#I know he’s not gonna talk like that (maybe??)

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Hoodie Thief | psh 🔞

pairing: roommate!sunghoon x reader

You weren’t sure when it became a habit—stealing Park Sunghoon’s hoodies. Maybe it was the night you came home late from a party, heels in one hand and a headache blooming behind your eyes, and he tossed you his oversized black one without even looking up from his laptop. Or maybe it was because they always smelled faintly of cinnamon and clean laundry, like comfort itself.

Whatever the reason, you were wearing one again. This time it was gray, soft, and swallowed you whole. Sunghoon was seated on the living room floor, laptop open, knees drawn up, glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he squinted at some code on the screen.

“You know,” he said, voice casual but laced with amusement, “at this point, I’m not even sure which hoodies are mine anymore.”

You sank onto the couch beside him, tugging the sleeve over your hand. “Well, technically, they’re community property now. Roommate rules.”

“That so?” he asked, glancing up at you over the rim of his glasses. His eyes lingered on your frame, his gaze unhurried as it dropped to the hoodie you wore. “Looks better on you anyway.”

You tried not to grin, but your cheeks betrayed you. “Flattery, Park?”

“Observation,” he replied smoothly, returning to his screen.

The teasing between you two had always been like this slow, drawn-out, never quite tipping over the edge. He’d brush past you in the kitchen, hand resting on your lower back just a second too long. You’d find excuses to fix his crooked tie when he got ready for class presentations, fingers grazing his collarbone just because. The tension was a thread stretched taut but never snapped.

You leaned in slightly, your knee pressing lightly against his. “You know what would really seal the roommate bond?”

He raised a brow, not looking up. “What’s that?”

“You letting me keep this one,” you said, tugging at the hoodie like it was a prize.

Sunghoon’s lips curved into a smirk, subtle and dangerous. He closed his laptop slowly, setting it aside.

“That depends,” he said, voice low, “on what I get in return.”

Your breath caught, but your smile didn’t falter. “Oh? You charging a fee now?”

He shifted just a little closer, the space between your knees gone. “Just thinking… maybe you owe me dinner. Or..” his eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up “a study session. You, me, one of my hoodies, and absolutely no distractions.”

You huffed a laugh. “Sounds like a trap.”

“Maybe.” He leaned in a fraction. “But I think you’d look good in all of them. Might as well make it official.”

Your fingers played with the drawstring of the hoodie, heartbeat ticking just a little faster.

“We’re still talking about clothes, right?”

He gave you a look. “Sure.”

But neither of you moved. The line was still there drawn faintly in the space between your breaths, in the ghost of his smile. And maybe it would stay there a while longer.

Maybe not.

-

You had one rule living with Sunghoon: do not thirst after your roommate.

It was a rule you followed diligently. Mostly. Despite the flirty banter and hoodie theft, you’d never crossed that line—because he never gave you the chance to. He was always in those oversized hoodies and loose sweats, glasses low on his nose, hair constantly ruffled like he just rolled out of bed (which, annoyingly, made him even hotter). His appeal was subtle—nerdy, quiet, maddeningly soft.

So nothing could’ve prepared you for what you walked in on that Wednesday afternoon.

You pushed open the apartment door mid-call, rambling into your phone, “I swear if he left his ramen bowls in the sink again, I’m gonna—”

And then you stopped.

Dead in your tracks.

Sunghoon was in the living room. Not in a hoodie. Not in any sort of baggy fabric, actually. Instead, he was standing in front of the open window, sipping water from a bottle, wearing a black tank top that hugged his toned chest and grey sweatpants that did dangerous things to your attention span.

He looked over when he heard you, and the way his biceps flexed slightly as he twisted the cap back on the bottle had you gripping your phone like a lifeline.

“Oh. Hey,” he said casually, like he wasn’t currently breaking the internet. “You’re home early.”

You blinked. Your phone beeped. You’d accidentally hung up.

“I—yeah.” You were proud you even managed words. “I… am.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow as he walked over, towel slung around his neck. He was glistening slightly—post-workout, apparently—and his hair was a little damp.

“I was just finishing a quick workout. Didn’t think you’d be back for another hour,” he said, stepping past you to grab something from the kitchen. “You okay?”

“Yep,” you squeaked, eyes very much not okay as they followed the flex of his back muscles beneath the thin tank top.

He looked like a completely different person. Still nerdy. Still Sunghoon. Just… cursed with forearms now.

You finally tore your gaze away and flopped onto the couch like your soul had left your body. “I’m fine. Totally normal. Regular day. You just—uh—changed your outfit game without warning.”

He smirked as he opened the fridge. “What, the hoodie empire falling apart for you?”

“I just wasn’t expecting…” You gestured vaguely in his direction, cheeks heating. “That.”

Sunghoon leaned against the counter and quirked a brow. “You mean the tank top? Didn’t know it would have such an effect.”

You glared. “It doesn’t.”

He crossed the room slowly, stopping right in front of you. “Your face is red.”

“I’m warm.”

He bent down slightly, his face hovering closer to yours. “You want me to go change back into a hoodie?”

You swallowed. Your hands were very much not behaving, already fisting the hem of his tank like they had a mind of their own. You weren’t even sure when you’d stood up. His scent—clean sweat, citrus, and something entirely him—was clouding your judgment.

“Don’t,” you said quietly, fingers still clutching his shirt.

He looked down at where you were touching him, then back up at you, his voice lower. “You sure?”

That line—the one you two danced around for months—was right there. So close. So fragile.

You looked up at him, heart racing. “No. But I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to cross it.”

His eyes flickered to your lips, then your hand. And when he leaned in just slightly, the heat between you burned bright and slow, like something inevitable finally unraveling.

-

Since the tank top incident, something changed.

No, scratch that—Sunghoon changed.

The very next day, he emerged from his room wearing another fitted black tee. Not a hoodie. Not even a crewneck. It clung to his chest just enough to make you pause mid-bite of your cereal, spoon hovering in the air like gravity forgot to exist.

You thought it might be a one-time thing, but the days kept coming—and so did the outfits. Sunghoon in slim joggers, Sunghoon in soft, clingy tees that rolled up just slightly at the arms, Sunghoon walking around the kitchen post-shower with a towel slung around his shoulders and that same tank top clinging to his skin like it had no shame.

He was weaponizing himself. There was no other explanation.

And worse? He knew.

“Laundry day?” you asked innocently one morning, nodding toward the fitted navy tee he wore as he poured coffee into two mugs.

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, setting a mug in front of you. “Nope. Just thought I’d mix it up. You don’t mind, do you?”

You took the mug and muttered, “Not even a little bit.”

He chuckled, brushing past you to grab something from the fridge, his hand grazing your waist in that way he did sometimes—just long enough to leave sparks behind.

It kept happening. His touches were still subtle—always plausible, never overt—but now they lingered. His hand on your back as you reached for a mug. Fingers brushing yours when you both reached for the remote. His knee pressed against yours on the couch and never moving away.

And you? You were slowly unraveling.

That Sunday night, it nearly broke you.

You came out of your room, sleepy and disoriented, in search of water. The apartment was dim, quiet, save for the soft hum of music from the living room.

And there he was.

Sunghoon, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, wearing a white tank top and black sweatpants, hair slightly damp, fingers tapping lazily on his laptop.

You paused in the doorway like some unprepared victim in a slow-burn romcom.

He looked up and saw you. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Mmhm,” you managed, forcing your legs to move. You grabbed a glass of water, hoping the cold would slap some sense back into you.

“C’mere,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “Why?”

He patted the floor beside him. “Just sit. You look like you’re one hoodie away from losing it.”

You hesitated, then walked over and lowered yourself beside him. Close enough that your thighs touched. Of course.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” you muttered.

He didn’t look away from his screen. “Doing what?”

“This.” You gestured at him with a wave of your hand. “The… arms. The fitted shirts. The lack of hoodies. I’m barely hanging on here, and you’re out here being a thirst trap with glasses.”

Sunghoon let out a soft laugh—quiet, amused. He finally looked at you, and his eyes were dangerous in the low light.

“You’re the one who kept stealing my hoodies,” he murmured, voice low and full of teasing. “I figured I’d give you something else to lose your mind over.”

You stared at him. “So you admit it.”

“Oh, I knew exactly what I was doing.”

Your heart was in your throat now, pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “And now?”

He tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking to your lips. “Still doing it.”

You should’ve kissed him. Should’ve dragged him down onto the floor and ruined the tension once and for all. But instead, you just exhaled, shaky, and leaned your head against his shoulder.

He didn’t move. Just let you rest there, warm and solid.

And the line between you both?

Still unbroken. But trembling.

-

You decided it was time for revenge.

If Park Sunghoon was going to spend his days parading around in tank tops and fitted clothes like he didn’t know what he was doing to your sanity, then fine. Two could play this game.

So that’s how you found yourself in the living room on Saturday morning, casually stretching on the yoga mat in the center of the room—wearing nothing but one of his hoodies (slightly cropped from how you’d tucked it up) and tight Calvin Klein bike shorts that hugged you like a second skin.

You didn’t acknowledge his presence at first. Just stretched with exaggerated slowness, arms over your head as the hoodie rose—high enough to show off the sliver of your waist and the underside of your chest with every movement.

You knew he was watching. He was always up by now, usually making his precious pour-over coffee in the kitchen. And sure enough, you heard it—the shift of the kettle, the sudden clatter of a spoon, and then silence.

You smirked to yourself as you leaned forward in a deep stretch, back arching just slightly, your position giving him a full view of your curves.

“Didn’t know you were up,” you said sweetly, still not turning around.

“I—I wasn’t,” came his voice from behind you. Rough. Caught off guard. Like he’d swallowed air wrong. “I mean—I just woke up.”

You slowly straightened, finally glancing over your shoulder.

“Oh?” you blinked innocently, lips curling. “Hope I didn’t distract you.”

Sunghoon was standing by the counter, coffee mug forgotten in his hand, his gaze locked on you like you were an equation he couldn’t solve.

His hoodie on you was driving him insane—you could see it in the way his jaw ticked, in the way his eyes trailed down to your exposed waist and back up with a slow drag.

“New shorts?” he asked, voice notably lower.

You stretched your arms above your head again, feigning a yawn. “Mmhm. Comfortable, right?”

“They look…” He cleared his throat. “Tight.”

You smiled. “Flattering, you mean?”

He stepped closer, slowly, like his body was moving without permission.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” he murmured.

You turned fully to face him now, still sitting on your knees, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. “I’m just stretching, Sunghoon.”

He stared at you, and something flickered in his eyes—like he was this close to crossing that line you’d both danced around for months.

Then he leaned down, just slightly, meeting your gaze head-on.

“If I lose my mind,” he whispered, “just know it’s your fault.”

You tilted your head, heart thundering in your chest. “Who says you haven’t already?”

The tension was electric, heavy in the space between your lips.

But then, like always, it hovered. Close enough to taste—but not enough to break.

Not yet

Sunghoon exhaled, straightened, and turned back to his coffee like nothing happened.

And you?

You grinned, wicked and satisfied.

Game on.

-

It was late. Past midnight. The kind of quiet that only happened when the city slept and the apartment dimmed into that safe cocoon of shadows and soft hums.

You hadn’t meant to test fate tonight. You were just thirsty, literally. Woke up parched and wandered into the kitchen half-asleep, wearing one of Sunghoon’s zip-up hoodies. No shorts. No bra. Just that oversized hoodie zipped halfway, loose and dangerously low from tossing and turning in bed.

You were barefoot. Hair messy. Eyes squinting at the fridge light as you grabbed a bottle of water and twisted the cap off.

You didn’t notice him at first.

But he noticed you.

Sunghoon stood frozen by the hallway, bathed in low light, eyes glued to you like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. And maybe he couldn’t. Because the zipper of his hoodie had slipped just a little lower—low enough to reveal the swell of your bare chest, the delicate dip of your waist, your skin glowing under the fridge’s light like you were meant to be seen in that moment.

You turned, bottle at your lips, and jumped when you saw him.

“Shit—you scared me,” you laughed softly, not thinking, not realizing what you looked like yet.

But Sunghoon didn’t laugh.

He just stared.

His voice came low. Tense.

“You’re not wearing anything under that, are you?”

You blinked. Finally glanced down.

Oh.

Oh.

Your heart skipped. “I—I wasn’t thinking. I just came out for water, I didn’t think anyone was—”

He stepped closer.

Each step slow. Controlled. Like he was trying to hold something back and losing the battle by the second.

“You’ve been teasing me for months,” he said, voice rough, his eyes never leaving yours. “Wearing my hoodies. Stealing my space. Touching me like you know I want more.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening on the bottle. “Sunghoon—”

“You come out here,” he went on, “dressed like that… at midnight… looking like that—and you still expect me to stay quiet?”

You stepped back instinctively, but you hit the counter.

He kept walking.

Now he was right in front of you, towering, chest rising and falling fast. One hand braced against the counter beside your waist, the other hovering just an inch from the zipper hanging so precariously low on your chest.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

“I think I do now,” you whispered, breath shallow.

His fingers finally touched the zipper. Tugged it just enough for your breath to hitch. Not fully unzipping—just a threat. Just a taste of the danger you’d both tiptoed around for too long.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice barely more than a growl.

But you didn’t.

You tilted your chin, met his gaze, and whispered, “Don’t you dare.”

That was it.

The line you drew? Gone.

He crashed into you like the tension had been a match waiting for a spark—hands gripping your waist, mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was months in the making. Hot. Desperate. Hungry.

And you kissed him back like you’d been holding your breath for this exact moment.

The hoodie slipped.

The water bottle hit the floor.

And Sunghoon?

Sunghoon finally stopped pretending.

Your back hit the kitchen counter with a soft thud, the cool surface contrasting the fire suddenly burning under your skin.

Sunghoon’s hands were on your waist, sliding under the hoodie like he’d been dying to touch you. His mouth was still on yours, tongue teasing, devouring every gasp and moan that spilled from your lips like he needed them to breathe.

And then—he pulled back just a little.

His eyes dropped to the hoodie, to the way it barely clung to your shoulders, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath it. His fingers caught the zipper again, this time pulling it all the way down.

The fabric parted.

His breath hitched.

“No bra,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice husky and ragged.

You watched the way his eyes darkened—like something snapped completely inside him.

He dipped his head instantly, lips ghosting down your throat. “You’re so unfair,” he groaned, mouth brushing your collarbone. “You know I have a thing for boobs.”

You gasped out a breathy laugh, hand tangling in his hair. “I didn’t, actually.”

“Well,” he murmured, kissing down the swell of your chest, “you do now.”

And then his mouth was there—hot and open and obsessed, worshipping every inch he could reach. His hands cupped you, thumbs brushing gently, then firmly, then teasing—his lips trailing lazy, wet kisses across your skin like he’d been starved and this was his first meal.

You moaned, soft and high, hips shifting against the counter as he sucked lightly at a sensitive spot. His fingers gripped your thighs, dragging you closer, so your knees spread around his hips and you were fully pinned, fully his.

“God, Sunghoon,” you whispered, breathless.

He looked up at you from your chest, eyes blown wide, lips red and swollen.

“You don’t get it,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “I’ve been dying to do this since the first time you walked out of your room in my clothes. You were always just... there, tempting me, touching me, looking at me like that.”

You swallowed hard, your hands now sliding under his shirt, tracing the hard lines of his torso. “Then why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because I didn’t want to cross the line,” he said, kissing you again—deep, slow, possessive. “But baby… you broke it first.”

His lips were back on your chest before you could respond, sucking and kissing like he was making up for lost time, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every sound you made. The hoodie slipped off your shoulders entirely now, pooling behind you on the counter.

And he made no move to stop.

Not when your head fell back.

Not when your thighs tightened around his waist.

Not when you whimpered his name, and he groaned like it was the only thing he wanted to hear for the rest of his life.

Sunghoon’s mouth was obsessed—hungry, slow, and dangerously focused.

He pressed open-mouthed kisses across your chest, dragging his tongue deliberately over the soft swell of your breast before closing his lips around your nipple. He groaned at the contact, deep and guttural, like he’d finally gotten the one thing he’d been fantasizing about for months.

“Fuck, I knew they’d feel this good,” he muttered between kisses, hand splaying over your waist to keep you close. “I think about them way too much.”

You gasped, arching your back as his tongue flicked and swirled, switching sides with a low, satisfied sound. His hand moved to cup your other breast, thumb brushing over the peak, and when he sucked again—harder this time—you nearly lost it.

“S-Sunghoon—”

“I’m not stopping,” he mumbled against your skin. “Not when you look like this… sound like that.”

He licked back up the valley between your breasts, teeth grazing lightly. “You wore this hoodie knowing I’d see you, didn’t you?”

You didn’t answer—couldn’t, not when his mouth was doing sinful things to you.

He chuckled darkly. “No bra. Just this. Like you wanted me to snap.”

And then, without warning, his hands were under your thighs—lifting you off the counter like you weighed nothing.

You gasped and instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, hoodie falling completely off in the motion. His grip tightened under you, fingers digging into your skin as he walked you down the hall, kissing your neck, your jaw, your collarbone with reckless affection.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered against your ear. “No more teasing. No more pretending.”

He kicked the bedroom door open with his foot, not bothering to turn on the lights, letting the soft glow from the hallway bathe you both in shadow.

The second your back hit the bed, he was over you again—pressing hot kisses down your chest, your ribs, your stomach.

Your hands were in his hair, tugging, anchoring yourself as his lips found your breast again, sucking harder this time. His hips rolled against yours with just enough friction to make you whimper his name.

“I love these,” he murmured like a confession, voice low and rough as he licked across your nipple. “I could spend hoursright here.”

You arched under him, heat pooling deep in your core. “Then do it,” you whispered, eyes wild and breathless.

He looked up at you through his lashes, smirk tugging at the corner of his kiss-swollen lips.

“Say less.”

And he did.

He kissed his way down, took his time, made sure every inch of you knew just how badly he’d wanted this. Every flick of his tongue, every bite, every graze of his teeth was slow and sinful and filled with months of held-back tension that was now unraveling between the sheets.

Your breaths turned to moans.

Moans to gasps.

And gasps into pleas.

By the time he finally stripped you bare and joined you in the sheets, it wasn’t just about want—it was about need. About all the nights you brushed hands in the kitchen, the mornings you wore his hoodies, the way his eyes always lingered just a second too long.

He took his time, but when he moved inside you for the first time, slow and deep, both of you lost all words—just soft curses, broken kisses, and the kind of moans that only came from finally, finally giving in.

And still, even in the heat of it all—his hands found their way back to your chest, mouth pressing against your skin like he was claiming it.

“Mine,” he breathed against your skin. “All fucking mine.”

The sheets were tangled around your legs, your skin warm and slick, heart still racing from the first time. You lay there in the dark, chest rising and falling fast, trying to catch your breath—trying to process what just happened.

But Sunghoon… he didn’t move much.

He hovered just above you, gaze roaming over your flushed face, your swollen lips, your body stretched beneath him like a dream. His hand was on your waist, thumb brushing slow circles into your skin, but his eyes kept dipping back down to your chest—still heaving, glistening faintly with sweat.

“You okay?” he asked softly, a slight rasp in his voice.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Very okay.”

He smiled, just a little, but it didn’t reach his eyes—not because he wasn’t happy, but because the look on his face said something else entirely:

He wasn’t done.

Not even close.

His fingers slid up your waist, brushing between the valley of your breasts before he leaned down again, placing a kiss just above your sternum.

You sighed softly, running your fingers through his hair.

“I told you,” he murmured, mouth trailing down again. “I’m not over these.”

He kissed one breast, then the other—soft, slow, reverent.

“You’ve already had your fun,” you teased, voice low.

He looked up at you, eyes dark. “Yeah. Once. That’s not enough.”

Before you could respond, he wrapped his lips around your nipple again, sucking gently—then deeper, hungrier—until your back arched right off the bed and a soft cry slipped from your mouth.

Your thighs instinctively pressed together.

He smirked against your skin.

“Still sensitive?” he asked, fingers ghosting down your hips.

You barely managed a nod. “Yes. But also… don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

His hand slipped between your legs, fingers teasing, already finding you wet again—still soaked for him. He groaned low in his throat.

“Fuck. You’re unreal.”

You whimpered when his fingers dipped inside you, slow and precise, the pads of them curling just right while his mouth stayed fixed on your chest—licking, sucking, marking you.

You were already unraveling again, body twitching under his touch.

“Sunghoon,” you gasped, hips lifting to meet every movement. “Please—”

He kissed up to your neck, whispering against your ear. “You want me again?”

“God, yes.”

He kissed your jaw. “Then get on top.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I want to see you,” he murmured. “Wanna see those pretty tits bounce while I’m inside you.”

Your breath caught. You scrambled to climb over him, straddling his waist, your hands braced against his chest as he looked up at you like you were a fucking goddess.

His hands slid up your thighs, settling at your hips before he guided you down slowly—inch by inch—until he was fully inside you again.

The both of you gasped.

You rocked your hips once—experimentally—and his head fell back against the pillows, jaw clenched.

“Just like that,” he groaned. “Keep going. Fuck, ride me, baby.”

You did.

You moved with him, chasing that dizzy, desperate high all over again, and he watched everything—his hands never leaving your waist or your breasts, gripping and teasing and obsessing the way he had since the very start.

Every time your hips met his, you felt yourself melt further—into the heat, into the rhythm, into him.

And when you came again, clenched around him with a cry of his name, he followed soon after—hands gripping your ass, thrusting up deep one last time as he spilled into you with a shudder and a curse.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you shaking, breathless, spent.

His arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you tight, still inside you, still warm and pulsing and wrecked.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

But when you finally looked up at him, messy hair in your face, cheeks flushed—

He just smirked and whispered, “Still stealing my hoodies after this?”

You smiled, slow and sweet. “Every single one.”

Your legs still trembled, curled over his hips, when Sunghoon gently kissed your temple.

“You did so good,” he murmured into your hair, voice worn raw and honey-sweet. “But I think you need a bath, baby.”

You groaned something incoherent against his shoulder. “I need new legs.”

He chuckled, low and breathless, then slid his arms under you again. Without warning, he stood—effortlessly lifting you bridal-style, your bare body pressed against his chest, the hoodie still tangled somewhere in the sheets.

“Sunghoon—” you squeaked.

“Shh,” he whispered, kissing your forehead as he padded toward the bathroom. “I’ve got you.”

The bathroom lights were dim—just the warm ambient glow of the under-counter lighting—and the air was already humid by the time he knelt by the tub, one arm still keeping you close while the other twisted the knobs.

Warm water started to fill the space, steam curling up like the start of something sacred.

He set you on the edge of the tub gently and leaned over to pour in something from a bottle—lavender and vanilla, by the smell—and you just sat there watching him, dazed and still pulsing between your legs.

Sunghoon looked up at you from under his lashes, hair messy and lips swollen. “You okay?”

You nodded, still breathless. “You’re… ridiculous.”

He smirked. “You’ve said that twice now.”

“I mean it more this time.”

When the tub was full, he helped you in first, easing your body into the water, then slid in behind you, pulling you back against his chest. His hands roamed lazily—down your arms, around your waist, fingers playing just beneath the surface.

And then his lips pressed to your shoulder.

You tilted your head slightly. “You’re not gonna let me relax, are you?”

He nipped gently at your neck. “I was trying to. You’re the one pressing that pretty ass against me.”

You grinned, hips shifting just enough to hear him hiss.

“Okay,” he growled, arms tightening around your waist. “That’s it.”

He turned you gently in the water until you were facing him, your thighs straddling his lap again beneath the surface. The heat of the water mixed with the slow burn returning in your gut. His chest glistened, wet and warm under your hands.

You dragged your palms up his torso slowly, admiring the cut of his collarbone, the sharp lines of his pecs. Then, without warning, you leaned down and pressed your lips just above his heart.

Sunghoon inhaled sharply.

Your teeth grazed him lightly, followed by your tongue, and then your mouth again—sucking just hard enough to leave a mark.

He groaned, head falling back against the edge of the tub. “Fuck.”

You licked across the red blotch, then moved a few inches over and did it again. His fingers gripped your hips beneath the water now, holding you in place, twitching slightly with every kiss you left on his chest.

“You like when I mark you up, don’t you?” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “You have no idea how hot that is.”

You kissed lower, right over his sternum. “Wanna be covered in them?”

His breath hitched. “Only if I get to return the favor.”

You looked up at him through your lashes, eyes wicked. “Then you better sit still.”

You kept going—slow, open-mouthed kisses that turned into suckling marks across his chest, down the dip of his abs, making sure every moan he gave you echoed off the tiled walls.

And when you finally shifted your hips and sank down onto him again—warm, wet, slick from water and need—he nearly lost it.

“God, you feel even tighter like this,” he groaned, head falling forward, forehead resting against yours.

Water sloshed over the sides of the tub as you rode him again—slow this time, deliberately teasing, your hands braced on his shoulders as you whispered sinful little things into his ear and left even more hickeys along his collarbones.

You were in no rush.

You both dragged it out—bodies tangled under the water, teeth grazing skin, low moans bouncing off the foggy mirrors—until he gripped your ass and came with a deep, guttural sound, burying his face into your shoulder.

You followed with a soft gasp, body trembling for the third time, mouth pressed to his neck as your nails dug into his back.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

You just sat there, still connected, chests rising and falling together, bathwater lukewarm and covered in steam.

Then Sunghoon kissed your cheek and whispered, hoarse and completely blissed out, “You’re never getting this hoodie back.”

The water had cooled enough to make you both shiver a little. Sunghoon noticed first, of course. He always did.

“Okay,” he murmured against your temple. “Up you go, pretty girl.”

You were barely responsive, dazed and boneless in his lap, but you let out a tiny hum as he helped you stand, the water cascading down both your bodies.

He stepped out after you and grabbed one of the oversized towels from the rack. Without a word, he wrapped it around your body from behind, tucking the edges carefully under your arms before pulling you into his chest, your back flush against his warmth.

You felt his lips press to your shoulder, featherlight.

“I should probably dry you off,” he said softly. “But I just wanna hold you for a minute.”

You melted into him instantly, eyes fluttering closed, head resting against his collarbone. “Mmm. You smell good.”

He laughed under his breath. “You smell like me. That’s my body wash.”

“And your hoodie.”

“Exactly. You’re basically mine now.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his eyes. “Basically?”

His grip on your waist tightened, just enough to make you feel it.

“Unless you’ve got a reason not to be,” he said, voice low, sincere.

You didn’t answer him right away—not with words. You turned around in his arms and wrapped your own around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Not frantic this time. Just soft and warm and unhurried, your lips moving with his like they already belonged there.

When you finally pulled back, you whispered, “No reason.”

That made him smile—wide and genuine. “Good.”

He reached for another towel and gently ran it over your legs, your arms, drying you with care. When he reached your chest, he hesitated—smirked—and kissed the bruised skin reverently before patting it dry.

“Still my favorite part,” he mumbled.

“Such a menace.”

Once you were dry, he carried you—again—to the bed, laying you down gently. He tugged on a soft sleep shirt and boxers for himself, then rummaged around until he found a clean hoodie.

He paused.

“You wanna wear this?” he asked, holding it up.

You sat up on your elbows. “Thought you said I wasn’t getting your hoodies anymore.”

“I lied. You can have all of them.”

He pulled it over your head, helping you into it like you were made of glass, then kissed your forehead before climbing in beside you and tugging you against his chest.

It was quiet for a while, the kind of silence that felt full instead of empty.

His fingers traced slow lines down your spine beneath the hoodie. “You tired?”

You nodded, mumbling into his neck. “A little.”

“Wanna sleep?”

You shrugged. “Kind of.”

He shifted slightly, his thigh slipping between yours, his hand settling low on your waist—dangerously close to temptation again.

You tilted your head and whispered, “Sunghoon?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way…”

He tensed a little, worried. “What?”

You grinned sleepily. “But I’m definitely stealing another hoodie tomorrow.”

He laughed, pulling you in closer until your leg was hooked around his hip and your bodies pressed flush again.

“I’ll just take my revenge in the morning,” he murmured against your skin.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Round four, babe. You better stretch.”

You woke up to the feel of warmth—heavy, solid, draped entirely around you.

Sunghoon’s chest was pressed to your back, one arm tucked under your neck like a pillow, the other curled tightly around your waist. His hoodie was oversized on you, but your bare legs were tangled with his beneath the sheets, and you were acutely aware of something hard nudging against the curve of your ass.

You blinked slowly, a lazy smile tugging at your lips.

“Sunghoon,” you murmured sleepily.

He groaned low in his throat, face buried in your hair. “Mmnn?”

“Are you…?”

Another sleepy shift. The thick press of him grinding instinctively against your backside made your breath hitch. You froze, and he stilled too.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice hoarse with sleep. “Sorry—morning wood. Can’t help it.”

You smirked. “I’m not exactly complaining.”

He laughed quietly, but you felt his hips rock against you again, slower this time, deliberate. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

His lips brushed the back of your neck. “You’re evil. You know that, right?”

You rolled your hips just slightly, teasing, letting the hem of his hoodie ride up your thighs as you pressed back into him.

“Me?” you whispered, feigning innocence. “I’m just trying to get comfortable.”

Sunghoon growled softly and rolled you onto your back, slipping between your legs in one fluid motion. The bulge in his boxers pressed right against your center now, only the thin fabric separating you.

“You’re really gonna keep playing in my hoodie, no panties,” he said, eyes dark with hunger, “and act like you didn’t know what you were doing?”

You looked up at him through heavy lashes, lips parted. “I just like how it smells.”

His jaw clenched, and the way his hips bucked forward told you everything.

“Yeah?” he rasped, leaning in close, lips brushing yours. “You like how I smell?”

You nodded, one hand slipping beneath the hem of the hoodie to palm at his lower abs. “You smell like sex. Like me.”

His breath hitched.

You slid your fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers, wrapping around him slowly. He was hot, hard, twitching against your palm.

“Baby…” he warned.

But you stroked him gently, thumb brushing his tip.

“Come on,” you whispered. “Since you’re already awake…”

He didn’t need any more convincing.

With one hand, he pulled his boxers down just enough. The other hand slid your hoodie up to your waist, revealing the soaked mess between your thighs.

“Look at you,” he muttered, eyes fixated. “Wet already, just from waking up next to me.”

You smirked. “You’re not exactly subtle with that thing pressed against me all night.”

He pressed the head of his cock to your entrance, slowly easing in. You both gasped—your body already welcoming him, warm and wet and soft around him.

His hands slid under your thighs, pushing them up, pressing your knees to your chest so he could sink deeper. The stretch was dizzying.

“Fuck, baby—” he whispered, biting his lip. “You feel unreal like this.”

Your nails scraped at his back, your head falling back against the pillows as he rocked into you with lazy, morning hunger. Deep, slow strokes. No rush. Just the steady rhythm of his body pushing into yours, skin slapping softly, lips finding each other in between gasps.

“You always gonna wake me up like this?” he asked, voice ragged.

You grinned, tugging him closer. “Only if you keep wearing those boxers.”

His laugh turned into a groan as he thrust harder, lips brushing your cheek, your jaw, your mouth again—his hips relentless now, chasing that high you both knew was coming quick.

You moaned into his neck, legs wrapping around his waist.

And when you came—again—Sunghoon held you through it, kissing you like he couldn’t get enough, like you were still wearing his hoodie and nothing else for the rest of his life.

Because maybe you would.

You sat across from him at the little breakfast table, legs tucked under you, hoodie still slipping off one shoulder. Sunghoon had his fork in his hand, but his eyes were not—absolutely not—on the eggs.

They were on you.

Specifically, the way his hoodie dipped low across your chest every time you leaned forward to take a bite.

