#I need to take so many breaks I can barely watch it

[steddieas-shegoes]

black swan

for @steddiesportsau prompt 'dance'

rated t | 3331 words | no cw | tags: ballet dancer steve, ballet dancer eddie, high school, steve has bad parents, not canon compliant, getting together, sort of strangers to lovers

🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰

Steve stops dancing when he’s 12. His dad insists it’s time for him to “grow out of it” and “play a real sport.” It’s fine. It’s not like he’s the best in the class and on a fast track to an invitation to the New York Ballet or anything.

He starts swimming because he has the build for it and it’s easy.

He starts basketball to make his father shut up about being on a team.

The worst part is that he’s good at that too. Not great, not like ballet, but good.

He makes both teams in high school, even makes varsity basketball his sophomore year. He’s captain by junior year.

Sometimes, he stops by the studio he used to dance at, between classes, just to check in with the director and make sure everything’s going well. She always asks if he wants to come back. He always wants to say yes.

****

On his 18th birthday, his parents are gone, and he’s lonely. Nancy’s busy, and even if she weren’t, they aren’t anything except friends. Barely that.

Tommy and Carol have written him off now that they’re going away to college in the fall, and he wouldn’t want to have them over anyway. They’re on a different path than Steve, always have been. He’s just been so desperate for connection, he’s let everything slide.

Just before dinner, he drives to the dance studio. There’s not many classes happening on Tuesdays, but maybe someone will be there to let him in. He doesn’t see any cars in the parking lot, but there’s a light on inside.

The door is unlocked, and music is playing from the back room. It’s a much smaller room, designed for solos and duets only, not group routines. The music is not ballet music, but it could be a jazz or tap routine.

The man dancing is beautiful, in loose sweats and curly hair up in a bun that seems like it’s barely hanging on. He moves gracefully, but there’s an edge to it, something Steve always wished he had, even though he didn’t technically need it. His pointe shoes are torn, much more worn in than what’s recommended for anyone, especially men on pointe.

Steve’s amazed, the way he moves to a song that’s mostly heavy drums and guitar, makes it look like a classical piece as his arms and legs do everything the way Steve used to. He resists saying anything.

Then he catches sight of the man’s face.

It’s Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson dances?

“What the fuck.”

Eddie freezes, turns to him, falling to the flats of his feet. He looks caught out, as if he’s doing something wrong. He must be allowed to be here if the place is unlocked for him. Eddie might be a terrible student and definitely deals weed out of a lunchbox, but he’d never break into a dance studio just to use it.

He looks like he’s gonna run.

“Wait,” Steve says to stop him before he can. He steps closer. “How long have you danced?”

“Uh, five years?”

So they never took a class together. Steve was worried he’d somehow forgotten.

“Did you always take classes here?”

“I’ve never taken classes here.”

Now, Steve’s confused even more. He’s lived in Hawkins for at least 10 years. He remembers when he started living with his uncle. His first day at Hawkins Elementary set the tone for the rest of his time in school; Tommy and a few of his friends making his life miserable because of his much too large flannel shirt and greasy hair.

Steve had stayed quiet then, just as he did for most of middle and high school.

“How are you in here then?” He asks.

“I’ve had a key for two years. Ms. Laseaux made sure I had one when she had to cut her evening hours during the week,” Eddie explains. “I swear I’m allowed to be here. Don’t call the cops, please.”

“Dude, I’m not gonna call the cops. If you say you have permission, then you’re good,” Steve hates that Eddie still looks like he might run. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Is it okay if I watch?”

“Uh.”

Eddie’s music stops and the silence is almost as loud as the heavy music.

“It’s okay if not. You’re just beautiful,” Steve says honestly.

Eddie’s face flushes red and Steve has an immediate and overwhelming urge to see how far the blush goes. He shakes the thought from his head.

“Um. I guess I can start from the beginning?” Eddie offers.

“I’d love to see the whole routine,” Steve smiles.

Eddie rewinds the tape and starts it again, gets into position, and changes Steve’s life.

It’s even more beautiful from the start, a whole story unfolding before Steve’s eyes. Instead of the music being a distraction, it builds the emotion. Steve hasn’t seen anyone dance quite like Eddie.

Eddie seems a little nervous, but he never falters. He knows this routine well, front to back, probably back to front, too. It’s stage-ready and Steve wonders if he’s ever performed it outside of this room. He doesn’t think anyone else could possibly know he dances, at least not this well. He belongs on a stage.

He feels water on his cheek and he reaches up to wipe it away. He’s crying.

He remembers the time his mom cried at his first solo during a recital, how proud she was of him, and how proud he was of himself. He wonders if anyone has ever been that proud of Eddie.

“Steve?” Eddie asks.

The music’s stopped and Eddie’s breathing hard from fifth position. Steve’s tears are still falling.

Eddie’s hands cover his face, wiping away tears that just won’t stop.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s amazing; You’re amazing. Please tell me you perform somewhere,” Steve sniffs, smiles at him. “Did you get a senior solo last year?”

“No,” Eddie says quietly. “I can’t afford the fees for actual studio time and it’s required to perform at the recital. But I get to come here once a week and get it out of my system.”

Steve is about to offer to use all of his savings to pay for whatever Eddie needs. He has to get out of here, dance on bigger stages, be seen by people who can get him where he should be.

“The timing of the arabesque, Eddie, it’s beautiful. The leaps are textbook. The way you timed that kick with a cymbal crash. I mean, everything. You’re so technical, but emotional, and it’s like it takes no effort for you. You could easily get into a ballet school or a company,” Steve is talking and Eddie is still holding his face. He’s probably still crying.

