting for without even realizing it.

Without a word, he curled his hand around the back of your thigh and coaxed you onto his lap, like you were gravity and he didn’t stand a chance. You went willingly — of course you did — knees bracketing his hips, your palms finding his shoulders, solid and warm beneath your hands.

He hovered at your mouth, maddeningly close but not quite there. A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his lips, easily teasing you.

His breath skimmed yours, electric and careful, until finally his lips brushed over yours, so light you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. His hands tightened at your waist, fingers sinking into your skin like he needed you closer. Like breathing wasn’t enough anymore.

The room fell into this heady, perfect silence, just the sound of your breathing, uneven and shallow, and the rain tapping against the window like it was keeping rhythm.

Your voice barely rose above a whisper, but it carried all the weight in the world. “Can we just freeze this?” you asked, your eyes tracing every line of his face like you were afraid it might vanish. “Right here, right now. Forever.”

You felt him shiver beneath your fingertips — or maybe it was you. Hard to tell anymore. His answer was the way he kissed you like yes. Like hell yes.

Bangchan let out a low, rough sound, like you’d just stolen the last ounce of self-control he had left. His mouth trailed along your jawline, barely-there kisses that felt like they were searing into your skin.

Normally, he was the one filling the space with words — teasing, coaxing, making you dizzy with how easily he could wreck you. But tonight, you wanted him to feel it. To really feel it. Not just in his head, but in his bones.

You cupped his face between your palms, your thumbs brushing the damp heat of his cheeks. God, he looked at you like you were the whole damn galaxy — like he’d waited light-years for this exact moment. And you traced your fingertip along his parted lips. He didn’t even hesitate; he kissed your fingerprint like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m yours,” you breathed, your voice barely louder than the rain tapping at the window — but it hit him like thunder all the same.

He froze, like your words had short-circuited every nerve in his body. His chest rose on a sharp inhale, his eyes drinking you in like you were the only thing keeping him alive. “I’ll always be,” you whispered, like a vow only he was meant to hear.

His eyes softened, something raw flickering in them, right before you kissed him — full of every unspoken promise, fearless and certain, like you were stitching your heart straight into his mouth.

His hands found your waist, grounding you, as he shifted you effortlessly to the center of the bed. His lips brushed your neck, making you shiver all over again.

“My heart is yours,” he said softly, his lips brushing your skin like he was confessing a secret. “I’m all yours.” His words melted into kisses — first at your lips, then your cheek, and finally at that place beneath your ear that made your breath hitch.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed, breathless and a little reckless. He grinned against your throat, like he liked you like this — alive, teasing him back.

For a heartbeat, you just looked at him. At this man who somehow made the world quiet and loud all at once. Like maybe, just maybe, life could actually be this simple.

“God, you’re so beautiful…” he said, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, his fingers cradling your chin. His gaze dipped to your lips, dark with hunger. “Wanna touch you everywhere…”

His hand slid to the curve of your neck, making your eyes flick up in challenge.

“Make you feel so good,” he added, voice rough with intent.

You bit your lip, settled deeper into his lap, and gave him your signature smirk. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He didn’t need an invitation twice.

The kiss deepened, turned heady and hungry, but never rushed. Bangchan’s fingers toyed with the side of your panties, lazy and teasing, like he had all the time in the world to drive you insane. He hooked his finger under the edge, barely grazing your skin — just enough to send a sharp, electric pulse through your entire body.

There was heat, sure. A wildfire between you, no doubt. But underneath it, something steadier, something that felt terrifyingly like eternity. He wasn’t rushing it. He wasn’t just touching you to have you — he was memorizing you. Worshipping, almost.

“I want you,” you breathed in his mouth, voice rough around the edges, like it had been sanded down to the truth.

He didn’t waste a second. Quick, practiced, a little frantic but still smiling that lazy half-smile of his as he reached for protection, slipping it on in record time, like every second apart was unbearable.

You shifted your knees, adjusting for him — for both of you — and his eyes darkened like you’d just flipped a switch. He tugged the last stubborn scrap of fabric away, his hands lingering like he couldn’t quite let it go.

Without thinking, without hesitating, you sank down onto him, the movement natural, inevitable, like your bodies already knew this rhythm by heart. A gasp escaped you both, caught somewhere between surprise and relief.

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, not for balance, but because you needed to hold on to something real — and he was the only thing that felt like solid ground.

Bangchan buried his face in the crook of your neck, lips warm and wet against your skin, like he couldn’t get close enough. Like he wanted to taste every inch of you, commit you to memory, down to the last shiver.

You moved against him slowly at first, like you wanted to feel every single second of it — to let it burn through your nerves until it became too much to hold back. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him as if he couldn’t stand even a breath of distance.

Every shift of your hips dragged a sound from him, rough and raw, like he was barely holding on. His head fell back for a moment, jaw clenched tight, but then his gaze was back on you — dark, devouring, full of need that felt like it could swallow you whole.

You tried to swallow the sounds tearing out of you, sinking your teeth into your lip, into his shoulder, into whatever you could reach — but it was useless. Every slow thrust made you unravel a little more, made you feel like you were coming apart right around him. He filled you so deep, so perfectly, it felt obscene, like your body was made just to take him.

And he knew it too — the way he moved inside you was relentless, unhurried but devastating, like he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of him, every inch of what he was doing to you.

And he wasn’t any steadier.

He fought to hold himself together, but the moans kept breaking free, rough and desperate. He was lost in the delirium of being buried deep inside you, of feeling you stretch and clench around him like you were made to take him. The way you took him, so eager and tight, had his control fraying fast.

He was pulsing with need, every second of restraint twisting into something almost unbearable — too good, too much, almost painful in its pleasure.

His hand slid up to your hair, fingers threading through before he tugged it aside to expose your neck. His mouth found your skin without hesitation — warm, open kisses trailing along your pulse, his tongue tasting the sweat-slick heat of you.

He worked his way down your neck, lips brushing teasingly over every inch of your sensitive skin. At your chest, he paused, let his tongue explore the soft skin there, coaxing a sharp gasp from you as your body reacted without thinking. He wanted to ruin you with his mouth, to taste every inch until you were dripping for him, until the only thing you could think about was how good he felt owning you like this.

You found your rhythm together, perfectly in sync, like you’d been built for this. Built for him. Each roll of your hips sent a fresh wave of need spiraling through your veins, building, tightening, pulling you both closer to the edge. His hands held you like he couldn’t bear to let go, his touch rough but reverent, worshipping every inch of you.

The room felt molten, the air thick with heat and desire. Moans tangled between you, breathless and desperate, until all you could hear was the storm outside and the sound of your bodies moving together.

"Can’t get enough of you—fuck—" Bangchan’s voice tore out of him, rough and wrecked, words slipping into broken sounds as his hips snapped into yours, chasing the high with a desperation that felt like it might kill him.

Sweat and rainwater dripped down his skin, slick between your bodies, his hair clinging damp to his forehead. He looked like sin, like every fantasy you’d ever had but filthier, messier, better.

You crashed your mouth to his, swallowing the ragged moan that escaped him, tasting the heat of it on his tongue.

“Please,” you begged, breath trembling as your lips brushed his. “God, please, just—”

"You feel—fuck," he choked, breath catching hard as you rolled your hips, grinding right where he needed you. His eyes fluttered shut, helpless to the way you squeezed around him.

"Say it," you demanded, your voice all heat and sin, lips brushing his ear like a spark to gasoline.

He groaned, wrecked. "So good, so fucking good, baby, you drive me insane."

Your lips parted on a shaky exhale, your entire body tightening around him. The knot low in your belly twisted, pulling you closer to that breaking point with every relentless thrust. The storm outside thrashed against the windows, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside you.

Your forehead pressed against his, breaths tangling, sweat-slicked skin sliding together as you moved in sync. His gaze burned into you, wild and wrecked, like he couldn’t get enough.

"That's it," he rasped, rough and hungry. His thumb worked your clit in tight, relentless circles, dragging you closer to the edge. "Cum for me, baby. Be my good girl and soak my cock. Let me feel you lose it all over me."

“Fuck, you were made for me,” he rasped, voice thick and raw, every word dripping hunger. His hips snapped into you, fast and relentless, hitting so deep it made your mind spin, had you gasping his name over and over like it was the only thing you knew how to say.

You felt impossibly full, stretched around him to the point of unbearable pleasure, and you craved it — you wanted more, wanted him to take you apart until you were nothing but his.

Bangchan’s hand slid up to your throat, not choking, just holding you there, steady and close, like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you. His other hand gripped your waist tight, dragging you harder onto his cock, like he was chasing something dangerous and beautiful all at once — like he needed to claim every part of you.

“Take every inch of me,” he growled against your skin, his lips hot at your neck as his teeth sank in, just sharp enough to make you shiver. “Fuck—yes, just like that, my perfect fucking girl.”

Your body clamped down on him, another violent wave of pleasure wracking through you as you moved together, desperate and wild. His breath stuttered, sharp and wrecked, his hips jolting hard when you clenched around him again, milking him, pulling a raw, broken moan from deep in his throat.

“Fuck, angel,—” His voice cracked, strangled on a gasp, and then he lost it completely. His hips slammed up into you, rough and frantic, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you with a helpless, guttural sound, like he was unraveling from the inside out.

The second you felt him pulse, you shattered, pleasure crashing through you in devastating waves. Your whole body jerked, trembling in his hold, your mouth falling open on a cry of his name that sounded like both worship and ruin. He groaned through his release, grinding up into you as he emptied himself fully, like he couldn’t stop, like he never wanted to stop.

Even when the aftershocks tore through you both, he kept you tight against him, breathing hard, lips brushing your skin in shaky, reverent kisses. He kissed you like he was trying to swallow your moans, like he was desperate to keep every last sound of you for himself.

Your breath was wrecked, your chest heaving against his as you clung to him, still pulsing around him like you never wanted to let him go.

“Such a perfect little thing for me,” he rasped, dark and tender all at once, “my pretty girl.”

And in his eyes, you swore you saw it — the words he didn’t say yet, thick and heavy and dangerous on the tip of his tongue.

After basically spending the entire weekend barricaded in Bangchan’s apartment — more specifically, in his bed — where you’d thoroughly explored every possible way to kill the mutual longing, you figured it was time to rejoin society. Preferably not looking like you’d just crawled out of a two-day sex coma, but well, damage done.

The perfect excuse arrived in the form of Changbin and the rest of the soccer guys throwing a victory party after their game. They won, obviously — and Bangchan had not let you forget it for even a second. He’d been strutting around the dorm like some smug MVP, dropping lines like, “You’re literally sleeping with the best basketball player, babe. Iconic behavior.”

You were so gone for him it was almost embarrassing. Almost.

It was Sunday night, and looming over you like an anxious little storm cloud was the fact that this was your last week. Final week. Curtain call was Friday, and you were already spiraling.