You bit into your toast slowly, watching his gaze drop. Again.

And then smirked. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t even try to deny it. “You’re teasing.”

You feigned innocence, licking a crumb off your lower lip. “I’m just eating breakfast.”

He tilted his head, squinting at you. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

You leaned forward on your elbows just a little more—enough that the neckline of the hoodie dipped a few extra inches, revealing the bare curve underneath.

“What, this?” you said, blinking up at him sweetly. “The hoodie rides low. Not my fault.”

Sunghoon visibly swallowed, dropping his fork. “Babe…”

You tilted your head. “What?”

“You’re gonna kill me.”

You pretended to think. “Or maybe I’m just making it fair. You parade around in that tank top for two days and I can’t even exist in a hoodie without you getting handsy.”

He groaned. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“You’ve got your boobs out.”

You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. “I do not—they’re just slightly visible.”

“Slightly? I can see half the damn thing.”

You giggled and reached for your coffee, watching him glare at the mug like it personally offended him by hiding your cleavage.

“You really have a thing for them, huh?” you teased.

He didn’t even blink. “I admitted that last night. Several times.”

You raised a brow. “And during the bath.”

He smirked, leaning back in his chair with a lazy grin. “And yet I still haven’t gotten enough.”

You licked your spoon slowly. “Poor baby.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

He pushed his plate aside, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he stood up and walked over to your side of the table.

You blinked up at him, all feigned innocence again. “What are you doing?”

He leaned down, both hands on the arms of your chair, trapping you.

“Letting you know,” he whispered, eyes dropping to the neckline of your hoodie again, “that if you keep teasing me like this, you’re not gonna finish that coffee.”

You raised your chin. “Bold of you to assume I wanted to.”

He huffed out a laugh, biting his lip. “You’re evil.”

You tugged on the front of the hoodie, dipping the zipper just a little lower. “And you’re obsessed.”

“Completely.”

Then he dipped down, and for a second you thought he was going to kiss you again—but instead, he buried his face between your boobs, groaning dramatically like a man who’d gone to heaven and back.

“Unbelievable,” you said, laughing breathlessly.

“Your fault,” he mumbled against your chest.

“You’re literally addicted.”

“I’d cancel all my meetings for this.”

You rolled your eyes, running your fingers through his hair. “One day, you’re gonna have to learn to behave.”

He tilted his head back just enough to smirk up at you, still nestled between your boobs.

“And one day,” he murmured, “you’re gonna have to accept that I never will.”

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12

[lascvitae]

❀ ༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ LIKE A FEVER

♯┆ you’re the coach’s daughter & karina is the skater who falls for you anyway. you were never hers to keep, but she loves you.

pairing. ice skater!karina x coach’s daughter!reader genre. friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending (thank faith bc yall almost didn’t get it), slow burn (kinda), mutual pining, forbidden love warning(s). cursing, cheating, kissing (making out), reader is in a failing relationship, this is a yearnfest man, coach is mean af, brief argument, suppressed emotions (karina my shayla 😔)

word count: 11k (this seems to be my limit chat)

“the more i hurt, the more i want you.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ katty ᥫ᭡: guysss when i tell you i sobbed while writing this like three times... (is an easy crier) but thanks for 600!!! (also i made a spotify playlist if you would like to listen while you read)

masterlist.

three weeks before regionals. 

the rink is quiet this late at night.

you never even really plan to check on her. not really. you just happen to walk by the glass doors on most nights. most of the lights are off except for the spotlights above the center, casting shadows over the ice.

and there she was.

karina. 

she was alone. as always.

the two of you weren’t very close, but you had conversations here and there. she was the type of person that focused on her passion more than anything else. it was admirable, really. 

her movements were so sharp and precise. she was so clean it looked effortless. but you knew better. you knew the amount of hours she’s poured into every jump and every spin. you’ve heard the way your dad talks about her. 

“she’s got the skill. but i need her to stop feeling so much.” he said once. 

but you like it. the way she skates like there’s something breaking inside of her. that’s where the real beauty is.

you don’t reveal yourself at first. you just stand by the edge of the rink and pulled your coat tighter around your shoulders. the cold seeped in fast but you didn’t mind. not when you were watching her.

karina doesn’t notice you. or maybe she does and chooses not to look. she was always like that, distant but aware.

you wait until she finishes her routine, skates slowing to a stop in the center of the rink. she bends at the waist, catching her breath with hands on her knees.

that’s when you call out in a soft voice. 

“your landing on the last combo was perfect.”

she was startled, head whipping toward the sound with wide eyes. her mouth parted like she was gonna say something, but then she just straightens and skates toward you quietly.

“i didn’t know anyone was here.” she says.

you hold up the water bottle in your hand. “i didn’t think you would still be here. but… i figured you forgot to bring this. again.”

she slows to a stop right in front of you, carving tiny shapes in the ice with her blades. you hand her the water bottle, fingertips brushing yours for a second.

“you always bring me water.” she mumbled.

“you never ask me not to.”

karina looks at you. there’s a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead. she stares quietly, face never leaving yours.

“i guess i like when you worry about me.” she says after a moment. and then she smiles.

you don’t say anything back. you can’t.

you end up sitting beside her on the bench near the edge of the rink. she unlaced her skates slowly, water bottle sitting between you.

“i didn’t mean to interrupt. you looked… kinda lost in it.” you say after a while.

karina glances up at you and tugs one skate off with a small grunt. “i always get like that when i’m alone. it’s easier to pretend that no one’s watching.”

“but someone always is.”

she freezes for a second and then her lips curl into a smile, an almost amused one. “yeah. like you.”

i’m not— i didn’t mean—”

“i don’t mind. i like when it’s you.” she cut in while shrugging.

you don’t know what to say to that, so you pretend to focus on something else. her shoulder was just barely brushing yours.

karina sighs. “coach is gonna kill me for staying this late.”

“he doesn’t have to know.” you laughed.

“is that the coach’s daughter helping me break the rules?” she turns to you with one brow raised.

“i won’t tell if you don’t.” you reply. 

then there’s a pause. a long one.

then she speaks. “you’re always here.”

“so are you.”

“i have to be.”

“you don’t. not at this hour.” you argue.

karina looks down at her hands. “he says that i need more reps on my loop. and i can’t land it clean if i don’t fix my axis. so…”

she doesn’t finish the sentence. and you feel as if she doesn’t need to.

the silence returns. then, you carefully pull a pair of hand warmers out of your coat pocket.

you hold them out without saying a word.

“you… brought these?”

“i figured you would forget those too.”

she doesn’t take them right away. she stares at them then back at you. and when she finally reaches out, her fingers brush yours again. except slower this time.

“thanks. for thinking of me.” she says softly. 

“someone has to.” you shrug, trying to play it off.

she gives you a quiet laugh. then she leans back on the bench, shoulder still pressed to yours with her hand warmers resting in her lap.

neither of you say much after that.

the silence is comfortable. she hasn’t moved for a while now. her legs were stretched out and her fingers were curled around the hand warmers you gave her. you think maybe she’s falling asleep sitting up. or just enjoying your presence. 

either way, you don’t say anything. 

but then your phone buzzes.

twice. three times.

karina jumps before you even check it, like the sound snapped something inside of her. she doesn’t say anything, but her body moves away from yours. 

you glance down. a name lights up your screen.

your boyfriend.

you forgot he said that he would call. you forgot about him entirely for a second. 

that realization makes your stomach turn.

“sorry. didn’t mean to—“ you mumble, silencing it.

“it’s fine.” she was back to the cold version of her you know from practice days.

she stands before you can stop her, pulling her skates back on. the laces are uneven and she doesn’t even fix them.

“you don’t have to go.” you say stupidly, as if it’ll make her stay.

but she’s already halfway to the ice again.

“i should run the routine again. i’m still shaky on the loop.” she calls out from over her shoulder.

you stay on the bench and watch as she glides back toward the center of the rink, phone buzzing again in your hand. the music doesn’t play. she doesn’t need it.

she jumps before she’s ready. the landing is clean but you can tell.

she wasn’t skating to practice.  she was skating to forget you.

───────────────────────

the next day, somehow the rink feels colder.

maybe it’s the hour. or the way that karina doesn’t look at you when you walk in with your father. or it’s the silence that feels too heavy in between your steps.

she’s already on the ice when you arrive, pacing through her warm up jumps with clean movements. it was like last night never happened.

you sit off to the side as your dad steps onto the ice with his clipboard in hand. 

“all right. start from the top. don’t drop your left arm on the entry again.” he calls, already stern. karina doesn’t reply. just nods once, jaw set. she adjusts her gloves and glides into position without a word.

the music starts.

you watch as she moves like she’s made for this. every jump makes her look as if she’s gliding. she doesn’t miss a beat.

but you see it. the way her chest rises too fast in between movements and the way way she hides the pain in her arm.

your father doesn’t.

“again. you were two seconds late on the last transition. don’t let the emotion get ahead of your technique.” he says the moment the final note fades.

she doesn’t argue. she just bows her head and skates back to the start.

you don’t say anything.

another run through. another correction. another sentence with barely contained frustration in your father’s voice as karina pushes herself harder, and faster. her blade slipped slightly on a landing and she hits the ice with a thud.

you flinch. but he doesn’t move.

“get up. you’re fine.” he says calmly.

karina pushes herself up slowly, lips pressed into a thin line. she doesn’t look at him or at you. you can see her hands shaking.

“i understand.” she says softly. and then she says it again in a quieter tone.  “i understand.”

and she tries again.

it breaks something in you.

she finishes the third run perfectly. doesn’t collapse this time, but her breaths are harsh now. your dad claps his hands together once.

“better. you can take a break.”

he walks off the ice like it’s another day, already reaching for his phone. the door slams behind him.

only then karina sits down, curling slightly forward with her gloves gripping her knees. you don’t even realize you’ve moved until you’re walking down the bleachers and stepping quietly onto the mats just off the ice.

“i’ve been here the whole time.” you say.

her head snaps up.

“i saw all of it. how hard you’re trying.” you continue.

karina doesn’t say anything at first. just looks at you with her eyes wide.

then she whispers. “did it look like i was good enough?”

you walk closer and kneel next to her.

“it looked like you were breaking yourself to be.”

she wasn’t used to being seen like this.

“i don’t want you to skate like that. like you’re trying to prove something to him.” you mumble.

“i’m not.” she lies.

you don’t say anything for a moment. just reach into your bag quietly and pull out the same bottle you brought yesterday. it’s refilled and a little colder this time.

you hold it out to her without saying a word.

she stares at it like it’s a peace offering from another being.

“you need to hydrate. even perfectionists have to drink water.” you say softly with a small shrug. 

karina laughs breathily. her fingers graze against yours as she takes it and she doesn’t let go right away.

“i’m not perfect.” she mumbles.

“you kind of are.” you reply before you can stop yourself.

she looks at you, then down at the bottle in her hands. then back up.

you don’t have to be perfect all the time. not around me, at least.

is what you wanted to say. but instead you just stay silent.

karina swallows like she’s trying not to say anything.

“hey. i brought this.” you say in a slightly playful tone. 

her eyes flicker to it and her lips twitch barely. you catch it.

“you brought snacks?”

“maybe.”

“i love chocolate.” karina mumbles as she takes it slowly and unwraps it with careful fingers. she breaks it in half and holds one piece out to you.

your chest squeezes.

you take it.

she eats her half like it’s one of the first real things she’s had in hours.

“thanks. for not leaving.” she says finally. 

“i wouldn’t.”

“i know. i think i needed someone to stay anyway.” she glances down at the bottle. 

“then i’ll stay.” you nod.

and you do.

you sit side by side on the cold bench. karina’s finished the chocolate, skates finally unlaced and resting beside her. her legs are pulled up onto the bench as if she’s disappearing into her hoodie.

her phone buzzes once between you.

“my ride’s late.” she mutters, her thumb tapping the screen before she sets it face down.

you nod with your hands in your jacket pockets. “i can wait with you.”

“you don’t have to.”

“i want to.”

karina doesn’t argue. she just looks at you with an unreadable expression. 

for a while, it’s quiet again.

“you were always watching me.”

you look over at her with a startled expression. “what?”

she smiles a little. “yesterday. at practice. today too. i can feel it.”

you look away. “you’re kinda hard to miss.”

“i noticed you before that.” she says. almost too quietly.

your heart skips a beat. 

she leans against the bench with her head tilted up. “you came to one of my meets last year. sat way in the back and didn’t talk to anyone.”

you froze.

“i didn’t think you saw me.” you admit.

“i always see you.” she says and the words land with a softness that makes your heart race.

you open your mouth, searching for something to say.

“my dad expects a lot from you.”

she just stays quiet.

“the way you don’t fight back. it’s the same way i used to be.”

“do you ever wish you could quit?” you ask.

karina turns her head, looking at you. “every day.”

you look down at your hands. “but you don’t.”

“no. because i still love it. even when it hurts.”

you nod quietly.

“does anyone know you feel like that?” you ask.

she shakes her head. “no. i don’t tell them.”

“but i tell let you.”

it comes out as a whisper. you’re too surprised to say anything.

then the sound of a car pulling into the lot breaks the moment.

karina doesn’t move right away, she just watches you like she’s still thinking about saying something else. but she doesn’t.

she stands, slowly grabbing her things.

“i’ll see you tomorrow?” she says. 

“yeah. tomorrow.”

and as she walks away, you feel that feeling in your chest. the feeling of someone slipping through your fingers even while they promise they’ll stay.

───────────────────────

it’s past nine the next day when you find her again.

the rink is empty and the lights are dimmed to half their usual level. her bag is forgotten on the bench and there’s a single light glowing from her phone screen. it was probably another missed call or her ride running late again. 

she was alone in the center. there was no music this time, just her blades breaking the silence.

you don’t call out.

you sit on the same bench as before and unzip your jacket. you pull out a small paper bag and inside is a chocolate croissant you picked up earlier. 

she doesn’t notice you until she slows down. she does one last spin and then she slides to the edge of the rink, brushing the hair from her face. that’s when she sees you. 

her eyes widen and her chest heaves from the effort.

“you came back.” she said breathlessly. 

“you’re not hard to find.” you tease gently. 

karina steps off the ice carefully, taking off her gloves as she comes over. her cheeks are pink from the cold.

“what is it this time?”

“guess.”

she sits next to you again, closer than before. your knees almost touch.

she peeks into the bag and smiles slightly.

“you remembered i like chocolate.”

“i remember everything.” you say before you can stop yourself.

she looks at you and there’s something soft in her expression. maybe grateful or just stunned.

she slowly takes a bite and you watch her shoulders relax with the first chew.

neither of you one talk for a bit.

“you don’t owe me this, you know. the snacks, waiting, or the way you look at me.” she mumbled. 

“i’m not doing it because i owe you anything.” you shrug. 

“then why?”

“because i want you to feel like someone’s always there for you. no matter what.”

karina looks down at the half eaten pastry in her hands with an unreadable expression. no one’s ever done that for her, you realize.

just stayed. showed up. believed in her even when she wasn’t performing.

she swallows hard.

“thank you.” she whispers.

you could tell her it’s nothing. that’s it’s easy. that you would do it a hundred times over.

but you don’t.

she leans just a little closer this time and her shoulder almost brushes yours. you pretend not to notice.

she was slowly letting you in. it was pieces of her that she hopes you’ll handle carefully.

and you will. every time. 

───────────────────────

the next day, you return to the rink again.

you were going to give her space but something in your chest pulled you back.

when you walk inside, karina’s already on the ice.

alone again. no music or audience.

you don’t even have a chance to say anything before it happens.

she goes into a spin too fast, and the blade of her skate catches wrong.

you hear the crack of impact before you see it.

karina hits the ice hard.

you froze with your breath caught in your throat.

she doesn’t get up right away. she just lies there, chest rising and falling.

then she slowly pushes herself to sit.

and you see it.

it wasn’t pain.

it was frustration.

she rips off one of her gloves and throws it to the side. her other hand slams against the ice. the sound echoes like a gunshot in the empty rink. 

“stupid, i’m so stupid. why can’t i just—“ she mutters before choking on the words. her other glove comes off and her hands clench into fists.

you’re moving before you can think. sliding open the door to the rink and stepping out toward her.

“karina.”

she tensed.

you see the way her back straightens and her breathing stalls. she turns her head with wide eyes, like she didn’t know that anyone was watching.

you kneel beside her carefully.

she doesn’t look at you.

“i’m fine. i was doing fine. i’ve done this a hundred times.” she says quietly.

“i know.”

“i can’t afford to mess up right now. not when regionals are in three weeks. not when— not when everyone’s already waiting for me to fall.” her voice cracks. 

your heart twists.

“i’m not.” you respond. 

she finally looks at you.

this time, you see it all. the exhaustion just behind her eyes.

“i’m not waiting for you to fall. but i’ll be here to catch you if you do.” you say without thinking. 

something breaks in her expression.

“i hate crying.” she says. 

“you’re not.”

“it feels like i am.”

you pull down the sleeve of your jacket down and gently press the fabric to her cheek, wiping away a tear.

“you’re allowed to be human, karina.”

she closes her eyes.

and for the first time, she leans into your hand. not all the way, but enough to let you know she’s tired of being strong alone.

she doesn’t say anything for a bit after you wipe her tear.

she just sits there with her fists clenched and jaw tight.

but then she shifts, and you know she’s trying to get up.

you offer your hand without saying anything.

she hesitates.

for a second, you think she might not take it.

but then almost reluctantly, her fingers slip into yours.

her hand is cold and her grip is too gentle for someone who just punched the ice a minute ago.

you pull her to her feet and settle her when she wobbles.

she doesn’t let go right away. and neither do you.

you’re closer than you’ve ever been. her face is still flushed from skating and her lips part just slightly when she looks at you.

“thank you.” she whispers.

you almost respond, saying something too honest, but that’s when your phone buzzes. 

you both look down at the same time.

it’s your boyfriend.

you freeze. and karina notices.

she drops your hand before you can even react and steps back like she wasn’t just unraveling in your arms seconds ago.

“i should… i should get back to it.” she mutters, brushing her hands off on her

“karina—”

“it’s fine. you should take that.” her voice returns back to neutral. it’s not angry, but it’s distant. 

you glance down at your phone again. 

when you look up, karina’s already lacing her gloves back on.

you don’t stop her.

and somehow, that hurts more than the distance that she just put between you.

because now you know what it looks like when she almost lets someone in. 

and what it feels like when she slams the door shut just as fast.

───────────────────────

the rink is even colder tonight.

you’re not here just to watch this time. you’re here because you couldn’t stay away.

karina hasn’t looked at you once since yesterday.

you came in quietly, settling into the middle row with a blanket around your shoulders and a box of fruits in your lap. you didn’t expect her to notice you.

but you still hoped.

she steps onto the ice like nothing ever happened.

she’s different today. you can see it.

she’s trying harder. like she’s trying to prove something.

you watch her routine in silence. it’s the same one she’s been perfecting for weeks. there’s no music, but you know it by heart now. you could probably hum the entire song if she asked.

she doesn’t fall this time.

but her landing is shaky and her spin is off center. her arms falter for half a second in the last sequence.

she finishes with what would be flawless from anyone else’s eyes.

but when she stops and lets out a heavy exhale, you can tell she’s not satisfied.

you wait until she comes off the ice and tug her sweatshirt back over her training top.

then you call out.

“that was beautiful.”

karina looks up so fast you wonder if she ever knew that you were here.

you hold up the water bottle and the fruits you packed earlier. strawberry and banana slices with two small chocolates tucked into the corner.

she walks over slowly. almost cautiously.

“i didn’t know that you were coming.”

“didn’t want to miss your performance.” you shrug. 

she sits next to you on the bleachers. you hand her the box and she takes it wordlessly, taking the top off of the container. 

“you’re really good, karina.” you say softly. maybe a little too soft.

 “like... i don’t even know anything about skating but i can feel it when i watch you. that’s gotta mean something.”

karina froze mid bite.

you glance at her but she’s not looking at you. just staring down at her fruits.

“…what?” you ask.

“no one’s ever said that to me. not like that.”

“really? you’re one of the best.”

“your dad is always too focused on what needs to be fixed. where my lines are off and where i’m not centered. he says praise makes you soft.”

you feel something in your chest. then you nudge her with your shoulder. 

“then i’ll do it for him.”

that makes her look at you. her eyes are slightly wide and her expression is unreadable.

you smile. “i’ll be your fan. i’ll even be loud and annoying. if you want me to.”

karina looks away but you still catch the shade of red rising to her cheeks.

“you’d be my audience?”

“i am your audience. right now. front now.” you say. 

she hides her laugh behind a sip of water. then she asks.

“will you stay if i go again?”

you nod without a second thought. 

you stay in the same seat while she steps back onto the ice and it looks like her entire body is lighter. you didn’t know it was because of your praise. 

when she begins again you catch her stealing a glance at you during the first spin.

then she does it again during the glide.

you wave.

and she almost stumbles from smiling too hard.

karina finishes her routine again and this time, she nails it.

everything was flawless.

when she comes to a stop in front of you, she doesn’t say anything. she just looks at you like she’s searching for something in your expression.

you don’t hold back.

“that was perfect.”

“you think so?”

“i know so. you were scary good. i got chills.” you hug the blanket tighter around your shoulders. 

karina lets out a soft laugh and looks away, but she’s smiling. her shoulders lower like she’s allowing herself to feel proud for once.

she walks over to the edge of the rink and sits beside you again. this time she sits closer. her thigh brushes against yours and neither of you move away.

you offer her a chocolate from the snack box. she takes it.

“i’m serious. you skate like your entire heart is in it.” you say. 

her smile fades, but not in a bad way. it turns into something softer. 

“it is.”

you look at her. you’ve never seen someone work so hard for something that almost no one praises them for.

“you should be proud of yourself, karina.”

she doesn’t respond right away. she just eats the chocolate in silence.

maybe you lean a little closer than you should.

maybe she does too.

because you feel something change again.

she turns her head to look at you.

and the way she’s looking makes your stomach do a thing.

like she’s never had someone talk to her like this.

like no one’s ever stayed.

“i like it when you’re here. i skate better.” she says suddenly.

you smile and your heart does a weird skip. “then i’ll keep coming.”

karina’s eyes flick down to your mouth for a second too long.

and then, you see it happen. the moment she remembers.

your boyfriend.

your father.

everything that makes this too complicated.

she pulls away slightly. but it’s enough for you to notice.

you don’t know what you did wrong, but she’s straightening her spine again. putting space between you.

“you should probably head out soon. it’s getting late.” she says. her voice was too polite for you to like it. 

“karina—”

“your dad doesn’t like when you stay late, right?”

you pause, reading her face.

it’s completely changed. her composure. she’s still distant. 

the softness is still there, but it’s tucked away. 

still, you try.

“i don’t mind staying.”

she stands up anyway, avoiding your eyes.

“i’ll lock up after i’m done.”

then she’s skating away again.

but as she gets back into position, her gaze flicks to you. just once.

like maybe she wished you would stop her.

but you don’t.

not this time. 

───────────────────────

the next night, you show up again.

you don’t say anything. 

you just walk in with your tumbler of hot chocolate, blanket folded over your arm. 

karina’s already skating when you get there and her movements are sharp but you can tell that she’s tired. her routine looks less precise, like her mind is somewhere else.

you settle into your now usual seat and wait, wrapping yourself in the blanket. you don’t cheer or wave this time. you just watch.

when she finishes the routine and finally notices you, she doesn’t look surprised.

she just comes to a stop and lets her hands rest on her hips while panting softly.

“hey.” you say. 

she skates over slowly.

she doesn’t sit next to you this time. just leans against the railing while looking down at her skates.

“you didn’t have to come again.”

“i wanted to.”

karina doesn’t reply.

you hold out the tumbler. “it’s hot chocolate.”

she glances at it then at you. then, she reluctantly takes it. 

you watch her sip it slowly.

“you don’t have to be alone all the time, you know.”

karina’s shoulders tense.

but she doesn’t look at you. she just stares at the ice, jaw tight.

“it’s easier this ways.” she says after a long pause. 

you’re caught off guard by the honesty. “easier?”

“no one expects anything from me when i’m alone.”

there’s something about the way she says it. like she’s told herself that a thousand times before.

you want to reach for her. but you don’t.

“i expect something from you.”

she looks at you. almost defensively. but your gaze is soft.

“i expect you to take care of yourself. to eat. to rest. to let people care about you.”

karina swallows.

you think she might say something, but instead she just looks down. 

“you have a boyfriend.”

your stomach twists and you look down at your hands.

“i know.”

“you’re the coach’s daughter.”

“i know that too.”

silence stretches between you. and then she whispers.

“i can’t let myself like you.”

it’s the closest thing to a confession she’s ever given you. and you’re afraid that it’s the closest that she ever will. 

your heart breaks in two.

you don’t know what to say. you don’t even know if you’re allowed to say anything at all.

so you just sit there with your fingers trembling inside the blanket.

she takes one last sip of the hot chocolate then hands the tumbler back to you, fingers brushing yours like she doesn’t mean to. but maybe she does.

then she skates away again.

the sound of your heartbeat is louder than her blades cutting across the ice.

“karina.” you call out, voice echoing through the empty rink.

she doesn’t stop.

you stand up. “karina, wait—”

she’s still skating. even faster now.

it stings. the way she shuts down, like she’s trying to outskate the things you make her feel.

so you raise your voice.

“why do you keep doing this?”

that makes her stop abruptly. her skates carve into the ice, and send up a sharp spray of frost. she turns to you with an unreadable expression. 

“doing what?”

“this.” you gesture between you both. “one second you let me in and the next you’re skating away like you hate me.”

she exhaled hard, looking away. “i’m not doing anything.”

“yes you are. you talk to me, open up, and then remember i’m someone you shouldn’t like and you shut down again. every single time.”

karina’s jaw clenches.

you step closer. “i’m not trying to confuse you. i just want to be there for you. and i thought… i thought maybe you wanted that too.”

“i do. god, i do. but what do you want me to with that? you have a boyfriend and your dad hates me. this isn’t about just skating anymore.” she says, voice cracking slightly.

you pause.

“i never said it was about just skating.”

karina looks at you. her expression softens but you can see something else in her eyes. 

she shakes her head, scoffing slightly. “you don’t get it.”

“then make me get it.”

“i can’t! because if i say it out loud then it’s real, and if it’s real then i’ll want something that i can’t have.” she nearly yells, voice echoing off the walls.

the silence that follows is so loud that it hurts.

she blinks fast like she didn’t mean to say that.

and you just stand there, stunned.

“karina…”

her name comes out softer now. 

she looks down at her skates, biting her lip.

“i think you should go.”

your throat tightens. “do you really want me to?”

karina closes her eyes.

“no.”

but she turns away anyway.

and this time, you just let her skate.

because now you know. she’s not pushing you away because she doesn’t care. 

she’s pushing you away because she does.

───────────────────────

the rink feels colder again.

it’s not the weather. it’s the emptiness.

karina gets there late, hoodie pulled tight over her head with her headphones in. her water bottle is half full.

but when she steps onto the ice, the first thing she does is look at the stands.

you’re not there.

she pretends that it doesn’t bother her. pretends that she doesn’t notice.

she warms up and does her stretches, then she goes through the footwork section of her routine easily.

but when it’s time to start the real run through, she hesitates.

you’re still not there. 

there’s no voice cheering her on softly. 

no tumbler clutched in your hands.

no little smile whenever she glances over her shoulder.

she tries to push through it, starts the routine anyway. but halfway through the first turn, she tumbles. her balance slips and her hand scrapes the ice hard, making her curse under her breath.

she gets up and starts again.

falls again.

but it’s worse this time.

she sits on the ice for longer, breathing heavily. her eyes are unfocused and for the first time in weeks, she feels it creeping back in. that voice in her head that tells her she’s not enough. that she’ll never be enough.

she presses the tip of her palm against her forehead.

she doesn’t cry. but she’s close.

and then she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone.

your name is right there, but she doesn’t call.

she just stares at the screen for a long, long time.

her thumb was hovering over the call button. 

just one tap. but she doesn’t do it. she locks the phone, puts it back into her pocket and stands up.

this time, she doesn’t try the routine again.

she just skates in slow, aimless circles.

alone.

two weeks before regionals. 

it’s been a week.

seven days.

karina counted them all. skated through every single one one of them like it meant nothing, but it did. she just got better at pretending it didn’t.

there was two weeks until regionals now.

everyone’s tense and the rink is busier than usual. there’s more skaters and more pressure but tonight, she’s the only one left. again.

she’s been pushing herself too hard. trying things she shouldn't be attempting this late. her left ankle’s bruised and her back aches. her music plays on loop but none of it feels right. nothing has felt right ever since you stopped showing up.

she doesn’t expect to see you again, which is why when she hears the door creak open mid routine she doesn’t stop right away.

it’s only when she glances toward the stands and sees you with your blanket, tumbler, and uncertain smile that she fumbles a landing.

not enough to fall. but just enough to feel it. just enough to feel everything again.

you stay quiet for a moment and just sit there. 

karina lets out a shaky breath and skates to the edge, stopping right in front of you. neither of you say anything right away.

you hold out the tumbler.

she hesitates but takes it and wraps her hands around it like she did before.

“you’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

she looks at you.

“noticed that from your seat?” she says, trying to sound teasing but it comes out tired.

“i noticed from not being in it.” you reply and her chest twists.

she leans against the edge of the rink, back against the wall. you lean forward next to her, elbows on the railing. 

“i didn’t think that you would come back.” she admits.

“i wasn’t sure if i should.”

“why did you?”

“because you looked like you needed someone.” you shrug. 

she glances up at you, something vulnerable showing in her eyes.

“i always do.”

that breaks something in you.

yet, neither of you move.

she sips the hot chocolate and you rest your chin on your hands.

“i missed watching you skate.” you whisper. 

karina closes her eyes for a second, as if she’s allowing herself to believe you again.

“i skated better when you were here.”

you heart stutters.

it always does when she says that. 

karina doesn’t look at you when she says it. she just stares down at her hands, thumbs moving over the tumbler. she looks small like this. not because she is, but because she’s tired. tired in a way that you’ve never really seen her before.

“then i guess i should’ve never left.”

she looks up. your stomach makes you feel weird in the way it always does when she looks at you like that. and she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. 

“you skate like you don’t even need air.”

“i don’t. until you’re not here.” she says quietly. 

there’s silence after that. you’re not sure of what to say next. 

“i brought you chocolate.”

karina lets out a quiet laugh. 

“you remembered?”

“of course i did. you barely eat.” you say this time. 

“that’s scary.”

“what is?”

“being known.”

the way she says it makes it seem like it’s a luxury she doesn’t let herself have.

you don’t reply. you just pull out the bar and hand it to her.  

“then i’ll be careful with you.” you mumble.

and that is the moment she knows she’s completely fucked.

because you’re kind and careful. and also someone else’s. and her coach’s daughter.

and she’s still never wanted to kiss someone more in her entire life.

she doesn’t say anything after that.

just keeps her eyes on the bar of chocolate like if she looks at you again, then something might break.

you don’t move either. you just sit there.

you can hear her breathing. see the way her fingers tap against the tumbler, then stop, and then start again. she’s fidgeting and that alone is strange.

“were you okay? the days i didn’t come.” you ask softly, breaking the silence.

her eyes drop.

“no.”

the honesty stings.

but she doesn’t apologize for it.

she shrugs a little, like she’s trying to play it off. “it was just… harder.”

“i’m sorry.” you nod slowly. 

“i didn’t want you to feel like you had to come.”

“i didn’t. i wanted to.” you say, meeting her eyes.

her breath catches. you notice but you pretend not to.