“Thank you, but this is kinda it for me. I just love dancing,” Eddie takes his hands away and Steve instantly misses them. He knows he’s feeling a bit lonely– it’s his birthday, after all– but he liked how warm they were, how the blisters across his palm seemed to rub just right against Steve’s cheekbones. “You seem to know a lot.”

“I danced when I was a kid. Here.”

“Really?” Eddie seems genuinely shocked. “I thought you were, like, a stereotypical jock guy. No one’s ever mentioned you.”

Steve laughs, but he feels a pang in his chest. He knows why no one talks about him here. Most of the history of him being here was erased at his dad’s demand.

“Pretty much from the time I was potty trained to when I was 12. I had to quit,” he doesn’t feel like going into a deep dive of why he had to quit while he’s standing in the room he had to do it in. “I still come by to see Ms. Laseaux when I won’t interrupt classes. She was my instructor for six years of my life. She put so much into my lessons.”

“Were you good?” Eddie asks.

Steve laughs again. He’s not as confident as he pretends to be most of the time, but he’s sure of one thing: he was a phenomenal dancer.

“I was her best student.”

Eddie nods like he was expecting that answer.

“She mentioned wishing she could’ve had me earlier. Said she would’ve done anything to pair me with her star.”

Steve wishes more than anything he could’ve danced with Eddie. They would have been unstoppable. His dad would’ve never allowed him to dance with another boy, but the thought still makes him warm.

“I’m sure she would’ve had us in New York or Boston or Europe the second she could,” Steve smiles fondly. “She tried to bribe my mom into going behind my dad’s back for nearly a year.”

“I’m guessing he’s not okay with his son dancing like a fairy?” Eddie’s lip curls up in disgust.

“Bingo.”

“Well, join the club. That’s why I didn’t start until I lived with my uncle, but he couldn’t afford to put me in real classes,” Eddie explains. He’s rolling his ankles one by one while he stands there, something that Steve knows is a nervous habit, one he had backstage before shows. “Ms. Laseaux was a bit sweet on my uncle when I first lived with him. He didn’t have much time for dating, but I think they would’ve fallen in love if it weren’t for me. She wanted to do what she could to help, even when it was obvious they weren’t gonna work out.”

Steve does remember one visit only a couple years after he quit where she talked about a nice man who fell into some unfortunate circumstances, and how she wished she could do more than help his nephew out.

“She’s always been amazing. I wish I brought my slippers, I could’ve at least stretched and tried to learn some of that,” Steve gestures towards Eddie. “Not that I’d do it any justice with how long I’ve been out of it.”

“If you were as good as she says, I think you’d catch on quick enough,” Eddie smirks. “I have an extra pair if you think you can fit?”

It’s a huge no usually. Wearing someone else’s broken in pointe shoes is just asking for bad luck and injury, especially if you don’t know the dancer well. As nice an offer as it is, Steve should say no.

“I could try,” he says instead.

Eddie’s beaming smile silences any doubt he had in his head that this would be a mistake. He rushes to his bag in the corner and pulls out a practically brand new set of shoes.

Steve is hesitant to take them when he offers.

“These look…shouldn’t you be trying to break these in for your own feet?” Steve doesn’t know why he’s wearing torn up shoes when he has these. They look nice, and he recognizes the brand when he turns them over in his head. They are nice. Some of the nicest shoes you can buy without getting into the thousands of dollars range.

Eddie shrugs. “I like these.”

“But these cost a fortune. How did you even get these?”

“I saved up for them. I’ll break them in when I can’t wear these at all anymore,” Eddie smiles, nudges his shoulder to make him put them on. “C’mon, you need to stretch.”

Steve listens, walks over to the corner to put the shoes on, stretch out his legs and back, groaning when he pops his shoulder. He’s been a little tense all week, worried that his parents would come home for his birthday and expect him to do some kind of business dinner.

This is a much better way to spend his birthday.

Eddie is…frolicking might actually be the best word for it. He’s not exactly dancing, but he’s not really walking either. Steve almost gets too caught up watching his movements to finish what he’s doing.

“Do you want me to show you this one or do you wanna show me something first?” Eddie asks. He sounds excited, maybe even more than Steve is.

It’s not like quitting dance meant Steve actually stopped dancing. He just only did it at home, and had to make sure he was alone, which has been increasingly more difficult over the high school years. His friends practically lived at his house, even when he didn’t want them to.

But he’s still out of practice, and probably not nearly as nimble as this dance would require. He’s not sure what he would even show Eddie. His last dance recital was six years ago, and he doubts the tape with his music is even here anymore.

“Um, you can show me some of yours. Maybe the drum part?” Steve’s voice shakes with sudden nerves. He hasn’t had eyes on him while he danced in a long time. He wasn’t built like this the last time he properly danced, either.

Eddie smirks. “The whole song is the drum part, but I know what you mean.”

Steve blushes. Eddie takes position in the center of the room, leaving enough space for Steve to stand next to him.

They look at each other in the mirror. Steve nods.

Eddie moves so fluidly, even when he’s going slower to show Steve. It’s like he’s a waterfall and Steve’s the river below, waiting to take what he’s giving to move it along in a beautiful and seamless way.

It hits Steve when he’s watching Eddie turn that if Eddie’s never taken a proper class, he must’ve choreographed this dance himself.

“Steve?” Eddie’s hand on his arm startles him from his thoughts. “Need me to do it again?”