The panic over your performance felt like it had its own pulse — quick, sharp, and completely unnecessary, considering Hyunjin and Seungmin had basically held your hand and all but screamed, “You’re going to kill it. Stop overthinking.”

Still. Easier said than done.

Although, to be fair, the crippling anxiety had taken a temporary vacation over the last 48 hours — because Bangchan, bless him, had thoroughly, repeatedly, and almost heroically, fucked it right out of you.

Like a true gentleman.

He kept your hand in his the entire walk, fingers tangled like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you couldn't help but smile at the way he casually included you in every plan for the mid-year break. Like he couldn’t imagine doing any of it without you. You didn't even realize how much you needed that feeling until you had it.

When you got to the frat house, the party was already in full swing—music thumping, laughter spilling out into the yard. The moment you two stepped through the door, a few of the basketball guys waved, greeting Bangchan with their usual teasing banter. And, surprisingly, they were actually kind of polite to you. No eye rolls, no snickers. Just the usual ‘Hey, Bangchan’s girl’ vibes. But that was enough.

You’d chosen a dress that was a little daring—tight, short, and definitely not the kind of thing you’d wear to a casual party. But you didn’t mind it. Especially when Bangchan’s leather jacket was draped over your shoulders. It was a nice change, wearing something of his, and you kind of liked how it made you feel like you had a little piece of him with you.

And, of course, he didn’t complain about it. In fact, he was practically glowing, the way he looked at you, like he couldn’t wait to show you off. You could tell he was enjoying the attention, and somehow, that made you want to pull him in closer, just to remind him that yeah, you were his too.

The party was already in full swing when you and Bangchan walked in, fingers laced. When he squeezed your hand like a silent promise, you didn’t think twice about holding tighter.

The music was loud, people were already half-drunk on cheap beer and good vibes, but it was the way your friends froze mid-conversation that really caught your attention.

Changbin’s eyes went wide first, like he’d just seen his parents kissing. “Hold on. Hold on,” he said, pointing between you and Bangchan like he was trying to solve a crime scene. “My two pretty best friends are... doing this now?” He made a vague swirling motion with his finger that you hoped was meant to represent holding hands and not something filthier.

Hyunjin didn’t miss a beat. He scoffed and threw his arm over your shoulder, grinning like the devil himself. “Back off,” he shot back. “She’s my best friend.”

You raised a brow, looking between the two of them. “Okay, can we not make this weird?” you deadpanned, shrugging Hyunjin’s arm off with a smirk.

Your friends were loving every second. You could see it on their faces — the shared glances, the knowing smirks, like they’d been waiting for this moment longer than you had.

"Honestly," Jisung chimed in from the couch, raising his drink dramatically, "about damn time."

Seungmin just gave you a slow, nodding approval, the corners of his lips barely twitching into a smile. “We had a pool going,” he said, as if that explained everything.

You shot him a playful, but suspicious look. "A pool? Seriously?"

"You're a very predictable couple," Seungmin replied with zero shame.

Bangchan chuckled under his breath, his smile tugging at the corners of his mouth in that way that made your knees go a little traitorous. "Told you they’d figure it out."

You nudged him with your shoulder, smiling but with a touch of sass. “I was kind of hoping for more mystery. You know, make them work for it.”

"Yeah, well," he said, leaning closer so only you could hear, his voice low and warm in your ear, "I’m not that good at pretending I don’t want you."

And just like that, you were the one who had to fight back the stupid, giddy grin threatening to take over your face.

The night rolled on with teasing jokes and too many toasts in the team’s honor, but somewhere between the crowded kitchen and the messy dance floor, you caught Bangchan watching you — like you were the only person in the room worth looking at.

And you looked at him the same way.

You were still breathless from Bangchan’s kiss, your smile stretching so wide it almost hurt. You two were dancing and kissing almost the whole night. When you felt someone step into your line of sight.

You turned, and there she was — Eunji.

Her gaze flicked between you and Bangchan, catching the way he still had his arm slung lazily around your waist like he belonged there (because he did). For a split second, something unreadable passed over her face, but then she forced a smile.

“Hey.” Eunji’s voice was quieter than usual, almost hesitant, as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Congrats on the game. You played really well.”

Bangchan blinked, caught off guard by how soft her tone was. “Uh… thanks,” he said, a little wary.

She shifted her weight, eyes flicking to you for a beat before landing back on him. “Do you think we could talk for a second?” she asked, nodding toward the hallway. “Just us?” Her gaze lingered on you, like she was asking permission. Or daring you to say no.

You shot Bangchan a quick glance. He met your eyes with quiet understanding and gave you a little nod, squeezing your hand before letting go.

Curiosity pulled you to follow her.

In the quieter corner of the frat, Eunji took a breath like she was gearing up for something heavy.

“Look, I probably don’t have the right to even ask you to listen,” she began, voice tight. “But I need to say this.”

You didn’t move. Arms crossed, not hostile — just careful. “Okay. Say it.”

She nodded, like that tiny bit of permission gave her permission to fall apart.

"I was jealous," she admitted, the words tumbling out too fast, like they’d been bottled up for too long. "It’s stupid, I know. But it felt like you had everything — both of the hot guys," she gave a bitter, awkward laugh, "while I had no one. And it got in my head. Made me ugly inside. I hated how small I felt next to you."

Her honesty was disarming. You hadn’t expected her to just lay it out like that.

"I guess I thought," she went on, voice wobbling, "if I could tear you down, maybe I’d feel less... invisible. But it didn’t work. It only made me feel worse. And I am sorry. I’m sorry for how I treated you."

You searched her expression, looking for cracks, for any sign of performance — but what you saw was genuine. Flawed, but real.

You studied her face. No defenses. Just raw regret and maybe a little shame. For the first time, she looked like someone trying to unlearn the worst parts of herself.

You tilted your head. “Is this because of Sohee?”

Her head jerked up. “No,” she said quickly, eyes wide. “This isn’t damage control. This is me... finally being honest.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. Finally, you let out a breath.

"I can’t speak for everyone," you said honestly, thinking of your friends who had long since cut ties with her. "But for me... I need more time. You hurt me, Eunji. Really hurt me. And that’s not something I can forget overnight."

Eunji’s eyes shimmered, but she didn’t argue. She nodded slowly, lips pressed together like she was holding back a hundred other apologies. “That’s fair,” she whispered. “And... I’m happy for you. And Bangchan. You look really happy.”

You didn’t say thank you. But you didn’t walk away, either.

And maybe that was enough — for now.

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away, her figure disappearing back into the noise of the party. You stayed there for a beat, letting the moment settle in your chest, then spun on your heel and made a beeline for Bangchan.

He caught sight of you immediately, his whole face lighting up like you were the only thing that mattered in the room. "Hey," he said, pulling you back into his arms like you were gravity itself. "Everything okay?"

You slipped your arms around his neck, your heart finally settling. "Yeah."

His grin went lazy and warm, and he kissed you again, slow and certain, like you were home.

You were pretty sure your organs were about to revolt — heart somewhere in your throat, stomach twisted in knots, lungs forgetting how to breathe. Your hands trembled as you peeked through the velvet curtain, catching a glimpse of the packed house. First row, all family. Behind them, a blur of students, teachers, and more faces than you wanted to count.

Seungmin was adding the final touches to his makeup with clinical calm, while Hyunjin stretched dramatically in the corner like he was about to run a marathon instead of hitting the stage.

You were ready — or as ready as someone could be when standing on the edge of a dream. The makeup they had given you was soft, radiant. Perfect for Seulgi — the wild, bright, untamable girl you’d spent months breathing life into. A character made of longing and light, all wild heart and messy hope. You’d love her instantly.

And tonight, you were going to give her everything.

Then, right on cue, you felt him — warm arms sliding around your waist, steady and grounding, a kiss pressed to the top of your head like a silent anchor in the storm.

You leaned into him without thinking, soaking in the calm he carried like it was oxygen.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you, his grin wide and full of awe. “My girl’s a star.”

And for a moment, everything stilled — nerves, noise, the chaos behind the curtain — like the whole world was holding its breath just for you.

You felt your face flush, your cheeks burning in that dizzying, weightless way that only came when someone made you feel so properly, soul-deep loved that it scrambled your entire system.

“I’m so nervous, I think I might faint,” you whispered, pressing a trembling hand to your stomach. The silky fabric of your dress did nothing to calm the storm underneath.

You peeked through the curtain again, heart stuttering at the packed audience. It looked endless. A sea of eyes. A million possible failures.

Bangchan gently cupped your chin, coaxing your gaze away from the chaos and back to him — steady, warm, certain.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and fierce in that quiet way of his. “You’re gonna walk out there and blow their minds. There’s not a single universe where this doesn’t go amazing — because it’s you. And you’re the best.”

It was stupid, how quickly your throat tightened. How fast your chest got all shaky, like his words had knocked the air clean out of your lungs. You blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall and mess up the makeup Nahee had so carefully painted on you.

“Stop,” you whispered, biting back a wobbly smile. “You’re gonna make me cry and then everyone’s gonna think my character dies in act one.”

He laughed, quiet and warm, and you took a shaky breath. Because suddenly, you wanted to say something that had been burning at the edges of your mind for days.

You wanted to leap, to risk it all.

“Bangchan, I—”

“Guys! It’s time!” Miss Baek’s voice cut through the moment like a bell, bright and urgent as she clapped her hands, motioning everyone to gather backstage.

You stepped back, breath caught, the confession stuck in your throat. But you weren’t ready to let go of him just yet, so instead of finishing your sentence, you reached for his hand and pulled him into the small circle forming around the cast and crew.

Miss Baek stood in the center, her eyes gleaming with pride. “All right, everyone,” she said, voice a little breathless with excitement. “This is it. You’ve worked hard for this show. Now go out there and own it. I trust you — every single one of you. So... break a leg.”

You felt Bangchan’s thumb brush over your knuckles again, grounding you.

And even with your nerves still coiled tight in your chest, a flicker of something brighter pushed through — like maybe you could do this. Maybe you were ready.

Especially with him right there, holding your hand like he never planned to let go.

The curtain rose slowly and steady, gliding open with a faint hum that made your pulse spike. Lights warmed the stage with a golden hue, soft and rich, like the first rays of sun spilling through a window on a quiet morning. The theater was silent — not the heavy, awkward kind of quiet, but the kind that buzzed with anticipation. Like everyone was holding their breath at the same time.

And then Seungmin stepped into the light.

Dressed in his costume — something timeless and simple — he looked completely at ease, the softest confidence in his posture as he took his place center stage. No theatrics. No build-up. Just him. And then he opened his mouth to sing.

It was like the world paused.

His voice slipped into the room like silk — clear, effortless, pure in that heart-wrenching kind of way that doesn’t just touch you, but clutches at something deep inside your chest. Notes floated from his mouth like a secret he trusted the whole room to keep.

Someone in the third row audibly gasped. Someone else sniffled. And no one even cared about hiding it.

You could feel it ripple across the room — the moment where everyone realized this wasn’t just a student play. This was something real. Something alive.

