#I like to think this slightly sparked the | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cyofii · 2 days ago

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⩩﹕IN WHICH Phainon, always the playful troublemaker, decides to help his friend Mydei get closer to you. With the new library opening next to your favorite café, Mydei, the kind and mysterious owner, has been secretly watching you but has never had the courage to talk to you. Now, with a little help from Phainon, the chance is finally here. As you share shy glances and small talk, the two of you slowly begin to understand each other. Meanwhile, Phainon watches happily, believing his plan will work… eventually.

wc: 3.6k 𐔌 ᯓ modern/college au, slow burn, friends to lovers, mydei being secretly smitten, mutual pinning if you squint, might be ooc!

“I heard there’s a new library that just opened right beside the café we always go to,” Castorice said, glancing up from her book with a hint of excitement in her voice. It looked like she had been jotting down ideas for a new chapter again—her pen still hovering above the page. You looked up from your phone, eyebrows raised in confusion as you tried to recall if you’d seen any signs of construction the last time you were there.

“Really? Are you thinking of going there to look for inspiration?” you asked, slowly lowering your phone on the table as curiosity began to spark in your voice. Castorice nodded, a soft smile spreading across her face, the kind that made her eyes light up. “I thought it might be nice,” she said, “A change of scenery could help me get through this chapter.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” you asked with a warm smile, your voice gentle as you leaned slightly forward, genuinely interested. “We could check out the library first, and then head to the café to hang out like we usually do.”

Castorice looked at you, her smile growing a little wider, touched by the offer. “I’d really like that,” she replied softly, her fingers pausing on the edge of her notebook. “It’s easier for me to write when you’re around… I feel less stuck.” Her gaze lingered for a moment, as if silently thanking you for always being there.

“No problem!” you said with a cheerful grin, flashing a smile in her direction. As you and Castorice continued chatting, the soft hum of the cafeteria around you blending into the background, a familiar figure with white hair approached, looking mildly frazzled and out of breath.

“There you guys are!” Phainon exclaimed, sliding into the seat beside you with a dramatic sigh. “Professor Anaxa just won’t let me go until I finish that one-thousand-word essay about Dromas,” he groaned, slumping forward onto the table as if the weight of academic suffering had finally crushed him. “I swear he has it out for me.”

“Well, you did turn in a blank essay before,” you said with a teasing smile, unable to hold back a laugh. “So honestly? This one’s totally on you.”

Castorice let out a soft giggle, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, clearly amused by the memory. Meanwhile, Phainon only sighed louder, dramatically resting his forehead on the table.

“I was having a creative block, okay?” he mumbled, voice muffled against the surface. “Totally different situation.”

“Whatever you say…” you said with a playful smile, shaking your head slightly. Then a thought struck you. “Oh, by the way—are you free after class? Cas and I were planning to check out the new library next to the café we always go to.”

Phainon lifted his head, blinking a few times before meeting your gaze. “Library and café?” he echoed, then gave a quick nod. “Sure! Sounds better than sulking in the dorms over that essay, anyway.”

The afternoon sun filtered through the classroom windows, casting golden patches of light across your desk. Professor Anaxa was deep into his lecture about ancient civilizations, his voice steady as he paced across the front of the room. You were half-listening, somewhere between jotting down notes and sneaking glances at your two friends.

Castorice sat a few seats ahead, scribbling diligently in her notebook, her brows slightly furrowed in concentration. It was clear she was trying her best to stay focused, though the way her gaze occasionally drifted to the window hinted that her thoughts were already wandering toward the library plans.

Beside you, Phainon looked like a tired golden retriever stuck in a history class. His head rested on his hand, eyelids drooping every few minutes, and every now and then, he’d scribble something that probably wasn’t related to the lecture, just enough to make it look like he was keeping up.

You nudged him with your elbow. He flinched upright slightly, blinking at you with a betrayed, sleepy expression.

“I was listening,” he whispered, clearly bluffing.

“Sure you were,” you whispered back, trying not to laugh.

Up front, Professor Anaxa paused mid-sentence and turned around. “Is there something amusing you’d like to share with the class?” he asked, arching a brow.

You and Phainon straightened in sync, both shaking your heads quickly like well-behaved students. Castorice glanced over her shoulder with a small, knowing smile, barely hiding her amusement.

As soon as the professor turned back to the board, Phainon leaned toward you again and muttered, “Okay, maybe I do deserve that one-thousand-word essay…”

The moment Professor Anaxa dismissed the class with a sharp tap of his pen against the desk, the three of you practically leapt out of your seats. Phainon let out a dramatic groan as he stretched, slinging his bag over his shoulder like he’d just escaped a life sentence.

“Freedom never tasted so good,” he sighed, trailing after you and Castorice as you all made your way down the hallway.

Castorice chuckled softly, hugging her notebook close to her chest. “You act like you just finished a twelve-hour shift at a coal mine.”

“I might as well have,” Phainon replied, feigning exhaustion. “My brain has withered. My soul aged ten years.”

You smiled. “Good thing we’re going somewhere peaceful. Who knows, maybe the library will help restore your ‘withered’ brain.”

The three of you stepped out into the warm glow of the late afternoon sun. The sidewalk was quiet, lined with swaying trees and the occasional rustle of passing students. Just a short walk from the campus gates, the familiar café came into view—its windows glowing softly, the scent of brewed coffee drifting through the air. But today, your eyes were drawn to the sleek building next to it: tall glass windows, elegant wood paneling, and a freshly painted sign that read Kremnoan Public Library.

“There it is,” Castorice said, her eyes lighting up as she pointed to it. “It looks so calm.”

“And bookish,” Phainon added. “Like a place where the air itself smells like old pages and productivity.”

You laughed. “Let’s check it out.”

The doors opened with a soft chime, and the scent of new books and polished wood wrapped around you like a gentle hug. Shelves stretched high and far, with sunlight pouring in from the skylights above. It was quiet, but not cold—welcoming, like it had been waiting for people just like you.

“I think I’m going to like it here,” Castorice murmured, already drifting toward a corner desk near the window.

Phainon blinked up at the ceiling. “I might actually feel inspired to write that essay…”

You raised a brow. “That’s a big maybe.”

He grinned. “I said might.”

Ignoring Phainon's words, the three of you quietly went your separate ways inside the library.

The space was bigger than it looked from the outside, with towering shelves that seemed to stretch endlessly. You wandered through the aisles, your eyes drifting over titles that sparked your curiosity, history books, fantasy epics, and scientific journals. Despite all the options, you somehow ended up in the light novel section, the one place you often found comfort after a long day.

You slowly scanned the shelves, your fingers brushing across worn covers and fresh ones alike. A few familiar titles stood out, but one in particular caught your attention. It was a book Castorice had recommended to you before. The cover looked exactly like how she described it, and just the sight of it brought a small smile to your face.

You reached out for it without hesitation, eager to finally give it a try. Just as your fingers touched the book, another hand reached out at the same time.

Your hands brushed against each other.

Startled, you looked up just as the other person did too.

A man stood across from you, tall and composed, with an unfamiliar but calm presence. His eyes met yours for a moment, sharp, golden, and strangely warm. He didn’t speak right away, and neither did you.

The silence stretched, not awkward, but still enough to make you realize your hand was still lightly touching his.

“Oh,” he said, voice low and smooth, almost too gentle for someone his size. He glanced at the book between your hands. “Looks like we had the same idea.”

You quickly pulled your hand back, heart skipping a beat. “Ah—sorry! Did you want it?”

He shook his head, the corner of his lips lifting into a small smile. “No, you go ahead. I’ve already read it. It’s a good one.”

He reached up to return another book to the shelf beside you. The cuff of his black dress shirt shifted slightly as he moved, his gestures neat and practiced. Before you could think of anything else to say, he gave you a short nod and stepped away, heading toward another section with quiet, steady footsteps.

You stood frozen, gripping the book.

“He’s… handsome,” you muttered, a bit too loudly.

A soft snort came from behind.

You turned to see Castorice standing there, eyebrows raised and clearly holding back a grin. “That obvious?”

Your face warmed. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

She laughed quietly, linking her arm with yours. “Come on, lovebird. Let’s find a seat.”

The next day, the cafeteria buzzed with its usual midday chaos—clattering trays, low chatter, and the hum of students trying to relax between classes. You and Castorice sat across from each other, your half-eaten lunch long forgotten as the conversation circled back to the one thing that had been stuck in your mind since yesterday.

“I still can’t believe you said that out loud,” Castorice teased, sipping her iced tea with a knowing smile. “You should’ve seen your face.”

You groaned softly, hiding behind your hands. “I was caught off guard, okay? He was just… he had this calm aura. And his voice. And the way he just—ugh. Why are mysterious guys always so cool?”

“He was polite too,” Castorice nodded thoughtfully. “Didn’t even look annoyed when your hand touched his.”

You glanced to the side, then back at her. “I wonder who he is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him around before.”

Just then, Phainon plopped down beside you, placing a few snack packs on the table. “You two are talking about Mydei, huh?”

You blinked. “Wait. You know his name?”

Phainon raised an eyebrow like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. We’re in the same Ethics class.”

Castorice nearly dropped her drink. “You know him?!”

“Sure do,” he said with a casual shrug, already tearing open a bag of chips. “Smart guy. Doesn’t talk much. Kinda intense. Has this weirdly perfect handwriting.”

You stared at him. “And you just… didn’t say anything yesterday?”

Phainon stuffed a chip into his mouth. “No one asked.”

You and Castorice exchanged a look of disbelief.

“He’s a student?” you asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Phainon nodded. “Same year, too. He just keeps to himself most of the time. Spends a lot of time in the library ever since it opened. Pretty sure he works there too or something. Might even live nearby.”

You blinked slowly, the realization settling in. “That explains a lot.”

Phainon smirked. “What, you gonna go back to the library and confess now?”

Your hand immediately went to your drink, taking a long sip to avoid answering.

Castorice chuckled. “Be honest, if we run into him again, you’re totally going to freeze, aren’t you?”

“I’ll have you know,” you said, trying to sound dignified, “that I am perfectly capable of functioning like a normal person around handsome, mysterious guys.”

Both of them stared at you.

“…Sometimes,” you added.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself back at the Kremnoan Library, though you weren’t entirely sure why.

You hadn’t borrowed anything yesterday. There was no real reason to come back. But here you were, wandering past the front desk with Castorice beside you, trying to look casual while your eyes flicked over every aisle.

Castorice leaned in slightly. “So… are we pretending this is just another visit, or are we being honest about it?”

You gave her a pointed look. “It’s a library. I’m allowed to show up and browse.”

She grinned. “Sure. Totally not hoping to accidentally run into someone.”

You didn’t answer, choosing instead to turn into the same section as before—the shelves filled with light novels and some fantasy titles. You pretended to scan the books, fingers lightly brushing along the covers, heart quietly thudding in your chest for no reason you could admit aloud.

Then you heard it.

“You’re back.”

You turned, and there he was again.

Mydei stood a few feet away, holding a couple of books in one hand, a calm expression on his face. His gaze met yours easily, as if you were someone he fully expected to see again.

“Looking for something specific?” he asked, voice as smooth as yesterday, but a touch more curious.

“I… no,” you admitted. “Just browsing again.”

He nodded slowly, eyes flicking to the shelf you were near. “There’s a new arrival two rows over. Same author as the one you were interested in yesterday.”

You blinked. “You remembered?”

He gave the smallest shrug. “It was a good choice.”

You barely registered Castorice pretending not to hover behind you.

“Well, thank you,” you said, trying not to smile too hard. “I might check it out.”

He gave you a soft look, not quite a smile, but something that lingered in his eyes, before turning and walking past. His footsteps were quiet on the wooden floor.

Castorice waited two full seconds before whispering, “Okay. He remembered what book you were looking at, and you still think it was just a coincidence?”

“I don’t know what to think,” you said, trying to steady your breath.

From the next aisle, Phainon suddenly popped his head around the corner, holding a random book and grinning like he knew everything.

“Are we still pretending this is a casual visit, or are we admitting it now?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “How long have you been there?”

Phainon shrugged. “Long enough.”

He tossed the book into the crook of his arm and added, “Oh, by the way, Mydei and I have a class later. I’ll tell him you said hi.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. “You are unbelievable.”

“But you didn’t say not to,” Phainon said innocently, strolling off like this was all a normal day.

Castorice was already laughing beside you. “We should’ve known he’d show up.”

“Mydeimos!” Phainon called out, walking toward Mydei, who was just about to exit the classroom.

“Oh, it’s you. What do you want now?” Mydei raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with indifference.

Phainon dramatically placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt by the cold reception. “When you’re talking to them, you get all soft and gentle, but when it comes to me, it’s all cold and distant!” He pretended to sniff, his eyes wide with playful sadness. “Why do you hate me, Mydeimos?”

“I don’t hate you. I just don’t get all nice and soft for you like I do for others,” he said, his tone playful.

Phainon let out a playful sigh, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “I see how it is. I’ll remember this betrayal.”

“You’re impossible,” Mydei muttered, but the smirk on his face said otherwise.

“Still, though, you pulled it off!” Phainon beamed, clearly proud of himself. He hadn’t expected his little plan to actually work.

A few days before you and Mydei spoke for the first time, Mydei had already been admiring you from afar. Ever since Phainon befriended you on the very first day, he’d noticed the way Mydei’s gaze lingered a bit too long whenever you were around. It was a shame, really. Mydei didn’t even share a single class with you.

But Phainon had noticed. Whether it was in the corner of the cafeteria, walking down the hallway, or lingering near the courtyard, Mydei always seemed to be nearby whenever you and Castorice were hanging out. That’s when Phainon decided to do something about it.

He cornered Mydei one day after their ethics class.

“You like them, don’t you?” Phainon had said with a raised eyebrow.

As expected, Mydei did not give him a clear answer. He either dodged the question completely or brushed it off like it meant nothing. But Phainon did not give up. He remembered Mydei mentioning that he was the owner of the new library being built beside the café that the three of you often visited.

That’s when the plan formed.

The moment the Kremnoan Library opened, Phainon made it his mission to drag you there. He figured that if Mydei wouldn’t make a move, he’d give him the perfect opportunity: a quiet space, the two of you alone, no interruptions. Just enough to spark something... or at least get Mydei to finally speak to you.

And now, seeing how things were playing out, Phainon couldn’t help but feel smug.

“You know… I heard something new was added to the menu at the café next to your library,” Phainon said, wiggling his eyebrows at Mydei.

Mydei didn’t even hesitate, he lightly punched Phainon on the arm.

“What are you planning now exactly?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

Phainon grinned. “You ask them to go on a date with you! I’ll make sure Castorice and I are conveniently busy so we don’t interrupt.”

He leaned back against the wall with a smug expression, clearly enjoying himself as he imagined how everything might play out. "C'mon, you've got the perfect setting. Just say the word, and I'll handle the rest."

It was a quiet Saturday morning when you found yourself once again wandering into the Kremnoan Library. With no classes and the weather calm and cool, it felt like the perfect day to catch up on some reading.

You were flipping through a book near the back shelves when you heard someone approach. The footsteps were light but familiar, and when you turned your head, you found Mydei standing there.

He looked a bit more casual than usual, wearing the same black dress shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows. His hands were tucked into his pockets, and for a brief moment, he seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Do you have any plans today?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Not really. Just came here to read.”

“Perfect,” he said, a little too quickly, before clearing his throat. “I was thinking... maybe we could go to the café next door. Together.”

You blinked in surprise. “You mean... right now?”

He nodded. “If you’re free. I thought... maybe I could buy you something.”

You couldn’t stop the grin that formed. “Are you asking me out on a date, Mydei?”

He didn’t answer right away, but a small, almost shy smirk appeared on his lips. “Only if you say yes.”

You let out a soft laugh, feeling a warmth rise in your chest. “Then yes.”

Mydei’s smirk grew just a little, and without another word, he motioned for you to walk with him. You both exited the library together, stepping into the gentle morning breeze. The café was just a short walk away, and for a while, the two of you walked side by side in a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward at all.

You leaned back a little in your chair, sipping your juice as you watched Mydei quietly fiddle with the handle of his coffee cup. It was rare to see him look unsure of himself. Usually, he carried a calm, unreadable air, but right now, he looked like he was searching for words.

"Mydei?" you asked gently, setting your drink down. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head quickly, almost too quickly. "No. It’s just..." He paused, frowning at his coffee as if it would help him gather his thoughts.

You waited patiently, a small smile playing on your lips.

"I’m not good with... saying things," he finally muttered. "But... I think you’re... nice. And... I like being around you."

His voice was quiet, but honest, almost vulnerable.

You blinked, your heart fluttering at his words. A warm feeling bubbled up inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a soft laugh.

"That's the sweetest thing I’ve heard all day," you said warmly.

Mydei coughed awkwardly, his hand running through his messy hair as he looked away, his ears slightly tinted red. "I just thought you should know," he added, his voice almost a grumble.

You smiled brightly and leaned forward just a little. "Well, I like being around you, too."

He glanced back at you, and for a moment, the faintest smile touched his lips, gentle and unguarded.

The sun outside glowed a little brighter through the window, but somehow, nothing felt warmer than the look Mydei was giving you right now.

Unbeknownst to you and Mydei, two very familiar figures had quietly slipped into the café. Hiding behind a menu near the entrance, Phainon and Castorice peered over the top, barely containing their giggles.

"Would you look at that," Phainon whispered, a mischievous grin on his face. "Our dear Mydei actually pulled it off."

Castorice nodded, smiling fondly. "They look good together," she said softly.

"Should we say hi?" Phainon asked, already halfway standing up.

Castorice grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him down. "No way. Let them have their moment."

Phainon pouted, but stayed put, sneaking another peek at you and Mydei. The two of you were leaning closer now, smiling and talking like no one else in the world existed. It was honestly too sweet to interrupt.

With a defeated sigh, Phainon slumped in his seat. "Fine, fine. But I’m teasing both of them later."

Castorice chuckled. "Only if you want Mydei to strangle you."

Phainon snickered. "Worth it."

With that, the two of them exited the café, sneaking off down the sidewalk like mischievous partners-in-crime, already planning how they would tease you both the next time you met.

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importantpuppystarfish · 2 days ago

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How the King fucked his servant ;)

Male reader or Y/N x IU (Lee Jieun)

!you as the King of Goryeo dynasty and IU as regular servant/dishwasher/slave.

Kinks: Rough fucking, pussy eating, pissing, squirting, begging to stop, armpit licks, lots of mouthful kissing

This happens to be around the ancient times. It’s the Goryeo dynasty, a time of lavish palaces, temples, and strict traditions in Gaegyeong, the bustling capital. You, Y/n, are the King.. You're tall, muscular, young ruler with a chiseled jaw. As a king, you're loved by the people, but let’s be real: you’re also a horny dude who enjoys the perks of being King. Your word is absolute, but traditions are strict—marrying a lowly servant girl like Lee Jieun? No way, Jose. The nobles would lose their minds. Still, that doesn’t stop you from eyeing the cute girls who clean your palace.

Lee Jieun, or IU as the other servant girls call her, is a young, probably teenage, 5’2” pixie of a girl—skinny, pale as porcelain, with a cute face that could melt hearts. Her big, dark eyes and pouty lips make her stand out, even in her plain, slightly tattered hanbok. She’s one of the many girls who scrub floors, wash dishes, and cook for the royal household. Jieun’s life is tough—hauling buckets, sweating over fires, and dodging the wrath of grumpy supervisors. But she’s got a feisty spark, and lately, she’s been catching your attention. You’ve heard the other servant girls gossip about “IU” and her clumsy moments, so her name’s already stuck in your head.

It’s a sweltering summer day in the palace. You’re lounging in the open courtyard, shirtless as usual. You’re sipping rice wine from a glass, watching the girl servants bustle around. Jieun’s there, carrying a tray of dishes to the kitchen with a lot of glasses. She’s sweating as fuck, her hanbok sticking to her tiny frame, and you can’t help but notice the way she smells—salty, musky, delicious. Your nose twitches. Damn, you love that sweaty scent. It’s like catnip to you.

Jieun’s distracted, sneaking glances at your ripped torso. Oh gods, she thinks, the King’s chest is like a damn sculpture. Is he trying to kill me? Her cheeks flush, and her pussy tingles just a bit—shit, she’s horny. She’s never been this close to you before, and your half-naked vibe is messing with her head. She trips over a stone, and CRASH! The tray slips, and a glass shatters on the ground, right near your feet.

The other servants gasp. Jieun freezes, dropping to her knees. “Your Majesty! I’m so sorry!” she squeaks, her voice shaky but sweet. That voice—fuck, it’s like honey to your ears.

You stand up, towering over her tiny frame. “Clumsy, aren’t you, Jieun?” you say, smirking. Your eyes lock with hers, and for a second, it’s electric. She’s trembling, but her gaze flicks to your abs, then back up. Is she checking me out? you think, your dick twitching under your robe.

“I-I didn’t mean to, Your Majesty,” she stammers, bowing low. “I’ll clean it up!”

You crouch down, close enough to catch another whiff of her sweaty scent. “Look at me,” you say, voice low. She lifts her head, her cute face all red. Your eyes burn into hers, and she bites her lip.

“Be careful next time, Jieun,” you say, standing up. “I like my glasses… and my girls, unbroken.” You wink, and her jaw drops. Did the King just flirt? She scrambles to clean the shards, her heart pounding. You walk away, already thinking about her cute face and that smell. She’s trouble, and you like it.

It’s been a few days since the glass incident, and Jieun’s been on your radar. You catch glimpses of her scrubbing floors or carrying laundry, always stealing looks at her tiny, sweaty body. She’s been careful, but today, she fucks up big time.

You’re in the throne hall, shirtless again, sprawled on your throne like a goddamn lion. Your mother suddenly storms in, her face is damn red with anger. She’s clutching a broken piece of jade—a priceless hairpin, a family heirloom from your grandmother.

“Y/n!” she snaps, waving the shattered jade. “That clumsy servant girl broke my hairpin! My hairpin! Do you know how precious this was?”

You sit up, frowning. “Which girl?”

“Lee Jieun, that little klutz!” your mother huffs. “She was dusting my chambers and knocked it off the table. I want her punished! Death or jail, Y/n—she’s useless!”

Your cock stirs at the mention of Jieun’s name. Oh, fuck yeah, my clumsy cutie. But you keep a straight face. “Mother, calm down,” you say, leaning back. “Death? For a hairpin? That’s a bit much.”

“A bit much?!” your mother shrieks. “This is an heirloom! Tradition demands respect!”

“Alright, alright,” you say, raising a hand. “I’ll handle it. Where’s Jieun now?”

“In the courtyard, sniveling,” your mother says, crossing her arms. “Do something, Y/n. Don’t be soft.”

You grin. “Oh, I’ll punish her, Mother. Don’t worry.” Punish her real good, you think, your dick already half-hard at the thought of Jieun’s sweaty little body squirming under you.

You head to the courtyard, where Jieun’s kneeling by a pile of laundry, her head bowed. She’s shaking, her pale skin flushed from crying. The other servants are whispering, keeping their distance. You tower over her, your shadow swallowing her tiny frame.

“Jieun,” you say, voice deep and teasing. “You’ve been naughty, haven’t you?”

She looks up, her big eyes wet with tears. “Your Majesty, I-I’m so sorry!” she says, her voice that sweet, sexy pitch you love. “I was dusting, and the hairpin fell. I didn’t mean to break it!”

You crouch down, getting a hit of her scent. Fuck, she smells like heaven. “That was my mother's hairpin,” you say, pretending to be mad. “You know what happens to clumsy girls, don’t you?”

Jieun’s lip trembles. “P-Prison? Or… worse?” Oh gods, I’m dead, she thinks. But why’s he looking at me like that? Like he wants to eat me? Her pussy twitches.

You smirk, leaning closer. “Death’s too boring,” you say, your voice dripping with mischief. “I’ve got a better idea. You’re gonna make this up to me… personally.”

Her eyes widen. “P-Personally? Your Majesty, I’m just a servant! I can’t—”

You grin, your cock already hard under your loose silk pants. “Oh, you can, Jieun,” you say, stepping closer. You’re towering over her short frame, your muscular, shirtless chest gleaming in the dim lantern light. You lean down, your face inches from hers, your breath hot on her cute little lips.

IU's heart pounds so loud she thinks you can hear it. Oh gods, he’s so close! Is he gonna kiss me? His lips look so… big. But I’m just a servant—this is wrong! She’s nervous as hell, her pussy tingling despite herself. Jieun panics in her head.

You don’t wait for her to say shit. You grab her tiny face with one hand, your fingers rough on her soft, pale cheeks, and crash your lips onto hers. She gasps, her hands pushing weakly at your chest, but you’re too fucking strong—your tall, muscular body doesn’t even budge. You force your tongue into her mouth, tasting her—her lips are fresh but there’s a raw, dirty edge to her, probably from slaving away all day. Her saliva mixes with yours, wet and messy, and you groan into her mouth. Fuck, she tastes like heaven and sin.

Jieun squirms, her tiny body trying to pull back, but your grip’s like iron. “Mmph—Your Majesty!” she mumbles against your lips, her voice muffled. Her hands push harder, but it’s like a kitten fighting a tiger. Slowly, her resistance fades—she can’t help it. Your tongue’s too good, swirling with hers, and the kiss turns into a dirty, passionate French kiss. Saliva drips down her chin, and she’s panting, her body betraying her as her pussy gets wetter. Oh no, this is so wrong… I can’t stop myself, Jieun thinks, her mind spinning.

You pull back for a second, a string of spit connecting your lips to hers. “Fuck, Jieun, your mouth’s so damn tasty,” you growl, licking your lips. “All sweaty and dirty—just how I like it.” You smirk, your voice dripping with lust. “Bet your pussy’s even better.”

Her eyes go wide, her face redder than the maroon on her hanbok. “Y-Your Majesty, please!” she squeaks, her voice that sweet, sexy pitch you love. “This isn’t right—I’m just a—”

“Shut up,” you snap, grabbing the collar of her yellow hanbok. “You broke my mother’s shit, Jieun. Now you’re mine to break.” With one rough tug, you rip the fabric open, the black polka dots tearing apart to reveal her pale, skinny little body. Her small tits are bare underneath—no fancy undergarments for a servant girl. She gasps, her hands flying to cover herself, but you grab her wrists and pin them above her head, your big hand easily holding both of hers.

“Nooo! Please, Your Majesty!” Jieun cries, her voice trembling as she tries to twist away. Her long green skirt still clings to her hips, but her top’s in shreds, hanging off her shoulders. She’s scared, her heart racing, but deep down, her body’s betraying her again—her nipples are hard, and her pussy’s throbbing. He’s so rough—I’m terrified! IU's thoughts are a chaotic mess.

You laugh, low and dirty, your free hand yanking at her skirt. “Look at you, squirming like a little slut,” you say, your voice thick with lust. “You’re scared, huh? But I bet your cunt’s dripping for me already.” You tear the green skirt off, the fabric ripping loudly, leaving her completely naked on the mat. Her pale skin glows in the lantern light, her tiny body trembling under your gaze. You can smell her even more now—sweaty, musky, fucking delicious. Your cock’s rock-hard, straining against your pants.

Jieun’s shaking, tears in her eyes, but her pussy’s glistening, and you can see it. “Please… I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice breaking. But her body’s telling a different story, and you’re too horny to care about her pleas.