“Sorry. Yes, please,” he doesn’t know why he can’t focus, but Eddie continues to show him three more times and he still doesn’t quite get the timing right. “Sorry, I think I’m just distracted.”

“Why don’t you show me a routine you’re familiar with?” Eddie asks.

“I’m not sure I remember any enough,” Steve tries to say, but Eddie shakes his head.

“You’re a dancer. You remember.”

He’s right. He may miss a few steps here and there, or get the timing just a bit off, but he can remember most of every routine he ever did on a stage. He does it without music, something that Ms. Laseaux always made him do before recitals to ensure he knew the timing in his head.

He doesn’t pay attention to Eddie’s reactions until he’s done.

He’s breathless, and not just from the dance. Eddie’s eyes are shining, and his lips are parted in a way that makes Steve want to slip his tongue between them and taste him. He’s a bit thrown by the thought, but only because he hasn’t had those kinds of thoughts in a long time. Not since Nancy broke up with him.

Eddie stands from the floor and walks over to him, still seemingly in shock over his dancing.

Steve’s ankles are sore, and he’s a bit mad he chose the hardest dance he ever did. His heart is trying to beat out of his chest. His legs are shaking.

Eddie cups his face, eyes searching his.

“You should have let her bribe your mom,” he says quietly. “You belong on the stage, too.”

Steve feels tears prick his eyes and it’s ridiculous to be crying for the second time in front of Eddie, but he’s a little overwhelmed.

“I miss it,” he chokes out. Eddie nods because he knows. Maybe not the same way Steve does, but he knows his own yearning, his own pain at being unable to perform the way his body is capable of. He might be the only other person in Hawkins who understands him. “I shouldn’t have let him stop me.”

“You were a kid, Steve,” Eddie’s voice breaks. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“I do now,” Steve sounds more sure than he thought he could with tears streaming down his face. “What can he do now that I’m 18 other than cut me off? He won’t. My mom wouldn’t let him and his business partners would think less of him.”

Eddie’s brows furrow. He looks away for a moment, his lips moving around words Steve can’t hear. When he looks back at Steve, he looks heartbroken.

“Is today your birthday?”

Steve nods. He’s not sure why Eddie looks so upset. This is turning into one of the best birthdays he’s ever had and he’s starting to feel relief that he finally feels brave enough to stand up to his dad.

“And you came here?” Somehow, he sounds even more upset.

“I didn’t really want to go anywhere else,” Steve tilts his head as he answers. “This is always where I’ve felt the least lonely.”

“Dance with me.”

They danced already. A little. But Steve thinks he means something different now.

“What do you know?” Steve asks, a flutter in his chest at the thought of touching Eddie, lifting Eddie, feeling Eddie against him.

“Swan Lake?” Eddie asks.

“You know Swan Lake? How?” Steve doesn’t mean to sound rude, but he’s a little shocked someone who’s never even taken a ballet class would know the most famous pas de deux.

“I have eyes and an uncle who buys me tapes of famous ballets from some guy in Chicago. They’re shit quality, but I watch them so often, I’ve taught myself.”

“You’re amazing.”

Eddie laughs. “Let’s see if I can pull it off first.”

Eddie rushes over to the corner, searching through the tapes on the shelf. Most of the popular ballets are there, and Steve knows every piece from Swan Lake is probably on the top. All the seniors tend to use those for their solos.

He finds what he’s looking for and slots the tape in the stereo. Steve knows there’s a slow start to the music, and it allows plenty of time for them to get into position.

It’s easy falling into this with Eddie. They don’t even discuss who will take which part, they just fall into what’s natural. Steve hasn’t spent as much time en pointe as Eddie clearly has, so he takes the male lead, happy just to have his hands gently guiding through the dance. He’s not meant to be the star of the show, and he wouldn’t wanna be as long as Eddie’s the one front and center.

When they finish, it’s easy to close the distance between them, lips brushing together in the gentlest kiss Steve’s ever experienced. He immediately wants more, but he waits.

He may have been leading the dance, but he doesn’t want to lead with this.

Eddie cups his cheek, still catching his breath.

“Happy birthday, Steve.”

It throws Steve off. He almost forgot it was his birthday. He got so caught up in just being around Eddie, dancing, feeling this freedom he only ever felt at the studio.

He doesn’t remember the last time he actually celebrated his birthday. It had to be before high school, even though he remembers Tommy insisting on throwing him a party at his own house with his own food and beer for his 16th. That was less for his birthday and more for Tommy to show off that he knew Steve Harrington.

“You’re okay,” Eddie says.

Not asking. Telling.

Steve believes him.

The next time they kiss is in Eddie’s van, not even ten minutes later, after Eddie asks Steve where he wants to go for a birthday dinner, his treat.

“Benny’s?” Steve asks.

“You sure? Just the diner?”

Steve nods. “My parents are gonna drag me to some five star restaurant next week where the only decent food will be the dessert they don’t bring enough of. I want greasy shitty food and a milkshake.”

Eddie kisses him a third time and puts the van in reverse.

They’re both sweaty from dancing, and neither of them should technically be out this late on a school night, but Steve’s not alone.

It’s his birthday, he got to dance, and he’s not alone.

[itsnesss]

𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | max has a panic attack after a tough race, and you help him calm down with gentle support, soothing words, and lots of love

warnings | panic attack, anxiety, emotional vulnerability, comfort, fluff

word count | 1.1 k

🖇 more mv1 🖇 f1 masterlist

The hotel room is quiet, except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the faint murmur of the city beyond the closed windows. Max’s suitcase is on the floor, still unpacked, and his red cap hangs on the back of the chair, exactly where he left it when you walked in.