“i used to wonder if i actually helped at all. or if i was just a distraction.”

“you weren’t.” she says immediately with no hesitation. “you aren’t. you’re…”

she trails off.

“i’m what?”

she looks back at you, but she looks scared.

“you’re part that makes it hurt less.”

and that does something to you.

you don’t say anything. you can’t, really. not when your throat feels tight and your chest is full of something you can’t name. or you’re too scared to. 

so you reach over slowly, placing your fingers over hers.

she doesn’t move. her hand stays beneath yours, still and warm and trembling.

and for a moment, neither of you breathe. 

then your phone buzzes on the bench behind you.

karina pulls her hand away before you could even blink.

you turn around, already knowing who it is.

karina stands and grabs her bag without saying anything.

you wish she would. you wish you could.

“thanks for the snack.”

and then she’s gone.

───────────────────────

the next day you show up earlier.

you don’t pretend it’s not for her anymore. you’re sitting in your usual seat with your blanket, tumbler, and snack beside you as you watch the skaters rotate through their drills.

but karina doesn’t come out right away.

you see her peek through the glass from the hall. you catch her gaze for a second, then she disappears.

she doesn’t return until everyone else is wrapping up.

and even then, she still doesn’t look at you.

she glides past the bench, focused with her headphones in. you try not to take it personal, but it’s hard. her eyes don’t meet yours once.

you wait until she finishes her routine. she lands the last jump perfectly. almost too perfectly. like it’s anger and not focus pushing her through it.

you stand when she skates off.

she walks past you like she didn’t see you at all.

so you follow.

“karina.”

she doesn’t turn around.

“hey— stop.”

she finally stops by the far end of the rink right by the locker hallway, but she doesn’t face you. she just stands there with her fists clenched at her sides.

you take a step closer. “are you avoiding me?”

she exhaled. “i’m not avoiding you.”

“you literally didn’t look at me all night.”

“that’s not avoidance.”

“then what is it?”

“It’s self preservation.” she snaps.

you froze.

her chest is rising and falling quickly, eyes glossy with something she’s trying hard to suppress.

“karina.”

“i can’t do this. not when i know you’re gonna leave again. not when i know who you go home to. i’m trying to stay focused. this—“ she gestures between you two. “— this messes with me.”

“so what, you’re just cutting me off?”

she looks at you like she wishes she could say no. but she says nothing.

you shake your head. “you don’t get to push me away just because you’re scared.”

“i’m not scared.” she says too fast.

“then what are you?”

silence.

she looks at you and it breaks something in both of you.

“falling.”

your heart drops.

“falling. and you’re not allowed to catch me.”

neither of you move.

everything feels louder now. her hands are shaking again and you want to grab them, tell her you're already falling too, even if you’re too much of a coward to admit it yet.

but your phone rings again.

and this time, she doesn’t wait for you to answer it.

she just walks away.

───────────────────────

the next day is cold. like always. 

you’re already in the stands when karina steps into the rink, tying her jacket tighter with her head down. she’s barely slept either, but she’s used to that.

then she sees you. and her heart stops.

you’re curled up on the bleachers in the same blanket, but you look different. 

you’re always soft and always quiet, but this time there’s something hollow behind your eyes.

they’re puffy. and red.

your smile is barely there. 

she sees the dark circles immediately. and the way you’re not waving or calling out to her like usual. you don’t even look like you’ve eaten anything.

karina slows to a stop in the middle of the walkway, just staring at you. 

she can tell that something’s wrong.

and then the sound of your father’s voice cuts through the silence.

“again!”

karina flinches.

he’s not yelling, but his tone is sharp, cutting in that way only coaches can be. 

disappointment wrapped in professionalism.

“you’re stiff. you’re late on your rotations. you want to fall in front of the judges? pick it up. again.”

she doesn’t respond. just nods. she’s good at taking hits and pushing through. 

but even from the bleachers, you’re watching every second like it physically hurts to witness.

karina’s eyes change to you between jumps, just once, for a second.

and you’re already looking at her.

your eyes crack in heartbreak. 

like it’s killing you to see her go through this after the night you just had.

she lands the jump. barely.

your father says nothing this time, just mutters something under his breath and walks off toward the office.

karina exhales and then she looks at you.

that’s when she realizes. you weren’t just tired. you were crying. 

all night.

and somehow, she knows it wasn’t just about him. it was about her, too. about everything you’re not allowed to say. about everything that she made worse by pushing you away.

her throat tightens and you try to smile at her.

you don’t even think before you stand. you just move, blanket slipping off your shoulders and your feet hitting the bleachers faster than they should. your heart was pounding in your throat like it wants to say something first.

by the time karina’s stepping off the ice, you’re already waiting by the edge with your arms crossed.

she sees you and it wrecks her.

you can tell by the way she hesitates just for a second. the way her eyes linger on your face then drop to your hands. they’re empty.

she unties her skates slowly, like she’s trying to draw out the seconds. maybe she’s hoping that you’ll leave.

you don’t.

you crouch down beside her instead and she still doesn’t look at you.

“i brought water. it’s in the stands.” you say quietly. 

she doesn’t respond.

“i couldn’t sleep.” you add. 

she exhales shakily. “why are you here?”

you swallow. “because i can’t not be.”

her fingers pause on her laces.

“i kept thinking about what you said. that you skated better when i was here. that this messed with you.” you continue, looking at her hands instead of her face.

she doesn’t say anything.

“do you think it doesn’t mess with me too? do you think that i don’t feel it? when you look at me like that? when you won’t look at me at all?” you whisper.

she finally looks up. and it’s all there.

the hurt. the want. the grief of something she hasn’t even let herself have yet. 

“i don’t know what i’m allowed to feel when it comes to you. you’re the coaches daughter. you have a boyfriend. and i’m just—“

“stop.” you interrupt. “don’t do that. don’t reduce yourself to that.”

karina flinches.

“last night we got into an argument. i told him that it wasn’t fair. that someone else— you— make me feel more in the ten minutes after practice than he has in months.” 

her lips part. she looks like she’s trying not to break.

“you’re the only person who sees me for me.”

karina swallows hard. “you can’t say things like that.”

“why not?”

“because i want to believe them.”

you both fall silent.

you don’t touch her. you don’t move. You just sit in the silence, watching the way her eyes glisten and dart to the ground like she can’t bear to look at you for too long.

“i kept waiting for it to go away. whatever this is.” she says finally.

“and?”

she looks up.

“it never did.”

your breath hitches.

neither of you say it. you don’t need to. it’s the distance neither of you dare to cross yet.

“i skated better when you were here.” she says again. like it’s a confession now.

“and i broke when you weren’t.”

this time, you don’t look away. and neither does she.

she stands first.

you think she might reach for you, but her arms stay at her sides. her fingers twitch like they want to move but don’t know how to move without ruining everything.

“i should go.” she says quietly. 

“my ride’s waiting.”

you nod slowly. “okay.”

neither of you move. 

there’s a second where it feels like she might stay. like she might say screw it and finally do something reckless.

but she doesn’t.

she looks at you like she’s memorizing you in case this is the last time she gets to.

“you make things better. just by being here.” she says almost too softly to hear.

and then she turns.

no goodbye. no wave.

when you finally stand, your hands shake.

because you know it’s not over.

but it hasn’t started yet, either. 

it’s just waiting.

like you are.

one week before regionals. 

you’re curled up in your usual spot with a tumbler of tea between your hands. 

karina’s been skating for over an hour. and for once, she hasn’t looked your way.

you don’t blame her.

not really.

you told him the truth two days ago. you ended it.

but endings don’t mean freedom. not when guilt clings to you.

you’ve barely talked to her since.

not about it.

not about anything.

but you’re here. you’re always here, and she knows that.

when her routine finishes you stand without thinking, legs sore from sitting too long. you meet her by the edge of the rink. the way you always do.

you offer the water bottle without saying a word. she takes it with tired eyes, lips parted like she might say something.

but she doesn’t.

“you’re sharper today. your landings are cleaner.”

“thanks.”

just that. no warmth behind it. 

you swallow it down and try again. “do you want to run through it again with music? i can play it for you.”

she hesitates before shrugging. “if you want.”

it stings a little. but you press play anyway.

and as she skates, you watch her the way you always have. you’ve seen it a million times before, but it still knocks the wind out of you every time.

because she’s beautiful.

because she’s yours in all the ways that don’t count.

and it’s killing you.

when the music fades you’re already moving to meet her again. she unlaces her skates in silence.

you crouch beside her like you did the last time, and you’ll probably keep doing it until she tells you not to.

“you don’t have to keep showing up.”

“i want to.”

she glances at you quickly. 

“you’re going through stuff too.” she says.

“so are you.”

for a second, she just stares.

“does it hurt?”

“what?”

“the breakup.”

“yeah.” you don’t lie. 

she nods once. slowly.

then she says your name like it’s fragile. like if she speaks it too loud you might shatter.

“i hate that it hurts. but i don’t regret it.” she mumbles. 

you stare at her.

and you know. you know she’s not just talking about the breakup.

you know she means this. you. whatever’s going on between you two that neither of you fully touch yet.

“me neither.”

she doesn’t touch you.

you don’t ask her to stay.

you just sit side by side on the cold floor of the empty rink, hearts quietly breaking for each other in a way that feels like a promise. even if neither of you said the words. 

it happened four days before regionals. 

it was so fast that you barely registered it.

your dad’s voice was sharp as it echoed through the rink. words like focus, sloppy, and disappointment cut through the air with every frustrated step he took. 

karina stands perfectly still on the ice, arms stiff at her sides.

she doesn’t look at him.

she doesn’t look at you either.

“again. and this time, land the jump like someone who actually wants to qualify.” he barks.

you open your mouth like you were about to say something. but you don’t. you know better than to poke the fire when it’s this close to regionals. so you stay still and bite your tongue until it tastes like metal.

karina just nods quietly. 

like always.

like she’s learned to.

she runs the routine again.

it’s not bad.

but it’s not perfect. and he lets her know.

another critique and another sigh. then he walks away without even a good job to soften the blow.

you hear the door to the rink slam shut behind him.

and then it’s silent.

karina glides off the ice and sits on the bench without a word, untying her skates with trembling fingers.

you approach carefully.

she doesn’t look at you.

“i can’t do this.”

it’s so quiet you almost miss it.

her voice breaks on the last word, and she’s leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, hands gripping her hair like she’s trying to hold herself together.

your chest hurts.

you kneel in front of her without thinking. 

“karina—”

“i can’t breathe anymore. every time i mess up it’s like— he looks at me like i’m wasting everyone’s time. like i’m not worth it.” she chokes out. 

“hey. that’s not true.” you whisper, reaching up slowly but not touching her.

tears fall down her face, but she doesn’t wipe them. “i’ve done everything. i’ve pushed myself so hard i can’t even feel my legs anymore, and it’s still not enough.”

“you are enough.”

she shakes her head. “i’m so tired. and i don’t even know why i’m still trying. i keep thinking maybe… maybe if i do it perfectly, just once, someone will finally say i did good.” she whispers, voice trembling.

you feel your heart break. because you know that feeling.

so this time, you do reach for her.

you hand lands lightly on her knee. “i see you. i’ve seen you this whole time.”

karina finally looks up.

it looks like she’s been holding this in for years.

“you skate like it means something. i don’t care if you fall or if it’s messy. or if my dad doesn’t say anything. i’ll always think you’re perfect.”

she blinks and more tears slip down. then her lip quivers.

and then carefully and hesitantly, karina leans forward and rests her forehead on your shoulder. its not a hug but it’s close.

you don’t move.

you just stay there with her in the silence, letting her fall apart without asking her to stop.

because she’s always been the strong one. and maybe this once she needed someone to hold the weight.

───────────────────────

it’s late when your phone buzzes.

you’re still awake, staring at the ceiling. you’ve been replaying the moment in the rink all evening. the way her forehead pressed to your shoulder like she was scared to go any closer.

you reach for your phone.

karina are you still up?

you sit up instantly.

you yeah. are you okay?

there’s a pause. it’s long enough that you start to wonder if she’s fallen asleep.

karina can you come over? i don’t want to be alone tonight.

and in less than fifteen minutes later she opens the door in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings. her hair was pulled back messily.

you love her so much in that moment it actually hurts.

“hi.” you say softly.

karina steps aside to let you in.

“you didn’t have to come.”

“you asked.”

she doesn’t argue.

her skates are drying by the heater, and sits cross legged on her bed. you follow hesitantly, leaving just enough space between you to make her feel safe.

“thank you.” she mumbled.

“for what?”

“for being there today. i don’t think i could’ve kept it together if you weren’t.” she shrugged. 

“you don’t always have to keep it together.” 

“yeah. try telling my brain that.”

“he was hard on you today.” you say after a while. 

karina nods, looking down. “he’s always been that way. but i guess it hit harder today.”

you watch her for a moment.

“i already think the world of you.” you say without thinking. 

karina blinks, breath hitching.

and she leans in. just a little.

“if i ask you to stay… will you?”

you don’t hesitate.

“i’m already here.”

and you don’t know what time it is now.

only that the world has gone still.

karina hasn’t moved in a while. not since she adjusted the blanket over your legs. she’s barely said anything, really. but she hasn’t stopped looking at you.

and you haven’t stopped pretending you don’t notice.

you should go.

you tell yourself that again and again, but instead you turn your head and find her already watching you. her lips were parted like she was about to say something but changed her mind.

“what?” you whisper.

she shakes her head. “nothing.”

you hesitate. 

“you can say it.”

karina’s eyes search yours, and for a second it looks like she might. like she’ll confess something. or maybe let go of something she’s been holding in for so long.

instead, she mumbles. “i skate better when you’re here.” she says again. 

“i’ll be here. if you want me to.” you say.

“that’s the problem.”

your heart stutters.

she doesn’t explain. but she doesn’t have to.

you’re the coach’s daughter and she has a championship to win. and yet, you’re here.

and she wants you.

you’re both still sitting close, knees brushing under the blanket. close enough to kiss if you leaned in just a little.

and maybe she’s thinking the same thing. because she leans in.

barely.

barely enough that it could be a dream.

your breath catches.

your eyes flutter down to her mouth. and she hesitates.

she sits there, fingers twitching like she wants to reach for your hand.

but instead of kissing you, karina leans in further and folds herself into you.

her arms go around your waist, gentle and unsure.

her face buries into your neck.

and you hold her without saying a word. you let her heart beat against yours. your fingers find the edge of her sleeve and just stay there, gripping gently.

you don’t move after that. neither of you do. 

you’re half-asleep when you feel her exhale against your neck. 

her arms tightened slightly around you, and her forehead rests just beneath your jaw now. her warm breath fans your collarbone.

“i don’t know how to stop wanting you.”

you freeze. not all the way, but enough. enough that your breath stutters.

you don’t breathe for a full second after she says it.

you wonder if she even knows she said it or if it slipped through the cracks of exhaustion and everything else that she’s been holding in.

you feel her body relax against yours a moment later. her breathing slows. she’s asleep.

and you’re still wide awake, repeating her words in your head. 

you close your eyes and press your cheek lightly to the top of her head.

“i don’t want you to stop.”

she doesn’t stir. she doesn’t answer.

maybe she won’t remember the words she said. maybe she won’t remember yours. but you will. you always will.

───────────────────────

the rink is full of silence. when you arrive you just stand there and watch her for a moment.

karina is skating slow mindless loops, nothing like her usual precision. she’s moving like she’s trying to outrun invisible. you know what it is. because you heard it.

your father’s voice still rings in your ears, loud and relentless. it was another round of “you’re still not landing clean” and “if you’re gonna do that tomorrow, don’t even bother showing up.” it was another night where she nodded without speaking, biting her tongue hard enough to keep the tears from slipping out.

you didn’t interfere. you never do. but you watch. you always watch.

and maybe that’s why you’re here now, stepping through the gap in the railing and walking out onto the empty rink.

she doesn’t notice you right away. her eyes are focused elsewhere and her gaze is distant. you wonder if she even feels her skates gliding beneath her anymore, or if she’s somewhere else completely. a place where no one’s yelling.

you kneel at the edge of the rink. “karina?”

she slows instantly, head snapping toward your voice like muscle memory.

“hey.” you say softly. 

she looks at you for a moment.

“you— uh— your dad said that you left.” she says. her voice is quieter than usual.

“i came back.”

she skates closer, finally stepping off the ice. she doesn’t sit, she just stands in front of you while hugging herself.

“you saw.”

“i did.”

karina lets out a humorless laugh and looks away. “whatever. i’ve had worse. 

“that doesn’t make it okay.”

her eyes flicker back to yours. there’s a flash of something there but she looks down quickly, beginning to untie her boots.

“you were good today. better than good.”

“not good enough.”

“for him. but you don’t skate for him.”

her hands fall away from her laces. she straightens slowly and finally looks at you. there’s something about her expression, like she’s trying to figure out whether to let this moment happen or shut it down.

“and who do i skate for then?” she asks. your heart skips. “i don’t know. but when you skate, i can feel it. the emotion. it’s indescribable.” you mumble.

karina swallows.

you take a step forward, closing the space between you.

“but i can see it.”

“you always show up when i need you most. even when you don’t know it.” she whispered after a bit. 

“what, are you keeping track?” you laughed. 

she hums. “maybe.”

you don’t know that she cried last night. that her hands shook as she held the letter. she read the email from the coach six times before your dad finally admit that he recommended her. that she almost said no.

almost.

you also don’t know this might be the last time she skates in front of you.

not yet.

“you nervous about tomorrow?”

“you’re the one competing.”

“yeah, but… i skate better when you’re here.”

there it is again. the quiet truth that she keeps letting slip piece by piece.

you don’t know how to answer, so you just stay silent. karina’s blades click softly against the ice before she kicks them off and pulls on her sneakers.

then she’s looking at you again. the look that always makes your heart clench a little too tight.

“you ever think about what happens after regionals?” she asks suddenly.

“like nationals?” she hesitates. 

“no. i mean like… after us. after the season ends.”

you pause. “i haven’t. not really. why?”

but she’s already looking away, shoulders tense in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“you okay?”

“i just… it doesn’t matter.”

it does matter. you know it does, but you don’t push. instead, you laugh quietly. 

“you’ll win tomorrow.”

she laughs a little brokenly. “that’s not what i’m worried about.”

you don’t ask what it is. because maybe you’re scared to hear the answer.

karina fiddles with the edge of her sleeve with her eyes fixed on the rink, but her focus is elsewhere.

“you sure you’re okay?” you ask again, softer now.

she inhales. her throat bobs as she swallows.

“i got an offer. to train in america.” she says finally.

“america?”

“yeah.”

“for summer training?”

“no. like— move there. train full time. i’d be part of a national development program.”

your stomach drops. “oh.”

“it’s… huge. like, dream level. career changing.”

“wow. that’s amazing.”

and it is. it is. but you feel the words hurting in your throat like they’re glass.

karina’s fingers flex against her knee. “i leave monday.”

silence crashes over you.

“oh.” you say again, because it’s all you can say. your voice barely comes out. she finally turns to look at you. and this time, she looks right at you.

“i wasn’t going to tell you. i didn’t want to ruin tomorrow. but then you showed up and i… i needed tonight.” she says.

your heart twists.

“so this is goodbye?” you ask and you hate how small you sound. karina’s jaw clenches. “don’t say it like that.”

“how am i supposed to say it?”

you get ready to leave and she follows.

“i didn’t ask for this. i didn’t want to leave. but your dad— he pushed for it. he said it was the only way i’d make it.” she says.

your eyes sting. “and you didn’t tell me?”

“i didn’t want to make it harder.”

“it already is.”

she’s standing right behind you now. you can feel the warmth of her breath on your shoulder.

“i would stay. if i could. i almost did.” she whispers.

you turn to face her and she’s right there. closer than she’s ever been. her eyes flick to your lips once and that’s all it takes.

you kiss her.

it’s instinctual. you don’t even mean for it to happen. you just do it. a gentle kiss pressed to her lips. 

she goes very still.

you pull back the second you realize what you’ve done, already panicking.

“i— i’m sorry. that was— god, i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have—“

she grabs your wrist and pulls you in again.

she pulls you back in like she’s starved for you. your back hits the rink railing with a thud and the cold metal shocks you through your shirt, but you don’t even register it. not when she’s kissing you this messily, frantically, and desperately. 

her hands are everywhere. gripping into your hair, hugging the curve of your waist, keeping herself against your hips like she’s scared that you might disappear if she lets go. and maybe she is. maybe she knows.

“karina—” you gasp in between kisses, but she cuts you off with another kiss.

“i shouldn’t. you’re the coach’s daughter. i shouldn’t—“ she murmurs against your lips, but she doesn’t stop.

she pulls back long enough to look at you, eyes revealing that she’s trying to memorize this moment. and then she kisses you again. harder.

her hands slide under your jaw, cupping your face like it’s fragile, even though she kisses you like you aren’t.

the railing rattles under your grip as your body arches into hers, needing her closer before this all slips through your fingers.

because she’s leaving soon. because this ends soon. and you both feel it.

that’s why she kisses you like this. like she’s trying to carve the memory into her brain. like she’s terrified that this might the only time that she’ll ever get to touch you like this, and she needs to make it count.

“i’m so scared. i could win everything and i’m scared of what happens if i lose you after.” she whispers, forehead against yours.

you don’t answer.

you just hold her tighter.

you stay like that. pressed between her and the railing until the lights in the rink finally begin to dim for the night.

and she pulls back, with teary eyes.

“come tomorrow. please.”

you nod. 

three months after regionals. 

karina didn’t mean to come back to korea for long. it was just a short break so she could breathe again. she told everyone it was to reset. to clear her head before the next competition cycle. but no amount of sleep, early morning runs or phone calls with her mother, can ever fix the ache that settled in her chest three months ago.

not since she left you.

now she walks through familiar streets with a scarf tucked around her neck, hands in her coat pockets. she doesn’t tell anyone where she’s going. just says she’s going out for a bit and slips away before anyone can ask too many questions. her feet know the route before she does. every turn.

the closer she gets to the rink, the quieter her thoughts become. she pauses at the entrance for a long time, fingers stuck at the metal door handle. thr old banner hanging above the entrance has started to peel at the corners and a few letters faded. but it’s the same. everything is the same.

except her.

when she steps inside, it hits her all at once. the soft echo of her own footsteps against the floor reminds her of it all. this is where she became who she is.

and this is where she left the person who made her feel like herself.

she doesn't lace up her skates. doesn’t even sit down. she just walks the edge of the rink slowly, one hand following the railing. she can see her reflection staring back at her in the glass. she’s more tired and her eyes are flooded with something deeper than exhaustion.

she stops near the bench where she used to sit after practice. the same bench where you handed her water bottles, chocolates, and hand warmers. the same place where she started to let herself hope.

her chest tightens.

she doesn’t know what she was expecting. a sense of closure? a ghost of you?

but instead. you’re really there.

like no time has passed at all. like a prayer she didn’t know that she was still saying. and she can feel herself breathing again. 

at first, she thinks she’s imagining you.

you’re sitting on one of the benches, and your coat is pulled tight. your hands tucked into your sleeves and there's a water bottle resting beside you.

her heart stutters.

she blinks hard. more than once. and you’re still there.

she opens her mouth before she can stop herself, voice shaky and unsure for the first time in months. “…y/n?”

you look up. and that’s all it takes. karina swallows hard, taking a step forward. “is it really you?”

you nod slowly. like you can’t believe she’s real either.

“i didn’t think you’d be here.” you say quietly.

“i didn’t think you would.” she answers. “i was just just… I was passing by. I didn’t mean to—”

“you always pass by when you’re thinking too much.”

she huffs out a breath that was almost a laugh. her eyes are glassy now and she tries to blink it away but it clings.

“you look the same. but different.” she says.

“so do you.”

she hesitates before asking. “can i… come closer?” you don’t answer right away. you just shift slightly to the side on the bench to make space for her. that’s all she needs.

she walks across the empty floor slowly, skates swinging from one hand. she sits beside you, like the months between now and the last time meant nothing. or maybe they meant everything.

she finally breaks the silence with a voice that was barely above a whisper. “i skate better when you’re here.”

you turn to her and she’s already looking at you. “i don’t know why i said that,” she adds, flustered now. 

but you do. you know exactly why.

you lean your shoulder against hers and she leans back, like muscle memory.

neither of you speak again for a long time. but the familiarity of the silence is inevitable. like no matter how far you run, this was always where you’d end up. 

sitting next to each other. 

taglist — @saysirhc @prologue-ae @yuyuy90

[dazedantics]

Mark doesn't like pair projects.

It's not that he's better at working alone. He'd much rather have one or more people there to help get the job done since he isn't exactly the brightest.

But every time the teacher starts, "Alright, this next assignment you're gonna be in pairs." He'll sit there, gripping his worn pencil praying to himself, "please pick our partners, please pick our partners," over and over.

He isn't often so lucky.

See, Mark doesn't have any friends in this class. Or in general. So he never has the luxury to make knowing-eye-contact with that one person he knows will always partner with him for anything.

If only William were here. Then he wouldn't have to look so obviously nervous as the seconds pass.

He'll sit at his desk pretending to be busy. Mussing with his notebook, digging through his backpack, fixing his shoelaces, a weak ploy that buys him some time for someone to hopefully come over and pick him first. Or at least enough time for everyone else to pair, the moving bodies distracting the teacher away from him starting the work. Alone. In the back of the classroom. The far back where he goes unnoticed as usual.

He thought the stares the pairs next to him give, whispering as he slumps into his chair to further get out of sight, were bad enough. They knew him as the lone weirdo at this point.

But lately his tactics of laying low have failed as his teacher started asking you to invite him to join your group.

You're kind enough about it. Smiling and taking his hand as you lead him over to your desk. Neither you nor your partner mention how the teacher told you to talk to him. And he doesn't bring it up either.

He's grown a little relieved actually. Still does his lingering-by-the-backpack thing until you come and drag him over. But at least he has the peace of mind knowing he won't be solving all these confusing packets alone.

But then you start bringing your stuff over to sit at his desk instead. Setting out your notes, reading over the instructions and asking him where you should start.

"We can split up the research part to make this faster. And it's a bit like that last assignment we had, so I'm pretty sure we could just paraphrase what we already wrote there instead."

He looks over your shoulder, searching for your usual partner, thinking they're about to come and join you. But they don't.

Okay, weird. Maybe they're just not here today?

"It's due by the end of the week, so we could take turns bringing it home for the artsy parts?"

He's a bit too distracted by the sight of your friend elsewhere in the room, working with their own partner already.

"Mark?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Sounds great. Um ... let's start?"

You work on the project together and it's not so different from doing it in a group of three. Just glad to have someone to split the work with, he decides he doesn't need to ask why you chose to go to him first this time.

Until you start going to him again. And again. And again.

You even choose to sit at the desk next to his once the teacher does that "pick your own seat" thing every quarter.

Then he just has to ask.

He watches you as your scrawl on the poster board. Hand nervously scratching his neck, biting the inside of his lip, foot tapping before he speaks.

"Why are you here?"

"Hm?" You finally look up from your work.

His stomach feels jittery. He fears for his phrasing in case you suddenly realize you had enough of him and decide to punch him in the gut.

"You know. Like ... why are you sitting with me? Don't you want to be working with your friend?"

You pause, pencil hovering above the page. "Do you ... want me to go away?"

What? He didn't just accidentally push you away from him, did he?

"No, no! It's not that at all! In fact, I'd love it if you didn't leave me ever. I mean- not like that! I just mean that, uh, you just- you never bothered to partner with me before? You know, if the teacher is making you stick with me for some reason, you really don't have too. And um, you haven't been around your friend much recently? Since you're with me."

He wasn't sure where to look as he awaited your answer.

Your sudden smile made his gut churn even more. Was that a condescending smile or?

"Well, the teacher did ask us to at first. But, you're actually kinda cool. I like working with you. And my friend has been busy trying to flirt with their crush. And I dunno about you, but I'd rather not be stuck as the third wheel for any situation." You chuckled.

His stomach seemed to be flipping. Was he feeling sick?

"So is that why you've been acting nervous this whole time, or are you really always like this?"

He cleared his throat, shifting to sit up straighter. "Um yeah, no. I, uh, that's ... that's all I ...," he sniffed. "Um, so problem five?"

You laughed again, scooting closer and placing a hand on his paper to shift it toward you.

You didn't seem as painfully aware of how close your soft hands were to his plain ones.

"What don't you understand about it this time?"

He was aware you'd gone over this certain problem over ten times already, but he was positive he wasn't going to be able to focus on it any better now that he had a whole slew of new questions to flood his mind.

You think he's cool?

Well, if you think that good about him now, what other good things do you think about him?

Do you think about him a lot when you're at home?

Could you start to?

[9ine9ine9ine6ix]

"but first, we're gonna donate $1k to california wildlife relief" rhett and link you're from floody, tornadoy, sorta hurricaney north cackalacky and your net worth is quadruple what someone earning enough just to get by would be. you can donate more. maybe look up what palestine is too

saw some of yall talking about the green brothers and i was like "ha i've had them blocked for years, you can't build your platform partially on world history education to turn around and obfuscate those details and pretend the genocide yall already talked about actually isn't real" and then i was like "well they aren't educators but my ass does watch GMM incognito with an adblocker" so actually, i think i get it

informed consumerism is so fucking important. blissfully and brainlessly consuming is over, you should never hope to be bamboozled into supporting apartheid or weapons manufacturing. hybe still has a shit ton of shit to divest from, hell theyre so rich south koreas social security administration equivalent is one of their top investors. that's sorta terrifying right. and it makes sense why bts was made the group to be the face of this kind of finance since they've always had mildly pro cop aesthetics and anti NK lyrics for a while with the exception of like hyyh era, and with their rapid fandom growth? yeah i bet the bulletproof boyscouts probably haven't read the documents released by the CIA about what's actual NK political activity and what stories are actually just filler posts from Dispatch that got repeated for a decade on NBC, and im sure hybe wants to keep it that way. i mean i HOPE the boys educate themselves independently and know how to look for primary sources but we should never expect that all millionaires share our ideologies without specific evidence of them being stated or money being moved away from those millionaires towards one of the diasporas we are begging people to learn about because they're being bombed for the oil under their home. does hybe have that kind of clean paper trail? no obv but. listening to ur ult bg can make you break down really bad if you know your streaming revenue is being sent to a rich american dude who makes pro-apartheid youtube content and who steals from rich white women lol. scooter only quit his operational position, he's still all over their wallet

[mywritersmind]

TROUBLE - LN4 part two

previous part

og summary : Trouble comes in many forms, for Lando Norris, it comes in the shape of his teammates sister. A week at Oscars brings more temptation and impulse than any other start to a season.

summary : A day that was supposedly for Lando and his sight seeing turns into a day full of holding back touches, fast car rides, water fights, and his hand on hers.

listen up : i don’t know anything abt cars so don’t come for me if i said smt wrong abt the mclaren F1. dirty jokes. dual pov! comment to be on taglist!

words : 4082

⋆｡‧˚⋆

lando

I wake up to hushed voices outside my door. I practically roll out of bed, seeing that it’s five in the morning and moving to the door, still half asleep.

When I open it, I expect it to be Oscar with Lily or maybe even Nicole- what I don’t expect is a random man I've never seen, grinning down at Y/n.

She has her arms crossed and stops whispering when she sees me. She steps away from him, the man turning to look at me now. Y/n doesn’t say anything, just grabs his arm and tugs him down the hallway.

I watch her go, her hair a mess and her body barely covered by her sleep set. I blink, still confused and honestly too nosy to not get answers.

She’s back a minute later, shaking her head, “Don’t say a thing.”

I shrug, watching her run her hands over her face, “I wouldn’t dare.”