And a huge part of that was Bangchan. He made a real effort to help.

You could see him in the sound booth, lit only by the glow of his equipment. His headset was on, hands gliding over the controls like he was conducting his own invisible symphony. Every rise and fall in Seungmin’s voice was perfectly balanced, wrapped in a sound that felt warm and cinematic.

The reverb was subtle, giving Seungmin's voice the echo of a cathedral without drowning him in it. The background instrumental, faded in at just the right moment, swelled like a heartbeat — quiet and steady — then soared.

The lighting shifted with the rhythm, delicate hues melting from gold to soft blue, and you knew that was Bangchan too. Timing everything. Perfecting everything. Making the show feel bigger than the stage it stood on.

The audience didn’t move. No one dared. It was like they were afraid that even a single breath might break the spell.

And when Seungmin hit the last note — long and gentle, the kind of note that settled into your bones — the silence lingered for one suspended second before the applause burst like a wave, loud and relentless, crashing against the walls of the theater.

You clapped with everyone else, heart pounding, chest full, eyes shining.

And somewhere backstage, you caught Bangchan glancing up from his booth just long enough to shoot you a grin.

As if to say, Yeah. We did that.

It was Act Three.

Your act.

The final, sweeping moment you’d been rehearsing in front of mirrors, empty classes, and late-night voice notes. And now, standing just behind the curtain with the theater buzzing like a live wire around you, it hits you all at once — the weight of it. The lights dimmed, the overture swelled, and your pulse was racing so hard it felt like it might echo through your mic.

You smoothed your dress with slightly trembling hands, eyes darting through the curtain gap to catch a glimpse of the full house. Your chest rose with a shaky inhale.

“Hey—hey, wait,” a voice said, breathless.

You turned, confused — and there he was.

Wild-eyed, flushed, a little out of breath like he’d just run across the building — and completely not where he was supposed to be. “What are you—? You need to go,” you whispered, eyes wide. “You’re supposed to be in the booth! I’m literally about to go on—”

He didn’t answer. He just grabbed your face and kissed you.

No warning. No hesitation. Just lips on yours like it was the most natural, necessary thing in the world. And everything else — the voices, the music, the sheer panic clawing at your ribcage — melted into static. It was just him. Warm and real and grounding you in a moment that didn’t feel like it could possibly exist in real life.

When he pulled away, he didn’t go far — his forehead pressed to yours, and his hands lingered like he didn’t want to let go just yet.

“Break a leg,” he whispered. Voice low. Serious.

You were about to respond, maybe something witty to cover how stunned you were “Thank—” but then he said it.

“I love you.” He mumbled.

Just like that. No build-up, no performance. Just soft and real and tossed at your feet like a match he was willing to watch burn.

Your breath caught.

You looked up at him, eyes gleaming, lips parted — something in your chest cracked wide open, but the words stayed stuck behind your teeth. Not because you didn’t feel the same. God, you did love him back. But the moment had too much weight, too much emotion, and not enough time.

Someone offstage hissed a frantic “Places!” but neither of you moved.

Instead, you smiled. A little too wide. A little breathless. Tears covering your eyes.

And he got it. He didn’t ask for anything else.

His entwined fingers slid unhurriedly, inch by inch, until the last touch. Then he backed away like it hurt to leave and vanished into the shadows like he’d never been there at all.

You wanted to cry — not from sadness, but from the overwhelming weight of it all. Being loved like this, so completely, felt like being wrapped in sunlight after a lifetime of gray. It was terrifying and beautiful and everything in between.

You never expected to fall for Bangchan. Not like this. Not so fully.

But somewhere between the late-night conversations, the lingering looks, and the quiet ways he held space for you, your heart cracked open — and he simply walked in.

And that was it. You were his. And he was already yours.

And then the curtain rose. The light hit your face. And you stepped into it like you were made for it.

And as the first line left your lips, steady and clear, you weren't just playing a part anymore.

You were living it — heart full, eyes bright, and finally, finally, not acting at all.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf @ebnabi @wickedbutlovely @bitchysunflower11 @ravengxbss @letrascafeymar @letrascafeymar @twentytwofour @pacha02 @skzaddictsincedebut @strayk1ds143 @micr0c0soms @vixy-vix

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riddlesbunny · 1 day ago

Text

shut up and drive

summary: Rafe saves you from Barry and you come up with a way to pay him back

pairing: Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: Explicit smut, mention of kidnapping, drug money/use, oral (m receiving) while driving a vehicle 18+ MDNI

note: tagging the bb’s @rafeyscumangel @nemesyaaa

The air in Barry’s trailer is thick with humidity and the scent of stale beer and cigarettes fills your senses. You feel overstimulated, surrounded by clutter as the loud hum of the cicadas outside rings in your ear. Unable to move from the rope that held your wrists and ankles together.

“Y’know it’s nothing against you, Maybank,” Barry’s drawl disrupts you from your thoughts, “but I told Luke somethin’ would happen if he didn’t pay me… again.”

Luke was going to be the death of you.

A stream of sweat runs down your forehead and into your eyes, threatening to cloud your vision.

You couldn’t lie, you were nervous. You had no idea what to expect. Deep down, you knew Barry wasn’t evil, a bum, sure— but not evil. But could you be wrong?

Barry crouches down to meet your eye level, his dark brown eyes scanning over your frame as his dirty fingers ghost over the thin material of your shirt.

“You sure are pretty, huh, Maybank?”

Suddenly, the door to his trailer flies open and in stumbles Rafe Cameron. Great.

“What the fuck is she doing here?”

Rafe asks, motioning to you and Barry remains silent. Rafe looks frantic, like he’s on something, for sure.

“Are you gonna like… hurt her or somethin’?”

“Bro, chill,” Barry answers as he rises to his feet, “I’m just tryna teach Luke Maybank a lesson. He’s late on payment again.”

Now Rafe kneels down to you and you flinch in response.

“Can you chill?” He asks you before pulling a pocket knife from his pants pocket, “and hold still.”

“Rafe, I don’t trust the bitch not to run,” Barry interjects and Rafe just shakes his head.

“Whatever he owes you, I got it.”

“Rafe—”

Why would he do that? He hates you and your family.

“I got it, alright? Chill.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I said I got it,” he repeats through gritted teeth. He pulls you up by your hands roughly while you try to find your balance on your feet.

Rafe slams Barry up against the wall, “so you’re a big tough guy now, huh? Kidnappin’ teenage girls?”

“Why do you care about some pogue? Anyway, it’s nog what it looks like.”

“We’ll see about that. You do some fuck shit like that again and I’ll fuckin’ end you.”

He turns to you without another word, gripping your arm with enough pressure to make you stumble forward.

"Let's go," he growls.

You hesitate, your eyes flicking back to Barry, who watches with a smug grin on his face.

"Now."

You follow because, honestly, what else can you do?

Rafe's pace is fast, his grip tight as he pulls you through the trees to where his truck is parked just off the road.

"You damn Maybanks always makin’ things complicated, killing my high. You know that?" he mutters as he opens the passenger door and gestures for you to get in.

You hesitate again, and he rolls his eyes.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself. Just get in the truck before I throw you in it."

You climb in, your legs trembling, and he slams the door behind you before circling to the driver's side.

When he gets in, he doesn't start the engine right away. He just stares out through the windshield for a moment, breathing heavy, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

Then, quieter, “you good?"

You don't answer.

He scoffs, "whatever."

The truck is silent except for the sound of the engine and gravel crunching under the tires. You keep your hands in your lap, staring out the window, your heartbeat still pounding in your ears.

The adrenaline from Barry’s ambush still clings to your skin, but your heart pounds for a different reason now. Rafe’s hands grip the wheel—strong, veined, steady. The sharp cut of his jaw, the way his forearms flex as he shifts gears, the calm intensity in his eyes. You hate that he saved you. You hate that he’s the reason you’re safe. But most of all, you hate that in this light, he’s handsome.

“Thank you,” you mutter.

“No need for that.” He states causally, eyes still on the road.

You swallow hard, “I can pay you back.”

He glances at you sideways, “oh yeah? With what, Maybank? A piggy bank full of quarters?”

You pause, unsure of what to say and then an idea sparks in your head. Before you’re able to stop yourself, your hand moves toward his lap.

“I can figure something out,” you say, voice low, unsure. Your fingers fumble with the button on his jeans, then the zipper.

You don’t even know exactly what you’re doing or why you’re doing it but Rafe’s hand shoots out fast, gripping your wrist, hard enough to make you gasp.

“The fuck do you think you’re doin’?” he growls.

You freeze.

You look up at him, wide-eyed, "I-I'm sorry," you stammer, embarrassed. He holds onto your wrist for a moment longer, as if deciding what to do next.

He releases your wrist and shoves his hand through his hair. His eyes flicker to yours, then down to where your fingers are still resting on the exposed fabric of his boxers.

"Damn, Maybank. It’s like that?” He questions, laughing to himself, “what, you wanna, like, suck me off?" you bite your lip in response.

"Mhm.”

He let’s out another laugh, shaking his head.

“Fuck it.”

He leans back against the driver seat, his eyes never leaving yours, "alright, Maybank. Show me what that sweet mouth of yours can do."

Your pulse quickens as you lean over, one hand sliding up his leg as the other reaches into his boxers, wrapping around his already hardening length.

Rafe’s head falls back as you grip him with one soft hand, stroking gently, running your thumb along the most prominent vein. He lets out a hiss of breath between his teeth when you trace the tip with your tongue. Your eyes flutter closed briefly, relishing the salty-sweet taste of him.

Your lips part, taking him in as far as you can. One hand remains wrapped around the base, moving in sync with your mouth while your other roams freely across his stomach, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath.

Your mouth is so fucking wet and warm that Rafe doesn’t know what he can do except twist his hand in your hair and buck his hips slightly as you suck him off. Your hands move to cup his balls, squeezing gently, massaging them.

A loud moan escapes him, his grip tightening in your hair as he guides your movements. Your name spills from his lips like a prayer.

“Jesus Christ, Maybank,” he grunts, urging you to take more of him. Your cheeks hollow as you suck harder, increasing the pressure with each drag upwards. His groan echoes through the car, his body tensing.

"That’s it," he encourages, urging you to take more of him. Your cheeks hollow as you suck harder, increasing the pressure with each drag upwards.

His groan echoes through the car, his body tensing as he struggles to keep his focus on the road.

His thighs twitch under your palms, the leather creaking softly. You slide lower in your seat, tilting your head to take him deeper, until he bumps the back of your throat.

You gag, saliva dripping down your chin as tears well in your eyes.

"Relax your throat, baby," Rafe rasps, thrusting gently, “you can take it."

You relax, taking another deep breath through your nose, ready to please him. You tighten your lips around his shaft again, swirling your tongue around the underside. His cock surges pulses in your mouth, hitting the back of your throat once more. This time, you manage not to gag. Instead, you swallow reflexively around him, causing him to shudder.