He didn’t say much.

In fact, he’s barely spoken since you got in the car after the race. The tension in his jaw and the furrow in his brow said more than any words could. You’ve learned to read that language by heart.

"Max," you whisper from the other side of the room, watching as he sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair.

He doesn’t answer.

You can only see him breathing — rapid, shallow — like something invisible is crushing his chest. His back moves quickly, and his shoulders tremble ever so slightly.

You move toward him quietly, not making any sudden movements. You sit next to him, leaving just a bit of space between you.

"Are you okay?" you ask gently, though you already know the answer.

Max shakes his head, eyes shutting tight like he’s trying to will the feeling away.

"I can’t..." he whispers, voice breaking. "I can’t breathe properly."

His chest rises and falls in sharp bursts. His hands tremble harder now.

Your heart clenches. You’ve seen Max under pressure many times. You’ve witnessed his quiet rage, his unstoppable focus, his fierce pride. But this… this is different. This isn’t anger. It’s anxiety. Pure, raw, and paralyzing.

"Max, you’re having a panic attack," you say calmly, not letting yourself panic with him. The last thing he needs is alarm from you.

His eyes �� usually so firm, so focused — meet yours in fear. Him. The man who takes corners at 300 km/h without flinching, now terrified.

"It feels like I’m drowning," he murmurs, digging his fingers into his thighs like he’s trying to ground himself.

You take one of his hands gently in yours, holding it tightly.

"I’m right here, love," you say, rubbing your thumb softly over his skin. "Breathe with me, okay?"

He nods, barely.

"Inhale with me. One, two, three..."

You take a deep breath, a bit exaggerated so he can follow. Max tries. The air comes in shakily, but it’s something.

"Now exhale. One, two, three..."

You repeat the process again and again. It’s not perfect. The panic doesn’t disappear like magic. But slowly, his breathing starts to steady.

"That’s it, baby. You’re doing amazing."

Your voice is a lifeline, a rope anchoring him to the moment. To you.

When his breath is a bit more even, you move closer and wrap your arms around him. At first, he’s stiff. Then, he melts into you. His head rests on your shoulder, and you feel his breath against your neck. Silent tears begin to slide down his cheeks.

"I shouldn’t feel like this," he whispers. "I’m Max Verstappen. People expect me to always be okay. To always be strong."

"You’re human, Max. And what you’re feeling is very real. That doesn’t make you any less strong. If anything, it makes you braver."

You hold him tighter, like you could somehow pour your calm into him.

"It’s not just the race," he admits. "It’s everything. The pressure. The expectations. The comments. People yelled awful things at me in the paddock today. And... I don’t know, I feel like I’m failing. Like I’m drowning in all of it."

You gently run your fingers through his hair, slow, soothing.

"You don’t have to carry this alone," you remind him. "You’ve got your team, your family. And you’ve got me. Always."

He clings to you like you’re the only safe place in the world.

"Can you stay here?" he asks, voice trembling. "Just... stay. Don’t say anything."

"I’ll always stay."

You lie down with him on the bed, still holding him close. Max rests his head on your chest now, and you rub slow circles on his back. Every stroke is rhythmic, calming.

Time passes quietly. The darkness in the room feels less suffocating now. More like a cocoon.

"Do you feel a little better?" you ask after a while.

He nods, softly.

"Do you want me to order something to eat?"

"Maybe later," he says, his voice rough. "I just want to stay like this for a bit."

"As long as you need."

After a moment, he lifts himself just enough to look into your eyes. The sadness is still there, but now it’s joined by something gentler. Gratitude. Love.

"Thank you," he says, brushing a hand along your cheek. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"You’d probably still be a world champion," you smile, "just a little bit sadder."

That earns a small laugh from him. Quiet, but real.

"You know what helps me when I feel like this?" you ask, still playing with his hair.

"What?"

"Thinking about nice things. Moments that make me feel safe. Like that time in Monaco when you ruined your shoes just to get me an ice cream."

He chuckles, a little louder this time.

"They were brand-new Louboutins. You never forgave me."

"Nope. But you did buy me flowers after, so you redeemed yourself."

"You help me breathe," he says suddenly.

The words are so simple, so sincere, they steal your breath.

Max takes your hand and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

"Can I ask for one more thing?" he says, lowering his gaze slightly, as if shy.

"Anything."

"Will you sleep here tonight? I just... I want to feel you close."

"I’m not going anywhere."

He nods, and snuggles back against you. This time, his head finds your chest again, and your arms wrap around him like he’s the most precious thing in the world.

And he is.

Night falls slowly, and the city lights blink faintly behind the curtains. Max has fallen asleep, breathing softly, his body finally relaxed against yours. You watch him quietly, fingers still tangled in his hair.

Sometimes, he forgets he doesn’t have to carry the world alone.

But you’re here to remind him. To hold him when he breaks. To remind him that it’s okay to cry. That being strong also means allowing yourself to fall.

And as you watch him sleep — so human, so beautiful in his vulnerability — you realize there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here, holding Max Verstappen’s heart in your hands.

And you whisper, even though he’s already asleep:

"I’m with you. Always."