You smirk, eyeing a low wooden bed nearby, covered with a silk blanket. “Time to play, my little slave,” you growl, stepping closer. You bend down and grab her tiny ass with both hands, your big fingers digging into her soft, sweaty cheeks. “Fuck, your ass is so small,” you laugh, squeezing hard. “Barely a handful!”

Jieun gasps, her body jolting. “Y-Your Majesty, please don't touch me like that!” she whimpers, her voice shaky. She tries to squirm away, but your grip’s too strong.

You don’t care about her protests. You slide your hands up her skinny frame, groping her small tits—barely a handful, just like her ass. “Look at these tiny fucking tits,” you say, chuckling as you squeeze them hard, your thumbs brushing her hard nipples. “Like little peaches, but I bet they taste better.” Her pale skin flushes under your rough touch, her sweat making her body slick.

Jieun bites her lip, tears welling in her eyes. “Stop… please sir!,” she whispers, her voice breaking. She feels violated, her mind screaming to escape, but your strength pins her in place. He’s too big—I can’t fight him.

You laugh, loving how helpless she looks. “You’re my little slave snack, Jieun,” you say, your voice low and dirty. “I’m gonna eat you up.” You scoop her up like she weighs nothing—your strong arms lifting her 5’2” frame easily—and toss her onto the nearby bed. She lands on the silk blanket with a soft thud, her sweaty body bouncing slightly, her dark hair spilling around her.

“No—!” Jieun cries, trying to crawl away, but you’re on her in a second, pinning her down with your weight. You grab her face again, your fingers digging into her cheeks, and slam your lips onto hers. It’s rough, messy, your tongue forcing its way into her mouth. “Mmph!” she moans, her hands weakly pushing at your chest. You again taste her lips, her saliva, eating her mouth like she’s a fucking meal—wet, sloppy, and desperate.

“I’m gonna taste every fucking inch of you,” you growl against her lips, biting her bottom lip hard enough to make her yelp.

You ignore her, too lost in her taste. You move down, kissing and licking her belly, your tongue tracing her skin. “So fucking tasty,” you mutter, your hands gripping her skinny thighs to keep her still. You move back up to her neck, sucking hard, leaving red marks, then kiss her hands, tasting the salt on her fingers. Finally, you go back to her lips, kissing her again, your tongue deep in her mouth, eating her up like she’s your last meal.

Jieun’s moaning softly, her body reacting even though her mind’s begging for it to stop. “Ngh… ahh,” she gasps, her cheeks wet with tears. I can’t stop moaning—it feels good, but I hate it! I just want this to end, she thinks, her tiny body trembling under you. Jieun’s thoughts are overwhelmed with discomfort.

You pull back, grinning down at her, your lips shiny with her sweat and spit. “You’re my little slave feast, Jieun,” you say, your voice thick with lust. “And I’m just getting started.”

Her moans are mixed with soft sobs, and you’re fucking loving it—her discomfort just makes you hornier. You grab her skinny arms, pinning them above her head with one hand, exposing her clean, nearly hairless armpits. There’s just a faint hint of stubble, barely noticeable, and the skin’s glistening with sweat, her “armpit waters” dripping down her side. The musky, salty scent hits you hard, and your cock throbs in your pants. Fuck, that’s my jam.

“Look at these pretty little armpits,” you growl, your voice low and dirty. “All sweaty and ripe for me.” You dive in, pressing your face and tongue into her right armpit, your tongue lapping up her sweat like it’s fucking nectar. It’s slick and warm, her “armpit juices” coating your tongue—salty, tangy, with that raw, unwashed edge that drives you wild. You groan loudly, slurping and eating it up, your lips smacking as you eat her armpit like a starving man. “Fuck, Jieun, your pit sweat tastes so damn good,” you mutter, your tongue digging into every crevice, licking up every drop of her armpit waters.

IU is squirming hard now, her tiny body thrashing under you. “Please, stop—it’s dirty! I haven't clean it!” This is so disgusting! I hate this��his tongue, ugh, it’s so gross! she thinks, her mind reeling with revulsion. Her body’s still slick with sweat, but she’s not turned on anymore—just scared and ashamed of herself that she doesn't bath regularly although the king is licking off her armpirs.

You laugh against her armpit, the sound muffled as you keep licking, your tongue swirling over her clean skin, savoring the faint prick of her tiny stubble. “Dirty? That’s why I love it, my little slave,” you say, pulling back just to dive into her other armpit. You lick harder, slurping up her sweat, your lips sucking on her skin like it’s a fucking delicacy. “Your armpit waters are my dessert,” you groan, your free hand sliding down her trembling body to her virgin pussy.

You don’t waste time—you shove two fingers into her tight, untouched cunt, rough and deep, stretching her open. Her pussy’s a little wet from before, but now it’s just her body’s natural reaction—she’s not into this at all. “Ahhh! Your Majesty, it hurts!” Jieun screams, her voice raw as she sobs, her legs kicking weakly. Her pussy clenches around your fingers, so tight it’s almost painful for her, and you can feel her walls stretching, her virginity starting to give way under your rough touch.

“Fuck, your cunt’s so tight,” you growl, fingering her harder, your fingers pumping in and out with no mercy. Her pussy lips part slightly, her virgin hole opening up bit by bit as you force your way deeper. “Gonna loosen you up real good, Jieun.” You keep licking her armpit, your tongue lapping up the last of her sweat, your lips smacking loudly as you eat her armpit while your fingers fuck her pussy raw.

Jieun’s crying harder now, her sobs shaking her tiny frame. “Your Majesty, please… stop!” she begs, her voice hoarse. She’s fighting as much as she can, her arms pulling against your grip, her legs trying to close, but she’s too weak. Her pussy’s burning from your rough fingers, and her armpits feel raw from your licking—she’s never felt so violated.

You pull your face from her armpit, your lips shiny with her sweat, and grin down at her. “Cry all you want bitch,” you say, your fingers still pumping into her tight pussy. “I’m just getting started with you.”

You pull your fingers out of her tight cunt, her juices coating them, and smirk down at her. “Time to eat that sweet little pussy, my dirty slave,” you growl, grabbing her skinny thighs and spreading them wide. Her pussy’s pink and puffy.. Its raw and fucking perfect.

You dive in like a starving beast, your mouth latching onto her cunt with no warning. “Fuck, your pussy’s dripping for me,” you mutter against her folds, your tongue lapping up her juices like it’s a goddamn feast. You’re rough as hell, sucking hard on her clit, your lips smacking loudly as you eat her out. Her pussy juices are tangy and slick, coating your tongue, and you groan, slurping them up, your face buried deep between her thighs. “So fucking tasty, you little slut,” you say, biting her pussy lips lightly, making her scream.

Jieun’s crying harder, her hands clawing at the silk blanket. “Your Majesty, nooo! Ujmmmmhmmm ahh!” she sobs, her voice raw and desperate. She tries to close her legs, but it ain't possible, your whole head and face is between them and keeps them spread... Your fingers digging into her thighs hard enough to leave bruises.

Due to IU has never felt such satisfaction that her most sensitive part, vagina being eaten, Her pussy clenches, her stomach tightens, and suddenly—oh no!—she loses it. She pisses over.

Without warning, Jieun squirts hard, her juices gushing out, mixed with a hot stream of piss, right onto your face. “Ahhh!” she screams, her body convulsing as she soaks you, the liquid splashing over your mouth and chin. She’s horrified, her eyes wide with panic. I—I peed on the King! I’m dead! she thinks, her sobs turning into panicked gasps. Jieun’s thoughts are pure terror.

You pull back for a second, her squirt and piss dripping down your face, but you fucking love it. Your kink’s in overdrive, and the tangy, salty mix of her fluids is like a drug. You open your mouth, drinking it all down, gulping her squirt and piss like it’s fine wine. “Fuck yes, you dirty little bitch,” you groan, licking your lips. “You taste so fucking good—piss and all.” You laugh, wiping your chin with the back of your hand, your eyes glinting with something darker.

Jieun’s shaking, tears streaming down her face. “I-I’m sorry, Your Majesty! I didn’t mean to!” she cries, her voice trembling. He’s going to kill me…

You stand up, towering over her, your face wet with her fluids. You take this as an advantage to do more stuff now. “Didn’t mean to?” you snarl, your voice low and dangerous. “You pissed on your King, you filthy slave. You think that’s okay?” You grab her by the hair, yanking her up to her knees on the bed. “Time to teach you a fucking lesson.”

“No, please—!” Jieun begs, but you don’t listen. You shove her down onto her stomach, her tiny ass sticking up, and bring your hand down hard on her pale cheeks. SMACK! The sound echoes in the room, and she screams, her body jolting. “Ahh! Your Majesty, I’m sorry!” she sobs, her ass turning red from the first hit.

“You’re gonna learn, you little cunt,” you growl, spanking her again—SMACK!—harder this time, your big hand leaving a bright red mark on her skinny ass. “Pissing on me like a fucking animal? You’re gonna pay.” You hit her again and again, SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!, her ass cheeks jiggling with each brutal slap, turning bright red and raw. You don’t stop there—you slap her back, her thighs, even her small tits when you flip her over, your hand raining down on her sweaty, trembling body.

Her body’s covered in red marks, her ass and thighs burning from your spanking.

Your cock’s rock-hard, straining against your silk pants, and you’re ready to take this punishment to the next level. Now, you grab her by the hair and yank her up to her knees again.

Jieun’s trembling, her sobs choking her as she looks up at you with terrified eyes.

You pull them down, letting your long, thick, strong-as-fuck dick spring free—big, veiny, and throbbing with need. It’s massive compared to her tiny frame, and her eyes widen in horror. “Open your fucking mouth, Jieun,” you command, your voice low and dangerous. “You’re gonna take my cock down your throat like the dirty slut you are.”

Jieun shakes her head weakly, her hands clutching the silk blanket. “No… please, I can’t— Its too big..” she starts, but you don’t give her a choice. You tighten your grip on her hair, pulling hard enough to make her yelp, and force her mouth open with your other hand, shoving your thumb into her jaw to pry it wide. “I said open,” you growl, and before she can protest, you shove your massive dick into her mouth, pushing it deep in one rough thrust.

“Grrkk!” Jieun gags hard, her throat convulsing as your cock fills her mouth completely, the head hitting the back of her throat. Her tiny hands push at your thighs, trying to pull away, but you’re too strong. You pull her hair tighter, using it like a leash, and start facefucking her with brutal force, thrusting your hips hard. Your dick goes deeper with each thrust, forcing its way down her throat, stretching her to her limit. “Fuck, your throat’s so tight,” you groan, your voice thick with lust. “Take it, you little bitch.”

Jieun’s struggling to breathe, her gags loud and wet—glurk, glurk, glurk!—as saliva and pre-cum drip down her chin, soaking her chest. Her eyes turn red, tears streaming down her face as she chokes on your cock, her throat burning with every thrust. She can’t get enough air, her chest heaving desperately, but you don’t stop. “Your Majesty… mmph… please!” she tries to mumble around your dick, but it’s just garbled noise. I can’t breathe—he’s killing me! My throat… it hurts so much! she thinks, her mind spinning with panic.

You don’t care—you’re lost in the pleasure, your cock slamming into her throat over and over, the wet, sloppy sounds filling the room. Her gagging just makes it better, the vibrations sending shocks through your dick. But her throat’s taking real damage now. the repeated, forceful thrusting is causing trauma to her pharynx and larynx which are the delicate tissues in her throat.. Her gag reflex, triggered repeatedly, is overworking her throat muscles, leading to strain.

“Fuck, I’m gonna ruin this throat,” you growl, thrusting even deeper, your balls slapping against her chin. You can feel her throat spasming around your cock, her gags getting weaker as she starts to lose the fight. Her face is a mess—red eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, spit and pre-cum dripping everywhere. You pull her hair harder, forcing her to take every inch, your dick buried so deep she can’t even scream anymore—just choked, desperate gasps.

You take it even further, wanting to push her small mouth to its breaking point. You pull out just long enough to smear your cock across her face, slapping her cheeks with it—slap, slap!—leaving wet streaks of spit and pre-cum on her skin. “Look at you, all messy and fucked up,” you laugh, then force your dick back into her mouth, this time tilting her head back so you can thrust straight down her throat. You hold her there, your cock buried to the hilt, cutting off her air completely. “Choke on it, bitch,” you growl, watching her eyes roll back as she gags and sputters, her face turning red from lack of oxygen.

IU's body jerks, her hands slapping weakly at your legs, her muffled screams vibrating around your dick. Her throat’s taking more damage now—the constant thrusting and lack of air are causing swelling in her pharynx, and the microtears in her throat lining are worsening, leading to more inflammation. Her vocal cords are strained to the point of potential temporary damage, which could leave her voice raspy or even silent for days. Her jaw’s aching, the muscles overworked from being forced open so wide for so long.

You finally pull out after what feels like forever, letting her collapse onto the bed, gasping and coughing, her chest heaving as she tries to breathe. Her small mouth is a wreck—lips swollen and throat raw and damaged, spit and pre-cum dripping everywhere.

As Jieun lies on the bed, her tiny body being completely broken through the tiredness of deepthroat, you stand over her, your muscular, shirtless body towering, your massive cock still hard and dripping with her spit. You’re not done with her—not by a long shot.

“Time to fuck that virgin pussy, my little slave,” you growl, grabbing her skinny legs and spreading them wide. Her pussy’s pink and puffy from your earlier eating, glistening with her juices, but she’s too broken to feel anything but fear now. You position yourself between her thighs, your cock hovering over her untouched cunt, and smirk. “This is gonna hurt, IU. But you deserve it.”

You don’t give a fuck about her pleas. You line your thick, veiny cock up with her tight pussy and thrust in hard, forcing your way into her virgin hole in one brutal motion. Her pussy’s so tight it resists you, but you push through, tearing her hymen with a sickening pop. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight!” you groan, your cock stretching her walls as you bury yourself deep inside her, your balls slapping against her ass.

“AAAAAA!” Jieun screams, her voice piercing the room, the loudest she’s ever screamed. Her tiny body arches off the bed, her hands clawing at the silk blanket as pain rips through her. Her pussy burns like it’s on fire, the stretch unbearable as your massive dick forces her open. “AAAAAA! OHHWWW MAJESTY AHAHHS!” she shrieks, her voice raw and desperate, tears pouring down her face.

You don’t stop—you start fucking her hard, your hips slamming into her with no mercy, each thrust rougher than the last. “Take it, you little slut,” you growl, grabbing her skinny hips to hold her in place as you pound her pussy. Her tight walls grip your cock like a vice, “Fuck, your virgin cunt feels so good,” you say, your voice thick with lust. You thrust deeper, your cock hitting her cervix, making her scream even louder.

“AAAAAA! YOUR MAJESTY, PLEASE!!” Jieun wails, her screams echoing in the room, her small body shaking with every brutal thrust. Her pussy’s being stretched beyond its limit, the pain searing through her, and she can’t do anything but scream and cry. Her hands grip the blanket so hard her knuckles turn white, her face contorted in agony.

You keep fucking her relentlessly, your cock slamming into her over and over, her screams just fueling your lust. Its her punishment which is way better for her than what your mother ordered you to.

As you continue, IU sobs into the blanket, her tiny ass trembling as you force her into a doggy-style position, her knees barely holding her up. “No… please… it hurts…” she whimpers, her voice breaking, but you ignore her. You slap her ass again—SMACK!—harder this time, leaving a fresh red handprint, then grab her hips and slam your cock back into her pussy from behind, thrusting even deeper than before. “AAAAAA!” she screams, her voice piercing, her body jolting forward with the force of your thrust.

“Fuck, your cunt’s still so tight,” you groan, pounding her relentlessly, your hips slapping against her sore ass with every brutal thrust. “You’re my little virgin whore, Jieun—gonna fuck you ‘til you break.” You spank her again—SMACK! SMACK!—each hit making her scream louder, her ass turning bright red and raw. You pull her hair again, yanking her head back so hard her neck strains, and lean down to growl in her ear. “Scream all you want my servant. No one’s gonna save you.”

You keep fucking her, not noticing—or caring—that she’s on the edge. “Take it, you fucking slut,” you growl, thrusting harder, your cock slamming into her limp body.

“You’re my little cumdump, Jieun,” you snarl, your voice thick with lust. “Gonna fill this filthy cunt with my seed—make you mine forever.” You grab her skinny hips, pulling her onto your cock as you fuck her harder, your balls tightening as you feel your climax building.

“Fuck… here it comes, you worthless whore,” you groan, thrusting as deep as you can, your cock buried to the hilt inside her ruined pussy. You cum hard, your orgasm hitting you like a wave, and you unleash a massive load deep inside her. Thick ropes of cum shoot into her womb, one after another, your cock pulsing as you empty yourself into her. It’s a huge amount, more than her tiny body can handle—your cum fills her pussy, some of it leaking out around your cock, mixing with her blood and juices, dripping onto the silk blanket.

Finally, with one last scream of—Ahhhhh!—as IU receives the cum, her body goes slack, her eyes closing as she passes out, her tiny frame unable to handle any more. Her head lolls to the side, her breathing shallow, her body a broken mess beneath you.

#Iu smut #girl group smut #kpop gg smut #twice smut #kpop girl smut #ive smut #Somi smut #wonyoung smut

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the-halloween-jack · 3 days ago

Text

Tether ✢ Jason Todd

Synopsis: When a battered Jason stumbles into an alley and finds unexpected refuge in a stranger’s kindness, it sparks a fracture in the walls he’s built to survive. Trust was never a luxury he could afford, but as survival blurs into something more, Jason is forced to confront the most dangerous risk of all, love.

Jason Todd x Reader, female pronouns.

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and scars. Hurt with comfort.

Masterlist

Notes: A couple of weeks ago, I posted a pair of headcanons, 'when he realised he loved you' and 'when he admitted he loved you'. A few people were interested in an extension of Jason's parts, and this is the result. So, if some moments sound familiar, that is why. It follows Jason as he meets, gets to know, and, eventually, falls in love with the reader.

Words: 5,992k

The air was thick with the acrid scent of oil and looming rain. The Gotham sky threatened a storm, as it always did, the kind that lurked but never quite arrived, it pressed down upon her shoulders; she huddled against it. Y/N did not intend to be outside long. It was just the rubbish, nothing more than a trip down two flights of stairs to the alley behind her apartment, a chore too mundane to warrant much forethought. But that is when she saw him.

At first, Y/N was not sure what she was looking at. Just a shadow, too still, too broken at the base of the brick wall. Then it moved, a sharp, pained shift, and the outline resolved itself into something unmistakably human.

He was bleeding. Not in the way of scrapes and gashes; this was deeper, darker. New wounds layered atop old scars. She froze, bin bag clutched within her grasp, knuckles white. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He did not look at her. He was watching the mouth of the alley, just past the corner, breath coming fast and shallow. Voices echoed from somewhere beyond. Sharp. Searching.

‘Where the fuck did he go?’

‘Check the rooftops. Check the damn dumpsters. He couldn’t have gone far.’

His eyes flicked up, just barely, only enough to register her. His shoulders fell slack, ever so slightly. She was not a threat. Just a girl.

Jason Todd had been in more confrontations than anyone should survive. He had bled in them, broken in them, died in one. There was a pattern to this kind of moment, the hush before pain returned, the liminal space where adrenaline gave way to his collapse. He had learned to expect nothing from strangers. No mercy. No help. Just the turning away of eyes and the closure of doors. So when she stepped forward instead of flinching, when her voice did not falter or fill with fear, something within him stalled.

‘My place is just there,’ she said, nodding toward the fire escape tucked beside the alley’s edge.

‘You can’t stay here. They’ll find you.’

He did not react, nor move; he simply watched her.

‘You need to get off the street,’ she added, lower now. ‘You won’t make it five minutes if they come back this way.’

Still, he hesitated. His whole body was coiled with his refusal. She could see it in the set of his jaw, the way his fingers hovered near his belt, ready to draw, to run, to die fighting. She dropped her gaze, it fell to rest on his boots.

‘I’m not trying to trap you,’ she said, voice quieter now, nothing more than a whisper. ‘I’m trying to help.’

That was the part he could not understand, would not let himself believe. Why would anyone help him? Especially like this, so suddenly, without demand, without recognition. She did not know who he was, not really. If she did, would she have still reached for him?

Another voice rang out nearby. Closer this time.

She stepped forward and reached for his arm without thinking. He flinched, not from pain, but reflex. The kind born of being mishandled too many times. But he did not pull away. She guided him to his feet, shocked by how heavily he leaned once upright, how much weight he was carrying in silence.

And he followed.

All the while, Jason could not make sense of it. A thousand voices in his head, Bruce’s warnings, Alfred’s caution, his own brutal sense of realism, all shouted at him to resist, to stay low, to get out. But this woman, this stranger, offered him nothing but quiet resolve. And something in him, something tired and long frayed, gave in.

Her apartment was small, neat, yet well-lived-in. Warm lights, blankets strewn unceremoniously over the couch, a kettle still warm upon the stove. He stood in the centre of her living room, stiff and vigilant, akin to a stray dog unsure if the hand reaching for it would offer food or a harsh blow.

He should not have come. He knew this was a mistake. He did not belong in spaces like this. Every breath of its domestic warmth grated against the sharp edges of his being, reminded him of everything he had lost and all he had ruined. And yet he stayed, frozen beneath the soft lighting, the aromatic scent of bergamot and quiet calm surrounding him like a haze.

‘You need a hospital,’ she muttered, though her tone already bore traces of defeat; she knew this sentiment would be futile.

He turned immediately, preparing to leave.

‘Or not,’ she amended quickly, voice grim, and stepped into his path. ‘You’re not going back out there like this. At least sit down.’

He halted. Only because the pain had lanced through his ribs like a warning. He hated this, the helplessness, the imbalance. But she did not look upon him as a burden, but simply as someone who needed help.

Reluctantly, he eased himself onto the edge of her worn armchair, its leather creaking beneath him. His mask remained on, armour still clinging to him; blood was now beginning to seep through the layers. He shifted his weight, conscious of ruining her chair.

She returned with a first aid kit, unassuming, but well-stocked. He did not stop her when she knelt beside him, did not flinch when she pulled back the material of his jacket and placed it aside, though his hands twitched at every passing sound beyond the apartment. When she reached for his armour, the woman hesitated, not wanting to overstep, though Jason understood and quickly pulled it back in parts, revealing only what was necessary.

She did not ask questions. Not the ones he had expected when he followed her here. She was not probing for his name or what he had done to deserve this, what had happened for him to pursue it. She just worked, focused and calm. Her touch was gentle, but not tentative. She bore a steadiness he had not expected, not from someone who should have recoiled, who should have been scared.

Jason found himself watching her, not with suspicion, but with something near disbelief. Why? Why was she doing this? Did she think she was helping some misguided hero? Did she see something redeemable within the blood and ruin of him?

Did she not care who he was? Did she not care about what he does?

These thoughts gnawed at him more than anything else. It bothered him that this kindness may not be the fallacy of a skewed perception, but rather a simple resolve to help, despite everything he was.

When she finished, she offered him water. He took it, fingers brushing hers. It grounded him more than he cared to admit.

‘There’s a spare bed in the study,’ she said. ‘You can rest there tonight.’

He did not answer. But he followed again as she walked away, grabbing his clothes that lay discarded on her floor. Something about her voice, soft, steady and undemanding, made resistance feel pointless.

Then she opened a door. It was a small room, books lined the shelves, and a narrow bed was tucked into the corner, with clean sheets and a folded quilt.

‘There’s a lock,’ she said, gesturing to the inside of the door. ‘If you need it. You can take your mask off. I won't be able to open it from the outside.’

He looked at her then. Truly looked. Not for weakness. Not for a motive. But for the truth. And what he saw left him stunned, not simply because it was unfamiliar, but because it was real. There was no pity within her unrelenting gaze. No awe. Just, quiet offering.

He did not say thank you. He could not. Jason could feel the words billow on the edge of his tongue; he yearned for her to understand his gratitude, and though he could not utter them, she nodded as though she had heard them anyway. His relief was palpable.

Then he stepped inside as she hovered in the doorway. For the first time, he spoke up,

‘What’s your name?’ He wanted his voice to come across as gentle, but there was a gruffness he could not quite quell. She did not seem fazed by it.

‘Y/N.’ She murmured, and when it became clear to her that this conversation would not expand beyond this simple query, she closed the door.

He remained there for a moment longer, staring where she had just been, before shifting the latch of the lock. Jason peeled back the remaining layers of his ensemble until he was left in nothing but his boxers. It was not ideal, but he could not bear the notion of crawling beneath her covers in his grimy, blood-uncrusted getup. The bed was small yet inviting, his frame hardly fit, though he could not recall the last time he had been this comfortable. He was not sure if it was the sleeping arrangement or the soft snores of the girl across the hall that acted as a reminder of someone who had been so unusually kind. Regardless of the catalyst, he fell into a quick slumber as a foreign warmth bloomed within his chest.

By morning, the door was open.

Not just unlocked, but wide and unoccupied. The bed was made, the quilt folded precisely. The only trace of him was a faint indentation left upon the pillow; if she had not known better, if she had not just thrown away his bloodied gauze, she could easily believe he was never there.

She stood in the doorway for a prolonged moment, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed. The quiet lingered around her, louder now, and she caught herself wondering if he would ever come to fill it once more.

Jason should have known better.

The notion built upon him slowly, like bruises forming beneath his skin, invisible at first, until the ache settled and colour bloomed. The morning he slipped from her apartment, he had told himself it was nothing more than a fleeting refuge. He left nothing behind. He would not burden her with the aftermath of last night’s choices. But it was not until he had cleared the block, boots light, breath even, body stitched back into shape, that the thought hit him like a bat to the ribs.

He led them to her.

Not intentionally. Never that. But reckless all the same. The alley had been a haven born of desperation, not strategy. He had not known where he was going, he only knew that he had needed to get away. And when she opened that door to him, he walked through it without so much as a second thought. Without calculating the risks.

And now the calculation was catching up with him. This kind samaritan was in danger because of him.

He returned that night. However, Jason did not allow himself to venture too close. He perched three rooftops down, crouched low in the shadows, eyes locked on the slow hum of the street outside her building. The fire escape remained still. Lights flickered softly inside.

She was fine.

But that did not soothe him.

He stayed longer than he meant to. Hours passed. Long enough that the shadows stretched and yawned, long enough that his body reminded him it had not properly healed. Still, he waited. Not for her. Not really. That is what he told himself, at the very least. He was not watching her. He would never do that. He never allowed his gaze to touch her window. He was not here for her.

He was here for them.

The ones who had chased him. The ones still searching. If they had half the sense he wielded, they would retrace his escape route. They would check for kindness. They would look for open doors and cracked windows and people foolish enough to help. He hated how plausible it was.

And so he came back again the next night.

And the one after.

It became routine, though he refused to admit that to himself. This was a stakeout. A surveillance effort. He was not lingering. He was not tethered. He certainly was not attached.

But even in the silence, even with his gaze anchored on the street, he could sense her behind that wall; he pictured her reading in that chair, sipping from the chipped mug he could envision near the sink. She did not know he was out here. She could not. He would never be that careless.

Yet, somehow, it still felt like he was trespassing, even though he had not so much as looked at her in all this time. That strange warmth she had offered him, freely, like it had cost her nothing, haunted him more than pain ever had.

He told himself he would stop. Every night, he told himself it would be the last.

He was so very close to relenting when he laid eyes on her for the first time since that night, she was not in the hazy warmth of the apartment, but under the jarring clarity of daylight. Mid-morning. A street corner in Park Row. She had a velvet bag slung over her shoulder, a paperback in one hand and half a pastry in the other. Casual and effortless.