"Fuck," Rafe mutters, one hand fisting your hair tighter as the other grips the steering wheel. He starts to rock his hips, pushing deeper into your throat on every thrust.

His legs begin to shake, fingertips digging into your scalp. You moan around him, the vibrations making his cock twitch.

"Don't stop, baby," Rafe pleads, panting heavily now. You feel a surge of power knowing you can affect this strong, stoic man so completely.

You can taste it now, the faint tang of precum, promising more to come. You hum again, eager for everything he has to give. His grip on your hair suddenly loosens, trailing down to cup the back of your neck.

His breathing hitches, ragged moans escaping through clenched teeth, “not gonna last much longer... Shit.”

His body tenses, the hand on your neck pulling you closer. The veins in his arms strain as he fights the inevitable.

"Fuck, fuck, pull back," he commands, almost violently. But you ignore his warning, instead you force your head deeper, drool pooling out of the sides of your mouth.

He’s pulsing against your tongue seconds later, and you pull up to close your lips around his tip, sucking hard as he erupts into your mouth. His body jerks wildly, releasing hot spurts of cum into your throat.

You hum, swallowing each pulse greedily, licking and sucking until there's nothing left to give.

Rafe shudders as the last of his orgasm subsides, chest heaving. Still gripping your neck, he pushes you away gently until you release him with a soft pop.

You sit up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as Rafe gazes at you, eyes hooded yet appreciative.

"Look at that face," he says, a hint of admiration in his voice, "I never noticed just how pretty you are, Maybank."

“Yeah, you’re not so bad yourself, Cameron,” you say, looking out the window, feeling ashamed.

“So, we’re even now, right?” you ask.

“Yeah, Maybank. We’re even… for now.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x maybank!reader #Rafe x maybank!reader #rafe x pogue!reader #drew starkey #drew starkey smut

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froggiewrites · 1 day ago

Text

Ties That Bind (1)

Pairing: Zoro x Reader

SFW

Summary: You have spent your entire life preparing to meet your soulmate. Even with the words inked on your skin, you could never have imagined how badly your other half would hurt you, nor how much you'd want him anyway. Content: GN!Reader, Angst, Soulmate AU, Imprisonment, Medieval AU, Yearning, Unwanted Soulmates, Eventual Happy Ending Word Count: 3.2k

They were embedded on your ribcage, just above your heart. Your mother had always thought the placement was romantic, proof that your soulmate was going to be strong and steady, just like your heartbeat.

Your father was more concerned with the content of the phrase, afraid for your future safety, what the context could be.

I’d kill you this instant if I could.

The words scrawled across your skin marked you as someone’s other half, part of a perfect, unbreakable pair.

Your mother often insisted you were lucky. She reluctantly admitted your words weren’t ideal, but at least you had them. Some people were born bare, nothing to guide them in the world. Maybe they’d never meet their soulmate, or maybe they never had one at all. But you? You were promised something great.

You tried to share her optimism at first, but the older you became the more you questioned it. What happiness could you find with someone who would say something like that to you, let alone have it be the first thing they ever said to you? A soulmate mark didn’t guarantee you love, necessarily. It simply promised you an equal, another half. Maybe for you that was a combatant.

You never told anyone why you first picked up the sword. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that you were good at it, great even, and no man or woman that the universe sent to you would take you down without a good fight.

It only felt natural that you’d join the military when you came of age. That you’d have few friends, too focused on the battle ahead. On preparing yourself, no matter how painful of a process it was.

Your words were kept a secret. From the few friends you managed to keep, from your superiors, from those foolish enough to try to court you. Out of shame or fear you didn't quite know. You just knew that you couldn't stand the idea of seeing that familiar look, the one on your father’s face when you mentioned them, like your life was over before it began. Maybe it was.

You were a machine of war. You didn't need fate, you would insist. But you dreamed anyway. Of kind hands, loving smiles, gentle lips meeting yours. You chased them away in the morning, but they always found their way back.

You hated the smell of blood. The sound of metal upon metal, the sound of crushing bones. But you were terribly good at bringing these things about. So you kept moving up in the world, kept gaining accolades you didn’t care for. Maybe someone else would appreciate them more. Maybe someone who wanted them didn’t deserve them. But things that could be don’t matter as much as things that are.

General, they called you. You often wonder if most of them even know your name.

You don’t know if the steps you took lead you here or if this fate is what determined those steps. Maybe it doesn’t matter, considering the destination is the same. But you’d like to imagine there was some choice to it.

The enemy Commander is fury incarnate, slashing through your men like they’re paper. Despite the carnage, you can’t help but admire his strength and grace. There’s something almost hypnotizing about the way he moves, like a dancer.

He’s unarmored. A foolish move, but one you can’t help but admire. Facing death like that is no easy task. He’s a brave man, or a stupid one. Sometimes you think there’s no difference between the two. They live and die just the same.

He easily grows closer, twisting and twirling through the crowd, leaving devastation behind him. You wonder if he knows those men have families they’re leaving behind. You wonder if he cares.

You see no trace of guilt, no hesitation in his swings. For a moment you think you may hear a laugh carried by the wind, one filled with a mania that frightens you. But that cannot be true. No man can take joy in such carnage.

You’re forced to turn your attention away, to clash swords with another man who snuck between your defenses. You may not be stronger than him, but you’re certainly more skilled. You down him quickly, spilling red onto the soil and depriving yet another mother of her son. You stop for only a moment, just one. Just to catch your breath, to remind yourself that you too have a mother waiting for you, a family who would mourn you. It was him or you, you tell yourself, as you always do.

Before you realize it, there is a sword between your ribs.

He is in front of you, menacing and glowing against the vivid orange sky behind him. The sun is setting, obscuring most of him. A shame. You’d love to get a close look at the man who killed you.

You wait for him to retract his blade, to feel the blood start to pour out in earnest. You expect to christen this field with your blood, die with dignity like you were meant to. A warrior’s death is a fine one.

But he doesn’t move.

Instead he leans forward, allowing you to see the sharp cut of his jaw and the cruel twist of his smile.

“I’d kill you this instant if I could.”

Your heart skips a beat at his voice, rough with fury, a deep timbre that rattles you down to your bones.

You look up to see the eyes of your soulmate, a deep and vibrant green, as they glare at you with hatred.

He's beautiful, even more than you imagined.

He wants you dead.

“But you’re needed elsewhere, General. Take care not to bleed out before we get there.”

He doesn’t remove his blade, even as he easily pins your arms behind your back and ties them, even as he carries you as though you were little more than cargo. Trying to stem the flow of blood, you suppose.

You don’t recall most of the ride back. There are horses involved, a carriage or two. Hands poke and prod you, but you can hardly feel them. People speak, but not to you.

You don’t know how long you sleep. You wake up aching, your side burning, your head resting against a cold stone floor. There’s a blanket over you, if you could even call the pathetic scrap of fabric that, and a thin straw mattress under you. You’re behind bars, a zoo animal on display. There’s a tray of moldy bread lying near you. You feel as though there’s acid tearing through your stomach, but you don’t dare to eat.

You try to sit up, but the searing pain quickly tells you that’s a bad idea. You’re trapped here, waiting for whoever or whatever is coming, if anybody is coming at all. Perhaps the Commander simply decided you deserve to rot down here, wanted to deprive you of the warrior's death you deserve.

It feels like hours before you hear the creak of a door somewhere in the distance. You pray that it’s the reaper, come to release you, but you’re not that lucky. Those footsteps march to the beat of war; a soldier is coming for you.

“Good morning, General.” You can’t see him, but you recognize his voice instantly. You can hear his smug grin, the teeth he most definitely has on display.

You open your mouth to answer, but then it strikes you. You haven’t said a word to him.

He doesn’t know.

He’s captured his other half, his destiny, and locked them in a cage, and he’s none the wiser. If he did, would he free you? You doubt it. Disloyal soldiers with weak hearts, those that can be swayed, rarely reach the rank of Commander. Commanders will give their lives to the cause. Why wouldn’t he give yours?

You could tell him anyway. Torture him with it, let him know everything he’s giving up, everything he’s cursed you both to. A lifetime alone for him, one cut woefully short for you.

Or you could…spare him. A small act of mercy. You could carry the burden alone. Would he even have words, if you never spoke to him at all? Maybe he’d simply think he didn’t have a soulmate, live the rest of his life not knowing what he’s lost. Maybe that’s for the best. He can be normal. Happy. And while it’s hard to wish for happiness for a man who wants you dead, it’s quite easy to wish it for the man you’ve been waiting for.

You close your lips, closing your eyes and focusing on nothing but the sound of your own breathing. You can be merciful. You can be kind. Someone has to be.

“What, you’re ignoring me? How disappointing, General. I heard great things about you, I didn’t think you’d do something so childish.” There’s irritation in his tone, but something deeper as well. He’s disquieted by your silence, and he doesn’t know why. Maybe even though the man doesn’t know you, his soul does. It reaches out to yours, begging you to speak, begging you to finish the connection the universe has prepared it for. Your own soul does the same, your heart pounding as words threaten to spill from your lips. Nothing with meaning, just mindless babble, anything to let him know. But you wouldn’t be a soldier if your willpower was so weak. You do not speak.

“You know, General, I really respected you. I saw the way you fought. You cut people down without hesitation.” You wince at that. “But you aren’t cruel about it. That’s important in a warrior. The joy of a fight shouldn’t come from the inevitable death.”

There is no joy in fighting for you. It’s easy not to revel in cruelty when you can hardly stand to hold a blade in your hands after you pull it out of some poor bastard’s chest. You can’t imagine finding anything worthwhile in the heat of battle. You’re only here because of him, a curse put in place by some higher power that’s enjoyed watching you struggle, enjoyed watching you retch and sob after your first kill, the way the light left your eyes the same time it left the body.

You squeeze your eyes shut tighter. Those memories are of no use to you now. You need to find out how to either get out of here or speed up your execution so your suffering isn’t prolonged.

“It’s a shame to watch a worthy opponent die in such a shameful way.” It hurts worse, the way he sounds like he means it. There’s genuine pity in his voice, a sort of kindness his hardened exterior can’t hide. “But orders are orders, I suppose.”

You want to disagree, but the orders that put you in this cell aren’t that different from the ones that put you on the battlefield, and you hate to be a hypocrite. You shift, trying to put less pressure on your broken ribs, but you simply make the pain worse. You can barely bite back a whimper. You hear a sigh behind you, a small sign of defeat.

“Don’t kill yourself before one of us can, General. And try to roll onto your left. You have less bruises on that side.” Those marching steps lead away from your cell, down the hallway and back out into the sunlight you’ll never see again. With great effort, you roll onto your other side to find it is more comfortable that way, or at least less agonizing. You may be able to sleep this way, if you’re lucky.