Then we’re both quiet, neither of us moving and a smirk growing on my face. She gives in easily, stomping her foot and groaning quietly, “He’s my ex. And neighbor.”

“That’s… fun.”

“No. It’s idiotic!” She leans against the wall, frowning still, “You can’t tell anyone. Oscar would freak if he saw him.”

This makes me stand up straighter, “Why?”

“He may or may not have broken my heart… long story.” She sighs, closing her eyes before turning fully towards me again, “And we didn’t do anything!”

I smile, “I believe you.”

“He just- wanted to ‘talk’.” She puts finger quotes over the word ‘talk’. “I shouldn’t have let him in.”

My eyes narrow, not judging her, just assessing her emotions. “But you did…?”

She looks at me as if I slapped her, “Go back to sleep, Lando.” I don’t think she’s ever said my first name before. “Sorry for waking you.”

“Don’t worry-” My alarm goes off on my phone at the perfect moment, “I’m getting up to run, anyway.”

She nods, still looking tired but angsty, crossing her arms. I hesitated before saying, “Wanna come?”

I know I shouldn’t have said it the second she looks at me. Her eyes curious and way too distracting. “Really?”

“Why not?”

“Not like I'm gonna get any sleep after that.” She shivers as if she’s remembering the image of him in her room, “Okay. I’ll see you out front in ten.”

⋆༺

you

When accepting Lando’s offer to join him on his morning exercise, I forgot one thing.

I cannot run.

I’m out of breath and sweaty, falling onto the couch as Lando actually LAUGHS at me! “I think I'm dying.” I mumble, feeling like i’ve just ran a 10k.

“You don’t exercise much, do you?” He walks around the couch, a smoothie in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

I scoff, “Excuse you!” He hands me the water, something so simple but very sweet to me. I chug that shit, making my breath even more ragged, “Why would I!?”

He smiles, sitting down next to me and resting his arm on the back of the couch, “Well usually when you exercise, you tend to get better at specific things. If you start running everyday you won’t look like you’ve just crawled out hell-”

I hit him with a pillow, my skin on fire even in my tight shorts and sports bra. “Fuck you.” I whisper, standing up and walking into the kitchen so he doesn’t see me smile.

“Do you know what we’re doing today?” Lando looks back at me, watching me fill my water.

“Apparently I'm showing you around? I’m not sure.” I shrug, plopping a few ice cubes into my glass, “Lily and Oscar wanted to go to the beach so maybe that too-”

Oscar walks in then, his eyes tired as he yawns and waves weakly at me, “Speak of the devil.” I mumble as he glares at me.

“Good Morning to you my amazing and wonderful sister.” He grins at me, now I know he wants something.

“Pancakes?” I ask, knowing my brother too well.

“Favorite sister.” He ruffles my hair as I push him away. He turns and stops dead in his tracks. I realize that he must have just spotted Lando, the brit watching our sibling antics quietly.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, turning back to me and eyeing my outfit.

“We went for a run.” Lando says casually, bringing his straw to his lips.

“You got her up this early to… run?” Oscar asks skeptically as I understand that he’s not just shocked that I ran, but that I ran with Lando.

“I was already up.” I try to diffuse the tension I know is coming, “Trying to clear my find and stuff.” I pull the ingredients out of the cabinet and fridge, biting my tongue.

“Right…” Oscar shakes his head, seemingly letting it go and joining Lando on the couch. As Oscar scrolls through the TV, Lando glances back at me, not giving me a smile or anything before turning back to his teammate.

I turn to the stove, my eyes wide and cheeks red. This is going to be a long week.

⋆༺

lando

“What do you mean, you’re not coming?” I ask Oscar as he pushes past me to grab Lily’s bag.

“Lily just killed her foot-” He says, looking more worried than i’ve ever seen him, “I’m taking her to the hospital.”

Y/n walks in with Lily next to her, her hand around her waist as Lily’s arm is over her shoulder. She’s limping with a pained look on her face, “Shit. I can come- I’ll drive.”

“No it’s fine!” Lily says quickly, “I’ll be fine. You two can just go explore. You should have fun.”

Y/n looks from me to Oscar, “Lily we can come with you it’s really not a prob-”

“No!” She moves away from Y/n, hopping to Oscar who wraps his arm around her, “Just- send me pictures!” And with that, they’re gone.

Y/n looks at me, blinking. Nicole hurries back inside, shutting the door, “That boy I swear…”

“Mom, do you want to come with us today? Lily won’t be back for a while and you should-”

“I’ve gotta work, love.” She explains, “Take Lando to all the touristy spots!”

Y/n turns on her heels, looking at me skeptically, “So… what do you want to do first?”

⋆༺

you

What do you do when you’re tasked with exploring your home town with a man you’ve known for one day and are extremely attracted to?

In my mind, you take him to the best place for him to get as shirtless as possible… the beach! Even though my mom said that wasn’t good enough, I’ve been craving the water.

I still bring him there, how could I not!? Best beaches in Australia are right in my hometown. He’s probably all sad and broody from grey Britain anyway!

I know I already saw Lando shirtless yesterday, but this… this is different.

Tanned, wet, sandy, AND shirtless. His curls are wet and I'm pretty sure a smile is permanently drawn onto his face. He plops down next to me, music blasting from a speaker a couple people down.

“I love the sun.” He mumbles into the towel, sitting up and unknowingly flexing his arms. I breathe in and look back at the water.

“I can tell. I’m jealous. I wish I got as tan as you.” I flick sand onto him as he rolls onto his back. He’s in blue and reminds me a bit too much of prince eric.

“Yeah you might wanna sunscreen up.” He teases, pressing my arm as if I'm bright red! I do not burn that easily, thank you!

I scoff as he tosses the bottle at me, “Fuck off!” I grab it, “You wanna put it on me?” my manner changes in an instant, seeing an opportunity and taking it.

His tooth catches on his lip as he nods. I smile and hand him the bottle gently. Ah, men… So easy to manipulate. So easy to trick.

I move my hair from my back slowly, but the second I hear the bottle unlatch, I spin around and grab it, squeezing it onto him.

“Trouble!” He yells, the sunscreen on his chest and splattered onto his face. I’m running away before he can even open his eyes again. “Get back here!”

I run straight into the water, diving under the first wave and regretting it as soon as his hand meets my ankle. He tugs me back as I come back up for air, his hands fully white and coming straight for me. “No!” I scream, trying to swim away, but his hand is on my waist and smearing the sunblock all down my arm.

“Cunt!” I yell louder, shoving him under water. He pops back up, coughing and laughing.

“You’re so dramatic!” His hands are clean now, shaking out his wet curls onto me.

“You basically called me pale!” I argue, laying back in the water and catching my breath, “I reacted like a sane woman.”

“Nothing about you is sane.” He dunks his head again. I watch him go under and match him, not being able to see him in the salt water but feeling him there.

“You’re the one who fell for it.” I shrug, not forgetting the want in his eyes.

He shakes his head, sinking into the water again so I can only see his head and shoulders, “I’m understanding the trouble thing more and more...”

I can’t help but smirk, “Good thing you can handle it.” Him. The dim kitchen light. The ice cream. His fucking eyes never leaving mine.

“You want me to handle you?” This, surprises me.

He’s matching me quicker than I expected.

I just smile and swim to shore, “Come on, Norris! We’ve got plans!”

Like I said, my mom said the beach wasn’t enough ( even though it’s only his first day here! ) so we took Oscar’s Mclaren and booked it to Fitzroy market.

Lando said he likes shopping and my favorite place to do it is here! The area is crowded with people in way cooler outfits than me and vendors with tons of vintage items.

Lando and I are still in beach wear. He’s in all black, probably baking in the sun but looking ridiculous in a shirt with cutoff sleeves and backwards hat, a camera slung around his neck.

I gravitate to some vintage juicy couture while Lando is on the rack over looking at jerseys. The woman working the booth grins when she sees me. “Y/n! My girl!” She hops over to me, side stepping the others around, “How’ve you been!?”

“Mitch!” I grin right back at her, “Better than ever, babe, i’m out of school!” She laughs, her full head of curls bouncing with her. “How are you!? Business is booming, I see!”

“Amazing! Broke up with Jonah too…” She looks down, her glasses shading her eyes for a second before she pops right back up, “But fuck him!”

“Fuck him!” I join in.

“Yeah, Fuck him.” Says a deeper voice. Jonah comes walking up behind Mitch, wrapping an arm around her before she has the chance to push him away.

“Hey, J.” I roll my eyes at him, respecting his role in Mitch’s life but definitely not the way he dated her.

“Hey.” Mitch sways my arm, leaning in a bit and lowering her voice, “Who’s the hottie?”

I glance back to my companion for the day, he’s holding up a jacket at the booth over and talking to the guy who runs it. “That is Lando…” I turn back to them.

“Boy toy?” Jonah raises a brow as I shake my head.

Not yet.

“Boyfriend?” Mitch looks so shocked that It makes me laugh.

“No! Boy i’m showing around today.” I clarify, “And someone I should probably go after before he gets lost.”

Mitch and Jonah nod, both knowing the extreme confusion one can get into at the market. I kiss Mitch on the cheek and wave goodbye to both of them.

When I turn around, Lando is handing money over to the man and smiling when he sees me. There’s that smile again.

He swings the bag in his hand as we walk away, “You come here often?” The curly haired man glances back at my friends.

“Maybe too much.” I shrug, “Mostly because Mitch carries the best shit ever.”

“Oh yeah?” He nods, “I heard you two talking… what’s up with the tall one?” I laugh when he refers to Jonah.

“They’re… a lot. Soulmates? Maybe. But definitely not meant for eachother. You know? At least, not right now.”

He scrunches up his nose, “I don’t know.”

“They love each other and stuff but Jonah needs to get his life together. All we can do is help Mitch get over him and pray that we don’t end up like them.” It sounds mean, but the two really are in a situation that I would hate.

“Shit.” He nods as we turn into a booth with a million shoes, “I had something like that once.”

This makes me turn to him suddenly, “Yeah?”

“Without the soulmates part… I think I may have been Jonah in that situation. Thank fuck it’s over, though. The girl was not as nice as Mitch.” I nod and smile at his use of my friends love life, “What do you think of these?”

The conversation switches to a horrendous pair of sneakers he’s holding up, “Oh babe… no.” I make him put them back and drag him to the correct section.

He’s like my own barbie doll! One that can talk and definitely bite back.

I knew I would lose Lando in this godforsaken place! I’m in too deep and have three bags in my hands.

I walk around to find him, possibly getting distracted by all the pretty things, but settling my eyes on him once again at a plant shop.

He’s in the corner talking to two girls and a guy, looking a bit shy and way too hot in his backwards cap. I watch him for a second, weaving through the people and walking across some shops.

He finds me pretty fast, it’s probably due to the all white i’m wearing in a sea of colorful button downs and denim. I can see him excusing himself and hurrying over to me, “You left me.”

I laugh, “I lost you!”

He shakes his head and starts walking away, “Sorry prissy, I forgot I'm babysitting you.”

He shakes his head, smiling back at me, “I got cornered by fans.”

“Better than me being there and having rumors spread on twitter of your ‘possible new girl’.” I laugh and walk out of the crowd, the sun hot on us and making me crave a cool drink.

He laughs at this, “You wish.”

I scoff, turning back to face him, “I can leave your ass in the middle of melbourne, you know?” I hold up the keys to my brothers car as he steps closer.

“I dare you.” He says, “I guarantee if you got into that car alone you’d be in a wall in five seconds flat.”

I swat the keys at him, “I’m a great driver!”

“Not in that.” He shakes his head, “Has Oscar ever actually let you driven it?”

I bite my lip, not answering.

His eyes flick down to my lips, then back up at my eyes, “Come on then.” He snatches the keys right out of my hand!

“Norris!” I yell, hurrying after him and across the street as he walks faster, “Hey!”

I catch up to him on the other side, he’s still swinging the keys around his finger with a grin on his face, “Where’s the most open, empty road you know?”

I raise a brow and follow him into the parking structure, “Why…?”

Our car is easy to spot, he walks over to it, and to my surprise, finds his way to the passengers side. Looking at me over the expensive car, he tosses me the keys, “We’re gonna hit two hundred in this thing and I want to make sure there’s no bystanders in the car of your havoc.”

He slides into the car, making me squeal and swing the door open quickly, sliding into the way far back driver's seat and turning the keys into the ignition.

He sees my eyes light up as I adjust the seat, “You ever kart as a kid?”

“A bit. Got kicked out a few times.”

“Why…?”

I eye him and click my seatbelt into place, “Too fast, too reckless…”

He shakes his head and mumbles a curse under his breath before tightening his seatbelt. “Don’t make me regret this.”

⋆༺

lando

I was right. Oscar has never let her drive his Mclaren before, and for good reason.

She can’t drive stick shift, first of all. But I only let her briefly panic before I grab a hold of the stick and tell her to go slow.

She does not go slow. Tate Mcrae is blasting through the speakers as she speeds up the empty street with the windows rolled down. The street is right next to the beach and I can see the sun about to go down.

Y/n break checks me and makes me hold on tighter. My arm is around the back of her seat so I can control the stick shift with my dominant hand. She’s laughing and going faster and faster by the second.

It doesn’t take her long before she gets the hang of it but I still hang onto the stick as she sings along to Sports Car.

I’m not stupid, I know her little games and yes, they might be working, but I will not be giving in. This week is supposed to be relaxing, recuperating, and definitely NOT romantic.

Although, the track that Y/n and I are heading is definitely not romantic. More on the side of we both want each other in a hot sexy way.

Her hair whips all around us as she turns the corner, making her way higher up the hill. I’m now realizing that the hill is more of a mountain, the street getting smaller and the trees growing farther away.

I watch her speedometer as it inches higher and higher, her smile growing bigger as it goes, “Christ, are all Piastri’s this quick?”

She laughs out loud, “Next time you compliment me try not to include my brother in it too!”

I can’t help but let out a laugh, staring at her profile as the landscape zips by us. Her cheeks are pink from the sun and I bet if I put my hand to her neck i’d be able to feel her heart racing.

I shouldn’t be thinking this. I know I shouldn’t. But my eyes wander too easily down her smooth skin, her bikini top untied with the strings hanging over her thin top like it’s nothing.

I drag my eyes off her tits and back on the road, knowing I'm in too deep for someone I just met. We slow down as we reach the top, or at least, where she thinks is close enough.

She practically jumps out of the car, running over to a small patch of flat land and a bench that overlooks the water.

“Holy shit.” I walk slowly behind her, looking out at the view and watching her figure jump up and down. I grab my camera that I forgot is around my neck and snap a photo.

She looks back at the perfect moment, her face shadowed and her hair a mess around her, but it just… fits.

I sit on the bench as she sets her ass down on the back of it, her feet tapping the wood next to me.

“So. Your first full day in Melbourne! Thoughts?”

I smile, “I’ve been here before.”

She groans, “Not with me. Was I a good tour guide?”

I nod, “The best.” We didn’t do a whole lot but that’s the best part. Y/n is completely fun but totally chill at the same time.

My phone lights up, it’s a text from Oscar.

“Osc says that Lily is Ok and they’ve been chilling at the house for a while. He’s asking where we are.” I look up at the girl whose eyes are set on the pink and orange sky.

“Tell him we’re making out sloppy style in his car.”

The only change in her behavior is a tiny tug on her mouth, “Trouble…” I mumble and text him that we’re watching the sunset and will be back soon.

“I’m only voicing what we both want.” Jesus Christ, this girl… I’m rarely speechless, especially after a comment like that. But this girl is insanely captivating and I've never wanted to give in more.

I’m struck again at how beautiful she is, the sky reflecting off her as if she’s a part of the earth.

“Nervous, Norris?” Her head dips down to my level.

“We should get back.” I say, leaning my head back on the wood.

“Cop out.” she whispers before hopping off the bench and moving back to the drivers side.

“Woah! You are not driving back.”

“Try and stop me.”

⋆༺

you

I can’t drive stick. I wasn’t lying about that. Although now that I think about it, it would be a great way to get closer to a man.

Lando’s hand is over mine the whole way back. I insisted I could do it (or at least try!) but he guided my every move anyway. Hot. As. Fuck. I try to watch the road and not his huge veiny hands on mine, but mostly fail.

We’re split up after another quick dinner. I talk to Lily about her new addition to her shoe collection (a black boot semi-permanently on her foot as of today), while Lando, Oscar, and my Mom talk about the movie they’re watching.

I’m in my bed a while later, the lights still on in the hallway and Lando’s door hasn’t creaked shut yet so I know he’s not there.

My mom had thanked me immensely for showing Lando around and Oscar gave me a small thanks while looking at me funny. I don’t think he trusts me with his friend, especially with my past and a certain neighbor.

And sure, I want him to trust me! But I want Lando more.

I’m so zoned out that I don’t notice the man in my doorway, knocking on my open door with a tired smile on his face.

Lando has one hand in his pocket, looking sunkissed and content. “Hey.” I sit up, crossing my feet under me.

“Hi.” He smiles as if he’s about to blush, “I just wanted to say… Thanks for today. It was really fun.”

“I didn’t scare you too bad in the car?” I ask as his head meets my door, his neck straining against it.

“You weren’t too bad. Definitely got my adrenaline pumping.”

“Just say I'm an amazingly fast driver and move on.” I shrug, leaning back on my hands and puffing my chest out proudly.

He watches me- watches my body. I don’t have a bra on, something obvious in the cool space of our air conditioned house. I’m wearing a new set, light yellow with lacy little shorts. He likes it and I can tell.

He groans, running a hand down his face and shutting his eyes tight. “Your brother is gonna hate me by the end of this trip.”

I quirk a brow, playing the innocence card as I push a rogue strand of hair out of my face, “Why’s that?”

He looks at me again, his tongue running over his teeth as he challenges me. I want him, that’s the truth. But i’m not that easy.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, trouble.” he pushes off the door, turning around and not looking back.

“Dream about me. But don’t be too loud tonight, yeah?” I tease, “Thin walls. I learned that the hard way.” I emphasize ‘hard’ never missing an opportunity to tell a joke.

He throws up one hand, the other still on his face as he walks out of my room and turns to go to his. I smile to myself, standing up and shutting the door he was too busy to remember.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

"are you trembling for god, or for me?"

part I

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Angel!Reader

Summary: Ben never thought he'd like innocence this much... he wants to see how far he can twist it.

Warnings: 18+!, Soldier Boy is a warning, language, corruption, religious reference, violence, innocence, smut (dirty talk, dry humping, corruption kink, praise kink), I may have missed some.

Word Count: 5,853

Ben hated waiting. Especially for those assholes.

The safehouse was hot, dusty, and stank of something sweet and rotten—probably whatever the last squatters left in the fridge. Or maybe MM's shitty protein shakes. He paced the living room like a caged dog, boots creaking on warped floorboards, jaw grinding as he chewed the inside of his cheek.

They were late.

Again.

And Butcher's last text—got somethin extra, stay fucking put!—wasn't helping.

He scoffed under his breath. "Better be a goddamn nuke."

Outside, gravel crunched under tires. Ben rolled his eyes and dropped onto the arm of the busted couch, leaning back with a sigh just as the door swung open.

Butcher came in first, blood on his sleeve and that usual sour look twisting his face. "Christ, that was a fuckin' mess," he grunted, tossing his gun onto the table. MM followed behind him, eyes sweeping the room with military precision. Hughie was limping. Kimiko had blood spattered across her cheek.

And then—

You.

Barefoot. Wrapped in someone else's coat—Hughie's, maybe. Your face was drawn, pale. You looked... wrong. Not in a monstrous way. Not like a supe. Just—

Fragile. Quiet. Too quiet.

Ben froze. The air changed. He sat up straighter as you crossed the threshold, your steps hesitant, like each one needed permission. You kept your arms close to your body, your fingers twitching like they weren't sure what to do without chains.

You didn't look at the others. You looked at him. And he stared back. Hard. But you didn't flinch. Didn't look away. You studied him. Wide eyes. Calm face. Like he was a puzzle to solve, not a weapon. Not a threat.

It unsettled him.

"What the fuck is that?" He muttered, voice low.

Butcher dropped into the nearest chair with a groan and unceremoniously cracked open a beer. "That," he said, nodding toward you, "is the reason this whole thing went sideways."

Ben didn't break eye contact. "Looks like a deer caught in a goddamn bear trap."

"Yeah, well, she's Vought's little secret. Kept her underground for—what'd Frenchie say—six years? Seven?" Butcher waved a hand. "Some angelic-class prototype. Supposed to be a healer. Maybe a nuke. Who the fuck knows."

"A what now?"

"Angelic. You know. Wings. Light. God complex. That kinda bollocks."

Ben scoffed. "You're kiddin'."

"Do I look like I'm in a joking fuckin' mood, cunt?"

He didn't respond. You were still staring at him.

And it wasn't scared. It wasn't reverent. It wasn't even curious. It was detached. Like you'd been dropped into a world that didn't make sense, and you were trying to find a shape in the noise. You looked at him like he was a radio station that kept cutting in and out.

Ben stood up slowly, letting the weight of his presence fill the room like smoke. He walked toward the kitchen, keeping you in his peripheral vision, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He popped the cap with his thumb and took a long, slow pull. Still, you watched him.

It wasn't until you spoke—soft, almost unsure—that something in him twitched.

"Are you the loud one?" You asked.

The room fell quiet.

Ben raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You're the one I heard. From the van. The heartbeat." Your voice was calm. Tired. "It was very loud."

Butcher chuckled darkly from the couch. "Told you. Fuckin' weird."

Ben didn't laugh. He took another swig of his beer, then turned his full attention to you. You didn't back down. Just tilted your head again. Like a bird listening for rain.

She's not scared of me, he thought. That's gonna change.

He meant to forget you. Really, he did.

Meant to write you off like the rest of the weird shit The Boys dragged back from the edge of hell. Meant to file you away as some broken Vought pet project—another fucked-up science experiment with glass bones and too much light behind the eyes.

But the thing was...

You didn't do anything. You just were.

You wandered the safehouse like a ghost in someone else's body. Always barefoot. Always quiet. You'd trail your fingers along the walls like you were feeling the pulse of the place. You watched the toaster with reverence. You flinched when someone raised their voice but never spoke up. You didn't eat much. Didn't sleep, either.

And Ben—who wasn't subtle, wasn't patient, wasn't nice—found himself watching.

At first, he told himself it was because you were a liability. A Vought ticking time bomb wrapped in soft skin and borrowed clothes. He was just being careful. Keeping an eye on you.

But then you tilted your head at him one morning—like you were listening to a song only you could hear—and smiled. And he knew he was fucked.

It was late afternoon now. Too hot. Too quiet.

He sat on the windowsill, one leg propped up, watching the hallway like it owed him something. The rest of the team were out getting supplies. He'd stayed behind to "rest." Translation: he didn't feel like playing nice.

And there you were.

Walking slowly down the hallway, your hand brushing the wall, bare feet whispering over the scuffed floor like you weren't sure gravity applied to you yet. You stopped in front of a painting—ugly, generic motel art in a fake gold frame—and stared at it for a long time.

Then you said, softly, "Why is that tree on fire?"

Ben blinked. "It's fall."

You turned, startled. Then you smiled like he'd said something kind.

"Oh. I thought it was a warning."

He stared at you.

Who the fuck talks like that?

You walked toward him slowly, like someone approaching a wounded animal. You weren't scared. You were just... careful. He didn't move. You stopped a few feet away, folding your hands in front of you.

"Do you like it here?" You asked. No context. No explanation.

Ben raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like someone who likes anything?"

You tilted your head again. That damn bird look. Thoughtful. Soft.

"You don't have to, you know."

He scoffed. "Don't have to what?"

"Pretend to be angry all the time. It makes your heart beat too hard."

What the fuck.

He stared at you like you'd grown a second head.

You smiled, barely. "I can feel it when it's too loud."

That made his jaw clench.

"You feelin' me right now, sweetheart?" He asked, voice low.

You paused. Then nodded. Softly. Innocently. "Always."

Ben looked away. He didn't trust what his body was doing. Not his breath. Not his pulse. Not the coil tightening low in his gut.

You weren't flirting. You weren't trying to get a rise out of him. That was the worst part. You didn't know. And that made him want to bite something in half.

Later, the sun dipped low, painting the walls of the safehouse in bruised orange and peeling gold. The shitty air conditioning buzzed overhead, doing a whole lot of nothing. Somewhere down the hall, Butcher was yelling about someone eating his last protein bar.

Ben ignored him.

You were in the living room, cross-legged on the carpet, watching the tiny TV like it held the secrets of the universe. Some rom-com flicker of mid-2000s sap, all fake city backdrops and orchestral swells when the guy finally realised the girl was his entire goddamn reason for breathing.

Ben stood in the doorway. Arms crossed. Shoulder leaned against the frame. Watching you watch the movie. He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore.

You tilted your head the same way you looked at everything—curious. Quiet. Like you didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so you settled somewhere in between. There was a half-eaten orange in your lap. Your fingers were sticky with juice.

Ben didn't think he'd ever seen someone look more out of place and more made for a moment all at once.

"You ever seen a movie before?" He asked gruffly.

You didn't look away from the screen. Just nodded.

"Do you like it?"

Another pause. Then: "I think it's nice." You said it like it meant something.

He huffed. "Romantic shit always look that dumb to you?"

You blinked. Then turned your head, slow and deliberate, to face him. Your eyes held no edge, no sarcasm—just a soft kind of interest.

"I don't think it's dumb," you said. "It seems kind."

Ben didn't answer. He didn't move. Something sharp twisted in his ribs. You held his gaze like it was easy. Like you didn't know what it meant to make a man like him look away first.

He clenched his jaw. Then, before he could stop himself:

"You ever been kissed, angel?"

You blinked again, slower this time. Like you had to process the question. Your mouth parted, just a little, and Ben's hands twitched at his sides.

"No," you said.

He swallowed.

"Why?" That word. Soft. Curious. Not defensive. Not shy. Just you.

Ben stared at you. He didn't answer. Didn't trust himself to.

You turned back to the screen, unfazed. Like the question hadn't meant anything. Like it didn't split something open inside him. As if he hadn't just hurled a brick through the stained-glass window of your innocence and expected you to thank him for it.

Ben stood there for another beat, staring at the slope of your neck, the curve of your cheek, the way your lips parted in thought like you were tasting the word kiss without knowing what it meant.

And just like that—no warning, no control—

He got hard.

No buildup. No fantasy. Just you. Sitting there barefoot and honest, asking why. He shifted where he stood, jaw tight, swallowing back a groan like it might choke him.

Jesus Christ.

He hadn't been that hard in years. Not even during the real thing. This wasn't lust. It wasn't even want. It was hunger.

He turned and left before he embarrassed himself. In the hallway, he braced a hand against the wall, breathing hard.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

But he already knew. You were untouched. And now, he was fucked.

Ben didn't talk to you the next day.

Didn't look at you, either—not directly. Not when you drifted into the kitchen with that quiet grace like your feet barely touched the floor. Not when you tilted your head at Frenchie's joke and laughed like you didn't understand it but wanted to, anyway. Not when you gently pressed your fingers to Kimiko's temple after a headache and the girl visibly relaxed in your hands.

He didn't look.

But he felt you.

Every time you were near, the air changed. Like something holy was crackling just under the skin of the world, threatening to tear it open.

Ben kept to himself. Grunted when spoken to. Smoked more than usual. Tried to convince himself it was nothing. Just another freak in a long line of freaks.

But then the call came in.

A low-level Vought squad spotted across the city—unregistered supes doing damage, maybe a trap, maybe just cleanup. The team loaded up. He didn't ask why you were coming along this time. No one did. You just went where they went.

That was your thing. You followed. Quiet. Soft.

Ben sat in the back of the van, bouncing his knee, jaw tight as you stared out the window beside him. You didn't ask where they were going. You didn't ask why. You just watched the city blur past like it was a painting you weren't allowed to touch.

He told himself he wasn't going to protect you. That if things went sideways, you'd be fine. You had power. You could handle yourself. And if you couldn't? Not his problem.

Not his fucking problem.

You reached the target building around dusk. Grey light bleeding into alleyways. Frenchie and MM took the left flank, Butcher and Kimiko circled right. Ben moved dead centre—no orders, no backup. Just fists and fury.

You stayed with Hughie near the van, hands folded in front of you, waiting like someone told you to stay put and you still believed in rules.

The first hit came fast.

One of the supe bastards barrelled out from behind a stack of crates and slammed into Ben like a goddamn freight train. He didn't go down. Just grunted, spit blood, and swung back. Another one tried to jump him from behind—missed. Kimiko caught that one midair and threw him straight through a van windshield.

Chaos. Sharp and sudden. Concrete echoing with grunts, gunfire, the static of suped-up comms.

Ben was in it—fully, brutally in it—until he heard it. You. Screaming. Not a human scream. Not fear. Not pain. Something higher.

He turned before he could stop himself.

You were surrounded. Three of them. Closing in fast. MM was too far, Butcher pinned behind debris, Hughie unarmed. And you—barefoot, bleeding, breath hitched in your throat—you looked so damn small.

But you didn't run.

You stepped between one of the attackers and Hughie like you were made of steel.

Ben's blood roared in his ears.

"HEY!" He bellowed, already moving, too late to get there in time.

And then it happened. You raised your hands—trembling, bloodied—and screamed again. The air warped around you. Not like an explosion. Like a miracle.

For a split second, the sky went white.

Your wings burst into view—not solid, not whole. Like smoke and sunlight caught in motion, burning at the edges. Feathered shadow outlined in divine fire. They didn't flap. They didn't stretch. They just existed—blooming behind you like vengeance and purity all at once.

And above your head, a flicker. A ring of gold. Not bright. Not clean. Holy.

Ben stopped moving. His heart slammed into his ribs like it was trying to break out.

You moved faster than he thought you could—one hand out, a pulse of something unseen knocking one of the supes back twenty feet. Another charged and you touched him, palm to chest, and he dropped like a stone, eyes rolling back.

You turned to the last attacker, and for the first time, Ben saw your face twisted with something real. Rage. Sorrow. A divine kind of devastation.

Your halo pulsed brighter. Your wings burned.

And Ben didn't duck in time.

One of the remaining bastards clipped him hard from the side—a pipe or maybe a bat, he didn't see. Pain exploded across his ribs. He hit the ground with a curse, teeth clenched, vision blurring.

The fight blurred around him. Distant shouting. A body hitting the pavement. Concrete under his palms.

And then—

You. Kneeling beside him like you'd always been there.

Your hands hovered, unsure. "Ben," you whispered. "Ben, you're hurt." Your voice shook. You were crying.

He blinked up at you, his vision stuttering over the faint gleam above your head, the scorched shimmer of light curling behind your shoulders. Your wings were fading, flickering, like the moment was too much for the world to hold.

"Don't fuckin' touch me," he growled—weak, hoarse.

You didn't listen. You pressed your hands to his ribs. Light flared. Warmth poured through him—sweet and golden and goddamn unbearable. Not just healing. Not just power.

Pleasure.

His breath caught. His back arched. His hips twitched. He groaned. Loud. Rough. From the pit of his stomach, and your eyes fluttered open—wide, startled.

"Did I hurt you?"

Jesus.

He grabbed your wrist, holding you there.

"The fuck was that?"

You looked at him, confused. Tears still drying on your cheeks. "I made you better." Like it was that simple. Like you didn't just make him feel reborn. When you tried to pull your hand back, he didn't let you. You didn't fight it. You just tilted your head and waited.

She made me feel clean. I'm gonna ruin her.