He nearly walked past her.

Jason knew he should have.

But the moment he registered her, truly saw her, without the fog of blood loss and alleyway silence, something happened. Something ridiculous. His stomach flipped. Not in fear, but... something worse. Something more dangerous. Something soft. A breathless kind of jolt that made his chest feel too tight.

Butterflies.

He scoffed aloud at the word.

Ridiculous. Juvenile. Weak.

But they were there, fluttering behind his bruises, beating against ribs that had withstood so much worse. And the worst part? He did not hate the sensation.

Though he certainly did not trust it.

She did not recognise him. How could she? They were meeting in a new context. She stood before a different version of him. No mask, no blood, no warning in his eyes. Just a hoodie, dark jeans, hair still mussed from too little sleep. He looked... normal. That was the trick of it. That was the danger.

He could speak to her now, and it would not be an invasion. This was not some rooftop vigil. It was not surveillance steeped in adrenaline and exhaustion. This was his chance.

A chance he should not take. Though Jason felt the butterflies once more and spoke anyway.

‘Hey,’ he uttered, too rough, the word catching against a throat unused to casual conversation.

She turned. Eyed him.

No recognition.

‘Sorry, this is probably strange,’ he added quickly, stuffing his hands into his pockets, as though that could hide the nervous itch crawling under his skin. ‘You just looked like you could use a second cup of coffee. Or company. Or both.’

She blinked. Then, a slow, small smile.

‘Is that your way of asking me out?’

He froze. Not because she was wrong. But because she was direct. Unflinching. Just as she had been before. Could it really be that easy?

He laughed. A low, surprised sound that felt foreign against his tongue.

‘Yeah. I guess it is.’

She studied him for a breath longer, then nodded, easy as anything.

‘Alright. But I’ll take a tea.’

He wanted to ask her name again. Wanted to tell her his.

But instead, he fell into step beside her, quiet, casual. Just another face on the street, a casual trip to a café. He felt a blush creep onto his skin, and he turned away from her, fidgeting hands buried deep in his pockets.

It was not love at first sight. Jason did not believe in things like that, not anymore.

If anything, it was suspicion at the first conversation. Interest at second. Uncertainty for the next dozen or so. She had no idea who he was, and he preferred it that way. There was a freedom in this anonymity, in being seen without history clawing at his heels. She did not look at him like she was waiting for something to fall apart. She did not glance at his hands like she expected them to be bloodied. She saw him for who he truly was, it felt like the rarest thing of all.

And so he kept showing up.

Cafés became a habit. A tether. Once a week, then twice. Never planned, always on a whim, or so they liked to pretend. They visited bookstores and late-night markets. Together, they would walk past the same food trucks where Y/N would consistently order the wrong thing as though it were a rule, never complaining. Though she would smile sheepishly when Jason offered his much more appetising selection.

Y/N would ask him about books. Music. The kinds of questions he had not been asked in years. He did not always answer. Sometimes he just watched her talk, let the cadence of her voice steady the parts of him that threatened to fray.

She had looked different in the daylight.

Less shadowed. Still sharp, still grounded, but without the weight of the tension that had hung between them that night. She had laughed once, and the sound had startled him. It was unguarded. Open. He had not heard anything that unafraid directed at him for a long time.

He had to stop himself from reaching for it.

Jason tried to keep it casual, whatever this was. Whatever they were circling. He made sure never to cross certain lines. He would not stay too long. He would not text first. He would not touch her unless she touched him. There was an instance where she had brushed her fingers over his knuckles on the edge of a café table, he had stared down at the spot as though it had caught fire.

She did not comment. Just went back to sipping her tea, Earl Grey. He could smell the bergamot wafting from it, as he had in her apartment that first night.

He could not define when it changed. When the space between them stopped feeling like distance and started feeling like an invitation. Maybe it was the first time she made him laugh, not a small chuckle, not one of those scoffs of disbelief, but a genuine, gut-twisting kind of laugh that left him breathless. She had just looked at him with raised brows, like she was not sure whether to be proud or concerned.

Maybe it was the night she found him again, bleeding, no more than that first time. A busted lip, bruised jaw; he had already changed into his regular clothes and considered turning around. He should not allow her to see him like this. But before he could bring himself to move, she opened the door and ushered him inside without question.

Did not so much as blink. Just helped him again, only her touch was familiar and welcome now. Still careful, still steady.

And when she looked at him, saw past the blood and the scowl and the silence, she reached up and brushed his hair back from his face, her thumb resting at the corner of his temple. Nothing more. How could she accept him so willingly, without question? How could she not demand the catalyst of his newly mangled face and bloodied knuckles?

Jason had kissed her then. He had not planned it. It was simple instinct, or rather an impulse, or some failing of his exhausted restraint. But she did not flinch. Did not push away. She just leaned in, met him halfway, soft and certain.

After that, there was no use pretending.

It was not some grand explosion, not as books had made him believe. There were no bold declarations, no breathless confessions. Jason did not see romance the way others did. He did not show up with flowers. He did not call just to say he missed her. He barely knew how to say what he felt, let alone trust that it would not crumble in his grasp.

But she understood him in a language he had not known he was speaking. When he disappeared for three days and came back with split knuckles and a haunted look, she did not demand an explanation. Just held his gaze for a moment too long and set a cup of tea on the table beside him.

He would never deserve her. He knew that. This concept was stitched into every part of his being, the sense of ruin, of fracture, of being too far gone to love or be loved back. But she never asked him to deserve her. She just asked him to show up. And over time, he did. More than he thought he could.

Eventually, she saw through him.

Not all at once. But in pieces. The subtle way he scanned every room before they entered it. The half-second delay before he ever turned his back. The scars he never explained, the exhaustion he carried within his shoulders.

He realised he could not lose her, the very thought of it left him asphyxiated, left him gasping and sputtering for air. It terrified him more than anything ever had. It was worse than the crowbar, worse than the vestige of the green glow left shimmering behind closed eyelids. He remembers how he had met her, how she had helped him so unflinchingly, how he had been bewildered by her lack of fear. And he realised this actuality left him horror-struck. What if she helped someone in this manner once more? What if they were not so kind?

This is how he justified his need to remain in her orbit: that his vigilance was the only way to keep her safe from all lingering dangers, but even as the words circled his mind, a deep, gnawing doubt took root. Was he truly only here to protect her? Jason knew better, a heinous selfishness had been sown, and he stayed because he could not bear the notion of parting with her. Could he ever atone for how these mistakes had already placed her in harm’s way? The weight of that guilt threatened to crush him, but he could not walk away now; he was in too deep.

It happened with a shift of fabric. A flash of his skin. A scar.

They were in her kitchen. She had been making him breakfast. Jason, barefoot and groggy, was pretending not to enjoy the way she fussed over the frying pans. He had reached for something on the top shelf, muttering under his breath about her terrible organisational choices. Y/N had laughed and leant against the counter, trying not to watch the way the muscles in his back shifted beneath the thin cotton of his shirt.

Then the hem lifted.

Just a little. A second, maybe less. But time had a strange way of stretching in moments like this, in moments that mattered.

The scar was thin and brutal, a memory carved into his flesh. Indented above the waistband of his jeans, angled on his side. She remembered it too well. The jagged line. The way this shiny white mark had gleamed underneath blood-soaked skin, beneath dour body armour…

Her breath caught.

She did not mean to gasp. It was soft. Barely audible. But it was enough.

Jason froze.

Then, akin to a fiend caught suspended within a spotlight, his hand dropped from the shelf and yanked the shirt down with quiet, desperate precision. He met her gaze.

But it was too late.

She had seen it. And more than that, she recognised it; he could discern familiarity as it flooded her perception.

He moved toward her, slow and measured, but stopped over a metre short. He already knew what was written across her face, he had no choice but to meet it head-on.

Their eyes locked, though neither of them shifted.

Silence bloomed between them, vast, tense and electric. Though not empty. It was full of all the acts and secrets he had not disclosed to her. Visions of the alleyway, of blood and heavy breaths, the weight of him leaning against her to stay upright, and her hands pressing gauze against the cuts that circled that familiar scar.

‘You remember.’ He spoke quietly.

It was not framed as a question, it was a statement, an observation.

She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. ‘That night,’ she whispered. ‘The one in the alley.’

He nodded once. Just once. Nothing theatrical. Nothing dramatic. But it felt like the earth beneath them had shifted.

Red Hood.

It all slotted into place, the bruises, the silence, the way he would flinch ever so slightly when she would reach for a part of him he did not want seen. She had known he carried secrets. Had made peace with the fact that some parts of him were locked behind years of pain and choices she might never fully comprehend.

But this… this was different.

‘You should’ve told me,’ she murmured, not out of anger, but the truth felt heavy against her tongue. Like it had waited too long to be spoken aloud.

Jason’s jaw flexed, a muscle twitching in his cheek. ‘I didn’t want to lose this.’ He motioned around them, motioned towards her.

‘This?’ she echoed, almost hollow.

He looked upon her as though she were deserving of reverence, as though he could scarcely believe she was his to hold, yet, even now, his manner was crumpled with wretched trepidation. Jason awaited her outburst, anticipating the command to leave; he could not bear the weight of her silence.

‘You. This place. The quiet. The version of me that you know.’ He added.

She stared at him, truly stared, and realised something terrifying: she had known. Maybe not consciously, not in the way of facts, names and alter-egos, but within her bones. In the way he moved. The way he disappeared. In the weight he bore like a shroud, constricting him with every breath.

And she had loved him anyway.

The hood, the violence, the vigilante beneath her kitchen light, none of it overwrote the man who made her tea when she could not sleep. The man who listened to her gush about books and could recall her favourite lines. Who kissed her like she was something he did not think he deserved, and treated her like she was the only real thing in a world full of spectres; Y/N was sure this was what he told himself.

Her voice was soft when she finally spoke again.

‘You didn’t have to be someone else to be wanted, I hope you know that.’

He closed his eyes, and she watched as something in him fractured, not like breaking glass, but like old tension unravelling; she could see his apprehension flow out from beneath his skin.

‘I know,’ he said, barely above a whisper. ‘But I didn’t know how to be him… and still be this.’

She stepped forward. One pace. Two. Slow. Careful. As if approaching something transient.

Jason flinched, not quite pulling away, not quite reaching out. A lifetime of rejection was hardwired into his muscle memory. Though he caught himself before he could move away, standing rigid as she closed the space between them.

Her hand found his, warm and steady. He looked down at their entwined fingers. Jason could not believe that something so simple could feel so profound.

‘You’re simply you, boyfriend by day and regrettably, vigilante by night. Knowing this won’t change how I think of you,’ she affirmed. Then she tilted her head, thoughtful, and spoke once more.

‘Though… it may just heighten my anxiety levels. Knowing you’re out there.’

And for the first time since that fateful night in the alley, Jason let himself believe that maybe this could work.

Jason felt it before he understood it, like the first rays of sun on his back after a winter that had lasted far too long. A warmth he had not asked for. Had not expected. It crept into his system uninvited, compelling and unfamiliar, thawing places he had long since numbed for survival.

It struck him suddenly, not like a realisation, but like a tempest. He thought he had not wanted it. He did not trust it. But it was there all the same, pressing against his ribs, blooming beneath his skin.

Love.

It was not loud. It was not cinematic. It was not even convenient. It arrived in the middle of a quiet evening, while she was brushing her teeth, half-asleep, one of his old shirts covering her frame, bare legs beneath the hem, humming something tuneless under her breath. A song he did not recognise.

The bathroom door was ajar. Lamp light filtered in behind her, soft and pale, painting the air gold. She was swaying gently where she stood, oblivious to the weight of his stare. And Jason, standing there in the threshold, rooted to the spot, watched her like she was something too precious for this world. As though she might flicker and vanish if he exhaled too harshly.

And in that moment, watching her in that domestic stillness, he could believe, even just for a breath, that the world was not a place of carnage. That outside the window, it was not broken. That pain was not inevitable. That this could last.

But the thought brought with it a sharp, biting panic.

It was in this moment that he knew he loved her.

His body tensed, his mind retreating into old reflexes. Not to run, not literally. He could never leave her. But something within him tried to pull away, to armour up, to prepare for the moment when this would inevitably be ripped from him.

Because that is what always happened. Moments like this, soft, perfect, undeserved, were fleeting in his world. They were the eye of the storm, not the end of it.

He did not deserve this. And even if he did, the world had a cruel way of taking beautiful things and turning them to ash.

She caught his reflection in the mirror, stilled, and turned toward him. Her eyes met his. Sleepy, soft, utterly unguarded. A small smear of toothpaste clung to the corner of her lip, and yet she looked at him like she could see through him. Not with fear or judgment, just mild concern and a gentle curiosity.

‘You okay?’ she asked, voice thick with sleep, amused by the way he loomed in the doorway like he had stumbled into a scene too fragile to touch.

It disarmed him. Utterly.

Jason swallowed hard. After everything he had seen, everything he had survived, the Lazarus Pit, the alleys, the gunfire and betrayal, he was not sure he had ever been less okay. And yet, standing there in her bathroom doorway, heart thundering like he had just survived a firefight, all he could do was step forward.

He did not speak, not at first. He just reached for her and kissed her temple, soft and fleeting, like the moment itself. It was not meant to answer her question. It was not meant to fix the chaos unravelling inside his chest. It was just the only thing he could offer that was not ruin.

‘Yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘Just tired.’

But it was a lie.

He was not tired, he was reeling.

That night, he did not sleep. Not because he was unable, but because he would not. He lay in her bed, curled beside her, her breath slow and even against his collarbone. One of her arms was draped across his ribs, anchoring him with a kind of warmth he did not dare disturb.

He memorised it. Every part of her.

The cadence of her breath. The shape that her hand made against his chest. The way she murmured in her sleep. He memorised her like a man convinced the morning would seize her from his grasp. Like this was all a dream and he would wake back in Gotham’s dirt-streaked alleys, alone, masked, and untouched by her grace.

But she was real.

And for now, it was enough.

Y/N was stitching him up again, hands steady, breath shallow, a routine so familiar it hurt. Nothing fatal. Nothing new. His form was half-draped in shadow, his skin cold under her touch. She sat cross-legged before him, knees meeting his.

‘You’ve got to stop doing this,’ Y/N murmured. It was not the first time she had said this, and it would certainly not be the last. Her sorrow clung to her like a second skin; he would never stop hurting himself and, by extension, hurting her. Her fingers twitched, and she forced them steady.

Jason did not answer her. What would he tell her? Definitely, not the truth; she would not want to hear it. Every stitched-up wound felt like proof that she cared; he could not resist the temptation. It was how they had met, it was why he had allowed himself to grow close to her. Jason did not believe she could love a man like him, but when he felt her gentle fingers work over his skin, he let himself consider it; he let himself yearn.

‘I’d die for you, you know?’ he muttered. Off-handed. As though it were the most obvious thing, as though it were as easy as breathing.

A frown turned her face. ‘That’s not comforting, Jason.’

And then, something unspooled. It was akin to a thread that had been pulled taut for too long, it snapped under the tension. Jason sighed.

‘What I was trying to say… What I meant was… I love you…’ He looked into her eyes, gaze piercing, willing her to see the truth of it.

The words had flooded out like a barrage breaking open.

‘That’s all I’m trying to say. I’d die for you because… I can’t picture a world without you in it. I wouldn’t want to.’ He shivered at this, at the concept of a sphere she did not grace; the very notion made him ill.

She stilled. Hands held suspended above him, pausing their work. He was not looking for a response, only a release; he had needed this off his chest. But she gave him one anyway.

‘I love you, too.’ She had uttered it so softly, had Jason not already been watching her lips, he might have missed it. His breath caught, not in fear, but in awe, as though his lungs had momentarily forgotten their most natural function.

Her words felt like electricity brimming beneath his skin, like every nerve had been awoken at once. A new fullness bloomed within his chest, as though the ribs could no longer host his heart; as if it had suddenly grown too large to contain.

He spoke up again, softer this time, ‘I’ll try to live for you too. That part’s harder. But believe me when I say I want it. More than anything.’ He gave her one of his rare smiles, and her heart jolted.

She silently placed the first aid materials to the side and leaned in, placing her head against his shoulder. After a short while, she shifted, leaving scattered kisses across his fading scars, lingering on each for a moment. He felt that same electricity once more, humming under her touch.

Her hands ghosted over him like he were something precious, as though the ruin of him was worth loving, and that was the message she was trying to convey, what she was trying to have him understand.

Once again, Jason did not sleep at night. Not out of pain or panic, but because he was afraid it had been a dream. That peace, for someone like him, was more fragile, more fleeting than any reverie; and he could not stand the idea of waking up.

We saw small glimpses of domestic Jason here. Why is it everything I want in life? Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

TAGLIST: @aidansloth

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood x reader #dc comics #jason todd angst #x reader #gotham #detective comics #angst #fanfic #fanfiction #one shot #dc universe #dc #the-halloween-jack #domestic jason todd #fluff #hurt/comfort

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wonderlandwalker · 3 days ago

Text

Hell hath no fury like a Buckley pt. II | Steve Harrington x reader

pt. I / stranger things masterlist / inbox / pt. III?

summary: Steve’s patience is legendary (in his own mind). Too bad reality keeps rudely disagreeing. Spoiler: He’s about to lose it.

word count: 5.8k

tags / content warnings: fluff, some hints to smut, robin who keeps interupting, later actual smut, me being a mythology nerd again

a/n: used scene cuts instead of transitions because I couldn't be bothered apparently, prolly a lot of repetitive synonyms I should fix but again apparently can't be bothered to. basically it's a bit of a mess but it's a bit of a mess I made with love. I might have had a bit of a mental meltdown, it's kingsday, I'm trying my best

Later was a fucking myth.

Not the cool kind—with dragons and sword fights and glory. No, this was the cruel kind.

The kind where Sisyphus wakes up every goddamn morning thinking, ‘Maybe today the boulder stays at the top,’ only to watch it roll back down again.

The kind of hope that survives solely because no one’s brave enough to strangle it.

Everything started the night of the fucking party itself.

Because for one fleeting, blissful hour, he’d almost—almost—convinced himself he could forget. The way your mouth had felt against his in that dim bathroom light—hot and hungry, teeth scraping his lower lip like you were marking him, claiming him. The way your lips had brushed his skin afterwards, tender in a way that wrecked him more than the bruising grip of your hands ever could. But then—

His fingers brushed yours as he passed you a drink. A graze. A spark. And suddenly, the world narrowed to that single point of contact, to the electric current that shot up his arm and straight to his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. Because it wasn’t just a touch. It was a revelation. A reminder that he’d been lying to himself. That no amount of pretending could erase the way your body had arched into his, the way your breath had stuttered against his mouth when he’d pinned you against the sink.

And you knew it.

He could see it in the way your eyes flickered to his, in the way your lips parted just slightly. You knew, and you were letting him drown in it, in the way his fingers trembled around his glass, in the way his chest rose and fell like he’d been running.

“Ahem.”

Robin cleared her throat like she’d caught him mid-sacrilege, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched so high it nearly disappeared into her hairline, Steve jerked back like he’d been burnt, his drink sloshing precariously in his grip. “You two are disgusting,” Robin announced, her voice flat, and his jaw clenched. “We’re not doing anything.” The words came out rough, frayed at the edges—less of a defence and more of a confession: We’re not. But Christ, I want to.

Robin threw her hands up like she was appealing to an invisible jury. “Exactly!” Her voice pitched higher. “And yet it’s still too much! I mean, look at you!” She jabbed a finger at Steve, who stood frozen, caught between guilt and longing, like some tragic, lovesick monument to poor self-control. “Harrington looks like he’s two seconds away from either proposing or spontaneously—”

Your teeth caught your lower lip, Steve’s gaze snagged on the motion, it's knowing, vicious—and just like that, Robin’s tirade dissolved into meaningless static. Because that look? That wasn’t just a smile. That was a promise.

So he let it go.

Let Robin rant; let her seethe.

Let her mutter something about “emotional damage” as she stormed off, because none of it mattered. Not when you were looking at him like that.

He could wait a little while.

Right?

He offered to drive you home as the party came to an end—obviously—because he was raised with manners. Because letting you walk alone at night would simply be irresponsible. Because the thought of you in his passenger seat—his fingers itching to bridge that impossible six-inch gap between the gearshift and your thighs—was the only thing that made the last hour of Robin's pointed coughing fits bearable.

He'd played the role perfectly: attentive but not eager, close but not crowding. The model of whatever-the-hell you were supposed to be now. Steve gripped the wheel like it might steady him, knuckles matching the pale dashboard. He'd been good. Patient. Certain Robin's campaign of terror would lose steam by sunrise when she realised her best friend's happiness mattered more than her flair for dramatic interruptions.

Right?

Because when he'd pulled up to your house that night, he had practically launched himself from the driver's seat to open your door like some over-eager Prince Charming, and Robin had just... blinked. No dramatic gasp. No sarcastic commentary about his pathetic display of chivalry. Just a slow, considering roll of her eyes like someone who'd seen this train wreck coming from miles away, before turning on her heel and disappearing inside.

So yeah, Steve had gone to bed that night with a dopey smile still plastered across his face, half-convinced Robin's silence meant reluctant acceptance, maybe even approval.

He should have known better.

Another day had slipped through his fingers in a sun-drunk haze of laughter and lukewarm beers, Eddie’s voice a distant hum in his ear about— Christ, he didn’t even know. Not after you’d peeled off your clothes in one effortless motion, tossing them onto the dock before diving into the water. Not after the sunlight had shattered against the lake’s surface just to worship you, turning every droplet on your skin into liquid gold.

Steve was pretty sure Eddie had been talking about dragons. Or dungeons. Or possibly the existential dread of minimum wage monotony —hell, it could’ve been a manifesto on the meaning of life for all he knew.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing did.

Not when you were hauling yourself back onto the wooden pier, water falling off your body as you wrung out your hair with both hands, shaking it loose like some kind of mystic siren emerging from the depths, and he suddenly understood why ancient sailors crashed their ships against rocks.

He wondered if you knew.

If you noticed the way his gaze tracked your every movement like a man staring into the sun—knowing it would ruin him, but unable to look away.

If you enjoyed it, the way you’d caught him staring earlier as you stretched out on your towel, the straps of your swimsuit digging into the soft give of your shoulders as you arched your back—fuck—like a cat luxuriating in a sunbeam. He’d nearly choked on his own tongue, his beer bottle slipping through his fingers before Dustin snatched it with an exasperated, "Dude, what is your problem?"

But most of all, he wondered if you regretted that night at the party. If it had been nothing more than a drunken lapse in judgement, a moment of weakness you’d rather forget, and you were just too kind to say it.

Or maybe—

Maybe you felt it too. That electric, unspoken thing that crackled between you every time your knees brushed under the picnic table, every time you leaned in to murmur something just for him, your breath hot against his ear, your lips almost grazing his skin. Maybe you lay awake at night, replaying the same moments he does—his hands on your waist, your teeth at his lip, the way you’d gasped when he—

Yeah.

He was so fucking fucked.

It takes him another goddamn day to get you to himself again. The sun had begun its slow bleed into the horizon, staining the sky in hues of bruised purple, the summer air hanging thick between you, heavy with the scent of honeysuckle and the distant, drowsy drone of cicadas. Then—then—as you turned your head to find him already watching. His gaze dropping to your lips like he’d built them a temple in his mind, worshipping them with every stolen glance, his eyes holding that particular brand of devotion usually reserved for holy relics and half-court shots, as if even the act of blinking felt like treachery against the sacred privilege of watching you.

Then, you leaned in.

Slow.

Testing.

Close enough to watch his pupils blow wide. Close enough to feel his breath stutter against your mouth, warm and uneven. Close enough to—

"Don't mind me." Robin wedged herself between you like it was her assigned seat, the wooden steps groaning in protest beneath her. "Just enjoying this lovely summer afternoon," she chirped, her grin all malicious delight. "And by 'lovely', I, of course, mean physically painful to witness."

Steve's head dropped forward with a groan so guttural it might have been comical—if not for the way his fingers were currently attempting to fracture his own kneecaps, the veins in his forearms standing out like he was physically restraining himself from either screaming into the void or tossing his best friend into Lover's Lake. "Robin," he gritted out, voice fraying at the edges, "I swear to—"

"What?" She pivoted sharply, hand flapping between you like a malfunctioning windscreen wiper. "You'll what? Finally put us all out of our misery and end this"—she mimed an explosion with her hands—"three-day-long foreplay session? Because let me tell you, at this rate I'd genuinely rather—"

"Okay!" Steve barked, loud enough to startle a nearby crow into flight. His ears burnt scarlet, hand snapping back from your waist, and Robin smirked, hauling herself up with the triumphant air of someone who'd just single-handedly prevented a nuclear meltdown. "You're welcome," she stage-whispers to you, dusting off her jeans with exaggerated care before sauntering away, leaving only the faint scent of her shampoo and emotional devastation in her wake.

Steve stared blankly at the space she'd vacated, his jaw working like he was mentally composing his own obituary. You bite your lip to stifle a laugh as he tips his head back toward the darkening sky—either praying for patience or for the earth to swallow him whole—before his gaze slides back to you.

And this time, you're already watching him. Head tilted in that dangerous, familiar way—the same angle Robin struck right before dropping a truth bomb that levelled entire friend groups. The same tilt you'd worn seconds before your lips crashed into his. "Got something for you."

Your voice cuts through the air, yanking Steve out of his spiral of self-loathing and directly into a new, more dangerous one: You got him something?

Fuck. He hadn’t gotten you shit. Not flowers, not candy, not even a half-assed postcard from the Gas ‘n’ Sip—just a mountain of unresolved sexual tension and a concerning number of daydreams involving you, the backseat of his car, and significantly less clothing.

But then you rummage through your bag, pulling out a cassette tape. The label is blank. No track list. No heart doodles. Just the ghost of your fingerprints on the plastic case.

Is it a mixtape?

The thought sends a jolt through him. Mixtapes aren’t casual. Mixtapes are declarations. Mixtapes are the kind of thing you spend hours agonising over, second-guessing every song choice because what if they don’t get it? What if they don’t hear the things you can’t say out loud—

“Are you gonna take it or what?” You wave the tape in front of his face, and Steve snatches it a little too eagerly, his fingers brushing yours just long enough to make your smirk widen. “What’s on it?” he asks, voice rough.

You flash him that look again—the one that said he wasn't a participant in this game but a bystander. “Just a promise I made you.”

The drive home is torture. Every red light stretches into a personal hell, every stop sign a cosmic joke.

Why the fuck didn’t he leave his Walkman in the car like usual? But nooo—this time, he’d actually cleaned the damn thing thinking you’d notice.

He parks crooked in the driveway, tires screeching against the curb, barely kills the engine before he’s out of the car. The house is empty, thank fuck, no parents to witness their son taking the stairs two at a time like the hounds of hell are on his heels.

The Walkman is buried under a landslide of junk in his desk drawer—old mixtapes labelled in Robin’s messy scrawl, loose batteries that may or may not be dead, and a condom wrapper he swears he didn’t leave there. His fingers close around the familiar plastic, the weight of it suddenly heavier than he remembers. And for one paralysing second—thumb hovering over play—Steve feels terrified. What if it’s nothing? What if it’s everything?

The cassette clicks into place.

He presses play.

Silence. A vacuum of sound so complete Steve can hear his own pulse roaring in his ears. The kind of silence that comes before lightning strikes, before car crashes, before the world splits open and nothing is ever the same again.