The Commander doesn’t return before you fall asleep, but a meek little footsoldier brings you sustenance at some point. You hesitate to call the strange foul-smelling broth food, but it’s something. You can’t sit up to eat it yourself, so the poor lad props you up slightly, wincing when you groan.

“Sorry,” he murmurs nervously. “You need to eat.”

“No need to apologize. You’re not the one who stabbed me.” You huff out a laugh, which only makes it hurt worse. He stares at you with widened, fearful eyes, and you’re not sure if he’s scared you’ll hurt him or that you’ll drop dead on the spot. When he brings the mug to your lips with shaking hands, he does so a little too quickly, and you can feel the unpleasant sting of a burned tongue. You don’t bother to pull back or to stop drinking. What’s one more injury?

He only pulls the cup away when it’s entirely empty, before quickly standing and beginning to scurry out. He pauses for a moment once he’s past the bars, safe from the injured beast trapped behind them. “Someone will be back to change your bandages soon.”

“No, they won’t.” They don’t actually intend to keep you alive in here, you know. Sure, you making it to your scheduled execution would be a nice morale boost, but they’re not going to waste resources on treating a prisoner of war.

He doesn’t respond, and you can hear him skittering out of here, away from the stench of your blood and the rotting cot beneath you. It’s too soon to say the place reeks of death, but the stale air is a reminder that it will come soon.

You’re asleep when the next person enters, and you haven’t even had the chance to open your eyes before there are hands on you. You whimper, from the pain and the fear, the exhaustion weighing you down, but a familiar voice gently shushes you. “It’ll be quick, I promise.” The Commander’s hands are callused and rough, but they’re soft against your skin, and pleasantly warm. You manage to crack open your eyes to see his handsome face above you, his good eye narrowed in concentration as he takes in your state. “It’s going to hurt, but you’ll feel better after.”

You can see bandages on the ground next to him, as well as a set of clothes. They seem a bit too big, but it’s certainly better than the bloodied rags they left you with after they stripped you of your armor. He moves with the confidence of someone who has done this hundreds of times before. Was the Commander once a wartime medic, patching up his fellow soldiers? Or was he simply adept at patching up his own wounds?

“This is going to be the worst part,” he murmurs. You feel something cool against your torn skin, a pleasant chill running through you before the burning starts.

You scream.

It’s embarrassing, really, a soldier being reduced to screaming and sobbing simply from a bit of antiseptic. But whatever this is stings much worse than the salves back home, and your wound is much worse than any you’ve suffered before. You feel the burn down to your bones, piercing your marrow and turning it to ash. You’re losing something vital, part of your foundation, threatening to collapse you entirely.

It isn’t until his hand brushes your cheek that you realize you’re sobbing.

“I know,” he whispers. Part of you is furious at the pity in his voice. Another craves it, craves any sort of gentleness or comfort, any distraction from the pain. “It’s awful, it really is. It’ll be over soon, and then we won’t have to worry as much about infection.”

You’re not worried about infection. You’re not worried about making it out of here at all right now. You’d gladly welcome the executioner’s axe, embrace the hangman as though he was your oldest friend. Anything to make it stop. Anything at all.

It feels like hours before the burning subsides, but logically you understand it couldn’t have lasted more than a minute. In that time, you seem to have grabbed his hand, and strangely, he allowed you to. It is only once your whimpers quiet that he removes his fingers from yours and gets to work redressing you. The scratch of the gauze against your exposed muscle and viscera feels like a gentle kiss compared to your earlier suffering. He has to lift you to fully wrap you, his rough hands pressing against your very broken ribs as he unhurriedly pulls your bandages tighter. While he does not rush, he does not linger to revel in your pain.

He pulls the oversized shirt onto you, and the scent of soap envelops you. A welcome distraction from the stale air. It’s a little stiff, the texture a little rough, but you certainly won’t complain. For the first time since you arrived you feel protected, as though they hadn’t stripped you of your armor. A loose pair of pants follows, but the best gift the Commander has given you today is a warm pair of woolen socks. You can finally feel the chill from the stone beneath you begin to fade, a soft warmth beginning to fill you. You don’t know if it’s from the fabric surrounding you or from the gesture, but either way you cannot help the smile that makes its way onto your face, the picture of contentment.

“Feeling better?” His voice is kinder than you expect.

You just barely stop yourself from expressing your gratitude, the pain and subsequent relief blurring your mind and softening your heart. The clarity only comes when you see a small light in his eyes as your mouth opens, an innocent excitement at the idea of hearing your voice. Even though he doesn’t know why he so desperately wants to hear it. You press your lips together, instead giving him a tight small and a nod.

He sighs, his gentle bedside manner dissolving nearly instantly. An enemy remains. “Still not speaking?”

You shake your head softly, giving a small shrug and hissing through your teeth at the sting that follows the movement.

He lets out an offended huff. “You spoke to one of my men.”

You nod.

“But not me?”

Another shake and an apologetic smile.

“I see.” His lips press into a tight line, disapproval radiating off of him. He clearly thinks this is some kind of snub, an act of rebellion. You were never prone to such things, but how could he guess that? You’re a stranger, no matter how tightly you’re linked by fate.

He doesn’t speak again, silently ensuring your bandages aren’t too tight and ensuring the clothes fit as well as they can. You can see him quietly simmering with rage, upset by your apparent rejection, but you can’t feel it in any of his actions. He’s putting it aside for you, even as an ungrateful stranger. There’s a small ache in your chest, a small shred of longing you try to bite down. You had always hoped your soulmate would be kind.

He leaves without a word, only a small grunt that you think is his form of goodbye.

There’s nothing left to do but wait. For tomorrow, for his next visit, for your inevitable end. And so you allow yourself to fall back into a fitful sleep, dreaming of a different life; gentle touches, warm smiles, and the way the sunlight would dance in green hair.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay

#zoro x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #zoro x y/n #zoro x you #one piece zoro #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #x reader #op #one piece angst

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stevieschrodinger · 3 days ago

Text

Part One Ten

“Eddie?”

Eddie wakes up slowly, rubbing his face into the warm material under him, Eddie’s hand coming up without much thought to wipe away the wet drool pooled under his mouth. “What?”

Steve chuckles, and the firm chest under Eddie shakes with it, “it’s morning.”

“What?” Eddie says again, thoughts still slow and sleepy, dragging himself up.

It is light outside, a little daylight making it’s way though the blinds. Eddie can’t remember the last time he slept through the night like that, “I’m going to go let Falkor out in the yard, shower, and then make breakfast, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie just agrees, latching onto the knowledge that he’s got at least twenty minutes to rub one out and get vaguely presentable before he’s got to go eat, the feel of his hard on and the accompanying arousal almost immediately pressing, “make sure you pick up all the shit,” Steve snorts a laugh as he slides out of bed and pads away.

“What are we doing today then Jedi Master?”

“Well, my young padawan-”

Eddie snorts, not at all surprised that Steve’s willing to play along and yet still disgusted and charmed by it in equal measure.

Steve gives him some side eye from where he’s rinsing dishes at the sink.

“I thought we could start by walking Falkor, then some yoga and maybe a little housekeeping on my part. Then you can have a bath and stuff if you like. I wanted to make pesto shakshuka for lunch, and then,” Steve shrugs, “whatever.” He starts drying dishes, putting them away.

Eddie nods, “got a couple of tunes I could work on.”

Steve smiles, like, genuine, but not overdone or anything, “that’s great Eddie. I’ll appease the green owl.”

“Then a movie, maybe? After we’ve walked the dog again, I mean.”

“Sounds like we have a plan for the day.”

“Such a boy scout.”

“I was never a boy scout, but what can I say, failing to plan is planning to fail.”

“Jesus Christ fucking kill me.”

Scenting Steve helps. Pinning Steve appeases Eddie’s Alpha. Eddie hasn’t jerked off this much in years.

Mostly because there’s, up until recently, been someone around to do it for him, but that’s neither here nor there.

He doesn’t have the horrible, half formed, gritty sensation he had through his whole last rut, and even Eddie recognizes how much better this feels than the last one. Much more clear headed, and, as much as he hates to admit it, much more reasonable. He feels so much better, but he’s not willing to admit that it’s anything to do with walking or yoga or eating vegetables.

Steve would just be unbearably fucking smug about it.

Eddie’s started viewing Steve as a big, annoying, fortune cookie. Crack him open and out pops things like, ‘tidy space, tidy mind,’ and ‘you’d be surprised by how much of a positive an effect something as simple good sleep hygiene can have,’ and ‘have a glass of water, dehydration can affect mood and cognitive function.’

Steve is agreeable about reading his notes to Eddie every evening before he sends them to Chris, and honestly, Eddie sounds like a fucking A plus student once he’s been polished through the filter of Steve’s professional linguistic skills.

Eddie knows he isn’t, not even remotely, but, still. Steve’s on side, which is really nice to know, despite how fucking Steve is…Steve about everything.

Which is why it’s kind of upsetting when, at the end of day four of Steve’s imposed routine, Eddie’s rut starts to cool off. It’s still a little long run for a rut, if Eddie’s rut starts on a Tuesday morning, it’s usually done and dusted by Thursday afternoon but. Still. Not that much longer than normal, and Eddie figures that means it’s balancing out.

Steve knows it too, if the way he keeps side eyeing Eddie is anything to go by.

“What?”

“I haven't actually emailed Chris yet today, I could call her, get out of your hair now. You’re pretty much done, right?”

Eddie faces the prospect of going to bed alone for the first time since Steve got here, and he doesn’t like it. Once the band aid was off, Eddie had no issues scenting Steve. Which has led to, and this is extraordinarily irritating, possibly some of the best sleep Eddie has ever gotten. It probably helps that, despite not usually being at all Eddie’s type, Steve is almost offensively good looking.

And the pectoral pillows are, just, well. Eddie’s more comfortable with company when he sleeps, he guesses. Having the warm lump that is Steve within easy reach has been...nice. Especially compared to the hospital. And his lonely little room at the center. Chrissy made sure that rock star status did not allow Eddie a single spec of preferential treatment when he was drying out.

Not so much as letting him have a tab at the commissary. Eddie couldn’t talk his way out of a single room search, no matter what he offered to sign or whose selfie he offered to pose in. Not that he had anything to hide, but the invasiveness of having his room tossed always made him feel itchy as fuck.

“Maybe, I mean, it’s still a little, like, you know?” Eddie hasn’t had trouble telling people what he wants since he had a number one track, but he knows making demands of Steve will almost, definitely, result in the opposite occurring. He’s got to rely on Steve being the perfect blend of contrary asshole and bleeding fucking heart, “I mean, actually, you know what yeah, you go. Fuck off. Be nice to have the place to myself again. Since it’s actually my house, and everything,” Eddie lets his voice shake a tiny bit, right at the end there, even as he lifts his chin and crosses his arms stubbornly across his chest.

Steve can be a tricky fucker, conning Eddie into scenting and yoga and hidden fucking vegetables, but Eddie’s no slouch.