He didn't sleep that night. Couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, it was your face. Your hands. The way your breath hitched when you healed him. The way your wings shivered before they flickered out. The way your halo burned like a gold ring above your head for a single, impossible heartbeat.

He swore he could still feel it. Your light. Inside him. Like warmth crawling under his skin, coating his bones, cleansing him. He hated it. He needed it again.

So when morning came and the others went out—supply run, recon, something he didn't give a shit about—he stayed behind.

Alone. With you.

It started in the hallway. Ben leaned hard against the wall, one hand pressed to his chest, brow furrowed. His breath came in slow, heavy drags. You found him like that. Quiet footsteps. The faint sound of your inhale as you saw him slouched against the wood paneling like something was wrong.

"Ben?"

Your voice was so gentle it made his fists clench.

He looked up slowly, gritting his teeth like he was in pain. "Heart," he rasped. "It's—fuck—beatin' too hard again."

You stepped forward instantly. No hesitation. Just soft urgency.

"I can help you," you whispered. "Let me—"

He caught your wrist, gently this time. Played the part. Scared. Shaky. Broken.

"Need you," he muttered. "You're the only thing that helps."

And God help him, he meant it.

You laid your hand over his chest, and his body lit up like a fucking altar. That golden calm sank into him again—cool and thick, like honey sliding down his throat, like blood being replaced with grace.

He groaned. Low. Unfiltered.

You froze.

"Is that better?" You asked, confused.

He didn't answer.

He watched your lips. The way your mouth moved when you said his name. He stared at your lashes, how they fluttered when you concentrated. He watched your throat work when you swallowed.

And then he said it. He had to.

"You ever think about how that feels?" He asked.

Your brows knit in confusion. "How what feels?"

"Touchin' me like that. Helpin' me." He leaned in. "You ever wonder if it feels good because you want it to?"

You blinked. "I don't—" You looked down at your hand still pressed to his chest. "I just... I want you to feel safe."

He chuckled, dark and low.

"Sweetheart," he said, "I haven't felt safe a day in my life." He leaned in, brushing his lips near your ear, not quite touching. Close enough to taste your breath. "But you made me feel somethin'," he whispered.

You made me feel clean. So I'm gonna make you dirty.

"I think you like it," he said next, voice gravel and sin. "I think part of you likes makin' me feel good."

You pulled back a little, eyes wide. "That's not what I meant."

He smirked. "You keep touchin' me like that, and I'm not gonna be the only one makin' noise next time."

You blinked, visibly thrown. "Noise?"

His smirk widened.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You really don't know what I'm sayin', do you?"

"I..." You trailed off. "I'm just trying to help."

Ben's tongue slid over his teeth. He took your wrist again, slower this time. Measured. Possessive.

"I know," he said. And then—just to twist the knife—"Come on, angel. Be good and calm me down again."

It was unbearable. Watching you. Every goddamn day. Still barefoot. Still soft-spoken. Still moving through the safehouse like a half-remembered dream.

You didn't flinch when you passed him in the hall. You didn't look away when he stared too long. You didn't snap, or scold, or blush—not even when his words started getting sharp around the edges.

He'd corner you in the kitchen just to see if you'd squirm. You didn't. He'd make jokes that would turn anyone else red. You'd just blink. Smile. Ask if he needed help. And every time, it got harder to breathe.

He wanted to snap his fingers and watch you shatter.

This time, you were leaning over the counter, slicing an apple with one of Frenchie's knives. Your fingers worked slow, careful. Your wings hadn't shown since the skirmish, but Ben kept watching for them anyway. Like maybe they'd twitch when he said the right thing. Like maybe they'd flare when you finally cracked.

He stepped into the kitchen, heavy boots echoing against the tile. You looked up. That same serene expression. That maddening stillness.

"Whatcha makin', sweetheart?"

You held up the apple. "It's fruit."

"No shit," he muttered.

You tilted your head. "Would you like some?"

"No," he said. "I don't want anythin' sweet."

You blinked. Confused again. He stepped closer. Slow. Deliberate. Stopped just a few inches from where you stood, close enough that your elbow brushed his chest when you moved. You didn't even react.

He leaned down, voice low, thick, like honey slathered over gunmetal.

"You gonna keep pretending you don't know what I'm sayin'?"

You turned toward him. Wide-eyed. "What do you mean?"

He grinned, sharp and dangerous. "I mean, you keep actin' like you don't feel it."

"Feel... what?"

He laughed. "Jesus. You're serious."

You frowned, and for the first time, he saw a crack—tiny, delicate, like hairline glass in your expression.

He took it and twisted.

"You know what happens to good little angels like you?" He asked, voice dropping. "The world eats 'em alive. Chews 'em up. Spits 'em out in pieces."

You stared. Said nothing. He leaned in, mouth near your ear.

"But not me," he whispered. "I'd worship you while I ruined you."

Your breath hitched. Tiny. Barely there. But he heard it. He pulled back just enough to see your eyes. Still soft. Still confused. Still unbroken.

"Don't play innocent, angel," he said. "You touch me like you've already chosen."

You shook your head. "I was only trying to help. You said your heart—"

He grabbed your wrist again, same one he always reached for. Fit like a fucking habit now.

"You keep givin' yourself away like that," he said, "and someone's gonna take it the wrong way."

He waited. Waited for fear. For a flinch.

Instead, you just blinked. "Would that be wrong?"

Ben's grip tightened. He turned away before he did something stupid.

You don't get it. And I don't know if I want to teach you or just watch you fall.

He started doing it on purpose after that. The episodes. The short breath. The clutching his chest. The tension under his skin, real or faked—it didn't matter. Because you always came running. Like the good little angel you were.

This time, it was past midnight. The safehouse was quiet. Everyone else out or asleep. Ben was sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, shirt undone, head tilted back, breathing shallow as the phantom ache in his chest throbbed like it knew your name.

He didn't have to wait long.

Your footsteps were light. Barely there. You stepped into the kitchen with that same wide-eyed calm, your hands already glowing before you even spoke.

"Is it happening again?" You whispered, already close.

Ben didn't speak. Didn't nod. Just looked at you through half-lidded eyes and said, "Help me."

You stepped between his knees, one hand on his chest, the other hovering just below his ribs. And when your power touched him—when that divine warmth bloomed inside him—his eyes rolled back.

He exhaled like it hurt. Like it ruined him.

"F-fuck..."

Your eyes snapped up. "Did I—?"

"Keep goin'," he growled.

You swallowed. Nodded. Let more of yourself pour into him. And it hit him again—hot this time. Like liquid sunlight. Like his nerves were singing hymns and bleeding at the same time. He groaned—and not quiet.

Your hand twitched. You didn't pull away. Ben opened his eyes. You looked flushed. Maybe it was the light. Maybe it was him. He smiled. Slow. Predatory.

"You like that," he said.

Your head jerked. "What?"

"You like touchin' me. You pretend it's just healing, but you keep comin' back." He leaned in closer. "You keep givin' me this." His hand covered yours. Pressed it harder against his chest. "You could stop anytime you wanted. But you don't."

"I... I just don't want you to be in pain."

He chuckled. "I'm always in pain, angel. You're just the first thing that ever made it feel good."

You blinked. Tried to look away. He didn't let you. He caught your chin, tilted your face back to his.

"I make noise every time you touch me. You notice that?"

"I..." Your voice shook.

"Bet you never heard a man moan like that before."

Silence.

Ben leaned in. "I could make you sound like that."

You blinked—horrified or curious, he couldn't tell. He hoped for both.

"I could make you scream so loud your halo'd crack in half," he whispered.

Your mouth parted, and finally, finally your breath stuttered. He felt it. That little flicker of your pulse under his fingers. He grinned.

Bingo.

Slow. Shaky. "I... I think that's enough for now," you said. You started pulling your hand back. He didn't let you.

"Uh-uh. Not yet," he said, voice low, rough around the edges. "Feels too fuckin' good to quit now."

Your eyes flicked up, a little unsure. But you stayed. Of course you stayed.

"You ever felt this before?" He asked, his fingers curling tighter around your wrist. "The way it heats up when you touch me? Like your whole goddamn body's tryin' to tell you somethin'?"

"I... I'm just trying to calm you—"

"Yeah?" He leaned in. "Well, newsflash, sweetheart—this ain't calm. This is fuckin' divine."

You blinked up at him, confused. And then you made the sound. A whimper. Soft. Involuntary. Like it slipped out before your brain caught it.

Ben went still.

You looked down. Right at yourself. And fuck—his dick twitched hard enough to hurt. Your brows pulled in. Your hand drifted lower. Palm over your stomach. Down. Your thighs pressed together.

And Ben watched, breath shallow. You looked back up at him like you were scared of your own skin.

Holy fuck. She doesn't even know what the hell that is. And I'm the one who woke it up.

"You feel that?" He asked, voice rasped and wrecked. "That little throb between your legs?"

You nodded. Small. Scared. Curious. "I think something's... wrong."

Ben let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "Wrong?" He muttered. "Oh, angel. That's the best goddamn part."

He stepped closer, towering over you.

"That?" He pointed lazily at your hips. "That's your body sayin' thank you."

You swallowed, wide-eyed.

"It's me," he added. "I did that."

Another whimper. Fucking perfect. He wanted to throw you on the counter and make you scream until the light burned out of your eyes—but he didn't. Not yet.

"Don't worry," he said, voice soft now. Dangerous. "We'll figure it out."

Your lashes fluttered. You nodded. Like you trusted him. And that? That was the most fucked-up thing of all.

Ben heard the knock and already knew it was you. Soft. Three little taps. Barely there. He didn't answer right away. Just let it sit. Let the silence stretch. Let you wonder if he was asleep or ignoring you or worse—until finally, he grunted:

"Yeah."

The door creaked open. You stepped inside like you were crossing holy ground. Ben was sprawled across his bed, shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips, one hand behind his head, the other resting across his abs. He didn't bother sitting up. You just stood there. Barefoot. In one of Hughie's oversized hoodies again. Looking down. Looking unsure.

He kept his voice low.

"What's up, angel?"

You hesitated. Then closed the door behind you.

"I... I didn't know where else to go."

He sat up at that. His eyes dragged down your legs. Back up. You looked wrecked—not in the usual way. Not scared. Not hurt. Just... overwhelmed. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"Talk to me."

You shifted on your feet. Clasped your hands together like you were about to pray. "It happened again," you whispered.

His head tilted. "What did?"

You glanced up at him, almost afraid to say it. Then: "The... the ache. That throb."

Ben's mouth went dry.

You kept going. "I thought maybe it was just when I touch people, but I wasn't healing anyone. I wasn't even near anyone." You paused. Swallowed. "I was just... thinking about you."

His heart slammed against his ribs.

You looked down at yourself again, thighs squeezing together like you were ashamed. "And now it's worse," you whispered. "Now I'm looking at you and it's worse."

Ben exhaled through his nose. Tried to keep his voice steady.

"C'mere."

You blinked.

He patted the bed beside him. "Sit."

You obeyed without question. Slipped onto the mattress, still not looking at him. Ben watched you closely. You were flushed. Your breath came shallow. Your hands curled into fists in your lap.

"You don't know what to do with it," he said, voice low, almost kind.

You shook your head. "I don't even know what it is. Just that it... it hurts. But not like pain."

"It's not pain," he murmured. "It's want."

Your breath caught. He leaned in, slow, voice dropping to a gravel whisper.

"You ever touched yourself?"

You blinked. "I—what?"

He smirked. "Guess that's a no."

You looked away, embarrassed.

Ben's voice softened—not out of mercy. Out of calculation.

"It's okay, angel. Ain't your fault. You're new to all this. Whole world's been keepin' you wrapped in glass." He reached over. His fingers ghosted over your thigh, just enough to make you twitch. "But you came to the right fuckin' place."

You turned back to him. Eyes wide. Lips parted.

He grinned.

"You think I don't love that it was me?" He asked, voice rough with need. "That it's me you think about when it starts? That it's my voice in your head when your thighs start squeezin' together and you don't know why?"

You whimpered. Just a little. And Ben's whole body tensed.

Fuck me. She's gonna come apart and I ain't even touchin' her.

He brought his mouth closer to your ear.

"You wanna feel better?"

You nodded.

"You wanna learn?"

Your breath shook. "Yes."

He smiled against your cheek.

"Good girl."

You were squirming now. Sitting on his bed, knees drawn up under that borrowed hoodie, hands clasped so tight your knuckles had gone pale. Every few seconds your thighs twitched together like you were trying to hold something in.

Ben watched. Every breath. Every shift. Every desperate little tremble. His cock throbbed, heavy in his sweats, but he didn't move. Didn't touch you. He was too busy watching you unravel.

Come on, sweetheart. Fall.

You looked at him, eyes glassy. "I don't know what to do," you whispered.

He tilted his head. "Yeah, you do."

Your mouth parted. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and mean.

"You came here."

You nodded, almost guilty.

"You're sittin' there all hot and achey, thinkin' about me, and you came here."

"I just thought maybe—"

"—I could make it go away?" He finished for you, grinning. "That it'd stop if you let me touch you?"

Your breath hitched. Ben's grin faded. His voice dropped.

"No, baby. It doesn't stop. It starts."

You whimpered. Just a little. But your thighs pressed tight and you rocked forward slightly—so innocent you didn't even realise you were grinding down against the tension.

Ben exhaled through his nose like it hurt.

"You want me to help you?"

You nodded.

"Say it."

Your brows drew together. "What?"

"Say you want it."

You shook your head—nervous. "I don't know what I'm asking for."

He reached out. Ran his knuckles over your knee. "You want me to teach you?" He asked, voice low. "Wanna learn how to touch yourself right?"

Your lips parted again. Slow. Breath shaky. "Yes."

Ben's cock twitched hard.

Fuck. That's it. That's the sound. She's never said that word like that before. Never meant it like that.

He patted his thigh. "C'mere."

You crawled into his lap like it was instinct.

He adjusted you with firm hands—one on your hip, one around your waist—settling you over his thighs. Your hoodie bunched up as you straddled him, and he nearly groaned at the heat bleeding off you.

He didn't touch you where you wanted. Just leaned in.

"Okay," he whispered against your cheek. "Let's start small."

He took your wrist. Brought your own hand to your belly.

"Lower."

You slid it down.

"Little more."

You swallowed. Obeyed.

Ben's voice dropped to a gravelly murmur. "Feel that pulse right there? That little throb you keep cryin' about?"

Your fingers twitched. You nodded.

"Press. Gentle. Just hold it."

You did. Your breath shook.

Ben's mouth nearly touched your ear now.

"Good girl."

You whimpered. Louder. And then, your wings flickered into view behind you. Not full. Not glowing. Just flickering. Like the light inside you was trying to escape.

Ben nearly lost it.

Holy fuck. She's lighting up just from her own hand. Just from my voice. She's mine.

"Now rub," he whispered. "Slow. In circles. Just like that."

You bit your lip. "Feels weird," you breathed.

"That's good, sweetheart. That's your body learnin'."

You kept going. Small motions. Breathless. And Ben? Ben was smiling. Watching purity fracture in real time. Watching you come to life. One little touch at a time.

You were trembling in his lap like your body wasn't sure it belonged to you anymore. One hand buried beneath the hem of that borrowed hoodie. The other fisted into the collar of his shirt like you needed something to hold onto or else you'd drift away.

Ben sat back against the headboard, legs spread, letting you straddle his thigh with all the slow grace of a sinner crawling toward salvation. You didn't even know what you were doing—and that? That was what made it perfect.

You weren't trying to grind down on him. Wasn't deliberate. Wasn't dirty.

It was instinct. Need. Your hips rolled in these shallow, searching little movements that made his pulse hammer behind his teeth. And you kept murmuring tiny things—"I'm sorry," and "I don't know why," and "It's so hot"—like you thought you were confessing.

Like he'd ever fucking forgive you.

He could feel the heat through his sweats. Radiating off you. Soaking into him. Your thighs trembled every time his voice dipped low, every time he told you "just like that, sweetheart" or "keep rubbin', you're doin' so fuckin' good."

It was working.

God, it was working.

He could feel you—glowing faint under your skin. Light like static trapped in flesh, flickering in bursts. Your breath coming in high, desperate little gasps like you didn't know if you were allowed to make noise.

She's gonna fucking break. She's gonna fall apart with her hand on her cunt and my name in her mouth and she won't even know what hit her.

And then it happened.

That sound.

A moan—real, full, unfiltered. It cracked right out of you like something ancient finally getting free. Soft and wet and so fucking pure it nearly brought him to his knees.

Ben gritted his teeth. His hand moved—instinctual—down to cover yours, guiding your fingers harder, tighter, lower.

"Yeah, baby," he rasped, voice thick with reverence. "You're right there. You feel that?"

You nodded, whimpering. And then—you froze. All at once. Like you'd been caught in a spotlight. Your hand jerked back from under the hoodie like it was burning you. Your thighs snapped shut so fast they slapped against his.

Your eyes were wide. Panicked.

"I—I can't—" You shook your head, voice ragged. "I can't do this. I'm sorry."

Ben blinked. Not angry. Not shocked. Just still. You pulled back, trying to climb out of his lap like you were filthy, like you'd broken something sacred, but he didn't let you go. Not rough. Not forceful. Just firm. Grounded.

"Hey." His voice dropped into something soft. Something careful. But never kind. "You're okay."

You didn't look at him. Your halo flickered behind your shoulder like a candle caught in wind. "I felt something," you whispered. "It was building and it felt—wrong. Too big."

Ben stared.

You were still glowing. Still lit up in that faint, holy shimmer. You were divine like this—flushed and shaking in his lap, eyes wet with something like shame.

She was so fuckin' close. So fuckin' perfect. She doesn't even know what that would've felt like. And I would've been the first.

You breathed like you were trying not to cry. "I couldn't stop it," you said. "I didn't want to but I did—"

He reached up. Brushed your jaw with the backs of his fingers.

"Angel," he murmured. "That? That's what your body's built for."

Your eyes found his. Blown wide. Searching. Terrified.

"Don't you dare apologise for that."

You swallowed.

"But I don't understand it."

"I know. And that's what makes it so fuckin' beautiful." He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. Breathing you in. "You want me to stop, I'll stop," he whispered. "But don't lie to me. Don't lie to yourself."

You nodded, breath stuttering. Ben pulled you in. Wrapped his arms around you, cradled you against his chest like you were something holy he'd just dragged out of heaven and didn't want to drop. Your halo pulsed once. Dim. And then disappeared. You stayed there. Still glowing under the skin. Still his. Still trembling.

And all he could think—over and over, as his hand curved around the back of your neck and you finally sighed against him—was:

Next time, you're not stopping. Next time, you're gonna see God. And it's gonna be me.

a/n: AHHHHH. Okay, I couldn't help myself, I had to post the first part. I've got the next two parts written up and ready to go, I just don't wanna post them until I've finished up the last two instalments. I'm so excited for you guys to find out what happens. Let me know what you think please!! And if you like it, then you can all thank @tinas111 because this was her idea, I'm just doing the writing, hehehe. All the love.

Soldier Boy/Ben taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @bittersweetfig @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @ohgodimgoungtodie @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @kaz-2y5-spn @bitchykittenconnoisseur <3

[charmed-asylum]

Jj

I love how JJ literally running from responsibility but he will lose his shit if or when he finds out her stripping or Rafe . But she trying to talk to you can u n urs friends are more important. U miss a job interview for fishing oh yeah im gonna hate this man w a hand full of gold ready to swing it at someone

“JJ frowned but didn’t answer right away. He knew he was being a little unreasonable- but in his defense he was just a teen. His silence however told her everything. She looked at him and momentarily took in his appearance, his messy blond hair, his summer kissed skin; she envied him a little, the way he was always out and about, not worried, never stressed. She muttered, turning on her heel.”

I think I agree w reader and many people that not only we dealt with this but somehow things change on age like when we was JJ AGE did we not want to do the same but somehow things telling me we didn’t

Then I think back to again sad truth a lot of people deal with this not because they wanted to but even with it being hell they had no choice. JJ should know and he not making it easy for them acting way he does what if she died or walk off he be alone. “ . Sometimes she wished she could turn back time, move back to when she didn't even know about all of this, before she showed her dad she could look after herself - and JJ… maybe then she wouldn't have this constant weight on her shoulders.” Then if not all this bills and what not her dad damn wtf wrong w this family in my mind she and JJ have different moms so shit mom had to leave her w this shit. “She’s gripping the wheel tightly, her thoughts tangled in the mess of overdue payments, an empty fridge, and a father and brother who barely acknowledge her existence unless they want something” this speaks volumes like all of this hub yes . Like this whole thing while these two MEN don’t care much for her just use her I feel that this will make it easy for Rafe at end of the day she use to having to take care of men not once be pamper sad but true even when Tommy ask her you trouble she thinks of her dad and brother which haha u care so much but don’t do shit w ur hand out wow but I feel this is going to blow up in his face or rage get jealous n become that boyfriend I know too ahead of my self haha.

Why Tommy way more cool then I imagine one would be like I’m thinking player club type not Mafia w a heart, “I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

Neither is ungrateful dickd

And then he does shady shit tommy Tommy . Damn way they had a long as convo w no words when Rafe first came in I even scream and drop my phone like I didn’t see it coming . Way that dance happened im sorry while he playing w her idk what relationship she had w him before or in school how she was but he in deep nah bc if he want to get back at JJ TAKE PICS N POST no no no he wanted this and only him maybe berry but bc he there to be witness but im sure even that not gonna last it’s not his style damn that dance im sure next time it won’t be the same nope not at all. I’m hook 🪝

Bunny

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: I actually said I'd never do another series again but here we are 😼. Looollll anywho, Y/N literally is literally a walking definition of older child syndrome and her and Rafe hate eachother so much stop. This is gonna be such a good enemies to lovers get me outta here

warnings: mentions of drugs, smoking, drinking, a strip club (duh), naked women, drug dealing, aggressive behaviour.

(P2)

The faucet dripped steadily, each drop hitting the rust-stained sink with an echo that filled the quiet of the house. Y/N stood in the cramped bathroom, arms crossed, lips pressed together in frustration as she watched the slow but relentless leak. 

Another thing broken. 

Another thing they couldn’t afford to fix.

She let out a slow breath, running a hand down her face before turning sharply at the sound of footsteps thudding through the hallway. She knew them well—JJ, heading for the door, heading out. Again.

“JJ.” 

Her voice was firm, but it barely slowed him down as he moved through the house, searching for his keys. He muttered, pushing past the worn couch and shoving a hand into the pocket of his frayed shorts.

“Not now, Y/N, alright?” 

“JJ, seriously.” 

She stepped into his path, arms out now, forcing him to stop. 

“Can you just- can you talk to me for five seconds?”

“What?”

His blue eyes flicked up to hers, but there was impatience in them, already halfway gone even as he stood in front of her. Y/N clenched her jaw, gesturing back toward the bathroom. 

“Shit’s breaking faster than I can fix it. We need money and I can’t do this alone.”

“I’ll figure something out, okay?” 

JJ sighed, rubbing a hand down his face as he stepped around her, heading toward the door again. She let out a humorless scoff watching her brother avoid the conversation- once again.

 “What about that job interview at the gas station I told you about last week?”

She’d told him about it last monday, she could still remember begging the manager to give him a chance, given his reputation- well it wasn't the best. JJ’s shoulders tensed slightly, and for the first time, he hesitated. 

“Uh… yeah, about that…”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. She already knew the answer before he finished his sentence. She spoke slowly, warning in her tone.

 “JJ” 

“Look, me and the Pogues were fishing, and we kinda… lost track of time.”

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck. Y/N shut her eyes, exhaling sharply as she lifted her hands to cover her face. 

“Are you serious?”

“I mean, technically, I did show up. Just… a little late.”

JJ let out a half-hearted chuckle, like maybe that’d soften the blow. She dropped her hands, shaking her head as exhaustion settled deep in her bones. 

“Jesus, Jay. Do you even care?”

JJ frowned but didn’t answer right away. He knew he was being a little unreasonable- but in his defense he was just a teen. His silence however told her everything. She looked at him and momentarily took in his appearance, his messy blond hair, his summer kissed skin; she envied him a little, the way he was always out and about, not worried, never stressed. She muttered, turning on her heel.

“Forget it” 

“Y/N—”

But she was already walking away, back toward the bathroom, back toward the leaking faucet, back toward everything she had to deal with alone. JJ hesitated for a second, watching her go, then sighed and yanked open the door. And then it shut behind him, leaving Y/N standing there in the silence. She swallowed hard, blinking back the stinging frustration behind her eyes.

"Yeah," she muttered to herself, voice barely above a whisper.

 "Guess I'll figure it out myself."

After a while she had given up on the leaky faucet, cleaning up the house- to the best of her ability- before settling down in the kitchen.The stack of bills sat on the dining table, a messy pile of final notices and overdue warnings. Y/N stared at them, her fingers running over the edges of the envelopes, as if touching them could somehow make the numbers smaller, make the debt disappear. The utilities, the rent- hell, even the grocery bill? It was all piling up faster than she could keep up with. Sometimes she wished she could turn back time, move back to when she didn't even know about all of this, before she showed her dad she could look after herself - and JJ… maybe then she wouldn't have this constant weight on her shoulders.

With a sigh, she dropped her head down onto the table, resting her forehead against the cool surface. Think, think, think. There had to be a way to come up with money, something quick, something that didn’t involve relying on JJ, because clearly that wasn’t an option either now. Her mind raced through possibilities, but every idea led to a dead end. The front door swung open and then slammed shut. Y/N didn’t even lift her head as heavy, stumbling footsteps made their way inside. 

She knew that gait all too well. 

Her jaw clenched as her father mumbled something incoherent under his breath, his words slurred, laced with whatever shit he had put in his system tonight. She stayed still, hoping, praying, that he’d just pass out somewhere and leave her be. Without a word to her, he shuffled through the house, disappearing into her bedroom. Y/N pursed her lips, lifting her head slightly as she listened to him rustling around in there. She knew better than to go after him. Whatever he was looking for- money, booze, something to pawn- she wasn’t about to get in his way.

Instead, she pushed back from the table, standing up slowly, her hands pressing against the wood as she steadied herself. The house was too quiet now, except for the occasional sound of drawers opening and closing in her room. Her stomach twisted. She needed to get out of here, needed to fix this mess before it swallowed her whole.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She’d been driving with no real destination, letting the silence of the night and the hum of the engine settle her thoughts. She’s gripping the wheel tightly, her thoughts tangled in the mess of overdue payments, an empty fridge, and a father and brother who barely acknowledge her existence unless they want something.Then, as she’s driving through the dimly lit streets, she passes by it. The neon sign flickers, casting a dull pink glow onto the pavement, and without even thinking, she slams the brakes. Her car comes to a sudden stop in the middle of the empty street and can feel her seat belt digging into her chest momentarily, her heart pounding as she stares at the building.

It’s not like she’s never thought about it before. 

She’s heard things, seen the type of girls who walk in and out of there, all done up with money to spend. And right now, she has nothing- nothing but overdue bills and a house falling apart. Her hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. A part of her wants to just drive away, pretend she never even considered it. But another part of her- the part that’s desperate, the part that’s sick of drowning- knows this might be her only shot. She swallows hard, taking a deep breath before finally pulling her car to the curb. She sits there for a second, hands still on the wheel, staring at the entrance, she brings her hand up to rub it down her face, hand resting over her mouth as she thinks. 

Really thinks.

Then, before she can change her mind, she kills the engine and steps out.

The night air is cool against her skin, but it does nothing to settle the heat rising in her chest. Her heart is hammering, her stomach twisting as she closes the car door behind her. The pavement feels unsteady beneath her feet as she walks toward the entrance. The music from inside is faint but pulsing, the bass reverberating through the ground. She hesitates, staring at the worn-down exterior and the neon sign buzzing overhead. As she approached the door, something caught her eye- a flyer taped to the window, the bold letters glaring at her in the dimming light.

NOW HIRING

This is insane. 

She shouldn’t be here.

And yet, she doesn’t turn around, instead her fingers flex at her sides before she pushes the door open, stepping inside. The shift in atmosphere is immediate. The air is thick with perfume and alcohol, the dim lighting casting deep shadows across the room. The club isn’t packed- it’s late on a weekday- but there are still men scattered around, cash in hand, eyes glued to the stage. A girl moves fluidly under the colored lights, her body illuminated by pinks and blues as she wraps herself around the pole. Y/N swallows, forcing herself to keep walking, past the wandering eyes of men who glance at her but don’t linger. She doesn’t know exactly where she’s going, only that if she stops now, she’ll most likely lose her nerve.

She spots a bar toward the back and makes a beeline for it, hands slightly clammy. A woman stands behind the counter, pouring a drink for some guy in a suit. Y/N waits until she’s done before leaning in slightly. 

“Hey, um- do you know who I talk to if I’m looking for a job?”

The woman lifts a brow, gaze flicking over Y/N, taking her in. Then, without a word, she jerks her chin toward a door near the back as she picks up a glass on the counter and starts drying it. 

“Through there. Ask for Tommy.”

Y/N nods, her pulse jumping as she turns toward the door. This is it. She can still leave, still pretend she never came here. But instead, she takes a breath and pushes the door open. The door swings shut behind her with a dull thud, muffling the thumping bass from the main room. The air back here feels different- less suffocating, it’s dimly lit, the walls lined with old vintage posters of strippers and liquor crates, the faint scent of cigarettes lingers in the air.

Y/N’s eyes adjust quickly, landing on a man seated behind a cluttered desk, lazily counting a stack of cash. He looks to be in his late forties, broad-shouldered with thinning hair and a face that’s seen its fair share of rough nights. A half-smoked cigarette dangles between his fingers. He doesn’t look up immediately, just exhales a cloud of smoke before finally lifting his gaze to hers. His eyes sweep over her, slow and calculating. 

“You lost, sweetheart?”

“I saw you were hiring.”

Y/N shakes her head, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket.That piques his interest. He leans back in his chair, eyeing her with something between amusement and scrutiny. 

“That so?”

“Yeah. I—I need a job.”

She nods, trying to keep her voice steady. Tommy taps his fingers against the desk, sizing her up. 

“You ever danced before?”

Y/N hesitates for half a second, “No.”

He smirks like he expected that answer, responding with a slow nod as he places the money he was counting into an envelope labeled ‘Bambi’. 

“You got any experience bartending? Serving?”

“...I'm a waitress at the country club.”

His brow lifts, and for a moment, she thinks he’s going to laugh in her face. Instead, he sighs, rubbing a hand down his jaw, momentarily pausing as he closes up the envelope, puts it onto a pile and looks up to her. 

“So, what? You just walked in here hoping I’d throw you on stage?”

“I’m a fast learner.”

Y/N presses her lips together, shifting on her feet. Tommy watches her for a beat, then gestures toward the empty chair across from him. 

“Sit.”

She does, moving forward and lowering herself onto the chair in front of him, the leather squeaking a little as it makes contact with her bare thighs. He studies her in the dim light, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray. 

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N,” he says, dragging the word out like he’s tasting it. “You don’t look like a girl who just woke up one day and decided this is what she wanted to do. So tell me- what are you really doing here?”

“I need the money.”

Y/N clenches her jaw. Tommy hums, nodding like that doesn’t surprise him as he taps the ash of his cigarette on the edge of an empty whiskey glass. 

“That part’s obvious.” 

He leans forward slightly as he continues, resting his elbows on the table. 

“But I need to know what I’m dealing with. You got people who’ll come looking for you? A jealous boyfriend? Strict parents? Any reason this might come back to bite me in the ass?”

Y/N hesitates, because the truth is- complicated. JJ wouldn’t approve, not in a million years, his sister working in a strip club? There was no way he would be happy about it, but the more she thought about it, he’s barely around- and besides she is the older sibling. And Luke? She doubts he’d even notice with the way he’s always high out of his mind. Yet deep down she knew, if he did find out it certainly wouldn’t end well.