Then—

A hiss of tape.

Static crackling.

The faintest hitch of breath—your breath.

Your voice.

Not the one you use when you tease him by the pool, lazy and sun-warmed. Not the one that laughs at his shitty jokes with an eye roll he can feel. Not even the whisper you reserve for when he's close enough to count your eyelashes.

A gasp fractures the silence – raw, unfiltered, and obscene. A moan follows, punched-out, and Steve's stomach plummets straight through the floorboards.

Holy fucking shit.

Your breath stutters in time with the unmistakable sound of skin on skin—his traitorous brain helpfully supplies the images in brutal HD: the way your thighs would fall open, the flush crawling up your chest, your fingers working in frantic circles.

A choked-off whimper.

The creak of bedsprings.

The slick, filthy noise of you fucking yourself—

"Steve—"

His name spills from your lips like a sacrament, like a damnation, syllables trembling at the edges like you’re coming apart just from the thought of him, and—

Christ.

He rips the headphones off like they've electrocuted him, but it's too late. The damage is done.

Your voice echoes in the hollow of his skull, in the marrow of his bones, in the aching throb of his cock straining against denim. He grips the edge of his desk until the wood creaks under his palms, trying and failing to unhear the way your voice shattered around his name—

Fuck.

The numbers on his alarm clock bleed together in the dark,

2:37 AM;

3:12;

4:49;

Each minute stretching into eternity as he lies there, wired and restless.

Sleep might as well be some distant continent he'll never visit again. Not when every time his eyelids grow heavy, his body betrays him with perfect recall, the memory plays mercilessly behind his closed eyes: your lips parting on a silent gasp as he leaned in, the way your breath hitched when his fingers found bare skin. How, for one crystalline moment suspended between heartbeats, he'd never been more certain of anything.

And then there's the goddamn tape.

It sits on his nightstand like some sacred relic and cursed object all at once, the plastic casing still warm from how often he's turned it over in his hands. He'd lasted exactly twenty-three seconds—just long enough to hear your breathy sighs and the rustle of sheets—before slamming the stop button.

He can imagine all he wants—the way your muscles might twitch under his touch, how your back would arch when he finally—

Fuck.

He needs to see it. Needs to see the exact shade of pink that blooms across your chest when you're flustered. Needs to catalogue every micro-expression that crosses your face when he—

The ceiling fan creaks above him, its lazy rotations doing nothing to cool the restless energy under his skin. Steve Harrington — brought to his knees by a cassette and what-ifs.

He debates his next move like a general strategising for war:

Option One: Throw caution to the wind. March up to your front door, push you against it, kiss you again—properly, this time—no hesitation, no interruptions. Just his hand on the back of your neck, your chest flush against his, and finally —finally— discovering if you taste as good as you sound on that godforsaken tape. Consequences and Robin’s inevitable shriek of horror to be damned.

But what if you push him away? What if he's misread everything?

Option Two: Play it cool. Wait for you to make another move, to give him some undeniable sign that this isn't just some one-sided fantasy cooked up by his sleep-deprived brain.

But what if you're waiting for the same from him? What if you both end up stuck in this purgatory of almosts and not-quites?

Option Three: Seek counsel from the devil herself. Ask Robin for advice and resign himself to a lifetime of mockery and possibly a commemorative plaque titled "World's Most Desperate Man".

He snorts, dragging a hand down his face. That's not happening.

At 5:27 AM, he makes a decision.

The bouquet of zinnias and baby's breath sits on his car hood like an indictment; he should've gone with something edgier. A single rose, maybe. Or just shown up shirtless with a six-pack like a normal person.

But the clock's ticking.

He grabs the flowers and forces his legs to carry him up your walkway.

The doorbell's chime might as well be a gong announcing his impending doom. What if you're not home? What if Robin answers instead? What if you take one look at him and his sad floral peace offering and just—

The door swings open. Time stops. There you are, leaning against the frame like you've been counting the minutes since he left last night, like you knew exactly when he'd crack. That sundress—the pale yellow one with tiny white embroidered flowers that clings to your hips like it was personally commissioned by God to test Steve Harrington's self-control—should be classified as a lethal weapon in at least five states.

"Well," you drawl, eyes dancing over his dishevelled state. "This is a surprise."

Steve's brain whites, all higher functions crashing. "I was, uh—" His throat clicks like a jammed record. Some distant, rational part of his mind that sounds suspiciously like Robin yells: Focus, Harrington! So he thrusts the bouquet forward like it's a live grenade. "Wondering if you'd want to go out with me."

You blink at the flowers, then back at him, that damn smirk playing at your lips. "If I want to go out with you?" Oh God, abort mission—

"On a date," he blurts, voice cracking. Smooth. "Like. Dinner. Or a movie. Or—fuck, I don't know, mini-golf?" Mini-golf?

The window above you explodes open with enough force to rattle the frames. "OH MY GOD," Robin's voice shrieks like a banshee, her head popping into view. "Dingus, if you stammer any longer, I'm invoking my best friend veto. This— "She karate chops the air between you two so violently Steve instinctively flinches “—is a hostile work environment for me." Steve's left eye develops a concerning twitch. "We're not at work, Robin."

"It feels like work!" she wails, draping herself dramatically over the windowsill. "The emotional labour of watching you two eye-fuck? Unpaid overtime!" She fake-sobs into her hands. "I need hazard pay! And possibly witness protection!"

You laugh — that bright, unfiltered sound that does dangerous things to Steve's circulatory system—and suddenly the flowers, Robin's theatrics, and even his own bone-deep embarrassment all fade into background noise. There's just you, smiling at him like he's something special, like maybe this is exactly what you’ve been waiting for. You tilt your head as your eyes spark with mischief. "Do I get that mini-golf date or not, Harrington?"

He spends the entire next day tearing through his closet like a man possessed, as if some divine intervention might suddenly produce a garment bag labelled: Outfit That Screams Casual First Date But Also Low-Key Says I’d Follow You Into Hell If You Asked.

He rejects: the navy polo—too "meeting your parents"; the leather jacket—too "trying too hard"; the stupid fucking Hawaiian shirt Eddie got him as a joke—actually, no. That one was never an option.

By the time he settles on light jeans and a soft grey Henley—rolled-up sleeves, one button undone, hair perfectly imperfect—he’s worked himself into such a state that it’s a miracle he didn't drive his Beemer straight into Lover’s Lake on the way to pick you up. You slide into the passenger seat, all golden warmth and that fucking perfume that's been haunting his dreams with the tenacity of a poltergeist, and suddenly he forgets how lungs are supposed to function.

You smile at him — that slow curve of lips that says you're fully aware of the devastation you're causing— and Steve's brain promptly abandons ship. His mouth, the traitorous bastard, keeps working without supervision: "Turns out the closest mini-golf place is, like, a fifty-minute drive," he blurts. "We can still go—we can definitely still go—but, uh, if you wanted to do something else, we could—maybe—I don't know—"

"Steve—" His head swivels so fast he's lucky his spine doesn't snap. The seatbelt locks with an audible click, which feels vaguely humiliating. "Let's go to your place."

Error 404: Steve Harrington.exe has stopped responding.

His heart flatlines.

His palms go damp.

The entire universe narrows to microscopic focus: the way your teeth worry your bottom lip, the faintest blush creeping up your neck like a slow sunrise. Some distant part of his mind registers that he should probably breathe at some point. "Unless your parents are home," you add quickly, eyes flickering down. Suddenly uncertain. Suddenly vulnerable in a way that cracks Steve's chest wide open. "Or you don't want to." And just like that, his system reboots. "No! I mean—yes! I mean—" He exhales, shaky, running a hand through hair that's already hopelessly dishevelled. "That sounds nice. Maybe we could pick up some Thai food on the way?" Your nose scrunches in immediate, visceral disgust, and it's the most adorable thing Steve's ever witnessed. "Absolutely not. It's Chinese food or I'm leaving."

And just like that—under his hopelessly adoring gaze—you're you again, all sharp edges and soft laughter. The nerves evaporate from his system like morning fog burnt away by the sun.

It's easy.

It's simple.

It's everything and nothing all at once.

And now the dining room is bathed in warm light, the kind that makes everything feel softer, more intimate.

You’re drinking the overpriced wine he "borrowed" from his parents’ cellar, presenting it to you with the second-hand expertise of a man who’s absorbed exactly one wine tasting seminar by sheer osmosis. Steve holds it with the reverence of a man who doesn’t quite know what he’s doing but is determined to look like he does; he swirls it, smells it, and—after a theatrical pause—lifts it to his lips.

"Notes of…uh—" He squints, as if the answer might materialise in the wine. "Grapes. Definitely grapes."

The laugh that escapes you is bright, and you press your hand to your mouth like you’re trying to smother it. His chest tightens, his ribs suddenly too small for the way his heart swells. He cannot help but watch as the dim light flickers in your eyes. "I was thinking," he starts, voice low, fingers tracing the stem of his glass and you tilt your head, lips curving. "Hmm?"

"Since you got to choose dinner…"

Your grin widens. "Yes?"

He leans in, just slightly, close enough that he can see the way your breath catches. "...I get to choose dessert."

Your eyebrows lift up.

His stomach drops.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

"Shit—I didn’t—" he groans, dropping his face into his hands. "I meant the ice cream maker," A crimson flush travels up his neck. "We have this stupid fucking ice cream maker, and I wanted to—Christ, I’m terrible at this." But then your fingers find his jaw, tilting his face up. Your touch is grounding, and when he finally meets your gaze, you’re looking at him with something unbearably fond. "I know what you meant," you murmur, thumb brushing over his pulse point. "But for the record?" You lean in, close enough that he can feel your breath against his lips. "I like both options."

For one agonising moment, he waits. Waits for Robin to kick the door in, for the phone to ring, for the universe to rip you away like it always does. But nothing comes. So he closes the distance.

The taste of you—cherry gum and Riesling—is dizzying. Addicting. Perfect. And every doubt evaporates. Certainty slots into place, a puzzle piece he’s been searching for all this time. His fingers slide into your hair, cradling the back of your neck as he kisses you, savouring the way your breath hitches when he tugs just enough to tilt your head back—until you’re arching into him with a gasp that goes straight to his dick.

He’s not hesitant anymore.

He's determined.

His free hand skates up your thigh where the fabric gives way to fever-warm skin. Every inch higher is a revelation written in scripture only he can read: the soft crease of your hip that makes you arch when he brushes it, the violent shudder that wracks your body when his thumb finds the lace edge of your underwear and strokes past it once. "Tell me to stop," he murmurs against the swell of your breast, lips dragging damp heat across flushed skin. His voice is rough enough to scar, the words vibrating through you like a struck chord.

The contradiction of it—his hands saying "mine" while his mouth offers a way out—makes your pulse stutter wildly under his touch. But you don't tell him to stop. You moan his name instead, and something primal in him finally fucking snaps.

His hand fists in the fabric at your hips, hiking your dress up. He drops to his knees like a man starved for communion, the hardwood biting through his jeans as he drags you to the very edge of the chair. The first swipe of his tongue is a revelation—hot and wicked and perfect—and your thighs clamp around his head instinctively, heels digging into the small of his back as you gasp. He groans, the sound filthy and low, vibrating against you as your fingers knot in his hair hard enough to hurt. He likes it—the sharp sting, the way you hold him exactly where you want him, the helpless little noises you make when he sucks just there—

He stands so fast the chair screeches against the floor, nearly toppling. You whimper at the sudden loss, lips parting to protest, but he's already hauling you up by the thighs. With one sweeping arm, he clears the table—glasses shattering, plates clattering. The polished wood is cold against your back when he lays you down, but his mouth is already back on you like he's been granted a single taste of salvation and intends to make it last forever.

His hands are everywhere—roaming, memorising. He licks into you like he's trying to learn you by taste alone, each desperate sound you make another stitch unravelling in his self-control. When your hips jerk up against his mouth, he pins you down with a forearm across your stomach. "Steve—" you choke out, back arching off the table.

He lifts his head just enough to meet your gaze, lips glistening, pupils blown black with want. "Yeah, sweetheart?" His hand digs into the soft swell of your ass, kneading hard enough to pull a gasp from your lips, and Christ, the way your muscles jump under his touch is going to haunt him for the rest of his goddamn life. His fingers slip lower, teasing, and when he finally pushes one inside, your eyes flutter open—wide and dark and only for him—before drifting shut again as he crooks it just right. But God—

It’s not enough.

He's fucking ravenous—a man possessed, a sinner on his knees, drunk on the punched-out whimper you make when his teeth graze your clit. Every sound you give him, every shudder, every desperate roll of your hips against his tongue just feeds the hunger, making it gnaw sharper at his ribs until he’s certain he’ll die if he doesn’t ruin you in every way imaginable. So he lifts you up again, and your legs lock around his waist, fingers tangling in his hair, your lips tracing his skin with filthy promises and sweeter vows.

He carries you to his bed like a man on a holy fucking crusade—shoulder clipping the doorframe hard enough to bruise, hip smashing into the hallway table with a crash that sends some forgotten heirloom —a vase? a statue? something his mother will interrogate him about later— tumbling to the floor. His shin connects with that goddamn antique trunk, pain flaring bright and sudden, but it barely registers.

He doesn’t care.

Couldn’t possibly care.

Not when you’re rolling against him like that, not when your teeth are at his pulse like you want to drink him whole, not when every ragged, punched-out breath you take is his name, his doing, his to devour. The world could be burning down, and he wouldn’t notice—not when you’re here, not when you’re his, not when—

Finally, you’re beneath him on the mattress, and Christ, he’s exactly where he wants to be. He’s made it to fucking Bethlehem. He worships you like a dying man at his last confession, like every taste could absolve him of every sin he’s ever committed. His hands bracket your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding you down as you squirm, as your fingers twist in his hair again hard enough to make his dick throb. The groan it pulls from him vibrates through you, and fuck, the way you writhe at the sensation—

"That’s it," he murmurs, lifting just enough to watch your face contort—eyelids fluttering, lips parted. "Being so fucking good for me." His tongue drags a slow, filthy stripe over your clit. "Please—" It’s barely more than a whimper, your entire body trembling with the effort of holding back. And fuck—

Who is he to deny you?

He doesn’t think he’s capable of the fact. Not when you look like this—wrecked and wanting, your skin slick with sweat, your chest rising and falling. His teeth find the soft skin of your inner thigh, biting just hard enough to make you jerk up into him. "Cum for me," he growls against your skin, the command rough with want, with need, with something dangerously close to consecration. And when you do—when your hips stutter and his name tears from your throat—he thinks, distantly, that he gets it now.

That he understands Sisyphus

Some things—the salt-sweet taste of you on his tongue; the way you clench around his fingers like you're trying to keep him there forever; the broken way you gasp his name like it's the only word you remember— are fucking worth eternal damnation.

He lingers, drinking it in. He could spend perpetuity like this, unravelling you piece by piece, learning the cadence of your gasps, the rhythm of your pulse beneath his tongue, the spasms of your chest as your breath steadies. He really fucking could.

But at the same time—

He still wants more of you.

His hips stutter forward that next inch before he means to, his composure cracking like thin ice under the sheer, overwhelming rightness of it.

Holy.

Fucking—

—Fuck.

It's just the head of his cock inside you, but you clamp around him like a vice, like you're terrified he'll disappear. As if he could ever walk away from this—from you. A groan tears from his throat, his forehead dropping to yours as he struggles to breathe. His hands—usually so sure, so steady—shake where they grip your hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin there.

"Jesus," he grits out, voice wrecked. "You—fuck—you feel—" But language fails him, because how the hell is he supposed to describe this? The way you take him, like you were made for it. And when you clench around him again, when your legs lock around his waist to pull him deeper— he has to bite his own tongue hard enough to taste copper to keep from unravelling completely. Because if he doesn’t get a fucking grip, this’ll be over before it’s even really begun, and that would be a goddamn tragedy.

He wants to defile you properly—wants to catalogue every broken sound you can make, every way your body trembles beneath his. So he slows down, even though it fucking kills him, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in with measured thrusts. His hands find yours, fingers intertwining as he pins them down, using the leverage to angle himself deeper, harder, until you’re moaning like it’s prayer, like it’s absolution, like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this earth. "Look at me," he murmurs, voice rough as gravel, and when your eyes meet his—dark and hazy and pleading, pupils blown so wide he can barely make out the colour—he knows he would do anything to keep this—to keep you.

He would find a way to lasso the fucking moon if you asked.

Would dive off a cliff after you without a second thought.

Would push that fucking boulder up the hill forever.

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mangooes · 2 days ago

Text

Spring comes, so does the dragon

The afternoon sun dipped low over the endless flower fields just outside the bustling cityscape of Zone N109, bathing the world in a tapestry of golds, pinks, and deepening blues. It was as if time slowed in this place—where the only things that mattered were the whispering winds, the flutter of petals, and the laughter shared between two souls, three including Staryus.

(Name) stood at the trailhead, hand in hand with Sylus while Staryus, their rambunctious Siberian Husky, barked excitedly at their feet.

Her hand was warm in Sylus’s, the tall wildflowers brushing against their legs, bending softly as the Siberian Husky raced ahead, barking gleefully, diving nose-first into patches of flowers, sending colorful bursts into the air.

“You sure this isn’t a date for him?” Sylus teased, casting a glance at their overexcited dog.

(Name) laughed, the sound like the ringing of tiny bells.

“You know, I think Staryus’s more excited about this trip than you are,” (Name) teased.

She winked playfully, swinging their joined hands, nudging Sylus with her shoulder.

Sylus chuckled low, his crimson eyes glinting. “He’s got competition then, sweetie.”

Crimson eyes glinting with affection—and something deeper, something raw and endlessly content. There was no need for words right now. The simplicity of it—the way her hair glowed under the sun, how she smiled at every small thing—was enough to make his heart ache in the sweetest way.

But then, (Name)’s expression shifted—mischievous and daring.

“Tag—you’re it!” she cried suddenly, tapping his chest with her fingertips before whirling around and darting into the sea of flowers.

For a heartbeat, Sylus stood there, stunned and amused, watching his wife sprint away with Staryus yipping after her like a loyal little accomplice. A slow, predatory grin curled across his lips.

“You little minx…” he murmured.

And then he took off after her.

(Name)’s delighted laughter echoed around him, the sound winding through the fields like music. She weaved between tall blossoms and ducked behind low shrubs, Staryus bounding at her heels like a co-conspirator. Every time she glanced back, Sylus was closer, closing in with predatory grace that was unfairly elegant for a man so effortlessly dangerous.

“Too slow, Sysy!” she sang teasingly, tongue sticking out before she vanished behind a patch of towering white blooms.

“My my, getting cocky, aren't we?” Sylus growled, amused and utterly smitten.

It only took a few strides for him to catch her.

Just when she thought she’d lost him by ducking behind a cluster of taller blooms, he lunged, arms wrapping around her waist from behind, lifting her clean off the ground with a spin before tumbling them both gently onto the soft bed of flowers.

Petals exploded around them in a colorful storm, swirling like living confetti, the rich scent of earth and blooms enveloping them.

(Name) gasped in surprise, laughing breathlessly beneath him, her eyes wide and shimmering. She lay pinned under Sylus, her hair fanned out like a halo, framed by the golds and rainbows of the field.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Sylus braced himself above her, one knee on either side, his snowy hair falling into his eyes. His gaze—deep, crimson, and full of something ancient and devastatingly tender—raked over her features like he was memorizing every freckle, every breath, every heartbeat.

(Name) felt her cheeks flush under the weight of that look.

“What…” she managed, smiling up at him. “What are you staring at?”

“You,” Sylus said simply, voice rough and unguarded.

With a soft twirl of his fingers, his Evol sparked to life—dark red and black mist weaving in the air. The nearby wildflowers trembled, drawn by his will. Slowly, he crafted a delicate crown from the blossoms, stitching them together with unseen threads of energy, weaving colors into a symphony meant only for her.

When he was done, he placed it carefully atop her head, tilting his head slightly as if admiring his work.

“My flower queen,” he murmured with mock solemnity, but there was real reverence beneath his teasing.

(Name)’s heart thudded wildly. She could barely breathe from the way he looked at her—like she was precious, like she was his whole damn world.

But she wasn’t one to be outdone.

Smirking, she grabbed a small blue bloom from beside them and, sitting up a bit, tucked it behind Sylus’s ear. She gave him a firm pat on the cheek.

“And for my big scary drago.”

Sylus let out a genuine, deep laugh, eyes crinkling with amusement. “A dragon, huh? I was hoping for something more domestic.”

“Well, with how you live, I don't think domestic suits you at all.”

"I'm flattered you think so highly of me, kitten," he grinned.

Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he collapsed fully onto her with a dramatic sigh, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

“Sylus!” (Name) shrieked, half-laughing, half-protesting as his weight pinned her down. “You’re crushing me, you big lump! Get off!”

“Mmm. Comfortable,” he rumbled smugly, snuggling closer.

“You’re like a whole boulder! You’re gonna break me in half!”

“In bed? Certainly.” He nuzzled into her, dropping lazy kisses along her throat. “You said I’m your dragon. Isn't this how dragons show their love to their mates?”

(Name) swatted at his back helplessly, giggling and squirming. “You’re a menace!”

He only chuckled, unbothered.

Finally, after much struggling (and many empty threats from (Name)), Sylus rolled off her with a smirk, dragging her onto his lap instead. She settled there, arms crossed and pouting half-heartedly, cheeks pink.

Around them, the field swayed with the gentle kiss of the wind. Overhead, the sky began bleeding into twilight, stars peeking shyly from the fabric of dusk.

Then (Name) spotted it—a strange stone structure a little farther down the path. Intricate and massive, it twisted like a frozen creature, a dragon’s spine etched into the land, its head carved nobly toward the sky.

“Look at that, Sysy…” she whispered, awe coloring her tone. “It’s… beautiful. Like something from a legend.”

Sylus’s smile softened, more bittersweet this time.

“It’s from an old story,” he said, his voice almost a murmur against her ear.

She tilted her head to him, curious.

“A dragon,” Sylus began, “cursed and sealed in the abyss. Alone. Silent. Lost. Until a sorceress came—bright and defiant. She freed him, taught him laughter. Love. For the first time, he wanted more than rage. But fate…”

His hand tightened slightly around hers. “Fate tore them apart. Death does not wait for lovers.”

(Name) swallowed around the ache rising in her chest. She reached down to thread her fingers through his. “That’s so sad...”

“It was never about the ending,” Sylus said. “It was about the fact they found each other at all.”

“I hope…” she whispered, fingers tightening on his, “I hope the dragon finds his lover again in the next life. Flowers and winds might mean goodbye… but whenever the wind blows, it carries a new purpose.”

Sylus’s heart clenched, painfully.

He pulled her even closer, pressing his forehead against hers, crimson eyes closed.

“Then this dragon will wait,” he said, voice trembling with a rare, naked emotion. “Every night, longing for the wind and petals to arrive.”

Their lips met—soft, lingering, burning with the weight of promises neither of them could voice fully. The kiss deepened, slow and savoring, a dance of heartbeats and hopes across lifetimes.

And just as the world could have faded into only them—

BAM!

Staryus plowed into them like a fuzzy cannonball, knocking them both down with a tumble of limbs, laughter, and wild barking. Petals rained down again, as Sylus and (Name) collapsed into helpless giggles, pinned once again—but this time by a very proud Husky.

Lying there in a mess of tangled limbs, flowers, and love, Sylus tightened his hold on (Name)’s hand, anchoring himself to this moment.

His home.

His heart.

His soul.

His forever.

HELOOOOO ASKDJA I AM okay first off all i am so sorry for not uploading for like almost a week (??) i was finalizing my exam so i didn't have time to publish anything and now that i've finished, i saw the new multi banner trailer and had to write this cuz GUYS SYLUS KISS CARD WE WON AGAIN OMG

#sylus x reader #lnds #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #qin che #lads sylus #sylus

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autumnscribbles · 1 day ago

Text

the black dog

ex!rafe x reader

summary: six weeks post breakup you check rafe’s location and make an impulsive decision

word count: 700

warnings: cocaine, and sadness

a/n: i tried something new with this one, not too much action and not much dialogue but I tried to be sad, let me know what yall think!!

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

You shouldn’t still have his location.

He just forgot to turn it off. You didn’t have it in you to remove it, either.

It’s not like you checked it. Well, not often anyway. Just when the silence gets too loud. When you’re alone at night with nothing but the sound of your own thoughts flooding your brain. The urge to call him, or text him, rises like bile in the back of your throat.

Mindlessly, you open the app, your eyes trailing to the blue dot signaling his location. It pulsed like a heartbeat you were still somehow connected to. You zoom in to see where he is. The Black Dog. Some bar you hadn’t heard of before. You close the app quickly, like somehow you can pretend you hadn’t seen it.

But it was too late.

All the thoughts came rushing in.

Who was he with? Was he with another girl? Was he out there laughing? Was he thinking about you at all? Did he miss you at all?

“Stop,” you whisper to yourself.

You knew you should put your phone down. Delete his contact, block him, whatever. You should try to forget about him. Unfortunately, despite it being 6 weeks of breathing clean air, you still missed the smoke.

The pain you felt made you want to leave everything behind. Sell your house, set fire to all your clothes, whatever you had to do to get him out of your head. Even if it killed you.

Instead, you picked up your keys, stepped out into the darkness, and drove to The Black Dog.

────୨ৎ────

You can still taste the night you left him, or rather the night he made you leave — bitter, metallic, like blood in your mouth.

It started with the coke. It always did.

You knew the signs by now — the jittery hands, the wildness sparking behind his eyes, the way he spoke too fast.

“Rafe,” you sighed. “This needs to stop. I can’t keep doing this day after day.”

You were trying to help him, and maybe that was the problem.

"You're overreacting," he said, his jagged and manic laugh filling the air between you.

“You’re gonna kill yourself if you don’t stop, Rafe,” you muttered, reaching for him across the marble island.

He laughed as he pulled his hand away from you.

A wild, hollow sound that didn't belong to the boy you loved. It made your skin crawl.

"Maybe I should," he said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "Might save you the trouble."

“Rafe, how could you even say that,” you started, before he cut you off sharply.

"Just get out."

His voice was sharp enough to cut. His jaw clenched.

You blinked at him, stunned, thinking you must have heard wrong.

"I said get the fuck out!"

The words echoed against the walls, louder than the crash. It made you flinch. This wasn’t the person you fell in love with. This wasn’t the boy that would do anything for you.

Your mouth opened, then closed. You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to shake him, make him see what he was doing. He wasn’t in his right mind.

So you did the only thing you thought to do, which was to leave. You got the sense he wanted you to.

Maybe he just wanted to break something before it could break him.

So you turned around and walked out the door.

You waited, even as you yanked open the door, even as you stumbled into the night — you waited for him to chase you.

He didn’t.

Just the sound of the door slamming behind you, sharp and final, and the echo of your own heart breaking in your ears.

────୨ৎ────

You squeeze the steering wheel until your knuckles turned white. It was the only way to stop them from shaking. You stare at the sign, it’s light reflecting on the slightly wet pavement below.

People stumble in and out, laughing, shouting, stumbling — all of them spinning in a world that feels too bright and too loud.

You spot him immediately.

He’s leaning against the brick wall, cigarette dangling between his fingertips. He looks the same, but different somehow. Your heart quickens, fighting the urge to run up to him and spill your guts.

Old habits die hard. Or die screaming.

You didn’t know what you hoped to see. Maybe a sign of sadness, regret, even anger? A sign that he’s suffering as much as you are.