Steve stares at him for what feels like a long time over the top of his laptop, “I’ll email her that this is the last night then. I’ll go tomorrow sometime, it’s late anyway, I probably shouldn’t leave tonight. If that’s okay.”

Eddie lets his head flop back on the couch cushion so that Steve can’t see his face, “fucking, just, whatever then,” he aims for disgruntled, and he thinks he nails it.

Eddie sighs, blinking at the shadowed blinds that cover his bedroom windows. He resists the urge to nuzzle into Steve’s tee shirt covered pec, then almost the moment he stops himself, his brain does it anyway, operating on autopilot.

Eddie sighs again.

“Can’t sleep?” Steve whispers in the dark, his hand coming up to gently rest on the small of Eddie’s back.

“What’s the suggestion doc? Meditation? Glass of water? Counting sheep? Organize everything in the fridge by expiration-”

Steve snorts a laugh, “it makes it easier to see what to prioritize. Less food waste.”

“Uh hu,” Eddie yawns, “starving kids in Africa would kill for that half a jar of pickle.”

“Probably.”

They lie quiet again, Steve’s hand wandering, dragging the material of Eddie’s vest. Eddie thinks vaguely about what kissing Steve might be like. Soft and pathetic Eddie guesses. Gentle, romantic. Steve probably only kisses people he really cares about, and it probably shows. Minty fresh and soppy and definitely everything Eddie hates.

He shuts that down.

“Tell me about being a boy scout, that shit will put me straight to sleep.”

“Pretty sure I already told you I was never a scout.”

“And I’m pretty sure you’re lying.”

“I don’t lie.”

“Uh hu, that’s exactly something a boy scout would say.”

“My integrity is very important to me.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, “of course it is. What do you do when you can’t sleep?”

Steve hums, thoughtful, “well, you didn’t sound too keen on mediation, so that’s out. So, read, sometimes, I guess.”

“Cop out,” Eddie says, even as he rolls away. He hasn’t read anything for a long time, can’t, truthfully, remember the last time he picked up a book. Eddie was a voracious reader when he was young, and it’s one of the habits that got replaced with...far worse habits. He suddenly misses it. Misses it viscerally. Something that he hasn’t had any interest in at all for...a long time, and at the mere mention of it, it feels like it’s coming back and making demands.

He pads down the hall in the dark; all the scrappy paperback books got banished from Eddie’s bedroom when he did the great redecoration. Probably shouldn’t have done all that when he was fucking high though.

He doesn’t know what he wants to read really, nothing heavy, not this late at night, but then The Gunslinger is staring him right in the face from the dead center of the shelf and Eddie thinks, fuck it, why not?

If Steve is annoyed when he leans over to flick the light on, he doesn’t show it at all. Doesn’t seem even slightly put out by having his sleep delayed, “what you got?”

“The Gunslinger. King.”

“Oh yeah, Dustin likes those, keeps telling me I should read them.”

“You should, they’re the best.”

“You start then.”

“Huh?” Eddie gets settled again on his back, leaning into the crook of Steve’s arm, “start what?”

“You read a bit, then I’ll read a bit, if you want?”

“I…” Eddie wants to protest, because this is dumb, and he doesn’t understand why Steve is showing any interest in it, not really. But he finds himself unable to articulate why it’s dumb, and he knows Steve is always ready to tell him he’s wrong if he points out that Steve doesn’t care, not really. He gives in instead. “The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed...”

Falkor’s in the car, big pink tongue hanging out of his mouth, his head sticking out of the passenger side window of Steve’s car. Eddie vaguely wonders if Falkor is actually going to ride shotgun.

Steve’s got a dinky car; Eddie could buy him a new one.

Steve would fucking hate that, he’d probably donate it to charity or something.

“Okay, pretty sure I’ve got everything.”

“Right, yeah,” Eddie steps back in through his open front door, watching as Steve puts down his bags to pull his jacket out of the little boot room thing that Eddie was informed all rich people houses have.

“Yeah, so I’ve updated Chrissy, pretty sure she’ll be here later. Look after yourself, Eddie.”

“What, because you won’t be here to do it?” It’s meant to be snarky. It is snarky. It’s snarky for all the wrong reasons.

Steve grins though, huffing an almost laugh, “something like that.”

He shuffles through the door, negotiating his very sensible duffle bags, “you sure you got all the dogs stuff?”

“Pretty sure,” Steve shrugs, “but if I don’t that’s Dustin’s problem.”

They stand for a second then, staring at each other, “enjoy the ren fair,” Eddie says, just to drag it out a second longer before he’s alone again.

“Oh yeah! I’m sure I will.”

“You can, uhm, tell me all about it, maybe?” Eddie sticks his hands in his hoodie pockets to avoid fiddling. Steve might not be back. They both know they might never see each other again, that’s pretty much the reality here. Eddie’s rut was okay. He’s been out and dry for...well, few months now. He has a therapist.

He’s kind of doing okay.

“Sure,” Steve answers kindly. Or just...politely, which Eddie doesn’t really like. He much prefers the idea that Steve likes him, even though Eddie’s an asshole.

Maybe Steve likes people who are absolute dick heads to him.

The words are out before Eddie can really give them permission to go, “maybe we could get coffee?”

“Sure thing, Eddie,” Steve says, leaving with a smile and a nod. The smile was Steve’s bullshit professional one, and the words sounded kind of sad. Steve leaving suddenly feels kind of abrupt. Oddly...unfinished.

Eddie senses that he’s just fucked up, but he can’t...he can’t pin down why, because he’s not sure how.

He watches Steve’s little car trundle down the drive.

Chrissy crashes through the kitchen, slapping her bag down on the counter top, “Edward Munson what did you do?”

“What?” Eddie puts his guitar down, half climbing out of the lawn chair, ready to flee off the end of the deck if necessary, “what did I do?”

“Steve just emailed.”

“Right?” Eddie ignores the little twist of feeling in his chest.

“He said that he’s really thankful for the opportunity and really liked his time here, but, regretfully, he isn’t available to support you any longer.” Chris has her arms crossed over her chest, one foot tapping, and Eddie suspects he’s two minutes from having his blood sprayed across the lawn, “so why would that be?”

“I-I mean I don’t know?” Genuinely bewildered and doing his best to ignore just how sharp the hurt is.

“You don’t know?” Eddie’s heard the expression ‘thunderous’ before, and he’s pretty sure it applies now. Right to Chrissy’s face.

“Eddie, how can you not know? You must have done something. I told you not to push his boundaries okay, I told you this is not a sex thing, I told you he is a professional-!”

“Oh,” Eddie deflates. He puts his guitar fully to one side, flopping back in the chair.

“You know what you did?”

Eddie shrugs, “maybe. I mean. I didn’t think it was bad I just-” the warm squirming in Eddie’s chest is desperately unpleasant. The crawling embarrassment. The hurt. Eddie blinks a little too fast, trying to get rid of the sudden wetness accumulating on his lashes, “I didn’t mean it to be bad.”

“Oh honey,” Chrissy seems to turn on a fucking dime, she sits, taking the seat next to Eddie, “what happened?”

“I, uhm,” Eddie can’t even look at her, he’s so mortified, “I asked him out. For coffee. Steve probably saw that as like...encroaching on his professional boundaries or whatever. Not within the framework of his contractual employment. Fraternizing with the paying customers-”

“Eddie,” Chrissy quietly interrupts Eddie’s rambling, touching his arm gently, “why? I thought you didn’t like Steve?”

Eddie shrugs, angrily dashing away the one tear that’s broken free. He’s crying because he’s embarrassed and angry at himself, and now he’s crying he’s even more embarrassed and angry at himself because this is just so stupid-

“Oh. Oh honey that’s okay. I mean...Steve probably gets it all the time, I mean he does spend people’s ruts and heats and stuff with them. That’s probably...confusing for a lot of people.”

“I’m not confused,” Eddie protests quietly, looking across the lawn so he doesn’t have to see Chrissy’s pity face.

“Okay, sure,” Chrissy agrees way too fast. She doesn’t believe him at all. But then, she doesn’t know Steve, not like Eddie does, so she wouldn’t get it.

Eddie gets up, running away from whatever bull shit mess he’s created.

He’s never going to see Steve again.

Twelve

#steddie #pre steddie #rock star eddie munson #drug abuse #alcohlism #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #ficlet #chrissy cunningham #eddie and chrissy #alpha eddie munson #beta steve harrington

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tenderyouth · 2 days ago

Text

GOOD ENEMY ✶ zayne x reader

word count: 5.3k

tags: med school au ✶ no evol ✶ afab reader ✶ friends to academic rivals to lovers ✶ sub!zayne ✶ oral sex ✶ very light bondage ✶ unprotected intercourse

a/n: i am insane about zayne hence 2k words of them just making out (lord forgive me). english isn’t my first language. no beta. comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! ✶

Your hands turned damp after clicking the refresh button on your computer. The exam results are supposed to be out today and you were sure that this time you’re taking the crown. You studied so hard for this, you really did. Countless nights spent reading and taking notes, the inhumane amount of coffee you’ve digested, all of this led to this point. You needed to get a hundred. You knew you would. It’s not like you had any real competition – well, you had, but Zayne told you he’s not even going to study that hard, after all this class isn’t even related to his major. When you asked him why he took it, he said it’d be a great distraction from his actually important studies. You laughed at that, but you knew that this is how Zayne always was. He always told you the truth. That’s why you were best friends. You could always trust him. He was always there for you, even when he had his own share of troubles.

You knew each other for a long time, even before university. You were friends since you could remember yourself. Every day you went to the same school, ate lunch together, went back home and sometimes you went to each other's houses to play. Zayne was two years older than you, and you were immensely grateful that he was kind enough to help you with school work despite being busy with his own classes. He never did any assignments for you, but he was there to explain the material and help with the homework if you felt stuck and helpless.

After he left for university, you missed him a lot. But he was still kind enough to text you every now and then, and you called each other on the weekend to catch up. He told you about all the crazy things that happened in clinicals and you couldn’t feel more proud of him. He was really determined to graduate with honors and work as a doctor, and you knew that it’s only a matter of time before it happens.

You also dreamed of working with people, healing and helping those who are in need. It’s something you really wanted to do, but you couldn’t hold yourself back from doubting and rethinking everything. Could you really do it? Are you really cut for this job? What if you’re not smart enough?

“Hey, are you still here?” Zayne’s voice cut through the speaker, catching you off guard.

“Yeah! What were you saying?” You chuckled into the phone, realizing that once again your worries got the best of you.

“You were not listening. What are you thinking about?”

“It’s nothing. I just miss you, that’s all!” You unashamedly lied, hoping that Zayne would let it go.

“No. You’re thinking about something and you won’t tell me. Why?” Zayne’s voice was as stern as ever. He didn’t want to come off as rude but in truth, he hated the fact that he couldn’t be beside you right now. He could feel something bringing you down, but he couldn’t reach you. He felt helpless and he hated it, hated not being able to control the situation. He knew he could make it all better, but you were so far away and you were not letting him help you.