[multifandombabe]

Gettin' Ahead of Himself

Jackson!Joel Miller x Reader | Word Ct: 1,322

"Y'keep gettin' banged up like this, 'm gonna have to start tyin' you to my hip, sweetheart"

Warnings: Mentions of injury, Tommy Miller likes to embarrass Joel

You’d taken a bad fall on patrol- nothing serious, but enough to make Joel’s face tighten with concern as he rushed to your side. He barely gave you a chance to speak before he was already there, hovering over you like a protective shadow. His hands were gentle but firm as he helped you to your feet, scanning you for any sign of more damage, his eyes searching you for any hint that you were hurt more than you let on.

“No stubbornness today, alright?” he grumbled, his voice low and rough with the familiar edge of concern. “You’re not ridin’ back on your own.” His words were firm, but the way his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched told you that he wasn’t taking any chances, no matter how small the injury seemed.

Without waiting for your protest, he practically scooped you onto the back of his horse, his strong arms steadying you as he helped you settle. You could’ve ridden your own horse just fine, but Joel wasn’t having any of it. He was already mounting in front of you, and before you could even protest, he gave you a reassuring glance over his shoulder, his voice softer this time.

"Hold on tight, missy," he said, though there was a tenderness beneath the words that wasn’t lost on you. His usual gruffness was replaced with something warmer, the way he adjusted his grip on the reins as if to make sure you were secure, like you mattered more than the ride itself.

The journey back was slow, more for your sake than his, and Joel’s movements were careful, as if every turn of the horse’s hooves was calculated to keep you steady. A few times, you felt his shoulder brush against yours, and the closeness of it made something in your chest tighten. He didn’t say much after that, but the quiet way he would glance back, checking on you as though you might break if he wasn’t looking, spoke volumes.

Joel may have tried to hide it, but the tenderness was there, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

Now you were sitting on an overturned crate, hissing a little as Joel cleaned the scrape on your thigh, one of many small cuts and bruises you earned from your tumble. His hands were careful- too careful- rough fingers brushing so lightly it almost tickled.

"Hold still," he grumbled, but there was no real bite to it. His thumb lingered a second longer than it needed to, tracing the unbroken skin just above the wound. You caught the way his brows furrowed, the slight clench of his jaw. Like he was mad at the world for letting you get hurt, even if it was just a stupid rock you’d tripped on.

"Y'know," he said, voice low, almost thoughtful as he taped a bandage down, "y'keep gettin' banged up like this?" He leaned back just a little, giving you that look- the one where his eyes dragged slow over your face, lingering at your lips before he caught himself. His mouth curled into a rough half-smirk. "'m gonna have to start tyin' you to my hip, sweetheart. Only way to keep you outta trouble."

You let out a quiet laugh, trying to play it off. Joel caught the flicker of it- the way your breath hitched, the way your fingers fidgeted against your thigh. A small wave of confidence falling over him, he moves his hand over your knee, featherlight, like he was thinking about pulling you closer... but he stopped short, clearing his throat roughly.

A beat passed. Joel’s eyes darted away, like he realized a second too late how forward he was being.

"Suppose I oughta... check the perimeter. You can finish wrapping the bandage yourself, I taught you how." he muttered, already stepping back, grabbing at any excuse to get out of the room before he made an even bigger fool of himself.

You bit back a smile, watching him retreat- his ears a little red, shoulders a little stiff- and shook your head, more amused than anything.

Joel quickly turns, ready to make a hasty exit, only to come face to face with his brother, leaning in the doorframe.

Tommy raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest. "Well, well, well. Look at you, old man. Tryin' to make a clean getaway, huh?" His grin was wide, practically teasing as he took in the scene. "You in that much of a hurry to get away from the patient?" His gaze flickered to Joel’s face, catching the subtle redness of his cheeks, before flicking back to you, a wicked smile spreading from under his mustache. "What’s goin’ on here? You seem a little... flustered, Joel."

Joel froze for a moment, his hand still gripping the first aid kit. His eyes darted toward Tommy, his brow furrowing in a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his composure, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away. "I'm just... checkin' on her, Tommy," he muttered, voice rougher than usual. "Nothing to it."

Tommy chuckled, pushing off from the doorframe with a smug grin. "Right, just 'checkin' on her.' That’s why you look like you’re about to bolt outta here faster than a deer hearin' a gunshot." He took a slow step forward, his smirk only widening as he took in the sight of Joel’s flushed face. "C'mon, Joel. You ain’t foolin’ nobody. You’re sweatin’ like a pig, and you sure as hell don’t look like you’re just ‘checkin' on her.'"

Joel’s gaze snapped to Tommy, and for a moment, you could see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to come up with some sort of defense. But instead, he just exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Shut up, Tommy."

Tommy laughed and turned his head toward you, eyes twinkling with mischief. "What’d you do to him, huh? You sure you didn’t knock a little sense outta him when you fell?"

You couldn’t help but laugh at Tommy’s teasing, and you shot Joel a playful glance, enjoying the rare moment of seeing him so... flustered. "Maybe I knocked some sense into him," you said, your voice light, though there was a soft warmth underneath.

Joel’s eyes flickered toward you, and he scowled, but there was no real heat behind it. "I swear to God, I’m gonna—"

Tommy interrupted with a loud, exaggerated sigh. "God, you two are hopeless." He shook his head, clearly enjoying every second of it. "Just admit it, Joel. You’re a damn softie. It’s cute."

Joel rolled his eyes, but you saw the corners of his mouth twitch upward despite himself. "I ain’t soft," he muttered, though the twinkle in his eyes betrayed him.

Tommy just laughed again and pat his brother on the shoulder. "Fine, fine. I’ll leave ya to it. But next time, try not to look like you’re about to faint every time she gets a scratch, alright?"