But he just stands there, beautiful and broken and utterly unreachable.

Like he always has.

He didn’t miss you. You just felt it.

You reach to shift the car into drive, but something stops you. Rafe lifts his head, and his eyes find yours across the street. Like he’s been waiting for you this whole time.

Your hand is on the door handle before you can think. You could run up to him, try to talk to him. You could let him potentially pull you back in if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to. You knew the reality.

You could let him ruin you again, and part of you wanted to. A big part of you. You almost do it, until you see another girl run out of the bar, her bright smile lighting up as her eyes meet his.

He doesn’t care. He wasn’t waiting for you.

You close your eyes, count to ten, and start the miserable drive home.

The streetlights blur as you drive back home. What were you doing? He was never going to choose you. Never going to chase you.

It hits you again, all at once. You wished you could erase him. You wished you didn’t love him, didn’t miss him, didn’t care.

You feel like you’re drowning in your own tears, drunk on them.

You still ache for the Rafe you thought you knew. The Rafe you knew he could become, even when he made it clear he didn’t want to be saved by you.

You almost got out of the car.

Almost went to him.

Almost let him ruin you all over again.

Under the anger, heartbreak and pain, a quieter truth sent a shiver through your body.

You still, after everything, would have forgiven him.

That’s what scares you the most.

Old habits die screaming.

#rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #outer banks #imagine #obx #rafe cameron fic #drew starkey #drew starkey fic #drew starkey outer banks

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revelboo · 21 hours ago

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Check out what i was given for babysitting my friend's kid on short notice!! Im gonna also be hopefully picking up a mirage today. Check your Spencer's and Hot Topics!

Nice! I didn’t know they were carrying Blokees

Even If It Kills Me Pt 24

Armada Starscream x Reader

• Arms slightly out from your body, he watches you tip your face up toward the sun. And can’t help but feel like he’s been neglecting you. That you needed this. Making him wonder how else he’s failing you and wishing you’d tell him when you need things instead of just suffering in silence. Do you think he’ll deny you anything? Wants, needs, you to be happy. Needs you.

• Breathing in the smell of green things, you kick off your shoes and dip your toes into the secluded lake he’d landed near, the cold of the water a delicious shock with the heat of the sun. And when you glance back, he’s just staring at you. He’d left the mini-cons behind and you wonder why. Though, you wouldn’t complain if he takes you here and now. Face reddening, you tear your eyes away from him. Listening to the sound of his peds crossing to mass shift and sit beside you close enough to touch if you lean a little.

• Optics focused on the way the sun shimmers and dances on the water, his servos flex slightly. “You’re allowed to want things, you know. To ask for things,” he makes himself say, feeling that dissatisfaction creep a little deeper into his spark. That doubt that you actually want him, but that maybe he’d coerced you. Maybe you’d felt like you had to go along with it or you might lose his protection. “And you can tell me no.”

• Where’d that come from? Looking up at him, he glances down at you, wings lifting slightly. And you’re trying to figure out where his processor went. Insecurity? Can hardly believe that, but watching his jaw work, you sigh. Because insecurity is something you understand after... everything before him. “I know what I want,” you counter, standing and laying a hand on his shoulder. And he freezes, wings flicking as you straddle his lap.

• “And what do you want?” He asks, voice dipping to a hungry growl. Shuddering when you shift against him, lips a breath from his own. Hands framing your hips, wanting to touch you, but not wanting to overwhelm you or make demands. Even as he wants to roll you under him, strip you and claim you again. Those eyes of yours feel like they’re staring into him, really seeing him and he needs that so much it hurts. ‘I want to make love to you until you can’t walk,’ you whisper, palms sliding up his chassis to make him growl. Because he’s completely on board with that plan.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #armada starscream

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muletia · 2 days ago

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✧˖° 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

mer!optimus x human!reader

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

word count: 3000

Subconsciously, you know that deep within the forest, the siren has no chance of catching you. Maybe you’re not exactly a skilled runner, and your stamina could definitely use some work, but you’re aware that his massive body would never be able to force its way through the thicket, and the dryness and unevenness of the terrain would prevent him from maneuvering deftly among rocks and fallen trunks. You caught a glimpse of sparks of intelligence in his eyes, so you believe that even if hunger gnawed at him as much as, or even more than, it did at you, he would not risk dying from suffocation on land. You know that. Or at least you hope so.

Then why are you still running, even though you’re already far from the lagoon? Your tired legs, begging for rest against your will, are pushing you closer to the beach, towards something safer and relatively familiar, bit by pitiful chirps and howls from the creature. They remind you of his presence, refusing to let you forget or allow yourself even a moment of rest, which would mean lowering your guard. Even though they’re only echoes now, remnants of a close encounter, they keep urging you to stay alert, to keep running forward, ignoring your burning calves and lungs screaming for air.

You don’t slow down even when you catch sight of the familiar beach, forcing your legs into a few more strides until your sneakers meet the water, once again soaking through and drenching your socks. Only then are you shaken from your trance. The unpleasantness of wet shoes dethrones the reign of the escape mechanism, because you finally feel like you can think about something, anything, other than saving your skin. Your horizon widens by several dozen degrees because suddenly you realize that, during the entire escape, you only saw what was directly ahead of you, as if someone had strapped blinders to the sides of your head.

All at once, you see the uneven, large, flat rocks embedded in the shallows. The whole runway of the beach, lone clouds sailing across their own ocean, the palm leaves of a tree growing surprisingly close to the sea. You realize you’re not exactly where the ocean originally spat you out, but fortunately, it’s still your beach.

Your beach, you think cynically. Never mind that nothing here was yours, that none of it belonged to you, and you shouldn’t grow familiar with a place you were only passing through — now you’re almost certain that this whole island belongs to him.

But right now, you’re safe. Relatively, but safe, you convince yourself. Soon you’ll eat some papayas, crack open a coconut, and for what little remains of the day, you’ll scan the horizon for ships or planes. And then you’ll go to sleep. Mhm, that’s exactly what you’ll do. You have to, if you want to go home.

The wave washes over your sneakers again, like an unwelcome guest pushing its way inside and dragging your socks along into its soggy party. It’s an awful feeling, deeply unpleasant, and you sincerely wish you could just trudge back to dry sand. You know you have to return to the spot where you left the life vest. A place slightly familiar by now, one that couldn’t surprise you.

So why the hell can’t you move?

Your trembling legs are still begging to be released from service, craving just a moment of respite after such an enormous effort. You feel your throat burning like it’s set ablaze, and saliva slides down not along moist walls of flesh, but over a grater, physically causing you pain. Every breath hurts, every swallow hurts. Everything hurts. You’re terrified. Sick of this damned island. “I want to go home,” you mouth, not allowing yourself even a small squeak.

The island immediately reminds you that dreaming is a privilege, and whether you like it or not, you have to focus on the here and now.

Again, you hear the siren’s call. Just as pleading and beckoning as before, every note torn with a grief you had never heard from any living creature. The sound bombards you from behind, subtle and not as powerful as it had been back in the lagoon, but still loud enough to spread across the entire island, shattering your illusion of making this beach a safe haven free from sirens.

It’s enough to bring the will back to your legs, because with horror you realize you’re too close to the ocean. His world. His domain. And for your own safety, you have no intention of underestimating his speed in the water, even if his size was comparable to a bus.

Suddenly, the water seems to burn your feet, licking them with living fire. As if the ocean had suddenly heated up to near boiling point, urging you to retreat deeper inland, but ironically, closer to the siren.

The world had apparently decided to make you its personal fool. Probably for that one time you refused to tip a nice, handsome waiter.

That familiar feeling of an oncoming explosion greets you like an old friend.

At this point, you’ll be lucky if you make it home without hair color akin to molten mirror.

Or if you make it home at all — a negative, sinister little voice murmurs at the back of your mind, and for the first time, you’re willing to believe it.

When another instinctive swallow reminds you just how tragically wrecked your throat is, you finally find the strength to move your legs. You retreat onto dry sand, as close to the green line as you can possibly get. You’re not willing to risk another close encounter, although deep down, you know that if you don’t manage to start a fire, another trip for papayas will be unavoidable.

Or more precisely, another encounter with the siren will be unavoidable.

For a moment, your eyes are blinded by the flash of his teeth. Huge fangs and equally long incisors, molars worthy of an apex predator.

But those eyes... intelligent. Thinking. And hungry. Maybe for something more complicated than human flesh, but you really didn’t feel like finding out for exactly what.

But you don’t want to think about that right now. In fact, you would prefer not to think about anything at all, but another wail from the siren, coming from the lagoon, derails your plans. You already know that rest will only come with sleep.

If you manage to fall asleep at all.

Later. That’s a worry for later, you convince yourself. Your growling, empty stomach agrees wholeheartedly.

Recognizing the characteristic tracks of your sneakers in the sand, you know you’ve made it. Awkwardly, making sure not to drop the papayas, you grab the life vest and toss it under a palm tree, one that, for some reason, vegetation had never dared to approach.

You glance at the patch of low grass and sigh heavily.

Your new camp. Not as cozy as the three stone walls in the lagoon, but for sleeping out in the open, you owe a bitter thanks to the siren.

As if sensing your thoughts about him, he once again fills the island with his calling. Still just as sad, just as desperate.

When it comes to desperation, you aren’t so different from him. He has his reasons, incomprehensible to you (and better left that way), and you have yours, driven by hunger and thirst. And that same desperation forces you to hurl a papaya with all your might against the trunk of the palm tree. The ripe fruit bursts and splatters, breaking into smaller pieces, quickly followed by another when you repeat the motion.

Hunger doesn’t even allow you to think about dignity. The gnawing in your stomach demands food, and you answer its call. You sit beneath the palm tree, leaning your back against a part not stained with red juice, and scoop out the pulp with your fingers, occasionally brushing off the sticky sand. But even the hard grains crunching between your teeth can’t take away the relief of filling your stomach with something edible. For a moment, you truly feel like you’re eating a five-star meal, the most delicious dish prepared just for you by the world’s finest chef.

For a moment, as you gobble up sand-coated papaya, you allow yourself to feel good. You see no point in pretending everything is fine, but you feel good. The fruit has sated your hunger and somewhat quenched your thirst, although you wouldn’t say no to a glass of water — which now represents the new definition of luxury.

So you move towards a coconut, one of many lying in the sand, and just like with the papaya, you throw it against the tree trunk, since the stones lounging peacefully in the shallows, are too far away for you to dare approach.

You manage to crack the shell open on your third attempt. And just as you greedily drink the remaining water, finally, finally! quenching the fire in your throat and turning the grater back into flesh, the siren calls out again.

You know that this howl, reminding you all too much of a lonely dog's wail, will accompany you throughout your entire stay on the island, sincerely doubting that in any other part of it you will be free from the siren’s song. You are condemned to it, and he is condemned to the memory of you.

You rest your head against the palm tree and fix your gaze on the horizon of the calm ocean, having nothing better to do.

When the siren once again pierces the air with his song, you catch yourself hatching something akin to pity for him. ###

The sun shifted lower, agonizingly slowly, crawling along the horizon at a shy pace. The sunset was slowly coming to an end. During those few hours of staring blankly ahead, you hadn’t spotted even a single ship slipping across the flat skyline, and the only plane that trespassed across a sliver of the sky flew far too high to notice a tiny castaway on a large island.

After all the energy you had spent and all the stress you had endured, you were convinced that the feeling of uncertainty for your life would cling to your every thought and move like a ball and chain.

You hadn’t expected, however, that you could feel... boredom. The siren had called out a few more times before his cries fell silent, giving you the false impression, just like at the beginning of your little castaway adventure, that the only thing you had to worry about was food and water. Not about a several-ton sea monster with a craving for human flesh.

"At least the sunset here is pretty," you sigh. For some reason, you wonder whether the siren is also admiring the sunset from his lagoon, and you almost burst out laughing.

You shouldn't care at all.

But it doesn't change the fact that you wonder why it has gotten so quiet. Has he grown tired of calling out for a toothpick? Maybe he finally realized that playing on your sympathy was pointless? After all, you hadn’t returned to the lagoon, no matter how pathetic his song was. You hadn’t been fooled, so he lost interest.

No matter what his motives were, you didn’t care. Curiosity wasn’t eating you alive, unlike what might happen if you tried to get closer to him.

No, your situation was dire, but survival remained your priority. Not pondering the intentions of a siren monster, nor trying to figure them out.

Continuing the battle for your life, you finally move after sitting for several hours and set off to find another coconut. Their juice was... drinkable, but it poorly quenched your thirst, which was starting to worry you. You hadn’t seen many coconuts scattered along the beach, and judging by the speed at which your throat began demanding water again, you suspected you might plow through all your supplies by tomorrow.

"I have to find drinking water" you say out loud.

Too bad that venturing deeper into the island reduced your chances of spotting a rescue team or a passing ship. And after today’s discovery of the lagoon, you weren’t keen on exploring any more of the island. Who knows what other mythical creatures you might find? Nagas? Harpies? Oh no, you would much rather stick to this strip of beach.

You spot your next victim (a coconut) in the green part of the island, near the barrier of bushes and leaves. But before you can even grab the fruit, the familiar sound of a large body moving towards the shore tears you away from the pressing need to quench your thirst.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh fuck!

Panicking, you frantically look around for a hiding spot, then hurl yourself into the nearest bushes, dropping flat onto your stomach. Fear paralyzes you, stealing your ability to draw air into your lungs, as you wait for whatever is about to happen, praying the siren won’t notice you hidden among the foliage.

The creature emerges from the water, dragging itself over the sand deeper onto the island. Straight towards you. It ventures far, too far for your wildly beating heart’s liking, but the siren spares you a heart attack by keeping most of his tail submerged.

And as if the sight of a mythical creature mere meters from you wasn’t enough, equally astonishing and majestic, your attention is captured by something held in his jaws... a fish. Comically small compared to such a gigantic creature, but the sight of a dead fish, regardless of size, would have left you equally dumbfounded.

What did he want with that fish? Was he trying to show you what a great predator he was? you think, panic washing up your spine in a series of chills. And you hate yourself for it being your first thought, but you couldn’t interpret it any other way.

Hey, see this fish? Now imagine you in its place.

The siren shocks you even more by shifting the fish into his webbed hand, now glancing around, searching.

For you. He's looking for me — you think. He wants to eat me, devour me, I knew he was a man-eater, I knew it, and as soon as he catches my scent I'm screwed, it's over, I don't stand a chance, I'll die on this island, this damn island...

The siren lets out a few soft chirps, carrying the same intonation you heard in the lagoon, and waits, scanning the surroundings again before repeating the brief concert. Each successive chirp sounds more desperate, more sorrowful, but they all share one thing — hope.

The keen azure eyes carefully study the thicket, sometimes lingering too long on one spot. You nearly shit yourself thinking he might have spotted your hiding place. Through the gaps in the leaves, he might notice the unnatural color of your clothes among the greens, but you mentally breathe a sigh of relief when he moves on.

Good. Maybe you’ll live another day.

In a heartbeat, the face full of hope crumbles under the weight of realization that he hasn’t found you. The siren offers a final serenade, a few pleading clicks, so raw, that once again, you feel your heart thumping the beat of pity and sorrow for this creature.

Maybe... maybe he isn’t trying to eat me? the emotional part of your soul suggests — the part that makes you human. Because would a creature hunting for a meal look so... withered when failing to find you? Wouldn’t it be furious and aggressive, dropping the mask of a sad puppy?

The siren sweeps his gaze across the beach one last time, giving himself one final hope, which pops like a bubble when he doesn’t spot you. A sad, pitiful click escapes his grey lips, and the creature lowers his eyes, realizing he has failed. He places the fish back between his teeth and gracefully retreats into the ocean, terrifying you with the speed at which he vanishes beneath the waves and how well he stays hidden beneath the surface.

You know the coast is clear. You could go back to the sand and get to work on another coconut, but it feels like a massive stone has crushed you into the earth, rendering you completely motionless. The only thing you can muster is to roll onto your back so you can stare at the sky. Any other movement is beyond you.

That face... that sad yet hopeful face. You can’t get it out of your mind, and the worst part is that it becomes even more vivid when you close your eyes.

What could trouble such a powerful being? What could a god worry about?

For a moment, it feels like the answer is simple, that you’ve solved some difficult puzzle and figured him out without knowing anything about him. Because what else could the only creature on a deserted island suffer from, if not loneliness?

But you don’t want to believe yourself. There could easily be more of them scattered around the island, just waiting for you to stumble into their territory. A little toothpick, perfect for a snack.

The chorus of insects is interrupted by your stomach growling, but you don’t get up to fetch the coconut. Exhausted, stressed.

Alone.

"I want to go home," you say, and your voice breaks again and again.

Your throat tightens, as if a noose were tightening around it, until you finally stop fighting yourself.

Sobs wrack your body until sleep finally wins, wrapping you in a comforting illusion that everything is okay.

#muletia writes #for the singing and dreaming #merformers x reader #merformers #optimus prime x reader #optimus x reader #obsessed!optimus #mer optimus

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lila-lou · 20 hours ago

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✨Yes, Sheriff - 2/2✨

Summary: Your new boss, Sheriff Beau Arlen, is infuriating—gruff, stubborn, and way too handsome for your sanity. You came to Montana for peace, not sparks. But trouble’s brewing, and so is something between you two.

Pairing: Beau x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 5514

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

A few minutes later, you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of Beau’s truck, the hum of the engine filling the silence. The faint smell of leather and his cologne surrounded you, and you couldn’t ignore the way your hands felt clammy against your thighs.

You weren’t usually nervous around him—not after weeks of working together, spending hours in this very truck, talking about everything from cases to small-town gossip. But lately, something had shifted.

It had started a few days ago, though you couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment. Maybe it was the way his hand brushed yours when he handed you a report, or the way he’d looked at you during lunch, his gaze lingering just a second too long. Whatever it was, it had sent your brain into a spiral, leaving you overthinking every interaction, every word.

And now here you were, sitting beside him, stealing glances out of the corner of your eye as he drove. He looked relaxed, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the armrest. The quiet confidence he carried so effortlessly made your nerves all the more maddening.

“You’re awful quiet over there”, he said suddenly, his voice breaking through your thoughts.

You straightened, glancing at him. “Am I?”.

“Yep”, he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That’s not like you. Usually, you’ve got somethin’ smart to say about my drivin’ or the radio station”.

Your cheeks warmed as you realized he wasn’t wrong. “Just thinking, I guess”.

“Dangerous”, he teased, his smirk growing.

You rolled your eyes, but your heart raced when he shot you a sidelong glance, his hazel eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Alright”, he said after a moment, his tone softening. “What’s on your mind?”.

“Nothing”, you said quickly, too quickly.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”.

You sighed, leaning back against the seat, willing your nerves to settle. Of course, he wasn’t going to let it go. That wasn’t Beau’s style.

“Still thinking about Hoyt?”, he asked, his voice slower now, less teasing and more curious. His fingers drummed against the wheel as he glanced your way, waiting for your reaction.

Your stomach dropped. You knew exactly what he meant, but the fact that he’d brought it up so directly caught you off guard.

“I told you”, he added, his voice softer, almost hesitant. “We’re just friends. Always have been”.

You swallowed hard, staring out the window. “I know. You said that”.

“Why would you even care?”, he asked, his tone casual, but his words hung in the air like a challenge.

That question—that simple, pointed question—made your chest tighten. You couldn’t lie to him, not again, but telling the truth felt like stepping into dangerous territory. “I don’t”, you said finally, though the hesitation in your voice betrayed you.

He chuckled, low and warm, and shook his head. “Darlin’, you’re not foolin’ me. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t’ve been so quick to hightail it outta my office this mornin’”.

Your jaw clenched, and you crossed your arms over your chest, turning to glare at him. “Why does it matter to you what I care about, huh?”.

That made him pause. His grip on the wheel tightened slightly, his jaw working like he was trying to find the right words. “Maybe I’m tryin’ to figure out why the idea of me and Jenny’s got you so tied up”, he said finally, his voice quieter now, more serious. “Because, far as I can tell, it shouldn’t”.

You opened your mouth, ready to fire back a sharp reply, but nothing came out. Instead, the air between you filled with the quiet hum of the truck, thick with unspoken words and feelings you weren’t sure how to name.

“I don’t know”, you admitted after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe because I thought…”. You stopped, shaking your head. “Forget it".

“No”, he said quickly, his voice firm but gentle. “Finish that thought”.

You hesitated, the words forming in your mind but refusing to come out. You couldn’t bring it up—couldn’t tell him the truth. The risk was too big, and the thought of ruining whatever you had with him terrified you more than keeping it bottled up.

So instead, you lied.

“I just…”. You took a shaky breath, staring down at your hands. “I guess I’m just afraid you’ll think she’s a better assistant. That I’ll lose my job”.

The words felt clumsy and hollow, even as you forced them out.

Beau didn’t respond right away, and the weight of his silence pressed down on you. Finally, he let out a low sigh, his fingers tightening on the wheel. “Y/N”, he said, his voice calm but firm. “You really think I’d do that? Get rid of you just ‘cause Jenny showed up?”.

You shrugged, still avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know. She’s more experienced, and you two clearly get along. I just… I don’t want to be replaced, that’s all”.

For a second, the only sound in the truck was the rumble of the engine and the faint whir of the heater. When Beau finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost disappointed. “Darlin’, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about”, he said, his drawl slower than usual. “You’re good at what you do—better than I had any right to expect, honestly. And I’m not about to replace you with anyone, least of all Jenny. She’s got her own role, and you’ve got yours. Ain’t no comparison to make”.

You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Thanks. That means a lot”.

But his words didn’t feel like enough—not when you knew the truth about why you cared so much.

Beau glanced at you again, his brow furrowing slightly. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but then he closed it, his jaw tightening.

He wasn’t sure why, but something about your explanation didn’t sit right with him. It wasn’t like you to get worked up over something like that, and the way you avoided his gaze set off alarms in his head. Still, he let it go, leaning back into his usual relaxed posture.

“Alright”, he said after a long pause, his voice casual again, but with a trace of something deeper—something you couldn’t quite name.

You glanced at him, catching the slight curve of his lips as he stared ahead at the road. The warmth in his tone sent a flutter through your chest, but it was fleeting, drowned out by the ache of the lie still sitting heavy on your tongue.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you wasn’t new, but tonight it felt thicker, like the air itself had grown heavy. You focused on the blur of trees outside the window, while Beau kept his gaze fixed on the road, his jaw set in that way he got when he was deep in thought.

When he finally broke it, his voice was soft, careful.

“You know”, he started, glancing at you briefly before returning his eyes to the road, “you don’t gotta carry stuff like this on your own. If somethin’s eatin’ at you, just tell me. I can handle it”.

You swallowed hard, his words hitting a little too close to home. “It’s not that simple”.

“It could be”, he said, his tone laced with quiet insistence. “I mean it, Y/N. You can trust me”.

The sincerity in his voice was almost too much. You looked away, gripping your hands tightly in your lap. “I know. It’s just… it’s complicated”.

Beau exhaled, a low, almost frustrated sound that made your chest tighten even more. “Right. Complicated”, he muttered, like the word didn’t sit well with him.

The truck slowed as he turned into the diner parking lot, pulling into his usual spot by the window. He killed the engine but didn’t move to get out. Instead, he turned to you, his hazel eyes searching yours.

“I get that you’re worried about your job”, he said, his voice steady, measured. “But you gotta know, I wouldn’t let you go unless you gave me a damn good reason. And right now? You’re doin’ a hell of a job. Better than I deserve”.

The way he said it, with a trace of something almost vulnerable, made your chest ache. “I appreciate that”, you said quietly. “Really, I do”.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer before he reached for the door handle. “Let’s eat before I say somethin’ else that gets me in trouble”.

The diner was quiet, the hum of conversation from a few scattered patrons filling the space. You slid into the booth across from Beau, the tension from the truck ride still hanging over you like a cloud.

Beau seemed to sense it too, though he covered it well. He leaned back in his seat, scanning the menu with a casual ease that made you almost forget the weight of the moment. “So”, he said after a minute, glancing up at you with a small smirk. “You gonna get your usual, or you feelin’ adventurous tonight?”.

You laughed softly, grateful for the change in tone. “I think I’ll stick with the usual”.

“Good call”, he said, setting his menu aside. “No sense messin’ with perfection”.

As the two of you fell into your usual back-and-forth, the tension began to fade, replaced by the familiar warmth that had always been there between you. But even as you laughed at his teasing remarks, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted—something you weren’t sure you could ignore for much longer.

And judging by the way Beau looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, you had a feeling he felt it too.

Still, dinner had been good—comforting in the way that only greasy diner food could be. But it was what came after that surprised you. Beau, leaning casually against the counter as you both paid, had glanced your way with a mischievous spark in his eye.

“How about a drink?”, he’d asked, his voice light and teasing. “Unless you’re scared I’ll drink you under the table”.

You’d laughed, half because of the absurdity of the challenge and half because the idea of spending a little more time with him sounded like exactly what you needed.

That’s how you’d ended up at a nearby bar, one you’d never visited but Beau apparently knew well. It was small, dimly lit, and buzzing with the chatter of locals. A jukebox played in the corner, the occasional clink of pool balls adding to the lively atmosphere.

The first drink had been easy—a cold beer, shared over casual conversation. But one drink turned into two, and two into three, and soon you were both leaning over the bar, laughing about things that probably weren’t as funny as they seemed in the moment.

“You’ve got a terrible poker face, y’know that?”, Beau said, grinning at you as he finished off his drink.

“Says the man who literally flinches every time he tries to bluff”, you shot back, pointing at him with your glass.

He laughed, loud and warm, and the sound made your chest tighten in that way you were starting to hate—because you knew you were falling harder than you wanted to admit.

“Alright, fair”, he conceded, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But at least I don’t turn bright red every time I get caught lyin’”.

Your jaw dropped, and you smacked his arm lightly. “I do not!”.

“You do”, he said, still laughing. “It’s like a damn stoplight, darlin’. Hard to miss”.

You couldn’t even argue, because the warmth in your cheeks confirmed his point. Instead, you drained the last of your drink and nudged his shoulder. “Come on, Sheriff. Time to call it a night before you embarrass yourself even more”.

“Embarrass myself?”, he said, raising an eyebrow as he slid off the barstool. “Darlin’, I could go all night”.

“Sure you could”, you teased, grabbing your coat and motioning toward the door. “But let’s not push our luck”.

The walk back to your place was slow, mostly because the two of you couldn’t stop laughing long enough to keep a steady pace. The chill in the air bit at your skin, but the buzz from the drinks—and the warmth of Beau’s company—kept you from feeling it too much.

“You seriously thought you could talk your way outta that ticket?”, Beau asked, his tone incredulous as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“It was a legitimate excuse!”, you protested, stumbling slightly as you gestured wildly.

“You told the officer your dog ate your registration!”.

“Because he did!”.

Beau doubled over, his laughter echoing down the quiet street. You couldn’t help but join in, the sound of his amusement infectious. “Alright, alright”, he said, straightening up and wiping at his eyes.

The conversation shifted as you got closer to your building. Beau teased you about your choice in music; you fired back about his questionable taste in boots. Every quip, every laugh, made the night feel warmer, more electric.

When you finally stepped onto your porch, the laughter between you began to fade, replaced by a quietness that felt heavier than the night air. You turned to face him, still smiling, your cheeks flushed from the drinks and the cold. “Thanks for walking me home”, you said softly, the words hanging in the space between you.