“No,” she says finally. 

“No one’s coming after me.”

Tommy watches her carefully, like he’s weighing her answer. Then, with a slow nod, he exhales another stream of smoke and flicks his butt of his cigarette into the glass. 

“Alright, Y/N… I’ll give you a shot.”

Relief floods her chest, but it’s short-lived as he continues.

“First things first- you start off small. No stage, not yet. You’ll work the floor. Waitress, maybe some private rooms if you’re up for it. Tips are yours, but the house gets a cut. If you prove you can handle yourself, we’ll talk about dancing.”

Y/N nods, ignoring the way her stomach tightens at the mention of private rooms. She can handle this. She has to. Tommy gestures toward the door. 

“Come in tomorrow night. Nine o’clock. One of the girls will show you the ropes.”

“Okay, thank you.”

He hums out as Y/N stands up, gripping the back of the chair briefly before letting go. As she turns to leave her hand reaching out for the door handle, Tommy’s voice stops her.

“One last thing, sweetheart.”

She glances back.

“I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

His gaze is sharp, knowing. Y/N doesn’t reply. What could she possibly say to him? She just nods once and steps back through the door, back into the neon-lit haze of the club.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dressing room hummed with chatter, the air thick with the scent of perfume, body shimmer, and a mix of fruity smoke drifting around. Mirrors lined the walls, reflecting girls in various states of getting ready- adjusting lingerie straps, applying a final coat of lip gloss, securing thigh-high stockings into garter belts. Y/N sat at one of the vanities, leaning in close as she fixed the last flick of her eyeliner. Her figure was wrapped in black lace, tiny straps and sheer panels leaving just enough to the imagination- but she still had a few finishing touches to go. Naomi- better known as Bambi- was beside her, placing her straightener down and popping her gum loudly as she smirked at Y/N through the mirror. 

“You’re getting faster at this,” She mused, eyes flicking down to Y/N’s hands as she fastened a delicate silver choker with a small heart pendant around her neck. 

“First week, you were takin’ forever in here. Now look at you. A real pro, Bunny.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled, smoothing out a stray strand of hair before reaching for her gloss. She teased, voice light but with that tired edge that never quite went away these days.

“Yeah, yeah. You gonna pat me on the head next?” 

“Mmm, maybe after your first private dance of the night. If you’re good girl.”

Bambi grinned and Y/N huffed a laugh, pressing her lips together to even out the gloss. A month and some into this life, and she wasn’t sure if she was settling in or just getting better at pretending she had. It was easier now- knowing the regulars, knowing what songs meant what, knowing how to smile just enough but not too much. The money helped. 

God, did the money help.

She glanced down at her phone, screen lighting up with a notification. 

JJ :  Staying at John B’s 

JJ  :  See you tmr

JJ  :  Good luck at work!!!

Y/N stares at the screen for a moment, her stomach twisting like it always does when she thinks about how much she’s keeping from him. He thinks she picked up an extra night cleaning shift at the country club since that’s what she told him. He has no idea that while he’s crashing at the chateau, she’s slipping into heels and stepping onto a stage under flashing neon lights. She locks her phone, pushing the thought away. 

Guilt won’t pay the bills.

“Busy night, you think?”

She spoke as she ignored the message, flipping the phone over and looking back at the girl next to her. Bambi gave a lazy stretch, rolling out her shoulders. 

“Always is on a Friday. High rollers’ll be in. You might get lucky.”

“Yeah, real lucky.”

Y/N scoffed, grabbing her perfume and spritzing it lightly over her collarbones. Bambi side-eyed her, then leaned in with a smirk. 

“Come on, Bunny. You might actually have fun tonight. If not, at least make it worth your while.”

Y/N just hummed, adjusting the strap on her heel as the familiar pulse of bass-heavy music leaked in from the club floor. The music thrums through the floor as Y/N steps out of the dressing room, the familiar pulse of bass settling into her bones. The club is alive tonight- packed booths, the bar swarmed with men flashing cash, neon strobes flickering over clinking glasses and loose laughter. Bambi walks beside her, adjusting the strap of her bra as she surveys the crowd. 

“It’s a good night,” she muses, eyes gleaming as a man waves down a waitress with a fat roll of bills in his hand. 

“Everyone’s in a generous mood hmm.”

 “Looks like it.”

Y/N hums, already spotting a few regulars scattered through the crowd. The air is thick with perfume and cologne, the scent of whiskey and something heavier and smokier lingering beneath. Girls weave through the crowd, balancing trays of drinks, draping themselves over men who let them. The DJ’s set switches, the bass rattling the room, A voice calls from near the DJ booth, and Bambi nudges Y/N with her hip, a smirk tugging at her lips as she sends her a little kiss.

“Knock ’em dead, baby.”

Y/N exhales, rolling her shoulders back as she steps into the chaos of the club. The energy is thick tonight- bodies packed around the stage, eager hands already tossing bills, the bass thrumming deep in her ribs. She grips the pole, the cool metal grounding her for a brief moment before she moves.The nerves are familiar but distant now, part of the routine; she’s used to it- the way the outside world fades the second she steps onto the platform.

Her body flows with the music, slow and teasing at first, rolling her hips as she wraps a leg around the pole and lifts herself with ease. She spins, the world blurring for a second, heels gliding effortlessly over the platform. A whistle cuts through the noise. A few more bills flutter at her feet.

She twists, sliding down with a deliberate drag before pushing herself back up, hooking her knee and arching her back; thighs squeezing the pole as she extends her body in a perfect line. The music pulses, dictating her movements- fluid and sultry. For a moment, there’s nothing but the heat of the lights and the electric charge of the crowd.

But then as she lifts her gaze mid-spin, her eyes catch on something in the far corner.

Two men in a booth, half-hidden in the dim lighting. They sit relaxed, a quiet presence amidst the chaos, yet people keep coming up to them- leaning in, hands subtly exchanging cash, small bags slipping from one palm to another. She doesn’t need to look too closely to know what’s going down. She presses her palm to the pole, as her feet hit the platform again, hips swaying slowly, her focus slipping back to the crowd in front of her, but something gnaws at her, pulling her attention back. Then, the lights shift, a quick flash of neon, just bright enough to cut through the shadows, and she sees him.

Rafe Cameron.

And he’s looking right at her.

Leaning back in the booth, one arm draped lazily over the seat, a glass of whiskey in his other hand. Her breath catches in her throat, her grip faltering just slightly as she steadies herself. But it’s too late. Her moment is stiffer now, the tension stretched between them, across the crowded room, and he’s locked in the way he watches her. Unblinking. She can’t tell what he’s thinking but she knows one thing for certain- 

He knows exactly who she is.

Y/N forces herself to keep moving, to stay in rhythm with the music despite the ice-cold feeling creeping up her spine. But it’s impossible to ignore the weight of Rafe’s stare. It lingers burning through the dim haze of the club. She glides down the pole, making sure to keep her expression smooth- indifferent. Her heart is hammering against her ribs, but no one in the audience would know it. They see only the show, the slow hypnotising sway of her hips as she lands back on the stage, the way her fingers tease at the hem of her lace bra before she moves toward the edge of the stage dropping to her knees. The song is winding down. One last arch of her back, one last deliberate sweep of her hands up her thighs before letting the final beat pulse through her body.

Applause, whistles, the sound of crisp bills hitting the stage.

She scoops up what she can as she stands, but her mind is barely there. Not when she can still feel the weight of him watching. As she steps offstage, she risks a glance toward the booth again.This time Barry is grinning, chatting with some guy in a backwards cap who’s slipping a wad of cash into his pocket. And Rafe- he’s still looking at her, Y/N’s breath catches as their eyes meet again and this time, he smirks. It’s small, almost lazy, but there’s something in it that makes her stomach flip.

Shit.

She rips her gaze away, hurrying toward the bar, barely registering the sound of heels clicking against the floor or the music thumping through the speakers. She drops her earnings into her basket at the end of the bar- before grabbing a glass of water. Her hands are steady as she lifts it, but her heart is pounding wildly. The bartender gives her a once-over as she wipes down the counter. 

“Damn, Bunny- y'look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You have no idea.”

Y/N exhales, pressing the cold glass to her lips. Her eyes drift back to Rafe before she can stop herself. He’s talking to someone else now, some guy in a backward cap, shaking his hand as something small and discreet trades between them-

Fucking hell.

She jumps at the sudden touch on her arm, nearly spilling her drink. Whipping around, she exhales sharply when she sees who it is.

“Jesus, Tommy.”

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing- It’s nothing.”

She responds as she shakes her head slightly, Tommy doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it slide.

“Someone put in a request for you.”

“Who?”

Y/N wipes her palm against her thigh, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up her spine. Tommy leans in slightly, his voice calling out over the music as his head nods in the direction she was just looking. 

“Rafe Cameron.”

Y/N freezes and Tommy notices her stiff shoulders instantly. 

“Something I should know about?”

“Um… I think he and his friend are selling coke-”

“—I know” 

Tommy says easily as he picks up one of the clean empty glasses on the bar, putting it away. Y/N frowns at his words. Since the first day she’d started working here, he had stated to her he had ‘zero-tolerance’ for any of the girls doing coke… so how come now, Rafe Cameron was allowed to walk in here and make this his personal dealing spot. 

“But I thought you—”

“I made a deal with them,” he shrugs, “keeps people coming in, keeps them buying drinks. Business is business Y/N.”

“Right.”

Y/N purses her lips as he speaks and Tommy studies her for a moment, then gestures towards where Rafe was sitting, once again passing over something she couldn't quite make out to a man in a white shirt. 

“I can send someone else, but you’ll lose out on the cash for the night.” 

His voice has that slight edge to it, the one that tells her he won’t be making a habit of exceptions. She hesitates. She could probably say no. She should say no. But then she thinks about the pile of bills waiting for her at home, the ones she still doesn’t know how she’s going to all pay.

“I—” She clears her throat. 

“It’s fine.”

“Good. He’s waiting.”

Y/N exhales, setting her glass down with a quiet clink and then she turns, smoothing out her hair, checking her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. Rafe still leaned back in one of the lounge chairs, legs spread, arm slung over the back of the seat. Barry is beside him, but he isn’t paying attention to whatever he’s saying. His eyes are already on her.

Watching. 

Waiting.

She swallows hard, ignoring the way her pulse kicks up as she straightens her shoulders and starts moving toward him. Her heels click against the floor, her movements slow and she can feel the weight of his gaze. When she finally stops in front of him, Rafe tips his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Hey there, Bunny.”

Y/N clenches her jaw at the sound of his voice- low and smooth, edged with amusement. She doesn’t let it show, though. Instead, she gives him the same sultry smile she’s perfected for every other man who’s sat in front of her.

“Cameron” 

She says, tilting her head slightly, letting her fingers trail lightly over her bare thigh. Rafe grins like this is all some kind of joke. Like she isn’t standing in front of him in six-inch heels and a barely-there outfit, about to dance for him like she doesn’t know exactly who he is.

"Didn’t think I’d ever see you here"

His voice is smug like he’s savouring every second of this. Y/N bites back a retort. She wants to tell him to fuck off. Wants to ask him what the fuck he’s doing here, why he put in a request for her.

But she doesn’t. 

Because she can’t.

Her fingers twitch by her side as she takes a step closer instead, smoothly moving into his space. Rafe doesn’t move back. If anything, his smirk deepens as he spreads his legs a little wider and Barry chuckles beside him, knocking back the rest of his drink before running his hand over his head. He mutters, already moving to stand.

“ 'ight I’ll leave you to it,” 

But before he can leave, Rafe shakes his head, a smirk pulling at his lips,

"No, no—stay man."

Y/N’s stomach twists. She doesn’t want an audience, especially not Barry, she doesn't even want to be doing this in the first place. The club is still packed, neon lights flickering across the space. There are men scattered around, girls in their laps, some whispering things in their ears that’ll have them reaching for their wallets without hesitation. Y/N has done this a hundred times now. She knows the drill.

But this- this is different.

She inhales slowly as she notices Barry sitting back in his seat, eyes racking over her body and she has to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. She hesitant, her inner conflict gnawing at her mind but eventually she lets out a small breath a moves forward, swinging a leg over Rafe’s lap, lowering herself onto his thighs, moving her hips in a way that’s meant to tease. She lets her hands trail up his chest in a way that’s meant to be practiced and seductive. But then- his hand comes to rest on her hip.

Her whole body tenses.

Rafe notices. Of course he does. His thumb presses against the curve of her hip, just enough to make her teeth clench. Y/N forces a tight-lipped smile, shifting on his lap just enough to make it look like part of the dance- but really, it’s an attempt to put space between them. Her voice stays low, sharp beneath the sultry act.

"There’s a no-touching policy."

Rafe’s smirk doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens. His fingers stay right where they are, his grip on her hip solid, unmoving. He tilts his head slightly, blue eyes gleaming with something threatening.

"None of the policies here apply to me, Maybank."

He speaks out as his finger slips under the strap of her black thong, tugging on it and letting it snap back into position, the feeling causing a sharp sting on her skin. The way he says her last name- it’s teasing, taunting. Like he enjoys the way it sounds in his mouth and Y/N can’t help but clench her jaw at the thought, heat creeping up her neck.bShe doesn’t let her movements falter though, even as his words sink into her skin like a slow-burning ember. Her ass grinds down onto his lap intone with the song blaring out through teh clubs speakers, her fingers trailing over his shoulders, a practiced motion, a distraction- for herself more than for him.

“That so?”

She murmurs, voice light, teasing, playing into the role she’s supposed to be in. Rafe lets out a quiet hum, his thumb stroking over the thin fabric of her outfit.

“Mhm. I don’t think Tommy would wanna lose his best customers, do you?”

She bites down on the inside of her cheek at his words but th rhythmic roll of her hips never stops. She knows he' s pushing her.

It’s in his nature.

Barry lets out a low whistle from his seat which is followed by a chuckle. Her eye's drift over to him sitting his legs spread wide as he takes lazy sips from his drink.

“Damn didn’t peg you for this line of work Maybank. Not that I’m complainin’.”

Her spine stiffens, at she meets his eye's- yet she refuses to give them the satisfaction of leaving before the song is finished. Her focus shifts to Rafe, on the smug expression he wears as he watches her, like he’s got all the time in the world.

Like he’s enjoying this far too much.

Y/N exhales sharply through her nose. He’s trying to get under her skin. And it’s working. Rafe grins, his grip on her hips unwavering he taunts, his other hand sliding down to her thigh, drifting awfully close to her inner thigh as he tilts his head slightly.

“What’s the matter huh? You dance for all these guys, but you’re nervous around me?”

The song drags on, seconds feeling like minutes. Her body moves on instinct, performing for him, back arching as she struggles not to unravel under his gaze. And then, just as she starts to think she can get through this without losing it- he leans in. His breath fans against her ear as he speaks, voice just low enough for only her to hear.

“Wonder what your brother would think if he saw you like this.”

His voice is casual, but there’s something sharp behind it, something that makes her stomach twist. Her jaw tightens.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Just seems like something he’d wanna know,”

Rafe doesn’t even acknowledge her as she speaks, his full attention locked onto the way her hips are still grinding against him. He muses, tilting his head.

“Bet he thinks you’re a little cleaner or somethin' huh?”

Her pulse thrums in her ears, but she doesn’t let it show. Rafe’s smirk deepens, catching the movement. His fingers drum now against her knee.

“Relax, Y/N. I’m just making conversation.”

“Yeah? Funny, doesn’t feel like that.”

She scoffs under her breath. He hums, tilting his head as he takes her in, eyes darting down from her face. Her stomach knots, but she refuses to cower under his gaze. Instead, she leans in just enough that only he can hear her. “You know,” she murmurs, voice dripping with saccharine sweetness,

“most guys just pay and keep their mouths shut.”

Rafe tutted, a slow, mocking sound, then, before she can react, Rafe casually plucks a few crisp fifty-dollar bills from the stack in front of him. His fingers ghost along the curve of her waist before he shoves them right between her pushed up tits, tucking the money into her bra. Heat rushes to her face- not from embarrassment, but from the pure, seething hatred bubbling up inside her. Her jaw tightens, and she shoots him a glare so sharp it could cut glass. Barry, watching the whole thing unfold, bursts into laughter, slapping his knee like it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all night.

“Country Club” he wheezes, “she gon' kill you man”

“Nah,” he drawls, eyes flicking up to hers.

“She likes it.”

Rafe just smirks, leaning back lazily in his seat and she scoffs, the sound sharp and dripping with disgust, before snatching the money from between her tits and throwing it straight at him. The crisp bills flutter uselessly against his chest before falling into his lap, but she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t want his money- doesn’t want anything from him.

She shifts to push off his lap, to put distance between them, but Rafe moves faster. His hand snaps around her wrist in an iron grip, yanking her back down before she can escape. A sharp gasp slips from her lips as she stumbles into him, her free hand landing against his chest to steady herself.

He’s close now.

Too close.

Rafe’s smirk fades slightly, replaced by something more irritated as he stares up at her. His fingers tighten around her wrist, his grip just bordering on painful, a silent warning.

“I’d be real careful, Bunny”

Rafe murmurs, his voice low and laced with something that makes her stomach uneasy. Her breath catches, but she refuses to look away, her glare burning into him. He tilts his head slightly, his smirk creeping back as he studies her reaction.

“You wouldn’t want your brother to hear about this little conversation, would you?”

The words hang heavy between them, and she swallows hard, her pulse hammering. Y/N sits there, her body tense, her expression carved from pure, unfiltered hatred. Every fiber of her being screams at her to move, to slap that smug look off his face, but she doesn’t. Because if Rafe tells JJ… she doesn’t know what she’d do.

He watches her, sharp and calculating, before plucking the discarded money from his lap. He folds the crisp bills between his fingers in half, before bringing them up to her face. His eyes stay locked on hers, and his lips curl into that insufferable smirk.

“Open up”

He murmurs, voice taunting but firm. Her jaw clenches and she doesn’t move. Amusement flickers in his gaze, but there’s something else there too- something that tells her that she'd not got much choice now. He lifts a brow, daring her to defy him and she hates herself for it, but after a long, thick moment of silence, she slowly parts her lips. Rafe hums in satisfaction, slipping the folded-up bills between her teeth.

“Atta girl”

He muses as she bites down, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary before he pulls away. He leans back lazily in his seat, studying her with open amusement, eyes flicking between the money in her mouth and the fire still burning in her gaze. She can tell he’s so fucking satisfied. The song finally comes to an end, the heavy bass fading into the low murmur of conversation and clinking glasses. The second the last note plays and a new one begins, she jerks her wrist free from his grasp, ripping her hand away like his touch burns her.

Her mind is racing- anger, humiliation, and something else she doesn’t want to name all tangling together in a storm inside her chest. She stands abruptly, plucking the money from between her lips with two fingers like it’s tainted. Without even sparing him a glance, she turns on her heel, ready to put as much distance between herself and Rafe Cameron as possible.

But then- she feels it.

The sharp smack lands right on her ass, firm and unapologetic. A small gasp passes her lips and the audacity of it sends white-hot anger surging through her veins, and she whips around so fast her hair nearly follows the motion. Barry is already laughing, a deep, wheezing sound, blowing out a thick puff of smoke as he watches the scene unfold like it’s the best entertainment of the night.

And Rafe?

Rafe just grins up at her, infuriatingly relaxed, his expression unreadable save for the smug amusement dancing in his eyes. Then, as if he hadn't already done enough, he puckers his lips, blowing her a lazy, taunting little kiss to her. She stares at him, disgust and fury twisting in her chest, her fists clenching at her sides- heart thumping heavily in her chest as she becomes certain of one thing.

She’s never hated anyone more in her life.

taglist: @xoxosblogsblog @moonywhisp3rs @i-love-gvf @my-name-is-baby @ltristessedureratoujours @stoned-writer @mariamadison6-blog @rafecameronswhoore @lovelytoomusic @rafesgurl @mysticbby2009 @vanessa-rafesgirl @silkenthusiasts @partygirl14 @amterasuu @xoxo-ada @icaqttt @willowpains @ivysprophecy @mauvesmax @larema121 @ggraycelynn

[messrsrarchives]

i have nothing to say that hasn't already been said in regards to the Uk Supreme Court hearing, nor do i have the mental capacity right now, so you get rhis long draft from february for now instead:

there is no feminism without trans rights. there is no feminism if you are pointing towards trans women and assessing whether they are "womanly enough". there is no feminism if you are pointing towards trans women and saying they can't get periods. "they can't birth a child, how are they women!?". there is no feminism if you turn around to trans men and ask if they've considered their future fertility. if you reduce their worth and their livelihood to their ability to bear a child. there is no feminism if you come after hrt because you can say it's trans healthcare all you want... until they come for your hrt. for your birth control, for your plan b, for your viagra, for YOUR hrt. there is no feminism if you insist on restricting trans healthcare. "no no, they need more time to think about it!" anyway, i'll wait 6 months for a doctors appointment only to be told i must be due on. have you considered it's anxiety??? there is no feminism if you insist on verifying people's sex. hi, hello, sorry! mandatory genital check! yes, we have security stationed outside the women's restrooms! don't worry about it, i'm sure that viral video of a cis woman being hounded by cis men pretending to be security guards is fake, it mustttt be a trans thing. yeah. no, it isn't bad that this trans person got misgendered and hatecrimed and assaulted. look at them, they aren't even trying. if they wanted to not be attacked, they would've worn the right thing. it's what they were wearing, right?

there is no feminism when the arguments against trans people are just misogyny repacked

what makes a woman a woman? no no, wait. you're 18! have you thought about your reproductive future? what if you change your mind and want kids ohhh you're gonna regret that. yes yes, these puberty blockers that both cis and trans people on? those are harmful because we shouldn't be messing with children's hormones but we're only going to ban them for trans people. yeah, i'm sure they work differently for cis kids! don't worry about it, the blockers know when a person is trans and then it starts attacking their body because that is absolutely how science works!

if jkr was a feminist she would talk about women's rights without a trans person coming into the equation.

she would talk about the fact that violence against women has been declared a national emergency in the uk, and she wouldn't follow it up with trans bathroom debates. that 70k donation to stop trans women being legally recognised as women? maybe that could have been spent elsewhere in the legal system. perhaps in ensuring that rapists and abusers actually get convicted of their crimes and that the 1 in 2 women who are victims of this do not shake their head with an empty sigh when they're asked if they would like to press charges. she wouldn't have come online with 14m followers and debated the validity of imane khelif's success, wouldn't have argued that a woman of colour was trans because she don't fit her western ideals of what a woman should look like, because feminism isn't feminism if it isn't intersectional. she wouldn't have handed johnny fucking depp millions upon millions. she wouldn't have given marilyn manson fucking flowers. if jkr were a feminist she would have spoken up about farage and his proposed restrictions to abortion. reform are leading the uk polls right now, this is becoming more of a threat but no no, silence.

if jkr was a feminist, she wouldn't be Supporting Donald Trump. she wouldn't be publicly praising him for his work against transgender athletes in america when he has over double the amount of sexual assault "allegations" than there even ARE trans athletes at college level in america.

there is no feminism without trans rights, and you need to take the wool off of your eyes if you think that you as a cis woman are safe from this. because you're not.

when we start bringing arguments about reproductive capabilities back? when we start arguing about how much "effort" a woman puts in, how much makeup she wears. when we start reducing womanhood back down to aesthetics and reproductive value?

you aren't safe.

and if you aren't standing with trans people right now, if you aren't standing for intersectionality right now?

then you aren't a feminist either.

[lila-lou]

✨All over again - 2/4✨

Summary: After a crash leaves Dean with permanent memory loss, you’re nothing but a stranger to him now. Years of love, gone in an instant. But the hardest part isn’t that he forgot you, it’s that he doesn’t want to remember.

-requested-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language, Angst

Word Count: 4132

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

As the evening rolled in, the bunker was eerily quiet.

You were still in your room—your own room now. The hours had passed in a blur, but you hadn't moved much. The weight of everything sat heavy on your chest, exhaustion pressing down on you, but sleep never came. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him. The way he had pulled off his ring, the way he had looked at you like you were nothing more than a stranger.

The love of your life—your husband—was gone. And he wasn’t coming back.

Meanwhile, Dean had buried himself in the garage, his hands occupied with Baby’s engine, like fixing something would make this easier. He hadn’t come back inside since he left the library, and Sam knew exactly why.

Dean was running.

Not that it surprised him. Dean had always run from things he couldn’t fix.

Sam sighed as he set the table, a familiar routine after years of traveling, of making whatever meal they could pull together feel like something normal. But tonight, it wasn’t normal. Nothing was.

He grabbed his phone, scrolling through the contacts, considering calling Cas, maybe even Jody, but he knew the truth: no one could fix this. Not even an angel.

With a deep breath, he stepped into the hall and called out, “Dinner’s ready”.

He didn’t expect you to respond. And you didn’t. You probably hadn’t eaten all day, but he doubted you cared.

Dean, though—Dean had to show up eventually. Sam knew his brother too well. He could avoid emotions, but he wouldn’t avoid food.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, he heard the heavy footsteps from the garage. Dean appeared in the doorway, wiping grease from his hands onto an old rag, his expression unreadable.

Sam leaned against the table, arms crossed. “She’s not coming out”.

Dean didn’t react right away, just tossed the rag onto the counter. “Figured”.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You’re really not gonna talk to her?”.

Dean huffed out a breath, shaking his head. “Talk to her about what, Sam?”.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe about how she’s been locked in her room all day after you broke her damn heart?”.

Dean’s jaw tightened, his shoulders going rigid. “What do you want me to do?”, he muttered, voice quieter now. “I already told her the truth”.

Sam let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, you sure did”. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Dean’s wedding ring, holding it up between them.

Dean’s eyes flickered to the small piece of silver, and for a moment—just a second—something passed over his face. But then it was gone.

“Thought you’d wanna keep this”, Sam said, voice sharp.

Dean didn’t take it. Instead, he just shook his head. “It doesn’t mean anything anymore”.

Sam clenched his jaw, his fingers curling around the ring. “Bullshit”, he snapped. “It meant everything to you”.

Dean met his gaze, something flickering in his expression—guilt, frustration, something else even Sam couldn’t read. But then he just exhaled. “It’s over, Sam”. His voice was quieter this time, but it still cut deep.

Sam swallowed back the anger bubbling in his chest, before he slipped the ring into his pocket. “Fine”, he muttered. “But at least pretend you give a damn and sit down for dinner”.

Dean hesitated for a second, but then—like clockwork—he sat down, grabbing a plate like this was just another night. Like everything hadn’t just fallen apart.

The next morning came too soon, dragging in the dull ache of reality with it.

You barely slept. When you did, it was restless—filled with fleeting memories that felt more like ghosts, teasing you with what once was. The warmth of Dean’s body beside you, the sound of his laugh, the way he used to nudge you awake with a kiss to your shoulder.

Now, the only thing that greeted you was an empty room, a cold bed, and the harsh truth of being alone.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. Sam.

“Come on”, he called through the door, voice softer than usual. “Breakfast. Then we’re heading to a case”.

A case.

For the past few days, everything had been about Dean. His memory loss, his detachment, the way he had slowly pushed you away until he finally put the last nail in the coffin. But now, things were moving forward—just like that. As if nothing had happened.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and pushed yourself upright, feeling the weight of exhaustion in your limbs. You could hear Sam’s footsteps fading down the hall, giving you space, but the message was clear.

The world wasn’t going to stop for this. So, neither could you.

With a deep breath, you pulled on a hoodie and ran a hand through your hair, barely glancing at your reflection before stepping out into the hallway. The bunker felt colder than usual—though maybe that was just in your head.

When you reached the kitchen, Sam was already at the table, nursing a cup of coffee, scanning something on his laptop. Dean sat across from him, shoveling food into his mouth like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t shattered everything between you the day before.

You hesitated in the doorway, your stomach twisting. Dean didn’t even look up when you entered. Didn’t acknowledge you at all. And that fucking hurt. More than it should have.

Sam glanced at you, offering a small nod before sliding a plate toward the empty seat beside him.

You sat down, keeping your eyes on your food, even though you weren’t hungry.

The silence stretched on.

“So”, Sam finally said, filling the dead air. “Looks like we got a case up in Nebraska. Couple of disappearances near some abandoned farmland. Sounds like a possible wraith or maybe a revenant”.

You nodded numbly, barely listening.

Dean swallowed his last bite and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How soon can we head out?”.

Sam eyed him, then flicked his gaze to you. “Soon as we’re ready”.

It wasn’t an invitation. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a reminder. You were still a hunter. You still had a job to do.

Dean finally glanced at you then—just for a second. But there was no warmth, no hesitation. Just a silent, unreadable look before he pushed back from the table and stood. “I’ll get my stuff”. And just like that, he was gone again.

You stared at the empty space where he had been, fingers tightening around the edge of your plate.

You weren’t sure what hurt worse—losing him completely, or having him right in front of you, but feeling like he was already gone.

The drive to Nebraska was long, and the air inside the Impala was thick with silence.

Dean drove, eyes locked on the road, his expression unreadable. Sam sat in the passenger seat, occasionally glancing back at you, as if checking to make sure you were still breathing.

You were in the back. Where you hadn’t sat in years. It felt unnatural, wrong. This was the seat you used to claim only when you were teasing Dean, stealing his cassette tapes, kicking your feet up on the upholstery just to get a rise out of him.

Now, you sat there because it was the only place left for you.

The space between you and Dean wasn’t just physical. It was something deeper, something that felt impossible to close. And the worst part? He seemed fine with it. Like he didn’t even notice.

Sam cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. “So, uh, I checked out the reports again before we left. Witnesses say they saw a figure near the last house that got hit. Human-shaped, but… off”.

Dean hummed in acknowledgment, keeping his eyes on the road. “Off how?”.

Sam clicked on his phone, pulling up his notes. “One guy said it moved too fast. Another said the eyes looked weird—like they reflected light, kind of like an animal”.

Dean nodded. “Wraith or skinwalker, then”.

“Yeah, maybe”.

Silence fell again.

You rested your head against the cool window, watching the scenery blur by. Normally, on these long drives, Dean would reach over and squeeze your knee. You used to play games—counting how many crappy motels you passed, arguing over which diner in which town had the best pie.

Now, you were just there. Existing. Nothing more.

“(Y/N)”, Sam’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You blinked, glancing up to see him looking at you in the mirror. “What do you think?”.

You realized then that you hadn’t been listening. “Uh… yeah. Sounds like a wraith”, you said quickly, pretending to know what they had just been talking about.

Dean didn’t react.

Sam, of course, noticed. His brow furrowed slightly, but he let it go. “Alright. We’ll check the victim’s houses first, see if we can track where it’s hiding”.

You nodded, then went back to staring out the window.

The rest of the drive continued in that suffocating quiet, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional flip of Dean’s turn signal.

When you finally pulled into town, Dean parked outside a small diner—classic, predictable. “Food first”, he muttered, killing the engine.

Sam got out without question, stretching his legs, but you hesitated for a second before following. Sam fell into step beside you, keeping his voice low. “You don’t have to do this, you know”.

You swallowed hard. “Do what?”.

“Pretend like this is normal”.

You let out a quiet breath, forcing a tight smile. “Isn’t it?”.

Sam didn’t answer. Because you both knew the truth. Nothing about this was normal. Nothing about this was okay. But you weren’t going to fall apart. Not now.

Inside the diner, the three of you slid into a booth—Sam on one side, you and Dean on the other. The old leather creaked beneath you, and the scent of cheap coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air. It should have felt familiar, comforting. But it didn’t.