Joel watched Tommy head out the door, his posture slowly relaxing as his brother's teasing faded into the background. But the moment Tommy was gone, he turned back to you, his face still slightly flushed, though he tried to mask it with a gruff look.

"Ignore him," Joel grumbled, kneeling down to finish wrapping the bandage, despite how desperately he wanted to escape earlier. "He’s an idiot."

You raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your smile. "Sure thing, Joel. But I think he’s right about one thing..."

Joel paused, glancing at you with a questioning look. "What’s that?"

"You definitely look a little flustered." You couldn’t help the teasing tone that slipped into your voice.

Joel sighed, sitting back on his heels, his eyes narrowing in mock irritation. "I’m not," he muttered, his eyes searching your face for any indication whether you believe him or not.

You don't.

[m4rs-ex3]

Mars do you you have any rayllum wedding/propsal headcanons... share them or explode in this instant

you're probably dust by now but sure

they'd definitely talked about it before - and they had barely needed to, because they'd known it was happening since the (secondary) beginning - but only in a "we're definitely both ready but it'll happen when it happens" way, at least in part because they both secretly wanted a proper proposal.

of course, callum immediately decided he would be doing just that. although it took a while to a) get the perfect opportunity and b) work up the confidence to propose the idea (in a different way) to ethari.

after spitting it out awkwardly and getting a spine-breaking hug, they immediately get to work on designing. the one time rayla manages to catch ethari alone during the trip, however...

she's not quite as upfront about it, but she definitely implies she's thinking of doing the exact same thing.

ethari is caught very off guard, and has to desperately try to casually reject that. he tells callum who also freaks out, but he ends up spending the next month or so doing the same thing: subtly implying that now now is actually not the best time to keep her away from the idea. since rayla is always way more unsure of things, this works pretty well (maybe a little too well, as while he tried his absolute best to not hurt her, she ends up feeling a bit bummed out anyway because Mental Illness will do that.)

but she doesn't have to feel uneasy for long

i can't say i have a concrete vision as to how it happens, because there are just too many options!!! maybe it's that little ledge in the silvergrove where he told her he wanted a life with her for the first time. maybe he takes her to the base of that giant tree with a beautiful view at sunset where he gets to say that their whole relationship has been a bumpy ride. maybe it's the moon nexus, watching the moon fill the lake in the place where she left, where she now gets to promise she'll never leave again. i'm kind of OBSESSED with @raayllum's speculative s7 ficlet where he proposes on a boat by continuing Five Questions - which could still work!! he probably reunites his choir and all.

anyhow, he ends up taking her by the hands and going on a long, long spiel about how much he loves her (which doesn't really set off any alarms, because he does that every damn day [although he's oddly nervous about it...]), before he pulls out an ornate little box and looks up at her with the most lovesick eyes and she doesn't even let him get a word out before she pounces on him.

she's already crying uncontrollably, smiling ear-to-ear while she hugs him around the neck, but it then occurs to her she might have gotten a little ahead of herself. suddenly terrified, she pulls back to find him stunned and flushed and she's frantically asking y-you were asking me to marry you, right? when he starts laughing and confirming her assumption. after they both manage to break through the adrenaline-fueled fit of laughter, he properly pops the question and she tells him yes, callum. of course with a smile that hurts her face and her heart more full of love than she ever thought possible.

after a bit of making out he remembers oh yeah, the box! he presents to her a pair of the most gorgeous horn cuffs in all of xadia, embedded with two sky sapphires.

(at some point before the wedding, rayla asks ethari to make callum his own engagement jewelry - an earring with a coordinating moon opal. callum is admittedly surprised [it's an elf thing after all] but doesn't hesitate for a moment in happily accepting [he still makes rayla hold his hand when he gets it pierced, though.])

telling people doesn't really feel like that big of a thing because it's them but then again... it's THEM so it is a big deal

they don't have a formal announcement for anyone; they decide to start casually dropping it into conversation with their friends. they teasingly tell soren he can be the flower girl at their wedding, he just says aww thank you while corvus just stares, mouth agape, nudges soren, who does the math lady meme for like a minute before it clicks. callum asks harrow if they still have sarai's veil, harrow's eyes instantly go wide and teary. ez (the first one they tell, of course) asks what they did last night, they say oh, you know, got engaged. ez hugs them both, as excited as if it were his own wedding, so proud of his brother and so happy to have his sister.

they hold off on telling opeli until she figures it out herself. she only notices something's different when callum gets his earring, and is livid that they didn't tell her (she's very happy for them, of course). she immediately throws an engagement party.

full-blown wedding planning is a bit of a rude awakening; rayla gets stressed being the center of attention, not to mention how unnatural it feels to be anything close to a bride. callum doesn't mind, but hates seeing rayla so uncomfortable. but every time they get time alone they're reminded what this is all for, how worth it it is.