Beau leaned against the porch railing, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, and gave you that easy, crooked smile you’d come to know so well. But there was something different in his eyes tonight—something softer, almost uncertain. “Wasn’t gonna let you stumble home by yourself”, he drawled, his voice quieter than usual.

You laughed lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, and when you looked up at him with those wide, earnest eyes, something shifted.

The playful edge to the night melted away, replaced by a tension that neither of you seemed ready to address but couldn’t ignore.

Beau’s stomach churned, an unfamiliar tightness spreading through his chest as he looked at you. Maybe it was the way your lips curved into a half-smile, or the way the porch light cast a warm glow across your face. Or maybe it was just the fact that for the first time in a long while, he felt completely unguarded around someone.

He cleared his throat, looking away briefly, like that might help him shake the feeling. It didn’t.

“You alright?”, you asked, stepping closer, your voice tinged with concern.

“Yeah”, he said quickly, glancing back at you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, he forgot what he was supposed to say next. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinkin’”.

“About what?”.

His jaw tightened, his hesitation evident. He wanted to say it—wanted to tell you everything that had been circling his mind for days now. How you’d managed to sneak under his skin, how the thought of you laughing with someone else, smiling at someone else, made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t sure he could handle.

But he didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Just wonderin’ how you’re still standin’ after all those drinks. Thought for sure I’d be carryin’ you by now”.

You laughed at his comment, the sound light and a little too free thanks to the buzz of alcohol coursing through you. Then, without thinking, the words spilled out before you could stop them. “Well, if you wanted to carry me so bad, Sheriff”, you said, your voice playful, “you should’ve just asked”.

The moment the words left your mouth, you froze, your eyes widening in shock at yourself. You clamped your lips shut, heat flooding your cheeks as the realization of what you’d just said hit you.

Beau, on the other hand, stilled completely. For a second, his expression was unreadable—his jaw tightening as his eyes locked on yours. Then, a slow, almost predatory smile spread across his lips, his green eyes darkening in the warm glow of the porch light. “That so?”, he drawled, his voice lower now, rougher, and you could swear the air between you sparked.

Your mouth opened, then closed, words failing you as your heart raced wildly in your chest. You wanted to laugh it off, to say something to lighten the tension, but before you could, Beau took a deliberate step toward you.

And then he just kissed you.

It wasn’t tentative, wasn’t testing the waters. His lips pressed against yours with a certainty that stole the breath from your lungs. His hands, warm and steady, found your waist, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear the distance between you.

For a moment, you froze, too stunned to do anything but feel—feel the roughness of his stubble brushing against your skin, the way his lips moved against yours like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had.

Then you melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, gripping the soft fabric of his jacket as you kissed him back. The world around you seemed to blur, the chill of the night air disappearing under the heat of his touch.

The kiss deepened, messy and unrestrained, as the two of you stumbled toward your door. Beau’s hands roamed, one on your waist and the other firmly gripping your ass, pulling you closer with every step. You gasped against his lips, half-laughing, half-breathless, as your back hit the doorframe. “Keys”, he muttered against your mouth, his drawl thicker now, rough and teasing.

You fumbled in your pocket, your laughter bubbling up again as your fingers struggled to find them. He stepped back just enough to give you room, his hands still firmly on your hips, holding you steady.

Finally, you managed to unlock the door, pushing it open as Beau crowded you inside, his lips finding yours again with an urgency that sent shivers down your spine.

Your jacket fell to the floor, forgotten, as you worked on the buttons of his shirt, your fingers clumsy but determined. His hands slipped under your shirt, warm and rough against your skin, making you gasp. “Damn it, darlin’”, he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes blazing. “You’re gonna be the death of me”.

You didn’t have a chance to reply before his lips were on yours again, hungrier this time. Together, you stumbled through the dimly lit living room, your laughter mixing with the sounds of lips and teeth and ragged breaths.

By the time you reached your bedroom, you’d both shed most of your clothes, leaving a trail behind you like breadcrumbs. Beau’s hands gripped your ass again, lifting you slightly as your legs bumped against the bed. “You’re somethin’ else”, he murmured, his voice low and almost reverent as his eyes roamed over you.

He didn’t wait for a response. With a quick motion, he guided you back onto the bed, his strength effortless as he tossed you down. You landed with a soft thud, laughing breathlessly as you propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him.

Beau stood at the edge of the bed, his chest rising and falling as his gaze swept over you, heated and unrelenting. For a moment, he just looked, taking you in like he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

Beau’s eyes stayed locked on yours as he stepped out of his boxers, the fabric hitting the floor. His movements were slow and deliberate, like he was giving you time to take him in, to feel every ounce of tension crackling between you.

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your legs. Now, with both of you completely exposed, the weight of the moment settled over you, heavy and electric.

He climbed onto the bed, his body warm and solid as he moved over you. His hands found your hips, sliding up your sides with a reverence that made your heart pound in your chest.

“Darlin’”, he murmured, his voice thick with a mixture of desire and something softer, something deeper. His lips found your jaw, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of it. Each touch sent a ripple of heat through you, your hands instinctively sliding up his chest, feeling the taut muscle beneath your fingertips.

His kisses trailed down, moving to the sensitive spot just below your ear, then lower, to your neck, where his teeth grazed your skin just enough to make you gasp. “You’re so damn beautiful”, he murmured against your throat, his drawl slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world to worship every inch of you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as your body arched beneath him, craving more of his touch. His lips continued their descent, moving down to your collarbone, his teeth and tongue leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“Beau…”, you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to make him pause, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“Yeah?”, he asked, his voice rough, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

“Don’t stop”, you whispered, your hands gripping his shoulders as your legs shifted beneath him, wrapping loosely around his waist.

His lips curled into a small, almost cocky smile, but there was nothing teasing in the way he looked at you—just raw, unfiltered desire. “Didn’t plan on it”, he said.

Your breaths mingled as Beau hovered over you, his lips teasing yours with slow, deliberate kisses that left you trembling. But the heat coursing through your body was too much, too insistent, for patience.

You let your hands drift down between your bodies, brushing against the hard, heated length of him. He groaned low in his throat, the sound rough and guttural, his hips jerking slightly as your fingers wrapped around him, feeling the weight and thickness of him in your palm.

Your grin was shameless as you let your hand linger, guiding him exactly where you wanted him but taking your time, savoring every reaction that spilled from him. The way his breath hitched, the way his hips twitched forward, desperate for more.

“Y/N”, Beau growled, his voice low and full of warning. His green eyes burned as he looked down at you, his jaw tight with restraint. “You’re takin’ your sweet time, darlin’. You tryin’ to kill me here?”.

You laughed softly, feeling bold, the alcohol still buzzing in your veins. “Maybe”, you teased, your hand shifting just enough to draw another low groan from him. “You look real good like this, Sheriff—falling apart for me”.

That was all it took to snap his last thread of patience. Beau’s hand covered yours, his grip firm as he took control, positioning himself right where you wanted him.

“You wanna tease, huh?”, he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he pushed forward, slow and deliberate. The stretch of him made your breath hitch, your teasing grin faltering as a gasp escaped your lips.

“Beau”, you breathed, your voice trembling as your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping him tightly.

“Yeah”, he drawled, his voice deep and rough. “Thought so”.

He moved slowly at first, letting you feel every inch of him as he filled you, his lips trailing along your jaw and down your neck, leaving a blazing trail in their wake. His hands roamed your body, steady and sure, grounding you as he set a rhythm that made your head spin.

“You feel so damn good”, he muttered against your skin, his voice thick with awe and want.

You couldn’t respond, too lost in the overwhelming sensation of him, the way your bodies moved together in perfect sync. The alcohol coursing through your veins only seemed to heighten everything—the heat of his skin, the sound of his low, breathless groans, the way his hands gripped your hips like he couldn’t get enough of you.

You arched beneath him, your nails digging into his back as you met his movements, urging him to go faster, deeper. “Beau… please”, you gasped, your voice breaking with need.

His lips curved into a smirk against your neck, and he obliged, his hips snapping forward with more intensity. The headboard hit the wall in rhythm with his movements, but neither of you cared, too caught up in the moment to notice anything else.

“You’re gonna ruin me", he rasped, his forehead dropping to yours as he fought to keep his pace steady.

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you smiled, breathless but still teasing. “Good”, you whispered, your legs tightening around his waist. “Maybe it’s your turn to fall apart”.

Beau let out a low chuckle, his forehead still resting against yours as his hips slowed, grinding against you with deliberate intent that made your toes curl. His hazel eyes sparkled with mischief, even through the haze of lust.

“You know”, he murmured, his drawl dripping with amusement, “for someone your age, you’re way too damn cocky”.

You bit your lip to stifle a grin, your hands sliding up his back, tracing the muscles flexing beneath your fingertips. “My age?”, you teased breathlessly, arching into him. “You make it sound like I’m a kid, Sheriff”.

His lips quirked into a smirk as he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. “Just sayin’, darlin’. Might wanna watch that attitude. A little too bold for your own good”.

You couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up, despite the tension between your bodies. “Oh, I’m bold?”, you shot back, your voice low and teasing. “Pretty sure it’s not very boss-like to bring your assistant home and make her moan your name, Sheriff”.

Beau groaned, the sound deep and rough as he nipped at your neck, making you gasp.

“Well, if I recall, you’re the one who dragged me inside with all that sass, darlin’. Maybe I oughta start callin’ you the boss”.

You laughed breathlessly, your hands sliding down his back, nails lightly scratching his skin. “Oh, is that how you remember it?”, you teased, arching into him as he shifted, his weight pressing deliciously against you.

“Sure is”, he drawled, his lips brushing over your jawline. “Bold little thing, takin’ charge like that. What happened to all that ‘yes, Sheriff’ you used to give me? Feels like you’re runnin’ this whole show now”.

“Maybe I am”, you whispered, your tone playful but your voice trembling slightly as he rolled his hips again, slow and purposeful, drawing a soft gasp from your lips.

“See, that right there?”, he murmured, grinning against your jaw. “That’s the sound of someone who thinks they’re in charge but forgets whose name they’re cryin’ out”.

Beau stilled for a split second, your breathless moan cutting through the haze of his teasing. The deliberate, exaggerated “Yes, Sheriff, just like that”, slipped from your lips, dripping with mock submission, your voice sultry and teasing.

His head lifted slightly, and he looked at you with a raised brow, his hazel eyes narrowing, a slow smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, now you’re playin’ dangerous, darlin’”, he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, rough and laced with challenge.

You grinned, your legs tightening around his waist as you arched into him, letting out another low, exaggerated moan. “Mmm, yes, Sheriff”, you purred, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.

Beau growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. His movements grew sharper, more deliberate, and the smug look on his face told you he was enjoying this too much.

“You wanna tease, huh?”, he muttered against your lips, his voice husky. “Act like a good little assistant for once? I’ll give you somethin’ to moan about”.

His hips snapped forward, his pace quickening, and your teasing grin faltered as the pleasure built, making your breaths hitch. “Yeah”, he drawled, his tone cocky as he watched you come undone beneath him. “Thought so. Not so smart now, are you, darlin’?”.

You tried to form a retort, but all that escaped was a broken gasp of his name, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he pressed deeper, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

“C’mon”, he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and teasing. “Say it again, nice and sweet this time”.

Your nails raked down his back, your body arching into his as you whimpered, “Yes, Sheriff”.

“Good girl”, he muttered, his words sending a fresh wave of heat through you.

The teasing between you melted into something hotter, more desperate, the rhythm between your bodies building to an unstoppable crescendo.

Beau's eyes locked onto yours, intense and unwavering, as he felt the subtle shifts beneath him, the telltale signs that you were close. His lips curved into a small, knowing smile, the connection sparking between you both with every move.

“You’re right there, aren’t you, darlin’?”, he murmured, his voice a low growl that resonated deep in his chest. His pace intensified, each thrust more purposeful than the last, aimed at unraveling you completely.

Your response was a moan, high and desperate, your hands gripping his shoulders for grounding as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. His name fell from your lips like a mantra, each utterance more fervent than the last.

“That’s it”, Beau encouraged, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Let go for me, darlin’”.

The room blurred, the edges of your vision dimming as you focused solely on the sensations overwhelming you. Beau’s steady, insistent rhythm brought you to the brink, his hands and lips everywhere, stoking the fire that threatened to consume you.

And then, with a final, deep thrust, you shattered, waves of pleasure crashing over you in rapid succession. Beau’s name tore from your throat, loud and unabashed, as your body trembled beneath him. He followed suit, his own release overtaking him with a guttural groan as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body pressing down into yours in a perfect mirror of your vulnerability.

The aftermath was quiet, save for the ragged breathing and the soft thud of two hearts racing in unison. Beau lifted his head, his eyes soft and lips curved in a gentle, exhausted smile. He kissed you tenderly, the action so sweet it juxtaposed the wildness that had just passed.

“You okay?”, he whispered, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from your face with a gentleness that made your chest tighten with emotion.

“More than okay”, you managed, your voice soft and filled with a warmth that echoed deep inside you. The room still spun slightly, but you felt anchored, safe in his arms.

Beau chuckled softly, his chest vibrating against yours in a comforting rumble. “Good”, he said, his gaze searching yours as if looking for any sign of regret or hesitation.

Finding none, he relaxed, his body molding to yours as he laid his head beside yours on the pillow. His fingers traced idle, soothing patterns on your back, helping to calm the lingering tremors that ran through you.

“We should probably talk about this”, he said after a moment, the seriousness of his tone a stark contrast to the lightness of his touch.

You nodded, knowing he was right. “We should”, you agreed, though the prospect seemed daunting. “But maybe… maybe we can just stay like this for a little while longer?”.

Beau’s smile returned, warm and reassuring. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all night”, he murmured, tightening his embrace.

As you lay there, wrapped up in each other with the dawn creeping up outside, the complications of the world beyond your bedroom door seemed distant. For now, this was enough—more than enough, actually. It was everything.

The End.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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#jensen ackles #beau arlen x female reader #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x you #beau arlen #beau x reader #beau x you #beau arlen x y/n #big sky #spn cast

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tobesolnelyx · 2 days ago

Note

Hiiii, for a one shot, I was thinking about adult!van and reader in an established relationship, they stayed together through the wilderness and couldn't leave one another. Life is not easy, guilt and nightmares making it difficult for both of them, but life is almost peaceful when they're together. They couldn't be more happy, they both like their jobs, somehow happy with what they're doing with their lives. But, recently, reader started to talk less and less to Van, avoiding her gaze, and most of all her physical contact. Van didn't push it at first, not wanting to make reader uncomfortable. But, reader continued to avoid Van like the pest, despite living together, always refusing any sort of physical contact, always managing to avoid talking somehow. Van is starting to get worried, thinking she did something wrong or maybe that reader is going to leave her. And as she goes to confront reader, to understand what's happening she hears noises in the bathroom. The door is slightly open and that's how she sees reader frowning at herself in the mirror, slightly mumbling about negative things. Then Van enters and reader immediately puts clothes back on. Van tries to ask about what happened but reader denies it, saying that everything is okay. But Van is getting more and more worried, she is almost tearful, thinking that it was going to be over for them and that reader was going to leave her. Reader, when she sees Van like this, immediately feels guilty and reassured her before finally explaining what's been on her mind for so long : reader felt insecure about her scars (honestly could be anything you want : the ones she got from the wilderness, in an accident, SH, or even stretch marks, whatever makes you more comfortable writing about) and was disgusted by her own body. Van finds this ridiculous because first of all she loves reader more than anything and also because reader never had a problem with her scars on her face, always kissing them. So, during the next days, Van makes herself a mission : making reader feel better. It could be some nice little comments, soft touches, etc. Could also be during sex and Van worshiping reader's body gently <3

I think it would work as fluff, hurt/comfort and smut if you want to :)!

— i’ll look after you || adult!van x reader 🦊 (post-crash)

a/n: thanks for req! didn’t include the smut part cause i didn’t feel like it. let me know if you want to write soft smut to that anyway. im definitely open to that! it was so fun to write ahhhh

summary: you got too deep in your head. van, as always, is here to help you get through it. hurt/comfort. fluff.

warnings: mentions of self harm, self hatred, standard yellowjackets warnings.

word count: about 2.7k.

It all started years ago, when you finally managed to leave the wilderness behind. As soon as the plane took off, you didn't look back. You didn't even want to.

The problem was, that place was going to haunt you for the rest of your life.

You remember the flight vividly—how terrifying it was. Your whole body shook, cold sweat clung to your palms, and your fingers clutched Van's hand with desperate strength.

Van was always there. No matter what.

So when you felt her fingers lace through yours, squeezing so tightly you thought she might crush your bones, you felt a spark of hope.

A chance, at least, at a normal life.

With her.

Because the thought that Van might not be there was something you never allowed yourself to entertain. Not after everything you had endured together. Not after spending nearly every waking moment side by side, clinging to each other to stay sane—against all odds.

You looked at her.

Everyone was silent then, lost between fear and a fragile sense of relief. The only sounds were the steady hum of the plane's engines and the low murmurs of the rescue crew—speaking as though afraid that a raised voice might shatter the fragile peace and send one of you lunging at them.

Maybe they weren't entirely wrong. You didn't know anymore.

Van met your gaze at last, tired but looser, more at ease than the others. After so much time spent running in circles, after so many days just fighting to survive, she looked as though someone had lifted a crushing weight off her shoulders.

You knew that some of you would never adjust. Would never fit back into the rhythm of the world, would never fully understand what normal was anymore.

But you and Van had each other. And that made you less afraid than the rest.

The first few weeks back were the hardest. Beyond the paparazzi, the nosy journalists, the endless hospital examinations—you simply couldn't find your place around.

Returning home to a place where everything was in its rightful spot was... strange. Running water, warm radiators, soft beds—it was all so horribly normal it made your skin crawl. You couldn't imagine going to college now, or worse—getting a job.

Not when, only a month ago, your teeth had torn through human flesh and dirt had soaked into the marrow of your bones.

It was then that Van, finally discharged from the hospital, announced that you absolutely had to catch up on all the movies you had missed while you were gone.

You agreed—because you couldn't imagine being away from her for long.

Besides, it gave you both something to do. Something to anchor yourselves with, to stop yourselves from drifting too far into the dark corners of your own minds.

Even if it meant rotting in front of the TV, holding hands, and gorging on junk food you hadn't seen in months.

Van preferred being at your place anyway. Her mother was too much. And your parents didn't mind. They were just relieved you had some shred of normalcy left.

You always curled up next to her, watching whatever terrible movie Van had dragged in.

Years later, not much had changed. If anything, it had only gotten better.

You lived together now, as far from Wiskayok as you could manage. Partly because you had always wanted to escape that shithole, and partly because you couldn't bear the sight of the others—wandering the streets like empty shells.

Van had opened a small but sufficient business of her own. You had found a stable job at last. Van's scars had softened with time, and you made sure to kiss each one every night.

Evenings were still spent the same way: curled up on the couch, with cheap snacks and some ridiculous film Van had unearthed.

"Van," you said one evening, grimacing but laughing at the same time. "This movie is terrible. Put on something else."

"Hey," she grinned, wrapping her arm tighter around your shoulders, pulling you even closer. "This is a classic, babe. You can't just call it terrible. It's essential viewing."

"Is it?" you teased, raising your eyebrows. "I think I was a much happier person before this movie started."

Van rolled her eyes but kissed your forehead anyway, smiling that lopsided smile you loved so much.

"Too late," she murmured, pulling back just enough to flash you a goofy grin.

You always slept together. In all the twenty-five years since your return, there had only been a handful of nights you slept apart. Not because you couldn't stand being separated, but because it was easier that way.

Safer.

The unpleasant hum of voices and memories in your head would grow quieter when you were together.

There were nights when one of you would wake up disoriented, unsure of where you were. And every time, you ended up curled up together, wrapped in blankets like some makeshift straightjacket, waiting for dawn. Because after those nightmares, sleep didn't come easily. You had to start over, every day.

There were days when one of you couldn't settle. Restless. Like you no longer fit inside your own skin, like guilt was gnawing an unbearable hole through you.

And when it felt like you were about to shatter apart, the other would catch you—suggest a walk, a stupid conversation, anything to pull you back.

Van knew she couldn't survive without you.

And then, one day, it hit you. That strange, suffocating feeling.

And not even Van's hands could chase it away this time. Her words, for the first time, didn't help.

You felt as lost as you had at seventeen.

If you couldn't live normally, you decided, you would at least pretend. For Van. For what you had.

It didn't work.

Not when you stood before the bathroom mirror in utter silence and really looked at yourself. Suddenly, everything chafed worse than ever. You couldn't just shrug it off as a bad day anymore.

Being queer in the '90s hadn't been easy. And your thighs still bore the evidence—white scars slicing across your skin. Not to mention the marks left from the wilderness itself, in random places, some more visible than others.

You hadn't thought about them in a long time. But now, you couldn't stop.

Especially now, when your body had changed over the years. And for the first time in your life, you wondered if Van might... leave.

So, whether consciously or not, you pushed her away first.

At first, Van thought it was just one of those bad days you both sometimes had. You avoided her—which was strange. You refused to meet her eyes. You always kept some distance between you. You sat farther away on the couch, flinching when she tried to touch you.

Van decided to give you space. Maybe it would pass. After everything you'd been through, how could she blame you?

She told herself it would fade, like everything else.

But she started worrying when you began skipping goodbye kisses before leaving for work. A kiss took seconds. You had always found time before.

Then you stopped letting her touch you at all.

You even started avoiding changing clothes in front of her—something that had never been a problem before. After all, in the wilderness, you had seen each other naked countless times. It had been almost natural.

And yet.

That's when Van truly started to worry. Confused didn't even begin to cover it.

One evening, she decided enough was enough.

She would get through to you, one way or another. She couldn't go back to those dark days. She couldn't keep worrying that you would slip through her fingers and shatter into pieces.

Van felt like she was seventeen again.

You were lying on the bed, reading god-knows-what, and Van barely cared. She walked over, gently tugging the book from your hands. She hoped you'd laugh—or at least smile.

Instead, you stiffened.

Van hesitated—but leaned in anyway, bracing herself on her arms and nuzzling her cold nose against your neck.

You flinched.

And not from pleasure.

Her lips found your neck, her hand sliding down to your thigh.

That's when you started to squirm, trying to gently push her away. Your hands trembled. Your pulse sped up. And suddenly, you felt trapped—like a wild animal.

You almost bolted from the room.

"Not... not tonight, Van," you muttered. You didn't even call her "love," like you usually did. Just her name. Something twisted painfully in Van's gut.

"I'm just... not in the mood," you added, fumbling for excuses. "Maybe another time."

You slipped out from under her, leaving Van more worried and confused than ever before.

And a horrible thought—an ugly, gnawing thought—sprouted in her mind:

Maybe you wanted to leave.

A few days later, after closing up shop, Van decided she couldn't take it anymore. The doubt. The fear. The guilt gnawing at her that she had somehow screwed everything up.

You used to tell each other everything. Why couldn't you now?

Van wasn't about to give up on the life she had fought so hard for. She had everything she had ever dreamed of. And she wasn't going to let it fall apart.

Even if her heart hammered in her chest and her legs shook slightly, she hunted through the house for you.

Finally, she found the bathroom door ajar.

She froze.

You were standing there, pants pushed halfway down your thighs, a loose shirt hanging off your shoulders, examining... the scars?

Van realized you were staring at yourself like you were searching for something that wasn't there.

"Disgusting," you muttered under your breath.

And that was enough.

Van pushed the door open.

You turned to her, wide-eyed, yanking your pants back up and fumbling to button your shirt. She had already seen. But you couldn't bear the thought of her seeing again. Because maybe this time, she would agree with you. Maybe this time, she would see you the way you feared most.

"What are you doing?" she asked softly, standing in the doorway.

You shook your head, forcing the most fake smile you had ever given her.

"Nothing," you said. But the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Silence stretched between you. Heavy and loaded—like the nights in the wilderness when you spoke of dreams you didn't really believe would ever come true.

Van wasn't about to let it go.

"Okay," she sighed at last, her voice filled with confusion. You bit your lip, guilt gnawing deeper and deeper with each second. "I'm tired of this shit," Van said. "Tell me what's going on."

You clenched your jaw. Lowered your hands. Looked at yourself in the mirror again.

Took a deep breath.

"Nothing's wrong, Van," you lied—and the words tasted like acid in your mouth.

"Bullshit," she snapped. Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard, fists clenching at her sides, eyes locked on yours so fiercely you couldn't look away this time. "You're avoiding me," she said.

You dug your nail painfully into your palm.

"You're avoiding me, and I have no idea why," she continued. "I'm tired of being brushed off. I'm scared to death, and you're just..." her voice cracked again, tears glinting in her eyes. "...you're just pretending nothing's fucking wrong."

"You want to leave me?" she asked at last, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

"What?" you stared at her, stunned. "No. It's not that. I don't want..."

"Then what is it?" she pushed. You had only seen Van cry a handful of times. Knowing you had caused it now made you feel even worse.

And you broke.

"I feel horrible," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "In my own skin. With my body. With the scars..." You shrugged helplessly."I feel disgusting."

Van blinked. Once. Twice.

Then she laughed softly— not because she thought it was silly, but because she couldn't understand how you didn't see it.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered, her expression turning serious as she took a small step toward you.

And when you neither moved nor answered, her hands found your waist, pulling you tightly against her chest. Into a warm, firm embrace. Her fingers slid through your hair, and you felt something inside you shatter completely.

And it didn't even feel bad.

The tears came freely then. You broke down completely in her arms, soaking the front of her t-shirt, your fingers clenching tightly into the fabric as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. You didn't know what you would do without her. And you never wanted to find out.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed into her shoulder, and she only held you tighter, anchoring you so you wouldn't spiral even deeper. Just like she always had. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." The words died somewhere along the way.

Van held you like that for a good half hour. Until you calmed down. Until the tears slowed, until your eyes grew puffy and your lips tasted salty from crying. Until your grip on her softened at last.

She carried you without a word to the bedroom, wrapping you tightly in her arms throughout the night, just like she had done so many years ago. In case you woke up needing her. At least it gave her a few hours to think of a way to fix this.

She listened to the steady rhythm of your breathing, adjusted automatically when you shifted in your sleep, whispered softly in your ear about how much she loved you. Even if you weren't fully awake to hear it.

Eventually, Van found a way. She found a way to fix it.

And that was already more than half the battle won. Because Van was sure of one thing: She wasn't about to let you go. Not after holding you every night for the past twenty-five years.

Van launched a little plan.

It started the next morning, when she made you breakfast and buried you under a mountain of compliments.

"You don't have to say all that," you muttered, trying to wrangle the whirlwind of emotions tearing through your head—guilt, that strange nervousness whenever you tried to believe her.

Van simply sat down beside you at the table and tilted her head until you had no choice but to meet her eyes.

"I think about it every day," she said, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips. "I think about you—always. Everywhere. I just figured it was time to start saying it out loud."

You stared at her.

Van had always had this uncanny ability to melt people's walls with the sheer force of warmth she somehow carried inside her. You never knew where she got it from. But you were endlessly grateful for it now.

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, and you had to fight the smile creeping onto your face.

Van hadn't been this stupidly proud of herself in a long time.

Over the next few days, she kept it up. Complimenting you. Sometimes so ridiculously that you couldn't help but laugh.

And it worked. God, it worked.

She didn't slow down either—if anything, she doubled down.

Then, once you started feeling a little better—a little more like yourself—she began pulling you close again during movie nights.