Zayne couldn’t remember the last time he truly felt angry at you. In fact, he had probably never felt this way. He felt disappointed, mostly in himself, that he couldn’t be there when you needed him, even if you’d never admit it.

“Zayne, it’s nothing. I’m just… I was thinking.” You couldn’t argue with him when he was speaking to you in that tone. You knew he wouldn’t back down, and you didn’t want to end the conversation on a sour note.

“About what?”

“About my future. I want to help people. I want to be important. I want to be useful. I’m scared I won’t make it.” You admitted. You could hear Zayne taking a deep breath.

“Is that all?”

“Yes? You want me to have more reasons to suffer?” You questioned, not understanding what he was trying to say.

“No,” you could hear Zayne smiling, “I don’t want you to suffer. I want you to be brave. You don't need to bear this burden alone. If you decide to go to Skyhaven and study here, I will be able to help you. You won’t fail.”

Zayne’s reassuring words spread through your heart like a warm wave. He’s right, you had never failed when he was beside you. Even if you didn’t trust yourself, you trusted him. You knew he won’t let you down. And just like that, you decided the course of the next few years of your life.

You clicked the refresh button once again. It wasn’t loading and the nerves got the best of you. Your eyes relentlessly monitored the small spinning circle at the top of the web page, as if you were trying to enchant it to load faster. Surprisingly enough, it worked. The page finished loading. You scanned through the list to find your name, and your heart twitched when you saw the score: 96. It’s… good. It’s just 4 points away from a hundred. Besides, everyone else seemed to have less points than you – 87, 86, 73, even 65. You relaxed into your chair, finally feeling peaceful. You’ve worked so hard and it paid off. You glanced at the screen once again, just double checking that you really did that. Your finger swiped across the touchpad, ready to close the browser, when it accidentally scrolled down to reveal one last student in the list – Zayne Li, with a score of 100.

Lunch felt like a chore. You weren’t even that hungry, but you needed to nurture yourself so you could finish some last minute assignments tonight. You thought of running away to the dorms and getting some take out instead of going to the school cafeteria – you really weren’t in the mood to see or talk to anyone. Especially not Zayne, who was already sitting down at the table and reading something on his phone.

You sank into the seat next to him, loudly placing your tray on the table. Zayne didn’t lift his eyes, but he still acknowledged your presence with a small “hey”.

“Hi, Zayne.” You grumpily replied and averted your attention to your food.

“What happened?” Zayne stopped reading. He knew something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

“You! You happened!” To your surprise, you yelled back at him. “How did you get a hundred?! You told me you weren’t going to study! A hundred!!!”

Zayne looked dumbfounded. What were you talking about? Why did it even matter?

“I apologize,” he stopped mid sentence to clear his throat, “but what exactly are you talking about?”

Your face froze. He didn’t even know what you’re talking about. He just aced an exam that was the determining factor in your studies, and he didn’t even know that. The worst part was that he didn’t even care. It was a class he took for fun. You worked your ass off to nail it, and yet Zayne still managed to find a way to beat you. Your mind speed ran through all 5 stages of grief in the course of 10 seconds.

“Zayne. You’re fucking unbelievable.” Your voice came out flat. “It feels like you’re doing this on purpose.”

“I guarantee you I’m not.” Zayne suddenly felt bad. It really wasn’t his goal. He didn’t want to upset you, it was never his intention. Maybe he got carried away when he helped you study for the exam, and that’s why he got a high score. All he wanted to do was to help you. And maybe have an excuse to spend more time with you. After all, you both were too busy to see each other casually. So he had to take whatever he could, and if it meant getting into a class that has nothing to do with his major, he’d gladly accept it. “Let’s meet at 7 in your room. We can go over your answers and see what you got wrong.”

“I hate this so much…” your quiet mumble still reached Zayne’s ears. “You better help me or I’ll never forgive you.”

“I will. Now eat. You only have 15 minutes before your next class.” Zayne returned to reading, leaving you alone with a bunch of nameless emotions and clashing thoughts inside your head.

You wanted to hate him. He was so perfect, in every sense of the word. He was smart, he was kind, he was so observant. He always made you feel important. He was too good. Too great at everything. Even now, when you were exploding with anger, he quietly accepted it and gave an offer of help and kindness in return. He was so perfect. You wanted to hate him. You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. So you wordlessly agreed to whatever he had proposed.

By the time of your afternoon study session, you had managed to calm yourself and actually pay attention to the material in front of you. Zayne diligently reviewed your answers and circled some of them. He asked you a few questions, guiding your thought process in the right direction when he noticed you were getting stuck. Every time you gave a correct answer, he smiled at you, telling you that you got it right. After he had finished questioning you, he handed you the paper with his notes.

“You fixed all of your mistakes on your own. These are the 4 questions you got wrong.” His fingers circled a few lines on the paper as he spoke. Your eyes widened. How did that happen? Maybe you weren’t paying enough attention when you were taking the exam? How did you get it wrong the first time? You actually did study well, and you knew your ABCs?

“Zayne, how did you do that?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did!” You almost jumped out of your seat. “How did you get me to solve it?”

“I simply asked you some questions. It was you who gave all the correct answers.” Zayne watched you with a faint smile as you stared at the paper in front of you.

“So I did get all of it right!” You turned to look at him. “We’re even! I got a 100 as well!”

Zayne chuckled at your excited expression. “No. You got a 96. But you did a good job nevertheless. A 96 is more than enough.”

“But I fixed all of my mistakes,” you suddenly felt angry all over again. “Come on, Zayne, let me have my moment!”

“Sorry. Beat you fair and square. But you put up a good fight.” Zayne patted his own knees as he leaned against the back of his chair.

You truly couldn’t believe him. You knew he was determined and precise. But so were you. He wouldn’t back down that easily. And luckily for you, two could play this game.

So before you could stop yourself, you climbed on his lap and crashed your mouth against his. Zayne let out a surprised yelp that drowned into your kiss, his hands gripping chair’s arm rests, as he was about to fall. You broke the kiss and stared into his eyes.

“God, you make me so angry!”

Zayne didn’t even stand a chance to speak before your lips smashed into his once again. His small gulps were silenced by your intense motions. His entire body froze from the initial shock of your fierce action.

You were breathless, anger still plummeting through your veins. “Always acting like you’re better than me!” You whispered through your teeth, “I can’t stand it anymore. You will let me have my victory. I will make you.”

Zayne couldn’t think straight. His heartbeat was uneven, mind obscured by the way you were talking to him. He had never seen you act this way before. And weirdly enough, he found himself enjoying being at your mercy. His hands left the armrests and found their place on your arms, slowly creeping up your biceps until they reached your shoulders.

His grip grew stronger, slender fingers burying into your shoulder like razors. It felt good, too good — the way his soft lips clumsily moved against yours compared to his sharp grip on your body. You felt yourself slipping away, getting overwhelmed from feeling all at once. You had to anchor yourself, so you did the first thing you could think of. Your incisors tugged the supple flesh of Zayne’s lips. His body tensed up underneath yours instantly, his shoulder raised up to his ears, biceps twitching as his hand flew away from your body. It wasn’t a harsh bite, just a small reminder of the current situation, and yet it elicited such a response that you couldn’t help yourself from moaning into his mouth, pulling yet another hiss out of Zayne’s throat.

You pulled away from his face just enough to admire the way he looked — messy hair, knitted eyebrows, squinted eyes, fluttering eyelids and parted mouth, glistening from your little maneuver.

“You liked that?” You breathed against his face, eyes boring into his as you watched him come to his senses.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” His reply was barely audible compared to his rapid and noisy breathing.

Zayne finally opened his eyes and looked up at you, as if he was waiting for something more. He didn’t know what to do with himself now, everything felt too much — the walls were closing in and the ceiling was too low, your taste was ripping through his body like electricity, the heat radiating off your body felt like a sunburn. He didn’t trust himself anymore, not when the only thing on his mind was the way your rear end was pressed against his lap.

He looked so enchanting, you thought to yourself — the usual composure and stiffness wiped away from his gorgeous face.

“Not so cocky anymore, are you?” Your palm softly cupped his cheek, thumb running across his lower lip. Zayne’s eyes immediately closed, as yet another whine escaped his mouth. You felt bewitched watching him fall apart by your touch, his tender reddened lips and shaky voice amplifying your vile desire to make him submit and completely succumb to you.

“No…” His voice trembled as his hand placed atop yours, “Just please… Kiss me more. Please.”

And who were you to deny such a sweet, gentle request?

Your mouth captured his lips once again. Your mind was blank, your chest was full of unannounced emotions and uncontrollable craving to get more of this, more of him. And subtle sobs that were occasionally flowing out of Zayne’s lips didn’t help you much.

Zayne was convinced he was losing any remaining bits of sanity, how could he not? How could he battle to stay in control when your wet heat was spreading around his face, kissing, biting, licking and sucking out tattered remnants of his dignity? His face was twisted in undisguised pleasure, as his mind raced, returning again and again to the same question: at what point is it too late to keep holding on? Maybe the only way out of this is letting go?

And that’s what he did.

Zayne’s hands desperately gripped your body. He moved raggedly, like he was feverish. He couldn’t think straight, not when your warm body was so soft underneath his fingertips. His hands were scattered all over the place, and you couldn’t help but giggle into the kiss.

“You are so eager!” You teased him, as your hand glided down his chest and delicately tugged at his tie.

Zayne couldn’t think of anything. All of his senses were flooded with you — your taste, your smell, your voice, your warmth, your touch. He felt like he’s going to melt. At least it felt like his brain already did melt, and the only thing he could say back was a choked out plea.

“Please… Please. Please. I…” his voice drowned out in a hiss when your hips grinded against his, eyes shutting and head spinning as he tried to regain composure to speak. “I need… I need you. Please.”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. Seeing your dear friend, your biggest rival, spread out like that, begging to be touched? It messed with your head in a way that couldn’t be replicated by anything else. Lust eclipsed your mind and before you could think, your hands were already untying Zayne’s black tie and slipping it past his neck. Your fingers lightly tapped on his wrist that was laid on your hip, and he immediately lifted it, giving it to you without hesitation. You brought his hand up to your chest, rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. Zayne’s eyes darted to your cleavage as he watched you placing his hand on the swell of your breast. His gaze was intense, yet he looked so perplexed, like he didn’t know what to do. You tried your best to drown a chuckle, before patting his head with your other hand.

“It’s okay, Zayne. Don’t be shy to –” a loud yell echoed from the depth of your throat as Zayne didn’t even consider giving you a chance to finish whatever you were going to say. His hands mushed your breasts and his mouth was all over your clavicle, adorning it with wet kisses and teeth marks.