Dean barely glanced at you as he picked up the menu, flipping through it like nothing was wrong. Like this was just another morning.

And then—he did it. Right in front of you. He glanced up, eyes tracking the waitress as she walked past, his gaze lingering on her ass before he smirked to himself and went back to his menu.

Your stomach twisted violently.

Sam saw it, too. You knew because his jaw tightened slightly, his eyes flickering from you to Dean with something like disbelief.

Dean didn’t even notice. He just sat there, cool as ever, completely unaware that his casual, thoughtless action had just gutted you.

Because that was the thing—he had never done that around you. Not since the day he fell for you. Sure, before you, Dean had always been a flirt, always had a wandering eye, always made some dumb joke about a “solid ten” when you passed a pretty girl. But when he had you? You had been it for him.

There had been no wandering, no second glances, no careless flirting. He had made it clear, over and over again, that you were the only woman in the damn world as far as he was concerned.

Now, he was looking at another woman like you weren’t even sitting right there. Like you were nothing.

You clenched your jaw, staring hard at the menu in front of you, willing yourself not to react. Not to let him see how much it hurt.

The waitress—young, blonde, pretty—sauntered over with a bright smile, notepad in hand. “What can I get you boys?”. She barely glanced at you.

Dean grinned up at her, easy and charming, like this was the most natural thing in the world. “Coffee. And whatever’s got the most bacon”.

The waitress giggled—actually giggled—and nodded. “Got it. And for you?”, she asked, looking at Sam.

Sam cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Uh, Coffee and Eggs”.

The waitress scribbled it down, then finally turned to you. “And you, sweetheart?”.

Sweetheart. You almost laughed at the irony. “Just coffee”, you muttered, not trusting yourself to say more.

The waitress nodded, giving Dean one last look before walking away.

Dean leaned back in the booth, stretching his arm over the backrest, exhaling like he had not a single care in the world.

Sam, on the other hand, looked pissed. His eyes flicked between you and Dean, his patience clearly wearing thin. But he didn’t say anything—not yet.

You? You just sat there, staring down in front of you, stomach churning.

When the food arrived, the waitress made sure to linger, setting Dean’s plate down with a little too much enthusiasm, her fingers just barely brushing against his arm. “Careful, handsome”, she teased, a playful smirk on her lips. “Wouldn’t want you to burn that pretty mouth of yours”.

Dean grinned, easy and effortless, the kind of smirk that used to be reserved just for you. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I can handle a little heat”.

Your grip on your coffee cup tightened.

Sam visibly tensed beside you, his eyes darting between the two of you, but he stayed quiet.

You just sat there, taking a slow sip of your coffee, staring at the swirling black liquid as if it could drown out the scene in front of you. Under the table, your fingers found the band of your wedding ring, twisting it absently with your thumb—a nervous habit, one you had picked up years ago.

You had done this on hunts, when things got tense. When Dean had been out too long, when a case went south, when you were afraid of losing him. And now, you were doing it because you had already lost him.

The waitress giggled, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she gave Dean one last look before walking away. Dean—your husband—watched her go.

The sting behind your eyes burned, but you blinked hard, forcing it down. You weren’t going to cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

Dean picked up his fork, completely unfazed, as if he hadn’t just flirted with another woman in front of the wife he had apparently erased from his life. “Damn, this smells good”.

Sam snapped. “You’ve gotta be kidding me”.

Dean looked up, brow raised. “What?”.

You took another slow sip of your coffee, the warmth doing nothing to ease the numbness settling deep in your bones. Your fingers twitched against the ceramic, a silent battle raging inside you. Then, without a word, you set the cup down, pushed back your chair, and stood.

Before Dean could react, your hand dipped into the pocket of his jeans—the same move you had pulled a hundred times before when you wanted to drive Baby, when you wanted to tease him, when you wanted his attention.

But this time, it wasn’t playful. This time, it was just survival.

You snatched the keys and muttered, “I’ll wait in the car”.

Dean blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”.

You didn’t respond. Didn’t give him the satisfaction. Didn’t give yourself the chance to break right there in the middle of the damn diner. You just walked away.

Sam sighed and leaned back in his seat, rubbing a hand down his face as he watched you push through the door and disappear into the parking lot.

Dean, meanwhile, sat there, stunned for a second. Then he scoffed, shaking his head. “What the hell was that?”.

Sam shot him a look that could’ve burned through steel. “You’re an idiot”, he muttered, voice low but sharp.

Dean frowned, shifting in his seat. “Oh, come on, man—”.

“No”. Sam cut him off, leaning forward now, his anger barely contained. “You don’t get to do this, Dean. You don’t get to act like this is normal”.

Dean rolled his eyes. “I was eating, Sam. I was having a damn meal”.

“No, you were rubbing it in her face”, Sam snapped. “Flirting with some random waitress like she wasn’t even sitting right there”.

Dean clenched his jaw, his fingers tapping against the edge of his plate. “I didn’t mean—”.

“Didn’t mean to?”, Sam let out a humorless laugh. “Jesus, Dean. You chased her. You spent months convincing her to give you a shot. And now you’re treating her like she doesn’t exist”.

Dean’s grip on his fork tightened, his gaze flickering toward the window. He could just barely see the outline of Baby in the parking lot.

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. “She left everything for you. And you just let her walk away”.

Dean didn’t answer. Because he didn’t have one. And for the first time in days, something about that bothered him.

Steam curled in the small motel bathroom, clinging to the mirror and fogging up the glass. You had just stepped out of the shower, towel discarded as you reached for your underwear, exhausted from the long day of interviews and forced conversations. Your skin was still damp, beads of water rolling down your shoulders.

Just then, the door flew open.

Dean strode in without thinking, muttering something under his breath, fully intent on just using the damn bathroom before eating. His mind was still on the case, on the food in the bag he had dropped on the motel table—he hadn’t even remembered that you were in here.

Until now. Until he saw you.

Standing there, bare skin glistening under the dim motel light, hair wet and clinging to your shoulders, curves on full display—fuck.

Dean stopped in his tracks. His breath hitched, something deep in his chest clenching before he could even process what was happening. Damn it. He wasn’t supposed to react like this.

But hell, you were beautiful. No, not just beautiful. You were the hottest damn thing he’d ever seen. And it hit him like a punch to the gut.

You barely reacted. You simply sighed, pulling your underwear up with practiced ease, then reached for your shirt.

Dean had seen you naked a million times before. Even if he didn’t remember, you did. This wasn’t new. Wasn’t shocking. And honestly? You just didn’t have the energy to care. Your heart was too broken for something as trivial as embarrassment.

Dean, on the other hand was fucking hard in an instant.

It was like his body had short-circuited, completely ignoring whatever logical part of his brain had convinced him there was nothing left between you. Because right now, there was something. And it was undeniable.

Dean felt heat rush through him, pulse pounding in his ears as his jeans suddenly felt way too tight. He was still frozen in place, fingers twitching at his sides, brain struggling to catch up with what the fuck was happening.

You didn’t even spare him a second glance. Didn’t react. Didn’t blush. Didn’t tease him like you probably would have, back when things were good.

You just pulled your shirt over your head, moving around him like he wasn’t even there. And for some reason, that made it worse. Made it so much worse.

Dean swallowed hard, willing himself to look away, to breathe, but his gaze kept getting dragged back—dragged to the way your damp skin glowed under the shitty motel light, the way your muscles tensed ever so slightly as you moved.

His body remembered. Even if his mind didn’t. And that scared the shit out of him.

He exhaled sharply, finally forcing himself to turn around. “Fucking shit", he muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.

You shot him a look in the mirror, completely unbothered. “What’s your problem?”.

Dean let out a humorless laugh, still not looking at you. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe the fact that you’re walking around naked like it’s nothing?”.

You raised a brow, pulling your jeans up, your expression unreadable. “It is nothing”.

He huffed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, trying to will his body to calm the fuck down. “Right. Yeah. Of course. No big deal”.

You let out a soft, almost bitter laugh as you grabbed your brush from the counter, dragging it through your wet hair. “Don’t worry, Dean”, you muttered. “I’m not expecting anything from you. Not anymore”.

That? That stung. More than it should have.

Dean finally glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression, but you were already walking past him, heading out the bathroom door like this conversation didn’t even matter. Like he didn’t matter.

And for the first time since this whole mess started… Dean wasn’t so sure he liked that feeling.

Dean followed you out of the bathroom, his steps quick, urgent. His dick wouldn’t stop throbbing. It was like his body had a mind of its own, like every nerve was on high alert, and fuck—he wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to being out of control when it came to himself.

And you just walked across the room like nothing had happened, completely unbothered, running a towel through your damp hair as you sat on the edge of the motel bed.

Dean exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You can’t do this”, he muttered, voice tight.

You didn’t even look up. “Do what?”.

He scoffed, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “This. Making me—”. He cut himself off, jaw clenching. “Making me horny just to get me to feel something”.

That made you pause. Slowly, you turned to him, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Excuse me?”.

Dean stared at you, like he expected you to admit it, to own up to it. Like this was your fault. But you just blinked, tilting your head slightly.

Then, after a beat, you let out a small, bitter laugh. “You walked in on me naked, Dean”.

His mouth opened, then shut. You had a point.

You crossed your arms, watching him, your expression unreadable. “I didn’t try to seduce you. I wasn’t parading around in lingerie, I wasn’t touching you, I wasn’t doing anything”. You let out a sharp exhale. “You came in, you looked, and now your body is reacting”.

Dean swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably, because shit—you were right. But that didn’t change the fact that his body was reacting. And it pissed him off. Because he shouldn’t be feeling like this. Shouldn’t be this fucking desperate to touch you, to feel you, when he didn’t even remember why. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Then why the hell didn’t you care?”.

Your brows furrowed slightly. “What?”.

He took a step closer, jaw clenched. “You were naked. I walked in, and you didn’t even flinch”. His voice was rough, edged with something he didn’t quite understand.

You let out another quiet, humorless laugh, shaking your head as you ran the towel through your damp hair one last time before tossing it onto the bed beside you. “Shit, Dean”, you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “You’ve seen me naked a million times”.

Dean’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything.

“You used to wake me up in the middle of the night just because you needed me”, you continued, voice sharp but laced with something vulnerable. “You used to pin me against walls, drag me into the backseat of the Impala, couldn’t keep your hands off me for more than a damn second”.

Dean swallowed thickly. His body reacted again, a deep, primal pull in his gut at the images your words conjured, but his mind—his mind was still struggling. Still fighting against whatever this was.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “But now? You see me naked and act like it’s some huge deal?”.

Dean clenched his jaw, frustration rolling off him in waves. “It is a huge deal”, he shot back.

“No, it´s not".

He stared at you, mouth parting like he wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

[katsu28]

oooh kait i love the list!!

what about lando + 50. putting a hand over the other's mouth where lando is yapping abt smth?

got a little carried away with this but fuck it we ball

lando norris x sainz!reader, 1.7k. request something from here :)

“Fancy seeing you here.” 

You glance up from your phone to see a grinning Lando leaned up against the wall next to you, and you raise an amused brow. “It’s my brother’s wedding.” 

“Yeah, I know, I was just—” 

“Why would I not be here?” 

“Jesus, I was just trying to be funny, you don't have to be mean about it,” He huffs, bumping his shoulder against yours with a roll of his eyes. 

“Sorry, Lan. You’re just too fun to mess with.” You tease, reaching out to pinch Lando’s cheek. 

He scowls, batting your hand away haphazardly. “Carlos said you were gonna be here early to help get everything settled.” 

“Aw, were you waiting for me?” 

“No, I wasn't.” You shoot him a disbelieving look. “Okay, maybe I was. I had to work with your great aunt, and lemme tell you, that woman is handsy.” 

“Oh, you poor thing.” 

“I know. All because you abandoned me.” 

“I had to help Rebecca with some last minute adjustments. And besides, It takes time to look this good, Norris,” You tut, gesturing towards yourself. The bridesmaid dresses Rebecca had picked out are absolutely gorgeous. Hopefully gorgeous enough to get you what you want. 

“You do look amazing,” Lando murmurs, eyes not-so-subtly raking up and down your body a little too long to be considered innocent. Mission accomplished. 

“You don’t clean up too bad yourself,” You reply, letting your gaze do the same. His tailored suit fits him wonderfully, and his hair is styled to perfection. You fight the urge to run your fingers through his curls and ruin it by pulling him close. 

Things between Lando and yourself are…complicated, to say the least. You were both young when you’d met, all the way back in 2019 when Carlos had done his time with McLaren. Since then, you’ve both grown up, kept in touch, and somewhere along the way, you’d come to a realization. 

You like Lando. A lot. And you think he might like you back, but neither of you have done anything about it. You flirt with each other like people who have feelings for each other and tease each other like friends, dancing around the elephant in the room whenever you’re in the same vicinity. 

It certainly doesn’t help that Lando is one of your brother’s best friends. He looks up to Carlos, respects him as a mentor, and wouldn’t dare make a move against his baby sister. But honestly, you wish he just would. This back and forth is starting to get a little old. 

Now is as good a time as any, with Carlos distracted on his big day. And what was that again people said about weddings being the perfect chance for blossoming romance? 

Someone with a headset and a clipboard comes up and whispers something in your ear, cutting your moment with Lando short. You stow away your phone in your purse, already prepared to follow them to attend to whatever needs doing. 

“Duty calls. I’ll see you later, Lan,” You say, straightening Lando’s tie with a sweet smile aimed at him. “Don’t miss me too much.” 

Lando chuckles, looking equal parts fond and amused. “I’ll try my best.” 

The next time you see him is right before you're meant to walk down the aisle together. You take your mark right next to him, smoothing out your dress one last time before looping your arm through his. 

He leans towards you, lips almost brushing your ear with his whisper. “Missed you.” 

“Thought you said you’d try your best not to?” 

“Guess it wasn't good enough. Listen, can we talk later?” 

He sounds uncharacteristically serious, and it has you giving him a cautious sideways glance. “Of course,” You say. You nudge him gently with your elbow. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s good. Nothing’s wrong, don’t worry.” 

“Well, now that you tell me not to worry, I think I might,” You reply, brows furrowing. 

“Then don’t.” 

“Seriously, Lando? You couldn't have waited until after the ceremony for this? I mean, honestly—” 

Suddenly his lips are on your cheek briefly, causing your outburst to die off mid sentence. You stiffen momentarily at the unexpected action. When you turn to gawk at him, he’s looking straight ahead, a satisfied little smile gracing his face. 

You don’t have time to process anything any further before you're being guided towards the beginning of the aisle. Straightening up, throwing your shoulders back, you tighten your fingers around your bouquet of flowers. 

Now isn’t the time. 

The ceremony goes swimmingly. There isn’t a dry eye in the place at seeing just how much Carlos and Rebecca love and cherish each other. Every so often, you’ll catch Lando’s eye across the aisle and he’ll wink back at you, settling your nerves at standing up there in front of everyone. 

You start to wonder what he wants to talk to you about. Your mind immediately goes to the worst possible thing, but surely it can’t be too bad. Right?

Lando doesn’t bring it up until well into the reception. He catches your eye from afar, tilting his head towards the nearest exit. Everyone is on the dance floor now, nobody would notice if you left. 

He slips out of the large hall silently and you follow a few seconds later, only startling a little bit when he grabs your hand and leads you further down the corridor until you can’t hear the lively music anymore. 

“What’s going on, Lando?”

He drops your hand in favor of starting to pace, rubbing his palms over his thighs nervously. “I’m gonna be really honest with you right now. Probably brutally honest. And it might fuck things up, but I think I might explode if I keep it in any longer.” 

“Uh…okay. That sounds concerning,” You say hesitantly, shifting on your feet. 

“It is. I mean, no, it’s not, it’s nothing but, I just…” 

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you all night, because you look absolutely stunning,” He blurts. “But not just today. I wanna kiss you all the time, and I know—I know I probably shouldn’t because Carlos is one of my best mates and you’re his little sister and he’d likely kick my ass if he ever finds out, but I don’t care, I—” 

“Lando,” You interrupt, fighting to keep your voice level. Finally, finally, something is happening. 

He continues on as if he hadn’t heard you at all. “—can’t keep doing this…this whatever thing we’ve been doing. I really like you, and I need you to know that even if it ruins our friendship.” 

Normally you’d entertain his yapping tendencies, but you want to tell Lando you feel the same way and he just keeps on talking like he’s the only one in this conversation, so you’re left with no choice. 

You push him back against the wall behind him with one hand splayed across his chest, the other hand coming up to cover his mouth. Lando’s ranting dies off the moment your hand touches his face, like you’ve just found his off switch and powered him down. 

“Can you please just shut up for a second?” You say exasperatedly. He nods quickly, completely doe eyed under your palm. “You gonna let me talk now?” Another nod, this one a little slower. “Good. I like you too. Have for ages.” 

Lando’s fingers curl around your wrist, prying your hand away from his mouth with furrowed brows. “You—you do? Really? Why’ve you never said anything?”

“Why haven’t you?” You shoot back, cocking your head. 

“Because…because!” He says incredulously, wrinkling his nose. “You’re Carlos’s little sister, I—he’d have my head.” 

You scoff. “Carlos isn’t my keeper, Lando. I’m an adult, I can make my own choices without having to consult my brother. If I want to date you, I can!” 

Lando’s gaze sharpens, the edges of his mouth curving into a smug little smile, and you know you’re in for it now. 

“Then let me take you out. On a proper date,” He proposes. It’s a bold move, considering you’ve still got him pinned against the wall with one hand, but his bluntness makes your focus flicker. 

Lando takes the opening and makes his move, now suddenly you’re the one with your back against the wall and he’s pushed himself closer than you’ve ever been before. For someone who was just worried about Carlos finding out mere seconds ago, he seems quite confident. 

“You’re sure you want to do this?” You ask softly, searching his face for any trace of doubt or uncertainty. What you’ve wanted for a long time is finally happening, but that doesn’t make you any less wary. If anything, it feels even more daunting. 

Slowly, Lando’s hand comes up to cradle your cheek almost delicately, like he’s afraid you might disappear into thin air if he moves too fast. His tongue darts out to wet his lips just before he leans in, deft fingers shifting from your cheek down under your chin, tilting your head up just enough to meet him in a gentle kiss. 

His lips are softer than you expect, tasting a little like the rum and cokes he’s been nursing all night mixed with something else sweet, and definitely living up to every dream you’ve ever had about this very moment. 

Lando’s thumb rubs along your cheek, a soft smile playing across his face when you break apart. “Believe me, I’m more sure about you than I’ve ever been about anything in my life.” 

You smooth out the lapels of his suit jacket from where your fingers had bunched into the material, beaming at him happily. “Always such a sweet talker, you.”

“Worked on you, didn’t it? I mean, it took years, but I’ve got you now, don’t I?” 

“Depends on where you take me on our date,” You joke. 

“Oh, I’ll take you anywhere you want, baby. Name it and it’s done.” 

“A sweet talker and a smooth talker. That could come in handy for when Carlos finds out.”

“No, it—why?” His voice squeaks on the last word, eyes widening almost comically.

You give his chest a firm pat, ducking out from under his arm to return to the reception. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see, hm?”

“Sweetheart, c’mon! He won’t try to fight me, right? Right?” 

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[theobservatory]

What's in a Name｡⁠.ﾟ★ ˎˊ˗

｡⁠☆Synopsis: how they would name their children

｡⁠☆Cw: gender specific, talk of reader being pregnant

｡⁠☆CH: Damian ☆ Duke ☆ Tim ☆ Jason ☆ Dick ☆ Bruce

✧Bruce✧

Classic names for sure. He tends to lead very masculine for boys and very feminine for girls. It's not that he doesn't like gender neutral names, but it's not the natural place his brain goes when naming his kids.

Since he already has so many kids I doubt he would want anymore unless you did, and since he has almost entirely boys I'm giving him a girl lol. I already know that poor girl is going to find him insufferable when she becomes a teenager. He is the most overprotective dad around, he's not gonna want her to do nothing lmao.

For boys: Thomas, Arthur, Bennett, Dominic, Theodore, Charlie, Liam

For girls: Clara/Claire, Charlotte, Francesca/Francis, Theodosia, Lorelei, Evelynn, Alice

✧Dick✧

For girls: Summer, Josie, Mary, Leona, Elise, Simone, Willow

He loves sweet sounding names. He keeps it very wholesome. Every name he brings up is going to be soft and sweet, tho I wouldn't be surprised if he wanted a junior or a child named after his parents.

I did a poll and most people agreed he's a girl dad, but I can't help but imagine him with a son who's the spitting image of him, but also a momma's boy lol. In the end I went with an older girl and a younger boy a year apart. He's probably the best dad here tbh, I feel like he's just the type to go above and beyond for his kids.

For boys: John, Oliver, Adrian, Leo, Elias, Jonas, Henry

✧Jason✧

For boys: Roscoe, Demetri/Demetrius, Arlo, Thatcher, Adonis, Nicolas, Maximus

Leans towards stronger sounding names for either sex. Gender neutral names are brought up just as much as very masc or fem names. Like you can't tell me his favorite superhero isn't Wonder Woman, I would not be surprised if the first name he suggests is Diana.

Twin girls. Can you imagine his face when you tell him not only are you pregnant, but it's twins? He might pass out on the spot. I can also see him with another girl maybe a few years later, but whether she was planned or an accident is up in the air lol.

For girls: Cleo, Demetria, Vivian, Sloan, Devin, Blake, Ananias/Anias/Anania

✧Tim✧

For girls: Samantha, Erin, Kayla, Alexis, Monica, Alicia, Sydney

Gender neutral guy all the way. Just neutral names in general. He would probably bring you a baby name list that's just the top 20 names in the US rn, or he would go crazy trying to figure what the next most popular names are to get ahead of the curve. I also wouldn't be surprised if he wanted a junior or a kid named after his parents.

Tim is a boy dad, I don't think he could handle a girl in all honesty. Just one, maybe two, but with a giant age gap between them. Like I have an 18year age gap with my little sister, and if you have kids young I can definitely see this happening to y'all.

For boys: Luke, Derek, Ethan, Evan, Dakota, Jesse, Zachary

✧Duke✧

For boys: Lucas, Enzo, August, Everett, Amari/Amarion, Brooks, Dion

He also tends to go for names that everyone already has. He's perfectly fine with names not standing out in the slightest, I think he'd let you take most of the lead on naming a baby tbh.

I think after moving into the manor, he wants his children to grow up with a big family like he did. I can also see him as a foster parent or a social worker outside of his vigilantism, so maybe two or three biologically, but you still end up with a full house. The genders of your bio kids ? Still up in the air for me idk.

For girls: Mia, Parker, Nora, Eliana, Avery, Naomi, Zoey

✧Damian✧

For boys: Khari, Amir, Kylian, Imani, Nasir, Princeton, Isha

Like Jason, he also wants a strong sounding name. Though, I think he'd also want to incorporate his culture from nanda parbat into at least one of the names as well. I could also see him wanting something sweet or dainty for a girl, like he sees this tiny baby for the first time and just goes... No... You will be no warrior bc I will protect you forever. So dainty and small, like a tiny flower. I can also see him naming his children after anything royal or whatever, bc he's pretentious (adoring) like that.

Twin boys, and a girl a few years later. Much like Bruce I can already see his kids finding him unreasonable. Damian's a strict parent (unlike Bruce), but he's also incredibly overprotective. None of his kids can go anywhere or do anything without their father fretting over them.

For girls: Kala/Kali, Aaliyah, Aisha, Zahrah/Zaharah, Nyla, Ali, Meira

Tell me which names you like best, and your opinions on these headcanons as well (⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠♪ I will be picking from some of the names provided for any kid fics, unless one of y'all give me a better name, so feel free to give suggestions/tell me your fav baby names ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Thank you to my fav name consultant on tiktok and reddit for making this possible lol. Tbh I know people with a lot of these names, like I have a cousin named Nasir, and another named Imoni, and my little sister's name was almost Francesca. The websites just made me actually start considering them for what they are.

Also, my fav name from this list is Naomi. I've loved that name for years, idk what it is, but I adore that name. My least favorite name on this list is Thatcher. That shit is ass bro. It reminds me of the game I Want To Fuck Mr.Hatcher... just... Yuck.

｡⁠☆Requests Open

[devotedsweetheart]

・❥ SAY IT AGAIN

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ rundown :: you find out caleb had been logging into your phone at random times of the day to keep track of who you were texting. frustrated, you call him to yell at him only to question what exactly he was doing on the other end.

WARNINGS :: NSFW! 18+ , phone sex , sub!caleb (per usual) , masturbation , cnc , use of y/n

a/n :: highkey got this idea from that one scene in twk when cardans kissing jude & telling her to say she hates him..🌝🌝

he had absolutely no right to be invading your personal space. absolutely none.

you were so fucking angry.

caleb was away on a trip with gran. usually, he would simply ask to check your phone, and you'd happily give it to him- knowing he means well. but with the shit he has been pulling, you're starting to question whether or not he really does trust you like he says he does.

you had found out that he was hacking into your phone because the device started acting awfully odd. opening apps you didnt click on, siri turning on without any context, letters on the keyboard being pressed when you never tapped on them in the first place. confused (and frankly a little scared), you took it to a professional to get it checked out. when he asked if anyone else had the password to your socials, thats when the realization dawned on you.

you felt so stupid. utterly dumb. but how were you supposed to know? you had told caleb about the issue multiple times and each occasion you mentioned it he would always say the same thing: "thats so weird, pips.. maybe you should go get it checked out or something." feigning complete innocence.

you had enough.

driving home as fast as you could, you barely reach the front door before you're calling him nonstop until he answers.

"hey pips! i missed yo-"

"you fucking liar."

there's a beat of silence at that. your breathing is heavy, going right into the mic- giving caleb an idea of what he's in for.

"um.. excuse me?" caleb manages, swallowing thickly. he knows exactly what you're going to yell at him for and he's praying to jesus christ himself that he can manipulate his way out of it.

"you know exactly what i'm talking about, don't try to play dumb. you've been going into my phone and looking through my shit. i thought you said you trusted me? what happened to that? i mean, seriously, caleb, i thought we had gotten over this." you say, voice pinched a bit higher than usual. you're pacing around the room in order to keep yourself calm, heart beating at a distressing rate as you don't like to argue with him.

"pips, i really don't know what you're talking about," he utters, licking his lips. "i know whats been going on with your phone has been messing you up, but you don't necessarily have to blame me for it. look, once i get back i'll help you figure out what's wrong with it just to prove that it's not me. deal?"

you can tell that he's trying his best to soften his tone to make his lie more believable, but you aren't gonna buy into it.

"no. no, caleb, just quit the act already. i'm so tired of this. i'll give you two choices," you say, sitting down on the couch; elbows on your knees. "either you stop with the whole hacking thing and we stay together, or i cut things off with you and we never talk again."

for a moment, there's nothing being said. pure silence. he's absolutely speechless on his end of the phone, mouth agape and eyes wide. every few seconds, he'd attempt to say something but nothing would come out- resulting in something that resembled a stutter.

"well? what's it gonna be?" you asked, becoming to grow impatient.

"y/n.." he whispered. "you.. you can't do that to me. i-.. i'm sorry for doing all that crap. i didn't do it because i don't trust you... it's other people that i don't trust. please believe me, baby. i can't stop doing it, it's just my way of keeping you safe."

aaaand now it's your turn to be shocked.

"are you fucking serious?" you yell, and you swear you can see the look on his face regardless if he's visible or not. eyebrows raised up, cheeks as red as roses, eyes backed up with tears. you know how much he hates being yelled at by you... but he deserves it. "you can't be serious. please tell me you're pulling some joke."

" baby, please. i-"

"enough. just quit it. i fucking hate you, caleb."

he swallows. no, practically gulps. he shouldnt be turned on by the sound of that. he really shouldnt. he knows he should be terrified by the threat of you leaving him... but the tent growing in his pants is getting undeniably uncomfortable that he just can't seem to care.

unzipping his jeans, he gently lays his back on his bed, being carefully quiet to ensure you don't hear.

"you're fucking insane and no matter how much i try to talk to you about it you never change. it is draining, caleb. you have absolutely no idea how fucked up you are."

he's nodding against his phone, murmuring small 'yeah's here and there to let you know that he's listening. what you aren't aware of is the fact that instead of really listening, he's actually moving his hand at an insane speed on his dick. it gets to the point that he can't even respond, the pleasure taking over. all he needs is for you to tell him how bad he is and how much you despise him for him to be able to go over the edge.

the fact that you don't even know whats going on keeps him going for even longer.

"...-is so frustrating, caleb! you don't even care for me and... wait, are you even listening? hellooo?" you shout, expecting an answer.

he picks up his phone from where it was sitting on his pillow and takes it off speaker phone to reply. "y-yes, baby? 'm sorry.. i'm, um, listening. keep talking." he responds, stuttering over his words.

you roll your eyes, thinking he simply just doesn't care. "my god, you're so fucking annoying. i hate you so much, y'know that?"

he nods hastily, even though you can't see it. "y-yes. say it again. please." the last word comes out broken as he was embarrassingly close to cumming.

you stop in your tracks, both eyebrows furrowed. "um..." you utter, confused at what he was playing at. "i... hate.. you..?"

"f-fuck!" he whisper-shouts, hips thrusting into his hand as he drops the device back onto where it was initially. he brings his previously free hand down to his cock to stroke the tip, twisting his wrists. biting his lip, hard enough to draw blood, he makes his best effort to keep little whimpers inside of his mouth. it works for the most part... but you already knew what was happening. he does it too many times for you to not know.

"caleb." you warn.

he doesn't answer, he can't answer, mind is too hazy from the force of his orgasm. he's practically like putty on his bed, half asleep and half awake.

"text me in the morning." you say before hanging up and throwing your phone on the bed.

he will not ever learn.

[fairestwriting]

hello! may I request hcs on how the first years are when they're dating their housewarden's younger sister?

𐙚 Ace Trappola

Oh, you know he’s smug about it. He was kind of averse to the idea of even getting too close at first, thinking Riddle’s younger sister surely would be a rule freak like Riddle himself is, not really someone he’d want to associate with…

But, who would’ve guessed, you two turned out to get along just fine. You seem to appreciate his humor, and Ace appreciates that in return. ”Y’know, I thought you’d be all uptight like your big brother. I guess that gene skipped you, huh?” He jokes one day, and he just keeps on doing his thing, whether he’s under Riddle’s scrutiny or not. What’s he gonna do about it anyway? He’s not breaking any rules by just hanging out with his sister, is he now?

His attitude honestly doesn’t change that much when you two get more serious. He’s totally unsurprised to learn that Riddle wasn’t really that thrilled by you dating a troublemaker like him. Of course he treats you well, but it’s the same sort of treatment you’d get even if you had never heard of Riddle Rosehearts in your life. Maybe he’s a little more generous with gifts, especially snacks, knowing your mother doesn’t let you have them at home. But that’s as “different” as it’ll get.

Whenever you two are spending time together and Riddle is also around, he makes sure to be in his very best behavior just to spite him. It doesn’t always work, if only because of the sheer amount of rules that Riddle remembers summed up to his now actual desire to humble Ace is definitely… a force to be reckoned with. But, well, so is Ace. Riddle never gets his way when that happens either, because Ace is just cackling away when Riddle slaps that collar on him for the third time this week.

𐙚 Deuce Spade

Part of his desperate attempts to become a “true honors student” includes properly introducing himself to any new people he meets, which means asking for their full name and giving his in return. He’s decided he must redouble his efforts to be cautious and polite around you as soon as he heard you say Rosehearts right after your first name. He ends up nervously asking, ”Oh. Rosehearts, like… our dorm leader?” and you confirm you’re Riddle’s younger sister. That just confirms his own thought process to him.