"You're staring," you mumbled one evening, your eyes glued to the TV. The stubborn knot in your chest loosened a little more each day. And every time it threatened to tighten again, stealing your breath away, Van was there to pull you back.

She just hummed, her eyes still fixed on you.

"Is that bad?" she asked softly, her fingers tracing slow, comforting circles on your arm. Then she began planting small kisses along your shoulder, your neck—anywhere she could reach.

You stiffened at first. But you didn't pull away. Not this time.

"I guess not," you murmured at last, tilting your head a little, giving her better access. Her lips roamed up and down, her hands gently massaging the scars on your thighs. And this time—you didn't flinch.

"Good," she murmured against your jaw, pressing another kiss there."Because I love you too damn much not to stare."

#van palmer #vanessa palmer #van palmer x reader #van palmer x you #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x you #my writing

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norixseaweed · 2 days ago

Text

Handle With Care: San One-shot (Edited/Re-upload)

Title: Handle with Care Rating: 18+ NSFW Characters: San, fem!OC Contains: Long sex, light choking, deep throat, power play, teasing Word Count: 11523 (its a bit long ik) Summary: When Lia, a playful and confident nurse assistant, crosses paths with San, a charming K-pop idol sidelined by an injury, sparks fly instantly. What starts as harmless teasing quickly escalates into a flirty, electric connection neither of them can resist. Between stolen glances, steamy moments, and an undeniable pull, Lia and San discover that sometimes the best kind of trouble is the kind you don’t want to walk away from. Authors Note: I had posted this before but realized the beginning dragged on too long so I did some heavy editing and now I'm re-uploading, please let me know what you think!

Lia stretched her arms over her head, trying to shake off the stiffness already creeping into her back. It was only a few hours into her night shift, and she could already feel the ache settling in.

She was double-checking her last patient’s vitals when her phone buzzed. A quick glance at the screen showed a text from her friend Sarah.

Sarah: Girl, you're going viral! 60K views already :o

Lia smiled to herself, slipping the phone back into her pocket. She’d check it properly later. For now it was just something good to look forward to during the long hours ahead.

"Hey, Lia!" one of the nurses called out from the station. "New admit coming in, VIP. Korean idol. Hurt his ankle during their concert."

Korean Idol?

Lia perked up a little, adjusting her badge as she grabbed the vitals machine.

"Any idea who?" she asked casually, trying not to sound nosy. She tried to think of who could be doing a tour right now.

The nurse shrugged. "Not sure. He’s under an alias for privacy. You'll find out."

Lia made her way down the hall, mentally prepping herself. Most VIPs were chill but some could be a handful. Hopefully, this guy was not an asshole.

She knocked lightly and pushed open the door, freezing for half a second.

Sitting on the hospital bed was a man who looked unreal. Tousled dark hair. Sculpted arms. A relaxed posture that somehow made the hospital gown look like part of a fashion shoot. His head lifted as she walked in, dark eyes locking onto hers.

And when he smiled, full dimples. Warm eyes that crinkled at the corners.

Lia swallowed her momentary shock and smiled professionally. "Hi, I’m Lia. I’ll be your nurse assistant tonight."

The man’s lips curved. His voice was smooth, low, slightly accented.

"Nice to meet you, Lia. I’m San."

She busied herself grabbing the pressure cuff, trying to stay focused as she wrapped it around his muscular arm. It didn’t help that up close he smelled great, whatever cologne he was wearing, he made a great choice.

"You look familiar," San said, tilting his head slightly as he studied her.

Lia's fingers fumbled just for a second before she recovered. "I don't think so," she said, keeping her tone light. "I mean, unless you’re either secretly a tiktok-er or a frequent flier at this hospital."

He chuckled.

"I’m more of a singer," he said. "But now I’m curious."

Lia smiled as she pressed the start button on the vitals machine, feeling it hum to life.

"They told me you’re a K-pop idol," she said, eyes flicking back to his chart, "but I’ll be honest, I don’t recognize you."

San gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "That hurts."

"Sorry," Lia teased, lips curving. "If it helps, I’m a huge GOT7 and NCT fan."

San let out a mock sigh, shaking his head. "Not Ateez?"

She laughed. "I know of Ateez. I just haven’t had the chance to look into you yet."

He pouted, an actual full-on pout, and it was so stupidly cute that Lia had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling too hard.

"Wow," San said, voice teasing. "Injured, humiliated, and now unrecognized. Worst night ever."

She rolled her eyes. "Dramatic."

"You’re not wrong."

There was a pause where their eyes caught and lingered a second longer than necessary. It was small. Barely a moment. But it was there.

Clearing her throat, she stepped back, glancing down at her work phone. "Okay, your vitals look good. Anything you need before I head out?"

San tilted his head, gaze lazily traveling over her in a way that made her skin tingle.

"No," he said, voice soft but sure. "I'm good. For now."

There was something about the way he said it that sent a shiver down her back.

As she walked out of the room, she could feel his gaze lingering on her back.

And she definitely didn’t hate it.

◆ ◆ ◆

San lounged back against the hospital pillows, scrolling aimlessly through different apps on his phone with nothing better to do.

His mind wasn’t really on the videos though. It kept drifting to Lia.

The way she smiled, the way she bit her lip when she laughed, the little glances she kept stealing when she thought he wasn’t looking.

He shook his head, grinning to himself.

Maybe it was the painkillers. Maybe it was the hospital gown making him feel reckless. But fuck, she was cute.

The door swung open and Wooyoung burst dramatically into the room.

"San! My baby, oh how I’ve missed you!" he cried, throwing himself at San dramatically. San let out a breathless laugh as Wooyoung clung onto him like a koala.

"I’ve only been gone a few hours," San teased, patting his back.

"Yeah, well, it felt like forever," Wooyoung sighed, flopping into the chair beside the bed. "How’s the ankle?"

"Fine," San said, waving it off. "I just have to rest a couple days. No heavy dancing. Maybe sing my parts on stage if they let me."

Wooyoung made a dramatic crying sound into his hands. "Our main dancer benched...it’s a national tragedy."

San chuckled, relaxing back against the pillows. His mind started wandering to Lia, again.

The way her hands had wrapped around his arm while checking his blood pressure. The soft brush of her fingertips against his skin.

He didn’t even realize he was smiling until Wooyoung squinted at him suspiciously.

"What are you grinning about?"

San shrugged casually. "Nothing."

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes. "You’re hiding something."

San debated for a second, then leaned in a little. "By the way..." His voice dropped, almost conspiratorial.

"I have a really cute nurse assistant."

Wooyoung sat up straighter immediately. "Cute, huh? How cute?"

San’s lips curled into a smirk. "Long, silky dark hair...cat-like brown eyes...plump pink lips you can't stop staring at..." His tongue swiped over his bottom lip unconsciously.

Wooyoung let out a low whistle. "Damn, you're down bad already?"

San laughed under his breath. "You have no idea."

Wooyoung elbowed him. "You should call her in. Let me see if you’re exaggerating."

San shook his head immediately. "Nah. That’s weird."

He paused.

"...even though I kinda want to."

Wooyoung’s grin widened. "See? You are whipped already."

San just smiled, a soft kind of fondness tugging at his lips and maybe a hint of hunger in his eyes too.

Wooyoung leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Come on. Let’s at least go for a walk and accidentally run into her."

San thought about it. He was bored sitting in the room anyway.

"Alright," he said finally. "Let’s go."

San leaned heavily against Wooyoung as they walked slowly down the hall, keeping the weight off his ankle.

As they neared the nurses' station, San's eyes immediately found her.

She was leaning casually over the counter, laughing at something one of the nurses said. Her pony tail swayed as she laughed.

The sight of her relaxed smile, the curve of her waist as she shifted her hips. He subconsciously swiped his tongue over his bottom lip.

"There," San whispered under his breath, nodding toward her.

Wooyoung followed his gaze, eyes widening.

"That’s her? Damn," he breathed. "She’s hot and she’s got a nice ass!"

His voice was a little too loud.

San immediately smacked the back of Wooyoung’s head, hissing, “Shut up!”

Wooyoung rubbed his head, pouting. “What? She doesn’t understand Korean!”

Oh, how wrong he was.

San grimaced as he watched Lia straighten up, her posture shifting. Her smile faded into something sharper, amused, but clearly unimpressed.

She turned and started walking toward them, her hips swaying naturally, her expression composed but definitely intimidating.

San swallowed. Wooyoung shrank beside him like a scolded puppy.

As Lia reached them, she crossed her arms over her chest, the movement pulling San’s attention again to how good she looked.

He had no business enjoying being told off this much.

"You two need to quiet down," Lia said firmly, arching a brow. "People are trying to sleep. It’s almost midnight."

Her tone left no room for argument, confident, no-nonsense, and fuck, if it didn’t just make San want to push and tease her to see how far she’d take it.

"And," she added, glancing pointedly at San, "aren’t you supposed to be resting that ankle? You’re not supposed to be wandering the halls playing tour guide."

San’s lips twitched into a smile he couldn’t hold back. He loved the way she scolded him, like she wasn’t even a little intimidated that he was a celebrity.

“Busted,” Wooyoung mumbled under his breath in English, trying not to laugh, but failing.

Lia’s gaze slid briefly to Wooyoung, then back to San, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

There was a sparkle there, teasing. Testing.

San caught it and smirked.

"Sorry," he said, hands up in mock surrender.

Lia shook her head, but there was a slight smile tugging at her lips now too.

"Don’t make me call security on you."

"I’m wounded," San said dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "After everything we’ve been through."

"You’ve known me for two hours," Lia deadpanned, but her lips twitched upward.

"And it’s been the best two hours of my life," San said without missing a beat, flashing her a grin that made her cheeks threaten to pinken.

Lia bit down on her lip to hold back a laugh, then turned with a shake of her head, heading back toward the station.

As she walked away, San and Wooyoung both stood there watching her for a second too long.

Wooyoung whistled low. "You’re fucked."

San’s smirk deepened. "Yeah. I know."

◆ ◆ ◆

San was lying in his bed scrolling through TikTok after Wooyoung had left. He didn’t have anything better to do. That’s when he came across a video of a girl doing an NCT dance cover. He had seen this same video earlier in the day but this time he paused because he immediately recognized the girl as Lia, his nurse assistant. “I knew I recognized her from somewhere.”

He watched a couple more of her dance videos, appreciating her skills and the complete control she had of her own body when she danced. He put his phone down in his lap and grabbed the call light, pressing the button.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, can you please send Lia in here?”

“Yes, Sir one moment.”

A couple minutes later he heard a knock on the door, he looked up at Lia as she opened the door and walked in. “Well that was fast,” He adjusted himself on the bed to sit up. “Yeah I wasn’t busy so here I am, what’d you need?” Lia asked as she closed the door behind her.

“So I figured out where I’ve seen you before.”

Lia tilted her head, brows furrowed in confusion then she remembered earlier when he told her that she looked familiar.

“Oh, I’m going to be honest, I thought you were just trying to flirt when you said that.”

San let out a small laugh “ Oh no! I wasn’t flirting- I mean, not that I wouldn’t flirt with you-”

“Oh so you don’t think I’m pretty? What a shame,” she sighed dramatically, looking down at the floor, pretending to sulk.

San fell for the act, immediately feeling guilty.

“Oh no no! That’s not what I mean, I would definitely flirt with you, you’re very beautiful!”

Lia let out a small giggle, lips forming into a grin “I was teasing you, dumby,” San felt his face turn red from embarrassment. He had to admit that she got him good.

“So, where have you seen me before?”

San pulled the device up and turned the screen toward her, showing her TikTok profile.

"I saw this earlier when Mark reposted it."

Lia’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushing instantly. She covered her mouth in embarrassment. "Oh my god."

He scrolled to another video. "You’re really good," he said, his voice lower now. "You move like you own the floor. Like nobody else exists."

Lia blinked at him, flustered by how sincere he sounded.

It wasn't just a line. He meant it.

Lia didn’t expect to be fed so many compliments, she covered her face as she felt herself blushing harder. She didn’t know what to say, she wasn’t used to being praised so much.

She was used to it when it came from her friend since all she did was hype her up all the time. But this was different. Not only was a famous idol, but he was a great dancer as well.

When he saw her blushing he couldn't help but chuckle at how cute she looked. “So cute.”

Lia lowered her hands and gave him a playful glare, trying to recover her cool. “Of course I’m cute, and of course I know how to dance. I went to classes for it and I dance whenever I have the free time. And I’m confident to say I can probably throw it back better than you.”

San shrugged with a small smirk, his voice a touch deeper now. “I mean... I’m not not saying that.”

She laughed, the tension was now easing down as she regained her composure and confidence. “Also, I do hope to become a choreographer someday, so it’s nice to know I’m leaving an impression.”

“Trust me, you are.” San held her gaze for a moment, then leaned back into his pillows. “Do you ever teach classes or anything?”

“Not yet. I post online mostly, sometimes I’ll post tutorial videos, but maybe someday. If you need a few tips let me know, maybe I can teach you a few things. If you can keep up that is.” She teased.

That cocky little edge in her voice made him grin. “Oh? You think I can’t?”

“I don’t know... can you?”

San’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Is that a challenge?”

“It might be,” she replied with a shrug, biting down on her lip. Dancing was definitely not what was going through her mind though. “If you ever wanna test it out, I’m just a text away.”

The air between them shifted just slightly.

He sat up a little more, unlocking his phone screen and opening up to the dial up page on the phone app. “Alright then. Give me your number. You know, for... dance purposes.” He said, handing her his phone.

Lia arched her brow. “Oh, of course. Strictly professional.” She took his phone and typed in her number, giving herself a ring so she could save his number on her own phone before handing it back to him.

“Obviously,” he teased, putting his phone down.

◆ ◆ ◆

It was around 7:30 a.m when San heard a knock on his door.

He let out a soft groan, shifting his bed before opening one eye to take a peak at who was entering his room.

A lady carrying a meal tray greeted him “Good Morning, sorry for waking you, your breakfast is here,” she set down the tray on his table then left the room.

San stretched in the bed, a grunt leaving his lips as he did.

He sat up on the bed, reaching over to the bedside table, unplugging his phone from the charger.

Seeing as he had a few new text messages he unlocked his phone. He had a few messages from his members but the one that caught his eye was from Lia. A small smile appeared on his lips.

He immediately tapped on the message.

Lia: Hey sleeping beauty, you should probably keep down your snoring, you’re causing earthquakes out here.

Lia: I’m staying over a couple hours from some overtime, also you’ll be getting discharged soon so I’ll be here just in case you need help getting out of here in one piece ;).

San let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. He put his phone down and pulled his table closer to himself and began digging into his breakfast.

When Lia walked into the room she didn’t realize he would topless. He had taken off the gown before bed since it was uncomfortable for him.

She let out a small exaggerated gasp, hiding her eyes behind her hands, but still peeking through her fingers.

“Oh my, your titties are out.”

San laughed and flexed his chest. “Why? Does it bother you?”

Lia lowered her hands slowly, an exaggerated hum leaving her lips.

"Hmm... no, I don’t mind. Nothing I haven’t seen before."

San gave her a look, one brow arching in amusement.

"You sure about that?" His tone dipped just enough to make it sound like a challenge.

Lia smirked, walking over to grab his breakfast tray. "You wish, pretty boy."

She stuck her tongue out playfully before glancing over her shoulder.

"I’ll be back in a few to help you get your stuff packed. Try not to flash the rest of the hospital in the meantime, yeah?"

San watched her leave, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest.

Man, she’s trouble.

And he couldn’t wait to see what she’d do next.

◆ ◆ ◆

Lia returned a few minutes later, balancing a stack of towels, shampoo, and some toiletries in her arms.

San was already sitting at the edge of the bed, waiting patiently — or pretending to.

“Okay, let’s get that bandage off your ankle,” Lia said, setting the supplies down neatly at the foot of the bed.

She crouched down in front of him, lifting his foot gently onto her thigh.

To Lia, it was routine, just another task.

But to San?

It was pure torture.

The second her hands brushed against his skin, a slow, heated wave rushed up his body. Her fingers were careful, precise, but so soft and her face was so close to his thighs he could smell the faint scent of her shampoo.

He gritted his teeth, trying not to react, but images flooded his mind way too easily: her on her knees for very, very different reasons.

His cock twitched under the blanket.

He cursed quietly under his breath and mumbled in Korean without thinking

"Shit… you’re seriously driving me crazy."

Lia’s head tilted slightly at his words, not enough to be obvious, but she definitely heard him.

And she definitely understood him.

A small smirk threatened at the corners of her mouth, but she forced herself to stay focused.

After all, he had no idea she could understand Korean. Which meant he didn’t realize he just handed her full permission to tease him.

She unwrapped the last layer of the bandage and set it aside carefully, but stayed exactly where she was, crouched between his legs, looking up at him with those wide, innocent eyes.

Her lips curled into the softest, most deceptively sweet smile.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice dripping with fake innocence, “I didn’t mean to drive you crazy.”

San blinked down at her, momentarily short-circuiting.

"It's oka—" He stopped mid-sentence, realization dawning on his face.

Wait.

What did she just say?

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. “Hold on... you understood what I said?”

Lia only smiled wider, coy and unbothered.

“Mhm,” she hummed, tilting her head playfully. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

Before he could fully process that, her fingertips grazed up his knees, featherlight, sending a fresh shiver straight through him.

“And I heard what your friend said too,” she added, her voice soft but loaded with heat.

“When you were both checking me out.”

San flushed instantly, his ears turning red.

He opened his mouth, probably to apologize, or to deny it, but Lia was already standing, brushing imaginary dust off her hands like it was nothing.

“We’ll call it even,” she teased over her shoulder.

“You drool over me a little, I drive you crazy a little. Fair trade, right?”

San just sat there, still shirtless, still half-hard under the blanket, stunned by the dominance she was exuding.

God, she was dangerous.

San regained his composure.

That sudden switch in her energy flipped something in him too, something competitive, hungry.

He was very interested in where this was going to go.

“Let’s get you into that shower,” she said sweetly.

San pushed himself up from the bed, smirking to himself.

◆ ◆ ◆

San had pressed the call light in the shower to get help back to his bed.

Now, he wasn’t wearing anything but a towel slung dangerously low around his waist, droplets of water still clinging to his skin, tracing slow paths down his sculpted torso.

He may have “accidentally” forgotten to tell Lia to bring his clothes from his bag earlier when she dropped off the towels.

And he didn’t exactly feel guilty about it.

When Lia stepped into the bathroom, she froze for half a second.

San was standing there, chest bare, towel riding low on his hips, wet hair messy and falling into his eyes.

Her gaze locked onto his chest, abs, arms, and for a second, she forgot how to breathe.

Her bottom lip tucked between her teeth before she could stop herself.

God, she thought. I just want my hands all over him.

San noticed. Oh, he definitely noticed.

A lazy, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Like what you see?” he teased, his voice low and smug.

Lia blinked, snapping herself out of it, rolling her eyes at him, but the blush rising up her face gave her away.

"Please," she said, stepping toward him. "You couldn't manage to put clothes on?"

He shrugged, unapologetic, as she looped an arm around his waist to steady him. "Forgot them," he said simply. "Bag’s by the bed."

As they took their first step toward the door, San suddenly stumbled, much harder than necessary.

Out of pure reflex, Lia wrapped both arms tightly around him to catch him, stumbling back with him. Her spine hit the cool tile wall with a soft thud, pinned between the hard surface and San’s dripping body.

His palms slapped onto the wall, caging her in. The heat of him was overwhelming, all solid muscle, warm skin, and the fresh, clean scent of soap still clinging to him.

Lia looked up at him, wide-eyed, still holding onto his waist. Her breath caught at how close their faces were now, barely a few inches apart.

"You okay?!" she gasped, trying to sound composed.

San glanced down at her through half-lidded eyes, his expression far too smug. The glint in his eye told her everything.

He wasn’t sorry. Not even a little bit.

“I’m good, baby," he said, his voice a low purr. "And you?”

The word baby rolled off his tongue so smoothly it sent a shiver down her spine. Lia’s heart pounded against her chest. She pushed against his chest lightly, trying to create space, but not really trying that hard.

“How about we get you dressed, hmm?" she said, ignoring the heat rushing through her veins. "Before you catch a cold or cause another accident."

San chuckled quietly but let her lead him out, still dripping, still half-naked, still giving her that devastating grin.

And Lia?

She was barely holding it together. And this night was only getting started.

◆ ◆ ◆

Lia guided San carefully back to his bed, her arm snug around his waist. He was still dripping slightly from the shower, water clinging to his skin and it took everything in her not to let her hand roam over him under the excuse of "helping."

San wasn’t making it easy either. He leaned into her just a little more than necessary, his bare chest brushing against her side every few steps, the heat of him bleeding through the towel.

“Careful,” Lia murmured, trying to keep her voice steady as she helped him lower onto the mattress. San chuckled low in his throat. “You’re pretty strong, you know that?”

Lia shot him a playful look. “Maybe you’re just not as heavy as you think.”

His grin widened, boyish and teasing. But the way his gaze swept over her, slow, lingering, made it clear he was already thinking about other ways she could handle him.

Before anything more could be said, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in!" Lia called, quickly stepping back.

The door swung open, and Wooyoung burst in, followed by another man, shorter, sharp-eyed, and immediately more composed. The leader vibe was unmistakable.

Lia smiled politely. “Hi. You must be San’s friends?”

"Yup!" Wooyoung chirped, immediately grinning wide. "I'm Wooyoung, we met last night, and this is Hongjoong, our leader."

Hongjoong gave a small, amused bow. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for taking care of him.”

“No problem,” Lia said warmly, already gathering the discharge papers. "Though he’s not exactly the easiest patient."

San gave her a mock-offended look but didn’t deny it.

Lia moved toward him again, crouching to strap the ankle brace onto his foot. Her hands worked efficiently, but her touch was still gentle.

“You’re all set,” she said, straightening. “Just remember, minimal walking, lots of rest, and absolutely no being a stubborn pain in my ass."

Wooyoung snickered loudly. "Good luck with that."

San smirked, his gaze glued to her the whole time. God, he loved when she bossed him around, it was becoming a problem.

Lia leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just enough for San, and unfortunately Wooyoung, to hear.

“Oh and make sure you call me if you need any help…” She paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I’m very good at taking care of bad patients."

Wooyoung gaped dramatically. "Sannie, what’s going on here huh? What’d I miss?"

San chuckled under his breath, barely managing to school his expression.

Hongjoong shook his head, amused. “Alright, let's get you out of here before you embarrass yourself more.”

As Lia packed up the last of her supplies, she turned to Wooyoung and added sweetly, in fluent Korean "And Wooyoung-ssi, it’s very rude to stare at a woman’s ass. Just letting you know."

Wooyoung froze.

Hongjoong froze.

San bit down on a laugh.

"You–you speak Korean?!" Wooyoung stammered, his whole face flushing beet red.

"Mhm," Lia said innocently.

Hongjoong was confused but would later ask San for an explanation.

Lia smiled and waved at the boys as she left the room “I have to clock out and get some sleep, take care.”

◆ ◆ ◆

San’s ride back to the hotel was spent entirely texting back and forth with Lia. It was a lot of flirting and teasing. Lots of teasing. Before heading to sleep and telling him goodnight, she decided to send him a very spicy image of herself standing in front of the mirror with nothing but her towel after her shower. Her wet hair framing her face beautifully, her breasts barely being held back by the towel as it hugged her frame perfectly, showing off her every curve.

He had a hard time getting her off his mind. Her photo would pop into his head every now and then but he was with his members and couldn’t do anything about it. It drove him crazy. All he could think about was tearing that towel off and discovering how she tasted, every inch, every curve, every sound she’d make under him. He wanted to bend her over every surface in sight.

Later that night while he was watching a movie with his members, Wooyoung, Mingi and Hongjoong, San subconsciously grabbed his phone and opened up her messages. He stared at her photo longer than he intended to.

“Damn, San, she’s hot as fuck!” San flinched and locked his phone screen instantly “You scared the shit out of me Wooyoung.”

Mingi and Hongjoong’s attention was immediately turned to the two now as they made their way onto the bed next to San “We wanna see too, you got a new girlfriend?” Mingi grabbed San’s phone but snatched it back from him.

“Ohhh…is it the girl from the hospital?” Hongjoong smirked at him.

“Maybe…”

“I want to see what she looks like! Wooyoung kept talking about how hot she was the other night.”

“I’m not showing you the picture, Mingi, she sent it for my eyes and my eyes only.”

“So…when are you guys gonna fuck?”

Hongjoong smacked Wooyoung in the back of the head “Don’t ask inappropriate and personal questions like that Wooyoung.”

Hongjoong faced San again “So are you guys going to fuck or nah?”

Wooyoung looked bewildered. “You just told me not to ask and you go and do this?! I got hit for nothing?”

“I’m the Captain,” Hongjoong grinned.

“Well?” Mingi didn’t blink, waiting for an answer.

San sighed, fingers brushing through his hair.

His eyes met with Hongjoong’s.

“Tonight. I’m kicking you guys out, you’re gonna hang out next door with the others before she gets here.”

“Damn, never thought I’d get kicked out by San.” Wooyoung dramatically sighed.

“Do you have condoms?” Hongjoong asked.

“No, can you go grab me some? Maybe get us some drinks, wine maybe?”

“Ooooh, we’re setting up the mood too?” Hongjoong quickly grabbed his wallet, dragging Mingi with him to the door to go with him.

Meanwhile San began sending a text to Lia.

San: Hey Miss Nurse Assistant, I want to take you up on your offer, I need you to come take care of me…

1 hour later…

Lia: Anything for my patient <3 Just tell me when and where

San: Now, at this address <attached address>

Lia bit her lip at how straight forward he was. She decided to play into his dominance for a little bit.

Lia: Yes, Sir…any specific uniform you want me coming in?

San smirked.

San: Nothing too fancy just in case it gets…damaged…

Lia: Got it, I’ll be there before you know it.

Lia was instructed to meet Wooyoung by the hotel gym so she did. Wooyoung was there in a black hoodie, hood over his head. Lia herself wasn’t wearing anything crazy, just a pair of white track shorts and loose pink cropped T-shirt with her long hair tied up in a ponytail, her bangs framing her face.

He led her up to the room San was waiting for her in. Wooyoung smiled at her and unlocked the door, opening it wide for her before gesturing towards the room “After you my lady.” Lia bows her head at him and steps inside, Wooyoung closes the door behind her “I’ll leave you two to it.” She can hear his chuckle as the door shut completely.

“He didn’t have to be so weird about it,” she muttered under her breath as she slipped off her shoes and set her duffle bag down, shaking her head with a small smile.

“I’m in here.”

She studied the room. It was a suite with a king sized bed and queen bed and in a corner there was a small mini kitchen and on the other side there was a sofa chair and a couch, where San was sitting. He was wearing a white t-shirt and grey sweats. Greeting her with a bright smile. She of course smiled back and made her way to him going in for a hug.

“You came pretty quick.”

“Yeah there wasn’t any traffic and you weren’t far.”

She sat down on the chair across from him. He gestured towards the bottle of peach flavored Stella Rosa on the coffee table. “Wine?”

“Ooh, yes please, that’s my favorite.”

“Good.” He opened the bottle, pouring two glasses of wine and handing her one.

They clinked their glasses before taking a sip. After a little bit of chatting and a few sips of wine, when there was a moment of silence San took a moment to appreciate how good she looked even when wearing something as simple as track shorts and crop top. His eyes moved down to her thick thighs, tongue swiping at his bottom lip as he appreciated them. He could tell she worked out.