(thankfully they get plenty of extra help from the Royal Wedding Planner Council - ez, queens aanya, janai, and amaya, gren and kazi, opeli, ethari, and terry [he does the flowers])

like the engagement, there's far too many good options for the wedding for me to have a concrete vision of how or where. maybe a moonshadow forest wedding where the bioluminescence and string lights keep away the mist. a wedding just outside of evrkynd where the setting sun shimmers off the city's buildings. the banther lodge where they can watch the stars before retiring to their warm home-away-from-home. who's to say???

they break the no-see rule (rayla thought it was a stupid human tradition, anyway) several times throughout the day, sneaking away before they have to start getting ready so they can sit together and decompress. rayla has fun with a no-kissing rule, though

ez, soren, harrow, runaan, and ethari all pay a visit at some point to both their dressing rooms for heartfelt moments. rayla's makeup needs serious fixing by the time they're ready

they both get some special ceremonial henna tattoos and small braids. callum hand embroiders both of their clothing (he made SURE he was concealing as much of rayla's dress as possible apart from the sections he was doing) with some subtle little design motifs - the moon, wind and lightning, waves, lotus petals, feathers and wings, stars and constellations - for only them to see and appreciate

callum insists on having a first look, maintaining that the sight of her will make him incapable of participating in the ceremony. it was a good call; when he sees her, he nearly collapses. it's extra difficult to have to separate and resist the urge to go back to their suite immediately

lira is the flower girl, zym and stella are the ring bearers. i'm gonna let y'all fight in the notes about who officiates

between potential cultural differences and the already-kinda-weird practice of giving away, i like to imagine that callum comes to meet rayla at the end of the aisle and lead her the rest of the way. they're already quietly joking with each other by the time they make it to the altar.

it's a small reception and an even smaller ceremony. despite the fact that they never shy away from loving each other in public, something this special feels like it should be just for them and their loved ones. no one else will ever be able to understand how much they love each other, anyway

the vows are equally modest. if they said all they had to say then everyone would starve to death before they were done. they cover the important things, though; his truth, his guiding star, her heart, her sacred promise, their best friend, the loves of their lives.

in addition to the engagement jewelry, they get wedding bands. the real question is if rayla wears hers on her last finger and callum's ring, or if they both do the middle fingers for symmetry.

the reception is surprisingly serene; the final duty of the RWPC is to make sure they can entertain people long enough for callum and rayla to get plenty of time to themselves. there's a consistent supply of moonberry jelly tarts for everyone.

they sneak off maybe a little sooner then they should, initially with their friends so they can mess around with each other like they're all kids again. eventually they properly, finally, get one another to themselves. callum insists on bridal-carrying her.

they don't have a plan for their honeymoon. they simply set off on an adventure, one where they're not on a mission to save the world, and go wherever they want for however long they want

they immediately make it a habit to proudly refer to each other as my husband and my wife with great frequency.

but those are just some ideas idk

[sillylilsquid]

almost, always

pairing - hyun-ju x reader summary - after everything fell apart, you and hyun-ju keep finding excuses to stay in each other's lives. some loves don't end cleanly. some loves find a way back, even when they shouldn't. warnings - au!hyun-ju, afab!reader, angsty angst, brief sexual content, pre-bottom surgery hyun-ju. 18+, minors dni! 5.2k words

It was always the little things that piled up first. The unanswered texts. The late nights you spent waiting, wondering if she forgot, if she cared, if she was just tired or if it was you.

The arguments that started small and stupid–where to eat, what time to meet–and ended with slammed doors and swallowed apologies.

“You never take anything seriously,” she said once, standing in the kitchen, arms crossed so tight you thought she might snap in half.

You laughed–sharp, defensive. “It’s not that serious, Hyun-ju. It’s just dinner.” 

But it was never just dinner. It was never just one thing.

It was the thousand tiny disappointments that neither of you knew how to voice until they turned into something ugly.

It was her needing structure, needing something solid to hold onto–and you needing something a little freer, a little softer, something she couldn’t give without breaking herself apart.

It was both of you pretending you could fix it, even when you knew you couldn’t.

Until one night, after one too many fights, one too many wrong words, she said, quietly, almost kindly: “I can’t take care of both of us anymore.”

You didn’t fight her. You just stood there and let her walk away.

Present

It’s been six months since you broke up. Six months of pretending you don’t think about her every time you pass a cafe she liked. Six months of telling yourself you’re better off, even though every bone in your body knows you’re lying.

So when your kitchen light goes out–and the broken stool in your closet mocks you–you do the stupidest thing you could possibly do.

You text her.

hey. can you help me? my light’s out and i can’t reach it

It’s pathetic. You know it is. You stare at the message, thumb hovering over the screen, heart pounding. You almost delete it. But before you can, the typing bubble pops up.

Hyunnie omw.

Three letters. No hesitation. Just like that, you’re right back where you started. Waiting for her.

You don’t have to wait for long. 

Fifteen minutes, maybe less, before you hear the soft knock at the door–the same rhythm she always used. Three quick taps. One long one.

You hesitate with your hand on the doorknob. Some stupid, stubborn part of you still thinks: if I don’t open it, maybe I won’t have to feel all of it.

But you open it anyway.

And there she is.

Hyun-ju, standing in your hallway like no time has passed at all. Black sweater, faded jeans, keys hooked on her thumb. Tall and steady in the way you never learned how to be.

Her eyes flick over you–taking you in, checking for damage you’re not sure you even show–and then she smiles.

Small. Careful. Like if she gives too much away, you’ll both fall apart.

“Hey,” she says softly.

“Hey,” you manage, voice catching in your throat.

You step back to let her in. She kicks off her shoes without being asked, setting them neatly by the door–because of course she remembers how you hated when she used to track dirt across your floors.

The apartment feels too small with her in it.

Or maybe it just feels too full–with everything you’re trying not to say.

You point toward the kitchen lamely. “It’s the light in there. I can’t reach it.”

Hyun-ju nods, already moving. Efficient and calm. Like she didn’t once rip your heart out with her bare hands.

She grabs the chair from your table without a word, balancing carefully as she reaches up. You stand back, watching her–the stretch of her body, steady confidence of her hands, the way her brows furrow slightly in concentration.