Between the kisses, you could barely hear Zayne babbling something into your skin, but your heartbeat got too loud that the small sound of his voice was not recognizable anymore. His heat spread across your chest to your shoulders as he pushed your shirt out of the way to suck and nibble on the flesh of your deltoids. His mouth was moving quickly, roughly trying to memorize every curve and millimeter of your body. You truly did enjoy his undivided attention, how good he was for you, how hard he was working to please you. It felt good, too good. You were feeling like you’re getting sucked into a black hole, the point of return slowly slipping away from your grasp. You needed to take action before it consumed you whole.

“Ah-ah-ah,” you separated your body from Zayne’s mouth, and he unashamedly whined at the loss of contact. “You’ve had your fun. Now let me have mine.”

Your hands slid up and down his arms, his black tie still clutched in your palm. As you played with his fingers, your other hand came to pull both of his wrists together, placing his tie around them. You fastened the tie, making sure the knot is secure enough and the fabric isn’t too tight and rough against his skin. Happy with the result, you looked up at him and felt a fresh wave of arousal pulsing through your lower body. Zayne was staring at you, pupils dilated, you could barely see his irises; eyes almost blacked out. He wasn’t saying anything, but the way his face glowed in pure bliss told you everything you wanted to hear. So you did exactly that — unzipped his slacks in one swift motion, palming his prominent bulge that twitched under your touch.

“What are you doing?” Zayne’s voice trembled as he watched you pull down the front part of his underwear, setting his member free from the confines of tight fabric.

His abrupt question stopped you dead in your tracks. Does he not want to continue? Does he regret allowing this to happen? Your eyes snapped back at him, scared to see his reaction.

“Do you want to stop?” Your whisper was loud enough for him to catch. Zayne didn’t reply right away. You could see the gears turning inside his head, as he was trying to say something back, but his mouth betrayed him.

Suddenly, you felt so small under his gaze. You were so foolish to let yourself indulge in this, to feed into your delusion. Who told you it was okay to make such a bold move on your best friend? Why would you let yourself act upon your deluded dreams? And it is too late now, isn’t it? Considering that you’re literally sitting on Zayne’s lap, his midsection is completely exposed, and your hand is inches away from touching his obviously aroused intimate part?

“No. I don’t… I don’t want to stop. I don’t ever want to stop. Just please… Be gentle with me.” Zayne finally breathed out. He felt like an eternity had passed before he could finally find the courage to say something. He noticed your stumped expression, and it almost looked like a wave of regret washed over your beautiful features, making your lips tremble softly. He couldn’t have that happen, not now. Not when he finally had the opportunity to have exactly what he had wanted and dreamed about countless times.

“Please, don’t stop. Take me.” Zayne’s words pierced your eardrums like a spear, and you let out a shaky breath that you didn’t even know you were holding.

You placed your hand on his hip, while the other hand carefully touched his length, fingers curling around it and squeezing it before recalibrating your hand a bit upwards, so your fingertips are placed on its head. A sigh of relief slipped past Zayne’s lips when he felt your fingers playing with the tip, thumb pressed shut against his slit, covering itself in precum. Your thumb moved down, slowly spreading wetness all over the surface of his tip, eliciting more deep breaths out of Zayne.

“You’re doing so good,” you hummed, “being such a good boy for me.” Your praise went straight to his cock, as you watched it twitch in your hand. You couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction. Truthfully, Zayne has always been good for you. He’d always helped you with whatever you asked, been there when you needed him. He has been your biggest friend and supporter since you can remember yourself. He has always put you first. It has always been you, before anything and anyone else. Suddenly, you felt so silly for letting yourself be angry at him for something so trivial as a school test. It dawned on you, how unfair you were to him. Deep down you knew he didn’t take your words seriously, but the realization of it still left a bleeding mark on your heart. You needed to make it up to him. He deserved to know how wonderful he is.

“Zayne, let me take care of you. You’ll allow me, right?” Your soft gaze met his face. You looked smitten, cheeks tinged with a warm hue, eyes framed with crinkles as you smiled at him.

“Yes. Please take care of me.” Zayne’s response ringed in your ears as you captured his lips in one last kiss before climbing down from his lap and settling on your knees between his legs.

Your hands trembled with excitement. You couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. You licked your lips before scooting closer to Zayne’s lap. You could feel your heart pounding, heartbeat muffling outside sounds like your head was in a noise canceling helmet. Your lips left a tender kiss on his abdomen, an inch apart from his cock that twitched in negligence.

Your mouth finally captured his tip, lips holding it in place as your tongue lapped at his slit in a slow, benign manner. Zayne’s tied hands clenched into fists, as his hips stuttered and a groan slipped away from the depth of his chest.

God, he was driving you crazy.

Your mouth stretched wide as you began taking him deeper, tongue pressed flat against the underside of his cock. Moving your head up and down, trying to fit him whole, you couldn’t stop yourself even if you wanted to. Your judgement was clouded with raw desire, the only thing on your mind is that you need, no, you must make him come. One second he was deep inside, his tip pressing into the uvula; the next second his shaft was in your hands, your tongue kitten licking precum away.

Zayne felt delirious. He wasn’t a virgin, he had some fun a few times before. It was good, he wasn’t complaining. But nothing felt even remotely the same. He never thought he could feel so much at the same time. Unknown emotions were swirling inside his chest like a storm, pulling his heart apart. It felt good, it felt wonderful, it delighted him, it hurt him, it made him feel like he’s going to pass out, it overwhelmed, it dimmed his vision, it filled his mind with euphoria, and he still needed more. He was so greedy, so unapologetically eager to take, take, take and beg for more. And for once in his life he knew that no matter what he asks for, he will receive it.

Zayne’s restricted hand barely reached your hair, tugging it up so you could face him. You stopped for a second to admire him. He looked divine, so wrecked and fucked out, lips glistening with your saliva, forehead covered in a thin layer of sweat. You couldn’t tear your eyes apart from him, the image of this Zayne will be forever ingrained into your mind. He was so gorgeous, so pliant under your touch.

“Please, let me have you. I– I need you so bad.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his gentle request. “You can have me, Zayne. I’m yours.” You replied before you could stop yourself.

Zayne’s eyes glistened with something you couldn’t put a name to. He didn’t say anything back, but you could feel the weight of his gaze as he looked at you when you said those words.

“Come here, then.” Zayne patted his thigh a few times and you almost moaned at the gesture. He was truly driving you insane.

You got back up on your feet and hurriedly slipped off your underwear. You froze for a second, not knowing where to put the little garment that will serve no use for the next few minutes. Zayne noticed your hesitation, and with a small chuckle he reached forward to take crumpled panties out of your hand.

“Here. It’s done.” His tied up hands awkwardly put the small piece of fabric into his shirt’s breast pocket. “Now come to me. And please,” he brought his arms forward, trying to stretch his wrists apart. “untie me.”

“Yeah.” You giggled as you released his hands, and before you could say anything else, his palms were on your hips, gripping it so intensely that there will be marks tomorrow for sure.

Zayne didn’t waste any time. He sat you on his lap once again while his hands were roaming your lower half, caressing your thighs, ass, squeezing your flesh like it was dough. His mouth was on yours, messily kissing and biting your lips; teeth clashing, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t be bothered to be careful, he had to have you. He needed you. One hand lifted your hips, the other hand lined up his cock to your entrance. His eyes darted up at you before pushing in, as if he was looking for some kind of confirmation. You sighed softly and leaned to his ear, leaving a small kiss on his earlobe.

“Zayne, please…” your murmur sent a shockwave through his entire body, and with a broken moan he pushed his hips upward. Your mouth fell open, a sharp breath leaving your lungs. Zayne’s hands gripped your hips harshly, lowering your body onto his cock. His mind was a blank canvas, and your body was a central piece. He needed to picture it, needed to transfer your shape onto the fabric of his imagination so he could never forget how heavenly you looked unraveling on his length.

His hands helped navigate your hips, fucking you up and down halfway, before you whined into his ear. “Zayne, please… I need you deeper.”

How could he reject such a sweet plea?

In one fluid motion, he pushed you down entirely. Your shocked gasp sent shivers down his spine, and he knew he was doing something right when he felt your walls squeezing around his length. His hands found home on your lower back as you rocked up and down, trying so hard not to fall apart right there. You couldn’t speak, just moaned every time you felt him stretching you out, making you feel like you’re levitating. He felt so good, you thought to yourself. You could get used to this. You didn’t ever want to stop touching, feeling him, loving him. You needed him, every cell in your body yearned to be loved and claimed by his touch. Everything felt like it’s too much and not enough at the same time. You felt yourself getting closer, barely registering the way Zayne’s mouth found your hardened nipple and sucked on it.

“Zayne, I… I can’t! I– I’m gonna!” You could feel yourself shaking, legs giving out as your clit throbbed. And as if Zayne was reading your mind, his hand came down to relentlessly rub on your bud, giving you no chance to stop yourself from falling apart.

Your vision blurred, nails gripping into his skin like blades. Your hips stopped moving, but Zayne wasn’t happy with that. He clutched your hips in a death grip and started bouncing you up and down his cock, prolonging your pleasure to the point where you cried out loud from overstimulation.

“Ah, please! Zayne, please!” Your cries fell on deaf ears as Zayne never stopped fucking into you, chasing his own high with a vicious desire. His movement was relentless, drunk off the feeling of your warm wetness spreading around his lap with each thrust. He felt like he was going to explode any second, but he just couldn’t get enough of you; his body betraying his mind as he continued devouring your lips in hungry kisses.

“I’m close,” Zayne rasped against your cheek. “Where do you want me?”

Your mind was racing, you couldn’t think of anything. You gathered all the strength that was left in your body and slid off his body, almost tripping and falling to your knees in front of him. Zayne watched you with wide eyes, his hand coming down to jerk off his throbbing cock. He gaped at you as his hand was working up and down his shaft, mouth opened, letting out a suffocated moan as his release spilled out all over his thighs and your chest.

Zayne’s head dropped forward, damp hair slowly unsticking from his forehead. He was still panting, his hands placed on top of his knees, trying to regain composure. Your hands were neatly wrapped around his calves, fingers carefully massaging his muscles. None of you spoke. Both of you wanted to stay in this moment for as long as you’d allow each other.

He was the first one to break the silence. Zayne looked at you and smiled before speaking.

“I should clean you up.” He reached for the tissue box on your table, took a few pieces out and started stroking away the mess that he made. You reached for the box as well, stealing a few tissues to deal with the wet patches on his pants.

“Thank you.” Your voice came out small, and you almost laughed at how weirdly it sounded. “For studying with me. And for putting up with my bullshit.”

Zayne’s face started to hurt from smiling. He tapped on your shoulders, silently asking you to get up from the floor. When you were finally at his eyes level, he took your hands into his and interlaced your fingers.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” He whispered against the back of your hand before pressing a kiss against your knuckles.

“We’re even now?” You beamed at him, heart fluttering at the sight of your hands locked together.

"We are. More than that."

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #zayne #lads zayne #zayne smut #zayne x reader #zayne x you #m.scribbles #↬ c: text #⤅ f: lads #↱ ch: zayne

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