Lia noticed him basically dressing her down with his eyes. A smirk played on her lips.

“So,” she broke the silence, leaning back against the chair, her arms crossed under her chest while still carefully holding onto her glass so as to not spill her drink. She then crossed one leg over the other.

“Since I’m here to take care of you, you should tell me what you need, you know…so I know how to help.”

The soft and smiley San was now gone. His facial expression changed along with his entire aura. Something more intense. He raised a brow, the corner of his lip moving into a smirk.

He leaned back against the sofa, gesturing with his finger for her to come to him.

“First, why don’t you come and show me how you would take care of me?” His voice was deeper now and his tone was authoritative.

Lia felt tingle up her spine. She loved how he wasn’t hesitant to show his dominance. But Lia was stubborn, you could say she was a bit of a brat. She wanted to see how far she could push him, if he would let her dominate her, or more like if she could take control of the dynamic. She wanted to hear him whimper and beg just as much as she wanted to get on her knees for him.

She stood up and took the last sip of her wine, though she didn’t swallow.

San’s eyes followed every movement she made, the tension in his body growing with every second she stayed silent.

She placed down the glass and continued to move towards him. He could feel the heat between them thickening. His jaw clenched, fingers twitching slightly against the arms of the chair. God, he wanted to grab her, pull her into his lap and devour her right there. But he waited.

Her gaze locked with his, smug and steady. Slowly, teasingly, she climbed into his lap, straddling him with calculated ease. Her hands glided up his chest, fingertips grazing every curve of muscle, until one rested on his shoulder and the other gently cupped his face.

San’s breath hitched.

His eyes never left hers for a moment as he anticipated what she had planned. Her thumb was now slowly swiping over his bottom lip as she brought her face close. His lips parted.

Her lips hovered over his for a moment before letting the wine spill into his mouth from between her lips. San was surprised for a moment, not expecting to have a liquid pouring into his mouth. He swallowed the wine, a short deep chuckle leaving his throat. She smiled, her lips still hovering over his.

His lips moved forward to press up against hers but she pulled back slightly. He raised a brow and went forward again but she once again pulled away, letting out a soft giggle. He quickly realized she was teasing him.

Of course, how could he forget that she’s a tease?

He gripped onto her waist, giving her a firm yet gentle squeeze, tugging her in closer against his own body. “You need to stop playing around so much,” his eyes darkened.

“No no,” she smirked, shifting in his lap, finger resting at his chin as she lifted his head up “you invited me to take care of you, and you asked me to show you how I’d do it,” she leaned her face closer to his ear, speaking softly yet firmly, making sure to set the tone of who’s in control now.

“So be a good boy and let me show you, baby.”

That flipped a switch in San. Just those words alone coming from her lips made San decide back down from his fight for control over her and let her take control. He was curious where this would go.

“Yes, Ma’am…”

She let out a giggle, pulling back to take a good look at his face. His eyes changed. They were less on edge, much…softer.

“Good boy.”

She felt his cock twitch beneath her. She cupped his face, hooking a thumb on his bottom lip guiding him to open his mouth for her.

“Let me see that tongue of yours,” without hesitation, San let his tongue slip out of his mouth for her. She grabbed his tongue with her fingers, her thumb rubbing against it “you’re such a good listener, Sannie,” her ego was definitely boosted. She was proud of herself, after all she won. She let go of his tongue but was quick to grab it between her lips.

She sucked on it for a moment before pushing past his tongue with her own, and into his mouth. Her tongue began exploring, their tongues swirling and dancing against each other. She gripped onto the front of his shirt, her hips now moving against his. His hips of course responded, moving up against her.

Her lips parted from his and began to kiss down his jawline to the nape of his neck where she gently sucked on being careful to not leave a mark. San let out a soft moan.

Her lips parted from his neck, leaving a trail of warm breath as she pulled back, just enough to look into his eyes. She cupped his face again, gently running her thumb across his flushed cheek.

“You sound so pretty when you moan for me, baby,” she purred, dragging her lips just barely across his. “But don’t get too comfortable… I’m not done playing with you yet.”

Her hands slid down his chest, nails grazing lightly through the fabric of his shirt, feeling every ridge of muscle beneath. She stopped at the hem, toying with it, lifting it an inch, then letting it fall again. The tease in her eyes was dangerous.

“You want me to take this off?” she asked, voice low, sultry. San nodded eagerly.

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Please… take it off.”

She smiled when he begged, pressing a soft kiss to his ear.

“That’s what I like to hear, you’re being so good, baby.”

She grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it up over his head. He lifted up his arms to allow her to get it off more smoothly. She tossed his shirt to the floor before taking a moment to appreciate his muscles. She bit down onto her bottom lip at the sight of it, fingers tracing down his chest and over his abs.

“I wonder if you’re as strong as these muscles make you look…” she teased, dragging her nails ever so lightly down his torso again, stopping just above the waistband of his sweats.

San let out a quiet breath, watching her, his jaw tight.

Lia smirked. She could tell she was driving him crazy, and she wasn’t done yet. She leaned in, brushed her lips against his, and whispered, “You’re being so well-behaved… starting to wonder if maybe you like being told what to do.”

San’s brow twitched. That little edge in her voice. Cocky, bratty. It hit a nerve.

She kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw again, sweet and slow, but then she suddenly tugged at the drawstring of his sweats, giving it a quick playful snap and biting her lip. “Or maybe…” she purred, “you just don’t know how to handle me.”

That was it.

Before she could pull back, San’s hand shot up to grab her wrist.

“You think I don’t know how to handle you?” he said, his voice low and dangerous now, his gaze darker than before.

Lia blinked, her breath hitching. The look in his eyes made her stomach flip.

In one swift movement, San stood up, flipping their positions effortlessly and pressing her back into the couch. His body hovered over hers now, muscles flexed, his hands gripping the armrest behind her as he caged her in.

“You’ve had your fun, baby,” he growled softly, his face close to hers. “But you just made a mistake.”

Lia swallowed, chest rising and falling a little faster. “What mistake?”

He smirked, leaning down until his lips were barely an inch from hers.

“Thinking I’d let a pretty little brat like you stay in control.”

Then his mouth was on hers, kissing her with intensity..This was hungry. Dominant. His hands slid down her thighs, gripping them firmly as he pulled her hips flush against his.

Lia melted beneath him. He definitely knew how to take control. Seems like she wasn’t the only one playing games. He was holding back the entire time.

This made her excited.

She wrapped her leg around him and rolled her hips against his but he quickly pushed her hips down, firmly holding down. His lips parting from hers.

“I was trying to be good for you,” he growled softly, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, the other gripping her thigh, spreading her open just enough to remind her who was in charge now. “But you clearly want me to ruin that sweet little attitude of yours.”

Her face was flushed red, she felt her core pulsating.

God, he’s so fucking hot.

“Oops…?” She bit down on her lip, a playful look in her eyes.

“Oops?” He raised a brow.

She grinned playfully, tongue sticking out from between her teeth slightly.

“That’s not how someone takes responsibility and apologizes, princess,” he placed his knee between her thighs, pressing it up against her warmth. A hand reached up under her cropped tee and underneath the wire of her bra. He groped her breast, giving a squeeze before taking the nipple between his fingers, giving it a pinch.

A small squeak escaping her lips.

“That was cute, but I didn’t hear an apology.”

He pinched again but this time a little harder.

She covered her mouth instinctively, muffling her moan. She mumbled a quiet “sorry”.

He grabbed her hand tugging it away from her face, pinning it down above her head before giving her nipple another pinch.

“I couldn’t hear you, Princess, what’d you say?”

She squirmed underneath him. “I-I’m sorry, Sir,” her eyes glazed over with lust. He smirked at the sight of her. He knew he was completely in control now. She was all his to take.

“Good girl.”

Lowering his head, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and began kissing down her flesh.

“You don’t mind if I mark you, right?” He mumbled against her warm skin.

“You can mark me all you want.”

He didn’t hesitate to act upon her green light. His lips latched onto her skin, tongue dancing against it as he sucked on the skin. Another moan escaped her lips, hips arching up against his thigh that was between hers. She began to rub herself against him. He let out a small but deep chuckle as he felt her get desperate for him. He could feel her breath grow heavier as her chest rose up and down.

His lips pulled away from her neck, a trail of saliva leaving his lips. He licked it off her neck as he gripped on her top, lifting up off of her and tossing it to the ground, his hand then snaking in beneath her back, feeling for the clasp on her bra before unhooking with one swift move.

Lia pushed the bra off of herself, letting it fall to the ground.

“Gorgeous.” San commented. His lips were now trailing slow kisses from her collarbones down to the center of her chest then over one of her breasts. He sucked on it long enough to leave a mark before moving to her nipple to give it some attention.

Lia bit down on her lip as another moan escaped from her “San…”

His tongue flicked against her bud “Hmm?” He hummed, sucking a little harder as his hand found its way to her other breasts to give it a squeeze.

She grabbed his other hand and led it down into her track shorts and over her hot wet core, pressing it against her panties so he could feel how wet she was for him.

San smirked.

He swiped his tongue over her nipple one more time before parting his lips from it. He hovered his face over hers.

“My baby girl is so wet for me,” he hummed, fingers gently, teasingly rubbing her. She locked her eyes with his, basically pleading for more with them as she let out a whimper

He chuckled, knowing the look in her eyes all too well. He pushed her panties to the side before sliding his middle finger between her slits, rubbing against her wet juices “What does my baby girl want me to do, hm? Tell me.” He gently grazed his finger over her clit, teasing her.

Another whimper escaped from her.

“Stop teasing and fuck me with your fingers,” she huffed, hips squirming in eagerness.

His brow raised “Are you asking me, or telling me?” His voice deepened, his hand finding its way around her neck gently squeezing to test the waters. Her eyes became playful again, a coy smirk forming on her lips when she felt his hand around her neck.

“Telling you.”

He gives a slightly tighter squeeze as a warning. “I don’t think I heard you right, can you repeat that?”

“I was telling you, to fuck my pussy with you-” She was cut off when he squeezed around her neck harder. She let out a gasp followed by a moan, eyes rolling to the back of her head.

“Mm…” he kissed her ear and let out a growl “We say please and thank you around here, Princess,” he pressed a soft kiss on her ear “understand?”. She nodded, barely squeezing out the words “Yes, Sir.”

He loosened his grip around her neck.

“Now.”

He gazed into her eyes. “What were you saying?”

“P-please, Sir, please fuck me with your fingers-” She begged.

“Good girl.”

He slipped two fingers into her, pumping them in and out of her, the pace increasing when he heard her whimpers.

He caressed her face with his free hand, thumb playing at her lips “Mm, look at you looking all pretty for me, squirming and making cute little noises, all for me,” his eyes didn’t leave hers, half lidded, full of hunger for him. “Just a cute little horny mess for me, look at you, it’s almost pathetic.” A softly chuckled, sliding his thumb into her mouth.

Her lips latched onto his thumb and she began sucking on it. “Good girl.”

His fingers began moving with more intensity inside of her, you could hear how wet she was. His fingers curled forward, finding her sweet spot, triggering a series of moans from her as he repeatedly hit her spot. She grabbed onto the pillow behind her head gripping onto it hard, her back arching up .

He abruptly stopped, pulling his fingers out of her. “You can’t come yet.” He licked and sucked his fingers clean with a hum “So sweet…” her cheeks flushed.

He pressed his lips against hers in a deep kiss, tongues dancing against each other. Without breaking the kiss he slides an arm beneath her lower back, pulling her to sit up.

His lips parted from hers “On the floor, on your knees.”

As she moved off the sofa, finding a position on the floor, San also fixed himself on the sofa, sitting in front of her with his legs spread out, a tent was formed in his sweats. Lia positioned herself between his legs, her eyes falling to his bulge. Her tongue swiped across her bottom lip before she bit down on it. She looked up at him with big eyes, pleading silently for his next command.

His head tilted as his eyes met with hers, brow raised, smirk forming at the corner of his lips.

“Hungry?”

She nodded her head “Can I, Please?”

San pushed his pants and boxers down just low enough to free his hard throbbing cock. He gives a nod, gesturing towards his cock.

“Eat up.”

Lia’s eyes broke away from his, appreciating the sight of him for a moment.

Her fingers wrapped around his girth, slowly stroking him. The way he was just so damn hard for her gave her a bit of ego boost. She leaned forward, looking back up at him “You’re so hard for me, I must really drive you crazy huh?” She let out a giggle as she let her tongue start teasing the tip.

He didn’t respond this time, just gave her a stern look with his brow raised. That’s all he needed to do. She understood not to tease him more. For now.

Her lips wrapped around his tip, sucking on it for a bit before lowering her head, taking him deeper into her mouth. She began bobbing her head up and down, the hand still wrapped around him stroking him more. He let out a low, husky sigh.

“Atta girl…”

His arms rested up on the head of the sofa as he watched her enjoy herself.

She pulled her head back, looking up at him with a small smirk “wanna see what I can do?”

San looked at her curiously. He hummed in response.

“I promise I won’t disappoint you.”

She took his length back into her mouth, slowly lowering her head, taking in his entire length deep into her throat until there was no more to take in. She paused there and let out a “how’s that?” hum.

San cursed under his breath. His hand found its way to the top of her head, resting against it.

When she got her answer through his reaction she began to bob her head up and down again, tongue moving against him. But it wasn’t enough for San. He wanted to fuck that pretty little mouth of hers. He knew she could take it, after all she showed him she could.

He grabbed her by her ponytail and pushed her head down, holding it in place. His hips began thrusting up as he fucked her throat. She let out soft hums and moans against his cock, only gagging a little as a couple of tears streamed down her face. She loved the rough treatment though, it only excited her more. She slipped her hand down her panties, pleasuring herself.

The sounds she was making pushed San to an edge, a deep growl emitting from his throat.

“Fuck, Lia, you’re such a fucking whore, taking my cock like that…”

She let out a hum in response, squirming at his words. He gave a few more thrusts into her throat but slowed down and stopped when he felt himself get closer to his climax. He didn’t want to finish just yet.

He pulled her head up and caressed her face, wiping her tears away with his thumb.

“You doing okay, princess?”

She nodded her head and he smiled at her “Good. You did so good.” He praised.

He got up on his feet, taking the rest of what he was wearing off. “Follow me,” before she could stand he shook his head “on all fours.”

She bit down on her lip, putting her palms to the floor and followed his lead behind him. He was so into his head space he couldn’t feel the pain in his ankle. It was completely out of his mind. Once they reached the mini kitchen area he grabbed a bottle of water. He was feeling parched and he was sure she was too.

He drank from the bottle before turning to her. She was sitting patiently on the floor on her knees, hands in lap. He brought the tip of the bottle to her lip. “Drink.”

She nodded and did as told.

He put the bottle up on the counter before extending a hand to her. She took his hand and stood up as he lifted her, his arm smoothly snaking around her waist pulling her flush against his body, his hard cock pressing against her abdomen. His lips pressed hard against hers as he began to devour her sweet lips. Her arms loosely wrapped around his neck. It didn’t take long for the kiss to become so heated and sloppy.

“Take your shorts and panties off,” he said between kisses “and then bend over the counter for me.” Lia let out a playfully hum as if she was thinking about it.

“What if I don’t, what’re you gonna do about it?” he felt her smirking in the kiss.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that and give you a chance to say something else.”

She pulled her face back to look up at him. Tilting her head she let out another hum “Hmm…make me.” His eyes darkened.

Bending her over the counter, he pulled down her shorts along with her panties, letting them drop to the floor. His hand gently ran over her ass before lifting his hand and giving it a firm smack. She let out a cute yelp, jumping up slightly.

“You really like to push my buttons, don’t you?” he landed another one and she bit down on her lip.

“Are you going to be good now?” She didn’t answer. It was in her nature to be a little defiant, bratty. He landed another smack on her ass, this time a little harder.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, Sir, I’ll be good.”

“Good girl. Now spread your legs open, I want to see that wet pussy of yours.”

Lia did as told. She spread her legs apart for him, still leaning forward against the counter. San lowered himself to the ground, hands gripping onto her thighs. His tongue slid between her folds, finding its way to her clit. She whimpered in response, pursing her lips together. He teased her and sucked on her nub a little longer before guiding his tongue to her entrance. He spread her open with his fingers, pushing his tongue deep inside her. Letting out a hum as he tasted her sweet juices.

“Your tongue feels so good inside me…” She whined.

His tongue moved inside her, exploring her warm, wet cavern. He soon replaced his tongue with his fingers. Slowly sliding them into her, but soon picking up the pace in his movements. She moaned, clutching onto the edge of the counter. He pressed a few kisses against her thigh before sucking on one spot. Fingers moving rougher inside of her. Her legs were now shaking as more lewd moans escaped her lips.

“Fuck, San, I’m gonna cum.”

San looked at the mark he left on her thigh, smiling proudly at himself. “Then cum for me.”

He curled his fingers against her walls, fingers moving more intensely. Her hips jolted forward, a much louder moan emitting from her lips as she reached her climax. San gave a low chuckle.

“You’re so loud, Princess, my members can hear you next door if you’re not careful.” He pulled out his fingers and brought them to her lips for her to taste herself. “Oh? What if I want them to hear me? Hear how good you can fuck me…” She took his fingers between her lips, sucking his fingers clean.

“Hmm…you know what, baby? Be as loud as you want.” He positioned himself behind her, rubbing his cock against her wet pussy. San liked the way she was thinking. He liked the idea of them being heard. It’s not like the boys didn’t already know what was going on.

San held onto her waist and pushed his length deep inside of her. Her walls quickly adjusted to him. He didn’t move though.

“Fuck yourself, baby, use my cock like it’s your toy.”

Lia obeyed and started moving her hips back and forth against him, her breathing growing heavier as she let out small whimpers. San looked down at her smirking as he watched her fuck herself with his cock. “Mm, look at you, you just came for me and you still want more?” Lia let out a small whine in response.

“Can’t help it…you’re so fucking hot,” her movements became more desperate for him “and god, you feel so good inside me.”

He wrapped her ponytail around his hand, gripping onto her hair, pulling her head back towards him as he firmly gripped onto her hips. He dipped his face down and pressed his lips against hers into a sloppy kiss as he began thrusting his own hips into her. She rested her hands against the edge of the counter, keeping herself pushed back to not fall forward and break the kiss.

She became noisier and louder. The noises she was making emitted a deep groan from San. They both soon broke the kiss to catch their breaths. San let go of her hair and she fell forward against the counter. San was now holding her hips with both his hands as he slowed down his movements. He pulled himself back, leaving just the tip in before thrusting hard and deep inside of her.

“F-Fuck!” she yelped, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. He repeated the motion a few more times, each thrust deliberate, relentless, then picked up the pace again, hips snapping against her.

“Fuck, fuck- San, I’m gonna cum again-” He could feel her walls tightening around him, pulsing with need.

But he didn’t stop. He chased it, kept thrusting through her high, his name falling from her lips in broken gasps as her second climax hit hard. Her thighs trembled. Her body arched into him.

Only then did he pull out, breath ragged, his cock slick and twitching.

He wrapped a hand around himself and stroked, slow at first, then faster, chasing his own release. His eyes stayed locked on her, on the curve of her spine, the way her body still trembled from the aftershocks.

With a deep, guttural moan, he came. Thick, hot streams spilling across the small of her back, marking her with every pulse of pleasure.

For a moment, all he could do was breathe. Then, reaching over to the counter, he grabbed a tissue and carefully wiped her down. His touch gentle.

“You okay?” he murmured, brushing a kiss between her shoulder blades.

Lia turned around to face him, leaning back against the counter. They were both catching their breaths, their bangs sticking to their foreheads from the sweat. “Are you tired already?” She teased, poking at his chest.

He raised brow “I have a lot of stamina and energy, I don’t tire easily.” He smirked.

“What about you? Giving up already?”

Lia returned the smirk “Absolutely not,” her arms snaked around his neck “I want you to fuck me in every corner of this room, San, and I want to make sure your friends here me scream your name.” San gripped tightly onto her waist.

Fuck she was so hot. So horny.

“Are your members in the room over on that side… or this side?” she asked, gesturing toward the two opposite walls.

San nodded toward the one where the beds were pressed up. “That side.”

A devilish grin spread across her lips. She took his hand in hers and guided him toward the opposite end of the room, where the sounds would echo less. Her back hit the wall just beside the bed, and she pulled him in.

Arms wrapped around his neck, she whispered, breath hot against his lips, “Let’s show them who’s whore I am tonight.”

San let out a low chuckle, his hands sliding down to grip her waist. “I like the way you think.”

He kissed her, slow and deep, letting the heat build again between their lips. When she lifted one leg and wrapped it around his waist, he didn’t hesitate. In one smooth motion, he hoisted her up, her back pressed to the wall, both legs now clinging to him.

As he pushed himself into her again, slow and deliberate, she let out a lewd moan, her body still overstimulated from her last release. Her head fell back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, and San groaned into her neck as he kissed and licked the soft skin there.

Their moans filled the room, along with the wet, rhythmic sound of their bodies meeting. Her slick coated his cock with every thrust, making it all the more intense.

Eventually, San carried her over to the bed, setting her down gently before crawling over her, ready to take her again, but Lia had other plans.

Before he could do anything else, she pushed him down onto his back, straddling him in one smooth, confident motion.

A smirk tugged at her lips.

A low chuckle rumbled from San’s chest, his hands sliding up to grip her thighs as her hips rocked back and forth, her slick heat grinding against his cock, coating him with every pass.

“You’ve been doing all the work, it’s my turn to make you feel good.” Lifting herself up, she guided his length to her entrance, slowly lowering herself down on him until it was deep inside of her. A groan escaped from San as he felt her warmth wrap around him once more.

Hands resting at his chest, her hips began moving back and forth. San light a breathy moan, eyes closing as his head tilted back.

“That’s it baby, just like that,” his tongue swiped across his bottom lip.

His hands slid up from her thighs, gliding over the soft curves of her hips, then up the line of her waist until his palms were resting across her stomach and ribs. He moved slowly, savoring the feel of her skin.

When his hands reached her chest, he cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. Her breath hitched at the contact, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she kept grinding against him.

His gaze dropped to the places he’d marked her earlier, hickeys blooming on the soft swell of her breast and scattered along her neck. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, pride flickering in his eyes at the sight of his work.

“You look so good with my mouth all over you,” he murmured, rolling his thumbs over her nipples again. “I love seeing you like this.”

Lia kept the pace steady, rolling her hips with purpose, letting the full length of him drag inside her with each slow grind. She watched his face, the way his jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting with every moan.

She shifted her position, lifting herself up just enough to adjust her stance, planting her feet flat on the mattress as she settled into a deep squat over him.

San caught on instantly, lifting his knees so she could reach back and brace her hands against them for support.

Their eyes locked, his wide with anticipation, hers dark with intent.

Then she started to move, slow at first, her body rising and sinking, her slick warmth swallowing him deeper with every drop of her hips.

San groaned beneath her, his hands sliding up to grip her waist as her pace began to build. Her thighs flexed, movements turning into a steady bounce, the sound of skin meeting skin getting louder, wetter, filthier.

Her moans grew louder, the way his cock hit deep with every drop driving her wild. It was one of her favorite positions, because of that exact feeling.

“Fuck…” he breathed, watching her ride him with hungry eyes, his hands tightening their grip on her as if anchoring himself to the moment.

San's eyes darkened as he watched her ride him, her body bouncing beautifully, her moans growing louder with every drop. But he wanted more, needed more.

In one swift motion, he sat up, wrapping a strong arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. Lia barely had time to catch her breath before he started thrusting up into her, hard.

“Ah- San!” she yelped, her nails digging into his shoulders as the sudden intensity stole the air from her lungs.

He gritted his teeth, his hands holding on tight to her waist, holding her in place as he pounded into her from below. The sound of their bodies meeting was loud and wet, echoing through the room along with her desperate cries.

“F-fuck, San-!” she moaned, head falling back as pleasure surged through her in waves. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. “Say my name again,” he growled into her neck. She gasped, clinging onto him. “San, oh my god- please don’t stop!”

San kept thrusting up into her, rough and deep, his grip on her tightening with every snap of his hips. She could barely breathe, every movement hit her just right, sending electric shocks through her core.

“San-fuck, I’m so close,” she cried, her body trembling against him. “Don’t stop. Please.”

His pace faltered for just a second as he groaned into her shoulder, his breath ragged. “Lia… I’m close too, fuck I need to pull out-”

She grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her, eyes wild with need.

“No,” she gasped, grinding down hard on him. “It’s okay, I’m on the pill. Cum inside me, baby. I want to feel it. Please.”

That broke him.

San’s hips slammed up into her harder, faster, chasing that final high. Her walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper, tighter, until he was cursing her name and burying himself inside as he came, spilling into her with a low, guttural moan.

Lia gasped at the feeling, the warmth of his release triggering her own, her body shaking as her climax ripped through her.

They stayed there for a moment, bodies tangled, skin slick, their breath the only sound between them. Lia’s face buried against the crook of his neck. They both tried to steady their breathing.

San's arms loosened, but he didn’t let go. He pressed gentle kisses along her shoulder.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice low and warm.

Lia gave a lazy little nod as she pulled her face back resting her forehead against his, still catching her breath. “More than okay,” she whispered, her lips brushing his.

He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her lip. No urgency this time. Then another, longer one.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked quietly, his thumb brushing over the small of her back.

She giggled, nuzzling into his neck. “You’re sweet for asking…but no. You wrecked me- in the best way.”

San chuckled, a little smug, but his touch stayed gentle as he rubbed slow circles against her back.

After a moment, Lia pulled back just slightly and looked down between them. “I’m definitely leaking,” she said with a playful scrunch of her nose.

San glanced down and laughed softly. “You said you wanted to feel it.”

“I did.” She kissed his jaw.

He ran his fingers up her spine, then gave her hips a squeeze.

“Let’s get you washed up then, hmm?”

She nodded, climbing off of him.

After the shower, Lia walked over to her duffle bag, opening it to take out a change of clothes and look for her keys. San came up from behind her, arms wrapping around her waist, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as he peeked into her bag.

“You don’t want to sleep over?”

Her head turned toward him. “Well I don’t want to keep your friends out of the room or be too much of an inconvenience.”

“You won’t be, we already talked about it, they’re okay with you staying if you’re comfortable with it, Wooyoung can sleep on the couch anyway.”

“I guess I’ll stay then.” She gave him a smile.

San smiled and gave her waist a light squeeze, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. “Good,” he said. “Didn’t really feel like letting you go.”

Lia turned in his arms, raising a brow. “Yeah? You just wanted someone to warm the bed, didn’t you?”

San smirked. “That too.”

She shook her head with a soft laugh and stepped over to her duffle bag, digging through it for a moment before sighing. “I didn’t bring anything comfortable for sleeping in.”

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You can borrow a shirt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said, already moving toward his suitcase. “I’ve got plenty. You want one that smells like me or one that doesn’t?”

Lia gave him a look. “You did not just ask that.” Her eyes rolled as she slipped into a clean pair of underwear.

San grinned and tossed her a soft, oversized black tee. “It’s clean. Might be a little long on you, though.”

“Perfect,” she said, already pulling it over her head. It hung past her shorts like a dress, sleeves swallowing her arms a bit.

“Looks better on you,” he mumbled, not really meaning to say it out loud.

She caught it but didn’t comment, just gave him a faint smile before slipping into the bed. San climbed in beside her, texting his members that they could come back whenever before tossing the blanket over both of them. The two snuggled up into each other.

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