Deuce is honestly genuinely scared. Not of you, of course! Over time he finds that he really enjoys talking to you, your conversations flowing easily. Deuce is surprised he could even have so much fun with another person, even though he has and has plenty of fun with other friends— It’s just that the knowledge you’re Riddle’s sister… never really leaves the background of his thoughts.

He knows Riddle didn’t get the best impression of him, and he doesn’t necessarily regret his own actions from that time. Now though, that he’s starting to really notice his crush on you, and he wants to ask you out properly— Would it really be right to do that when he’s in bad terms with your family? Deuce is conflicted. It’s not a thing of believing you need Riddle’s permission to date him or anything, he’d just feel… kind of bad, knowing his girlfriend’s brother thinks of him as some unserious delinquent. He wants it to be known that he only wants the absolute best for you!

So… he tries. Like Ace, he’s in his very best behavior whenever there’s a chance Riddle might be around, with about the same success rate. Except he really apologizes profusely every time he learns he’s breaking a rule, promising he’ll remember it in the future — He probably won’t, but the same is true for any other normal person, really — in a way that honestly surprises Riddle sometimes? As much as your brother will always be at least a little bit distrustful of any guy that comes close to you, in some situations, even he can’t do anything but admit that yeah, Deuce is nothing if not dedicated to that “mission” of his.

𐙚 Jack Howl

Leona was basically his idol for so long, you know he’s kept up with what little media appearances he had. Nothing crazy, anything more than just watching the few interviews he’s given or the broadcasted Magift games just gets into celebrity gossip territory, and Jack doesn’t like that— But basically, he’s watched just about enough to see you on a screen, and yeah, he always thought you were really pretty, but that was all there was to it for a long time.

He did get… pretty disappointed with Leona when he met him, yeah, but he doesn’t let it affect how he views you. You’re his sister, not an extension of his person, it’d be silly to make assumptions like that. Jack is as polite to you as he is to everyone else, and he’s pleased to discover you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. That it’s actually really fun to talk to you, even though he usually doesn’t like talking to people much.

When you actually get together, Jack starts to get pretty nervous. He’s serious about dating, as we all know. If he’s asked you out, it’s because he really wants to be with you. And that means family gets involved. He’s more than happy to introduce you to his, but yours, well— He’s never thought he’d struggle with a significant other’s family, but you’re a literal princess…

It’s not at all about Leona though. None of Jack’s hesitations over your relationship have anything to do with him, really. In fact, telling Leona that you two are together is something he sees as a sort of “practice session” for the day he meets your entire family, and Leona is just fine with it. You’re clearly happy, and he has no intentions of smothering you, especially when you’re dating Jack Howl out of all people— He knows the guy literally wouldn’t even dream of trying anything funny.

𐙚 Epel Felmier

Epel is out of the loop, even if he’s seen Vil on the TV screen back home, he never used social media enough to fully grasp how much of an influence he had over anyone. And you’re so insanely pretty, so much more than any girl he’s ever met, he ends up blurting out a ”Wow, if I didn’t know you better, I would’ve guessed you and Vil-san are related!”

…So that’s how he realizes the situation he’s gotten into, not too long after you two start talking, and his crush on you begins to take shape. And he’s intimidated, yeah. Anyone would be. But at the same time… Epel couldn’t bring himself to lie about how proud of himself he feels. Like this is just insane to him. He hears more and more about how famous and important Vil is every day, and you, his younger sister, decided to hang out with him out of all people? Wow. He feels so important now.

But, as much as his unease grows as you two get closer, he’s not about to let it stop him. He knows he’s not experienced or anything like that, but if he’s going to be your boyfriend, Epel’s top priority is making sure you get treated right. He’ll still be opening doors for you even months into your relationship. Hell, he’ll even make a good effort at learning all the fancy dining etiquette he hates, so he can have a proper introduction dinner with your family.

Epel figures that, even if Vil was pretty protective, he couldn’t scoff at him for… doing his best to be a good boyfriend to you, could he? He’s heard you mention how picky Vil is with the boys you talk to, most of his issue is when they’re not trying hard enough. That doesn’t apply to him, he’s determined to make it so that it never does too— And he wins on that front. Vil sees how happy you are and how well he treats you. He can’t complain about Epel. It still surprises him sometimes.

𐙚 Sebek Zigvolt

Honestly, he’s scared to do as much as touch a single hair on your head. You’re literally Malleus’ sister. His crush is not recent at all, the two of you having met long before Sebek even considered attending NRC— And Sebek himself having, at some point, quietly decided that he should content himself with a life of (not so) silent, distant pining…

…Meanwhile, you most likely think of him as just a kind longtime acquaintance. A real oddball, for sure, but he’s never been anything but kind to you. Maybe you even see him as a sort of friend. When you both were younger you really didn’t get to meet a lot of people your age, but Sebek was often there, and he always listened to what you had to say— Even though he’d often blurt out lines like ”M-My Lady, I’m simply your family’s servant, we must both keep that in mind…!”

Because of this specific dynamic between the two of you, you’ll… pretty much have to make most of the first moves. And Sebek is receptive to them, despite all his claims that you two shouldn’t get “too” close at all. It’s a little endearing, how flustered he gets over pretty much everything— Eventually, though, he tells himself he has to get it together, it’s clear that you wanted a relationship with him, and he knows very well he wants a relationship with you. As much as it goes against… nothing but his own mentally edited version of the rules related to his position, as soon as he decides to get serious with you, he gets really serious.

As for Malleus’ opinion on the whole thing… well. It’s Sebek. Malleus would usually be very, very protective over his beloved younger sister’s chosen partners but, he knows Sebek. He knows him maybe even better than he wants to— And he knows, even before he sees him insisting to carry your schoolbag while you’re on your way to class together, that he wouldn’t dare to offer you anything less than his very best efforts. Malleus is a little surprised that he actually managed to get over that sort of idol worship thing he had towards your family to the point that he asked you out, but he’s pleased. You definitely have his blessing. And bonus points for keeping Sebek too busy to be as neurotic over him as he usually is, Malleus does appreciate the extra quiet time.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[theskeleton117]

Aw shit, here we go again

1. He was pretty young when he got the crown since he just kinda found it unlike the rest that had to wait until a certain age for it

2. His recklessness was what made the crown stick with him for the time that it did. Lamb actually was able to keep the crown because Narinder cooled down and Lamb didn't

3. He was pretty much the favorite child, but the bishops weren't really all that dysfunctional

4. Revival. He's the only one who knows how to do that in this AU

5. Dislikes a lot of their battle tactics, but he generally had a high opinion of them, even if he often rebelled against their decisions

6. So, immediately after the imprisonment, Narinder hates them, but with some hindsight, Narinder just misses them

7. Favorite was Heket since she'd occaisonally help him get away with things Shamura normally wouldn't allow. He doesn't have a least favorite exactly

8. A katana, a wakazashi (fancy word for shorter katana) and a scythe. The swords were just because Shamura used those and taught Narinder them. The katana was actually a gift from Shamura while the wakazashi was just something Narinder made. He lost the wakazashi upon being imprisoned, keeping the katana. Shamura later gave it back to him. The scythe on the other hand is a purely ceremonial weapon that he doesn't use

9. He created the 4 witnesses that the bishops use through constant revival, so those. To sum it up, those witnesses are mindless murder machines that just do what they're told without any thought

10. Yep. Lamb. I discussed this in my Lamb post somewhere

11. He cares about them a lot. That's just kinda it

12. I would assume so ig?

13. Lil scratch scar on him right eye

14. Nope. Just general cat. If I could draw him instead of just doing gatch tho I'd probably choose a specific cat type for him

15. I'd say it's kinda short but also kinda messy

16. Honestly I've decided upon reading this that it is now. Must alter his design now

17. I'd say like 7.5. Very ears

18. Had it from birth. Assigned 3 eyes at birth. He's A3eab

19. You know I actually never gave him the ones on his wrists. Never thought about that. Anyways, nothing notable from that wasn't already there or wasn't already expected

20. Nope

21. Maybe, but I don't know any that would make sense to develop after the imprisonment, but I might look into that

22. Weirdly. Normally slower but generally inconsistently

23. No blood relation, but Narinder was good friends with Forneus

24. I'd say he's caring towards them. He kinda acts similar to them as Shamura did to him when he was young

25. Rarely wears it. It's also ceremonial and usually used in tandem with the scythe. Not his style

26. It wasn't a prophecy, rather his own actions. The prophecy was only about the lambs and only showed up after he was imprisoned, had nothing about him

27. Since it wasn't a prophecy, I'm gonna talk about how others viewed it afterwards. To start, almost everyone knew that Narinder fucked up, even his supporters knew that. The real debate was in whether his punishment was too much

28. Question doesn't apply, see question 26

29. Here's something I've thought out quite a bit. So basically, he was practicing revival. I've seen a lot of people decide the reason thay was 'bad' is some arbitrary tradition from the bishops but in my case it's more serious. Revival directly damages the souls of those revived until they end up as husks of what they once were, at most only abel to follow orders. That's actually what happened to the witnesses. Narinder was doing this to try and find a way to stop Lamb's possible death as they had been hit with some sort of venom that would kill them slowly over time, and all that experimentation was thought to be too inhumane by the bishops, and even by Lamb themself

30. Mostly shame. Shame for the harm that he caused to get there. This shame often causes anger for him and that causes him to make more shit decisions

31. Yep

32. He certainly does, as he never wanted to in the first place. It shows in him occasionally helping them with things related to their injuries

33. Oh he fucking does. He's had a lot of experience with lamb culture from Lamb, and generally he liked their culture. That was one of his biggest regrets

34. Lamb was first introduced as his apprentice that he was forced to have, so obviously he was originally annoyed by them, but they were generally quite polite, if a bit timid. Narinder began to grow fond of them not long after, though

35. Narinder held out hope that this regeneration of Lamb would still somehow love him the way the other original did, so he, for the most part, never truly expected it. When Lamb decided he was done with Narinder's deals and chances, Narinder was crushed, even if he only outwardly displayed anger

36. Before imprisonment, yes. However this is clearly asking about after, and after imprisonment, it was always bittersweet. On one hand, it's still Lamb, sorta, and he still enjoys Lamb's company because even with the change in personality between regenerations, he enjoys Lamb's dumb ass. But on the other hand, Lamb reminds him of the version of Lamb that he knew and misses

37. Well, he has a lot of disagreements with them, but deep down he lives for the stuff that he gets to do with Lamb. Most fun he had in years

38. He doesn't understand why anyone would do it if there's other food around simply because "With most of them, there's no way to cook them that makes them taste edible"

39. Yeah so NariLamb actually ends after Lamb's regeneration for a while. Narinder takes on only two lovers, and both of them can barely be considered such. He had a slight thing going on with Goat, even if they were never really officially lovers per se. And then other than Goat, NariLamb started back up for a small bit but ended

40. It changes depending on when it was. When he furst joined, it was figuring out what he was gonna do with himself. Was he going to stay, leave, maybe rebel? By the end of that era, he had tried doing the last two before settling on the first. After that, it was struggling with his feelings towards Lamb and the lack of reciprocation of those feelings

41. He just uses he/him

42. He's just cis male for now (cuz he's boring /j) although I have considered maybe changing that for him but for now he's just cis

43. Similar case to Lamb where while I never included it in his design, I imagine he has a red moon necklace. In Narinder’s case, it's more of a way to memorialize the lambs that he was responsible for the deaths of

44. Oh definitely. I doubt all those meetings with Ratau and Forneus didn't have any drugs involved. I didn’t have anything prewritten but some crazy shit prolly

45. Sorta yes sorta no. He's doesn't tell anyone who he is, but Lamb occasionally does. It's not a secret, just not outwardly told. Regardless, plenty of people recognize him, even if it's not really a majority

46. Not great at that, but I can give examples of similar personalities sometimes. Before his banishment he was kinda like Anakin Skywalker from Star Wars (who he kinda shares a lot of other similarities to in my fic), and afterwards he's more like a lot more hardened and less cocky than he used to be

47. Definitely shy about talking about Lamb before their execution. In fact the topic is off limits to talk about to Lamb if they ever are able to bring it up. He enjoys talking about lamb culture and mythology even after their fall, because that was basically his special interest for a bit

48. He only really told Lamb to do that to free him. He doesn't consider sacrifice a good idea normally, but his desperation to get out of that hellhole was rampant enough to tell Lamb what amounted to "Just look out for yourself, fuck your followers"

49. You know on the Lamb when when this question was asked I answered French fries based on a random gut feeling based on the type of person Lamb is but I'm getting none of that for Narinder. I don't imagine Narinder’s favorite is fish, but he does like fish. No clue exactly what his favorite would be tho

50. I imagine Narinder’s general role in my fic, relative to Lamb, since a lot of side characters have something to offer to Lamb's character, is kinda the reverse of Ruri. The cat devil on Lamb's shoulder as opposed to the cat angel of Ruri. Narinder, while preferring Lamb doesn't *kill* followers, does support a level of manipulation. For example, I imagine Narinder heavily criticizes Lamb's choice on the level of transparency he has with his followers. Ruri and Narinder sorta balance each other for Lamb here and allow him to not skew to much in one direction of influence here for how he runs his cult

50 narinder questions

1. When did your Narinder aquire the Red Crown? Was he born into the role or did the crown choose him for a particular reason?

2. Why does the red crown find him worthy as a bearer?

3. What did his childhood look like? Did he live with the other crown bearers?

4. Does the Red Crown give him any unique powers such as the power of rot (a la TROD AU)?

5. How did he feel about Shamura pre-exile?

6. How about post exile?

7. Which sibiling was his favorite? Least favorite?

8. What weapon did he use prior to exile?

9. Do you have headcanons about who his witnesses or ‘bosses’ would be pre-exile? If so, who are they?

10. Did Narinder take any lovers before his exile?

11. How did Narinder feel about his priests, witnesses, and followers?

12. Does he have a dedicated meow button?

13. Does your Narinder have any unique features?

14. Is he based on any particular breed of cat such as a puma or a British shorthair?

15. Describe his fur. Is it unkempt? Well-groomed? Curly? Kept short?

16. Is, and I cannot stress this enough, his tail so, so fluffy?

17. How ears is he on a scale of 1-10? (This is not a typo)

18. Was he born with his third eye or did he gain it later from the crown?

19. Any notable scars post-exile other than around his wrists?

20. Did your Narinder have any disabilities prior to his exile?

21. Does he have any new disabilities upon being spared?

22. How does he pass the time in exile?

23. Are the kits, Aym and Baal, really his children?

24. How does he feel towards Aym and Baal? Ambivalent? Caring? Annoyed?

25. Why does he wear the veil? Or does he forgo it entirely?

26. How and when was the prophecy that he would rebel against the others revealed?

27. How did the others react to this prophecy before it happened?

28. Did he feel doomed by the prophecy? Relieved? Offended? Vindicated?

29. What exact rebellious act got him chained in the first place?

30. What are some of the biggest emotions he feels about being chained?

31. Deep down.. does he agree that it was necessary?

32. Does he have any remorse for harming his sibilings? If so, does he ever show it?

33. Does he care that an entire species and culture was ended because of him?

34. What was his first impression of the lamb?

35. When did he realize the lamb might turn against him? Was he blind to it until it happened or did he have a gut feeling long before then?

36. Does/Did he enjoy the lamb’s visits?

37. How does he feel about the lamb after being spared?

38. Does he support or partake in cannibalism?

39. Does he take a lover other than the lamb after being spared? If so, describe them!

40. What is his biggest struggle after being spared? Fitting in with the cult? Seeing the lamb’s face daily? Chronic pain?

41. Does your Nari use any pronouns besides he/him? If so, what ones?

42. Was he born male, female, intersex, or do you have no opinion on his sex?

43. Does he ever wear jewelry or makeup?

44. Has he ever used catnip? If so, what happened?

45. Is identity kept a secret from the cult? If so, do any of the followers recognize who he really is?

46. Describe his personality.

47. Is he shy about any topics? Does he enjoy talking about anything in particular?

48. Does he ever rethink the concept of sacrificing followers now that he is one?

49. Is his favorite food anything other than fish? If so, what is it?

50. Free headcanon space!

Back by… well no demand actually but 1400 notes made me think y’all might be interested, so come get your cat-lore-generating questions.

And please! If you reblog from someone, send that person an ask. It’s ask meme courtesy.

[chevroletdean]

Bean There, Done That

nsfw prompts, send in a character + a number

PAIRING: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Fem!Reader GENRE: Smut (18+ CONTENT) TO NOTE/WARNINGS: Horny!Ben being his own warning, oral (fem receiving), mentions of male receiving oral, unprotected p in v (wrap it), creampie, hickeys and bitemarks and bruises, rough sex, manhandling, dirty talk WORD COUNT: 2k PROMPT: 17) seeing the love marks they left on their partner later and getting turned on all over again remember how it got there in the first place A/N: In honor of my coffee machine finally arriving. After 8 days without a proper cup, I can run on bean juice again, hooray! Thanks a ton to the lovely @justwhisperingfantasies for requesting AND betareading <3 <3 <3 CREDIT & LINKS: dividers by cafekitsune ─〃★ join the taglist ─〃★ Soldier Boy Masterlist

When Ben woke up, it was thanks to the waft of coffee emitting from the kitchen. Grumbling, he sat up and glanced towards the clock.

10:32 AM

Though that counted as sleeping in, he definitely didn’t get much rest last night. The clothes that were scattered all over the floor were enough proof of that. Among them, a pair of lace panties, torn apart.

Maybe he should feel bad about that one, but all he could muster was a proud smirk as he remembered ripping it off you just a couple of hours ago.

He quickly realized two things were missing from the picture— one being his jersey, which he was sure must’ve ended up somewhere among the pile; and more importantly… you.

Slipping out of bed and into his boxers and robe, Ben followed the trail of freshly brewed arabica. The sight he was met with beat any pirate’s lame treasure hunt.

You were standing at the counter, idly humming to yourself while you cut up a handful of strawberries. With your back facing him, you haven’t noticed him yet.

All the more time for him to appreciate the view.

His sharp eyes wandered up your long, bare legs, stopping briefly at the hem of a familiar shirt. Ah, so that’s where his jersey went.

The material was flowing down your body effortlessly, covering you up to around your upper thighs. He’d be lying if the idea of you wearing nothing underneath to cover the fat of your ass and your pretty pussy didn’t get him half-hard again already.

Baggy as your choice of attire was, it hung loose around your neckline. You’d swept your hair out of the way, into a messy ponytail—one he could already picture grabbing tightly to push your little mouth down his girth, much like last night.

Pink and purple constellations peeked through. Distinct marks, clearly the outline of his teeth.

He stepped closer to your unsuspecting form, hands already twitching to touch you again.

“Morning, sunshine,” Ben hummed at last, the gravel of his voice still raspy and deep from just waking up properly.

Honestly, his brain was still a but foggy, whereas other parts of his body were wide awake in comparison.

You flinched slightly, though your tension eased immediately as your eyes met his over your shoulder.

His smile was easy, his green eyes dropping to the curve of your lips. Even at the morning after he could still vividly remember them stretching over his length, glistening with spit as you had drooled all over his cock.

“What’s the rush today?” Ben asked, whilst his big arms caged you in, one hand on each side of you gripping the edge of the counter. “Didn’t want to stay in bed with me a bit longer, princess?”

“Thought I would make some breakfast,” you replied with a smile that was both shy and cheeky. “Was gonna bring it back to bed.”

He was all muscle and skin behind you, pressing against you until the kitchen counter bit into your hips.

“I think I know what I wanna have for breakfast,” Ben purred. His breath was hot and heavy against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His teeth grazed your tender skin, teasing the bruises and lovebites until you whimpered softly.

Who knew there was an artist in Ben on top of all that superstrength? How else could one describe the canvas of your skin, littered in hickeys?

Before you even had a chance of reacting, Ben shoved the bowl of fruit out of the way and seized you by the hips.

“Turn ‘round for me, dollface,” he demanded, despite manhandling you into his desired position himself.

He spun you in his arms, then lifted you up with ease, sitting you up on the counter. The cool marble surface was a stark contrast against your warm skin, even more so as your bare cunt brushed against it and you flushed further.

Wasting no more time, Ben’s large hands flew to your thighs and spread you open.

Much like your throat, your inner thighs were plastered in evidence of last night’s escapades. A scan of the red marks at the apex of your thighs would probably run successful, if anyone were to test his damn fingerprints. No wonder, considering how hard he had to grab you yesterday, hold you down so you wouldn’t fly off the mattress thanks to his tongue devouring you.

His cock twitched in to life in his boxers just reminiscing over your taste. Definitely better than any fucking strawberry, much sweeter too.

Yeah, he was definitely right. Only breakfast he was interested in eating up was you.

“No panties, huh?,” he quipped, licking his lips.

You scoffed, though with a grin: “Kinda your fault, remember?”

“Touché, princess,” he chuckled and slipped his fingers beneath your shirt. His shirt. “Guess we’re even then, damn thief.”

“At least you can have it back,” you shrugged playfully, “my panties are gone forever.”

A laugh erupted from Ben then and a spark ignited in his eyes. “Good riddance, if you ask me,” he countered. “Not like you need them anyway, they’d only be in the way. I like you without them just fine.”

As if punctuating his statement, his fingers curled around the underside of your thighs, lifting your legs slightly. He sank down to his knees and pulled you closer, hoisting your legs over his shoulders.

And, Christ, you were already glistening, straight up honey for him to enjoy. Always so eager for him, taking whatever he decided to give you like a good girl. That’s what he loved about you. It was addictive.

To your surprise, he started slow—in the beginning, anyway. His lips brushed over the inner of your thigh, almost gently, coaxing a shaky exhale from you and giving you the chance to relax in his grip.

“Thank the Lord for a good fuckin’ meal, or whatever,” he muttered, though he was talking more to himself.

You were only able to cry out weakly as he dove right in, his wet tongue gliding through your folds like he was a man starved. One of your hands shot to his head, fisting his tousled hair as he slurped away.

You moaned his name like it was something holy, although you were his altar he worshipped on his knees.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, briefly kissing your sensitive clit. “Swear, this pussy ‘s better than coffee.”

Your thighs were trembling around his head. Your body honestly still ached from hours of Soldier Boy pounding into you, the smallest touch leaving you sizzling. His stamina was downright cruel and you thought it quite unfair that he was already back to full energy while you struggled to contain your first orgasm.

He had barely touched you, but you were already embarrassingly close to crumbling.

You were sensitive still, which Ben used to his advantage.

He lapped at your core once again, tongue flat against your heat and milking you dry. Just before the tight coil in your lower belly could snap, he pulled back, leaving you all whiny and breathless.

“You know I usually like my coffee black,” he spoke as he rose back to his feet, standing tall between your shaking legs and pulling his boxers down just enough to free his throbbing dick. “But I think I wanna add some cream today.”

Ben guided the tip through your slick a few times, teasing and coating himself in your essence. You bucked your hips to meet his touch, desperate to finally feel him fill you. When he did, you gasped audibly, leaving your mouth open and vulnerable for his kiss.

You blushed tasting yourself on his mouth, still fresh and tangy.

He claimed your lips in a heated kiss, teeth colliding and tongues pressing hungrily. All while thrusting in and out of you relentlessly. He pawed at your hips, your waist, everywhere he could reach. Because what where a couple more fingerprints added to the ones that already decorated you? The evidence of you belonging to him. The more the merrier.

Though you struggled to sit upright, you knew Ben had a good hold on you. Your arms snaked around his neck and he took it upon himself to slip his hands under your ass, lift you off the counter, and carry you back to bed. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around him in the process.

Once there, the two of you collapsed onto the mattress, still a tangle of limbs, neither of you knowing where one body began and the other ended.

Ben pushed you down and slammed into you. Hard. Your back arched, your moans echoing off the bedroom walls. Your neighbors must’ve hated you—first you were robbing them of a peaceful night, now you were at it again, like rabbits.

The drag of his cock against your velvety walls was delicious, stroke for stroke making you see stars and every fiber of you tighten.

Ben’s gaze dropped down to where your bodies were connected, mesmerized by the sight of him sinking into you over and over again. As much as he had to give, you were taking all of it, which never failed to impress him. You always accommodated his size so well, getting stretched inch for inch, as if you were shaped for his cock.

“Christ on a cross, ‘s like you were made for me, huh?”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, which was, bluntly put, swiped clear at this point. Fucked stupid, you didn’t have it in you to produce a coherent thought, let alone form a proper sentence. All you felt, all you were at that moment, was the impact of his hips against yours, the pleasure building in your middle.

What a beautiful mess he’d turned you into, eyes glazed over with tears pricking their corners, swollen lips parted yet only able to spill broken moan after broken moan.

When Ben slipped his hand between your lower halves and let his thumb rub tight circles over your clit, you were gone. Shuttering, you almost spasmed under him, convulsing and crying and falling apart right then and there.

You reaching your climax triggered Ben’s own peak, his hips chasing his high in the warmth of your walls. One more thrust and he followed shortly after, stilling his hips and spilling deep within you.

After riding out both of your orgasms, he dropped down next to you. The sweat sticking to his forehead did not dull the glow of his expression whatsoever. He turned to you, as if admiring his artwork. His grin was wide and proud, the white of his teeth nearly blinding you in the best way possible.

“Gotta say, sweetheart,” he declared. “I could start every day with a breakfast like this.”

Your attempt at catching your breath was interrupted by your own soft laughter. That guy was truly insatiable. Not that you’d have it any other way.

“I guess our actual breakfast is long cold now, though,” you huffed, less disappointed and more bemused.

“Here’s a deal for ya,” Ben started with a wink. “I get my jersey back, you get your coffee. Hot.”

With a snort, you shook your head. Not only had you never seen Ben actually operate the coffee machine, ever, you also saw his offer for what it truly was. You knew what would happen if you were so much as lift the hem of that jersey again.

“And, what? Risk myself turning into another round of dessert the second I return your shirt?”

Ben’s proud grin widened, his eyes heavy on you as he scanned you from head to toe, as if assessing the suggestion. He then shrugged playfully. It definitely sounded like a win-win in his book. “What can I say, I might make myself a career as a salesman after all, don’t ya think?”

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[sophiewritesworld]

Tension and Temptation - E.M.

Eddie Munson x Reader Warnings: 18+ MDNI Summary: A midnight ride in Eddie Munson's van can't go wrong right ?

Part One

The air in Eddie Munson's van feels thicker tonight, heavy with the scent of leather and faint weed lingering from earlier. You're sprawled on the passenger seat, one leg tucked under you, the ripped denim of your jeans catching the dim glow of the dashboard. Eddie's leaning back, one hand draped over the steering wheel, the other fiddling with a cigarette he hasn't lit yet. His rings glint as he shifts, glancing at you with that half-smirk that makes your pulse hitch.

"You gonna keep staring at the stars through the windshield, or you got something to say?" His voice is low, teasing, but there's an edge to it—like he's daring you to close the distance between you. The cassette deck hums faintly, some metal band you can't name, but it’s just noise now, drowned out by the way his brown eyes lock on yours, bold and unreadable.

Your breath catches, and you shift, leaning closer, elbow brushing his arm. "Maybe I’m just waiting for you to make a move, Munson." It’s a challenge, tossed like a spark into dry grass. His smirk falters, just for a second, and you feel the tension coil tighter, electric. He leans in, slow, deliberate, until his face is inches from yours, his hair tickling your cheek.

"Careful what you wish for," he murmurs, voice rough, warm breath fanning your skin. Your heart’s hammering, and you’re hyper-aware of every inch of space—or lack of it—between you. It’s not just playful anymore. It’s a line, and you’re both teetering on the edge.

Your knee brushes his thigh as you shift, the contact sending a jolt through you, sharp and unignorable. You’re close enough now to see the faint freckles dusting his nose, the way his lashes dip when his gaze flicks to your lips, lingering there a beat too long.

"You’re trouble, you know that?" Eddie says, his voice a low rumble, like he’s trying to talk himself out of something. But his hand—the one with the skull ring you’ve always secretly loved—moves to the seatback behind you, his arm forming a loose cage. Not trapping you, but definitely making it clear he’s not backing off either. The leather of his jacket creaks as he leans closer, and you catch the faint spice of his cologne, mixing with something unmistakably him. It’s dizzying.

Your mouth feels dry, but you manage a grin, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. "Says the guy who’s got me alone in his van at midnight." You’re pushing, testing, and the way his jaw tightens tells you he feels it too. The air’s so charged it’s almost hard to breathe, every word a spark that could set this whole thing ablaze.

He chuckles, but it’s rough, strained, and his free hand twitches like he’s fighting the urge to touch you. "You’re makin’ it real hard to be good here." His eyes are dark now, pupils blown wide, and the smirk he’s trying to hold onto doesn’t quite reach them. It’s not just teasing anymore—it’s hunger, raw and barely restrained.

You lean in, just enough that your breath mingles with his, your lips hovering so close you can almost taste the cigarette he never lit. "Who said I want you to be good?" The words slip out, bold and reckless, and something shifts in his expression—surprise, maybe, or surrender. His hand slides from the seat to your jaw, fingers grazing your skin, calloused but gentle, tilting your face up. Your heart’s a riot, and you’re not sure if it’s you or him trembling, or both.

"Eddie," you whisper, and it’s half a question, half a plea. He doesn’t answer with words. His thumb brushes your lower lip, slow, deliberate, and the world narrows to that single point of contact. You’re both frozen, teetering on the brink, and all it’d take is one move—one tiny push—to fall over the edge. His thumb lingers on your lip, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch, and then his hand slides to cup your face, fingers tangling in your hair. The roughness of his rings contrasts with the warmth of his skin, grounding you and setting you on fire all at once. He’s so close now, his nose brushes yours, and the world outside the van—Hawkins, the stars, the weight of everything—melts away.

"You’re gonna ruin me," he mutters, voice gravelly, almost pained, but his eyes are blazing with something wild, something that dares you to prove him right. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the way his chest rises and falls just a little too fast, like he’s fighting to keep control. But you don’t want control. Not now.

You tilt your head, closing the fraction of space left, your lips grazing his—just a ghost of a touch, testing. It’s electric, a spark that shoots through every nerve, and Eddie lets out a low sound, half groan, half curse. That’s all it takes. His restraint cracks, and he kisses you, hard and hungry, like he’s been starving for this and didn’t even know it.

His mouth is warm, desperate, tasting faintly of mint and the promise of trouble. You kiss him back just as fiercely, one hand fisting in his jacket to pull him closer, the leather cool under your fingers. The van’s cramped space forces you together, your knee pressing into his thigh, his arm sliding around your waist to steady you. It’s messy, all heat and teeth and need, and you’re drowning in it, in him—the way he moves like he can’t get enough, like you’re oxygen and he’s been holding his breath too long.

You break apart for a second, gasping, foreheads pressed together. His breath fans hot against your cheek, and you feel his grip tighten, like letting go isn’t an option. "You okay?" he rasps, voice wrecked, eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt. But there’s none. You’re all in.

"Don’t stop," you say, barely recognizing the edge in your own voice. It’s a demand, not a request, and the grin that flashes across his face—sharp, a little feral—tells you he heard it loud and clear. He pulls you back in, this time slower, deeper, savoring every second. His hand slides under your shirt, just enough to graze the skin above your waistband, and the contact sends a shiver through you, sharp and addictive.

The cassette deck pops, startling you both, and you laugh against his lips, breathless, tangled in each other. He’s smiling too, but it’s not soft—it’s dangerous, like he’s already planning how much further this can go. The tension’s still there, coiled tight, but now it’s laced with something new: possibility, reckless and alive.