Your throat tightens.

It’s stupid. It’s just a lightbulb.

But once, it would’ve been your how she was fixing. Your broken things she was trying to make better.

Now it’s just…charity.

She steps down lightly, flipping the switch. The kitchen floods with warm light. “There,” she says, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Good as new.”

You smile weakly. “Thanks.”

Silence stretches. You wonder if she can hear your heart beating through the walls. 

She clears her throat, rocking back on her heels. “You doing okay?”

Same question as last time. Same lie waiting on your tongue.

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a smile. “Fine.”

And for a second–just a second–you think she might call you on it. Might reach for you like she used to.

But she just nods. Tight. Careful.

“Good,” she says, too quietly.

You walk her to the door even though she doesn’t need help. Even though you don’t want her to leave. She hesitates at the threshold. And so do you.

But nothing happens. No apology. No confession. No miracle. 

Just two people still too close and too far at the same time.

“Text me if you need anything else,” Hyun-ju says, voice low. 

You nod, heart splintering. “Yeah. Sure.”

She hesitates like she wants to say something more. But she doesn’t. She just slips out the door, leaving you standing there, holding all the things you’re still too scared to say.

Six months ago

You never meant to fight that night.

You meant to talk. To fix it. To make her see you were trying. But somehow it always ended the same way.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Hyun-ju said, standing in the doorway, arms crossed so tight across her chest you could almost hear the bones creaking under the strain.

You sat on the couch, hands trembling in your lap, staring at the coffee table because looking at her hurt too much.

“It’s not that bad,” you said, voice cracking. “We just had a rough week. That’s all.”

Hyun-ju laughed–sharp and broken. “A rough week? You missed your interview. You forgot about dinner with my parents. You left the gas on in the kitchen.”

You flinched. “I said I was sorry,” you whispered.

“You’re always sorry,” she said, and her voice cracked too, despite everything. “I’m tired of having to pick up the pieces every time you forget how to live.”

You shot to your feet, chest burning. “I never asked you to do that!”

“You didn’t have to!” she snapped. “I love you, you idiot. I loved you enough to try. And you made me feel like I was holding this whole fucking relationship together by myself.”

Silence.

Just the sound of both of you breathing, ragged and uneven.

You stepped forward, desperate. “I can be better.”

She shook her head. Tears glinting in her eyes that she refused to let fall. 

“It’s not about being better,” she said, voice small. “It’s about me not wanting to feel like I’m drowning every time I look at you.”

You hated her for saying it. You hated yourself more for knowing it was true. You opened your mouth to argue. To plead. To promise you’d change.

But she was already grabbing her keys. Already putting on her shoes. Already walking out the door.

And you–you just let her. Because you didn’t know how to ask her to stay without hurting her even more.

Now

You don’t talk about that night anymore. You don’t even let yourself think about it if you can help it.

But Hyun-ju still texts sometimes.

When her car won’t start. When she locks herself out. When she needs someone at two in the morning and there’s no one else she trusts to come without asking questions.

You still text her too.

When you burn yourself cooking and need someone to yell at you until you ice it properly. When you get a flat tire and don’t know what the hell to do. When it’s late and you’re lonely and you tell yourself you’re just being practical–not desperate. 

Each text feels like stitching yourself back together with thread that’s already frayed.

Temporary. Inevitable.

Neither of you ever says too much.

Never how are you unless something’s wrong. Never I miss you even when it’s obvious. Never I’m sorry even though it hums under everything.

Just these small, bleeding moments of almost-love you both pretend are nothing. You know it’s stupid. You know you’re only hurting yourself.

But you also know: if she texts again, you’ll answer. 

Every time.

You pick a quiet place.

Small, tucked away. Half-lit and half-empty, the kind of restaurant where you can pretend you’re not two people who fell apart.

Hyun-ju’s already there when you arrive–sitting at a booth in the back, scrolling absently on her phone.

She looks up when she hears you, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear the way she always did when she was nervous.

Only now–you notice it’s longer.

Falling a little messier over her shoulders. Softer somehow. 

“Your hair’s gotten long,” you blurt without thinking as you slide into the seat across from her.

She touches it self consciously, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “Yeah. Guess I got lazy about cutting it.”

“It looks good,” you say, maybe too quickly.

Her smile deepens, a little more real. “Thanks.”

She lets her eyes wander over you for a second, lingering in a way that makes your skin feel too tight.

“You look good too,” she says, quieter. “Healthier. Happier.”

You duck your head, pretending to read the menu even though the words are blurring.

“Trying,” you mumble. And she hums–low and thoughtful, and for a second it almost feels easy. Almost.

Dinner is…easy, at first.

Small talk. Work. The weather. You both pretend this is normal.

You poke at your pasta, your foot brushing hers under the table, and it feels like it used to.

Almost.

And maybe that’s why you say it. Maybe that’s why you finally crack open your ribs and spill it out like it’s something worth offering.

“I’ve gotten better, you know,” you say, trying to sound casual and not desperate.

Hyun-ju looks up, surprised.

You rush on before you can lose your never. “I use the planner you bought me. Every day. I don’t miss appointments anymore. I even set like five alarms so I’m not late for anything.”

You laugh awkwardly, scraping your fork across your plate. “I’m…I’m more responsible now,” you say, quieter. “I’m not the same.”

Hyun-ju’s face softens.

She reaches across the table and squeezes your hand–just once, quick, like she’s afraid of what it might mean if she holds on too long.

“That’s good,” she says, voice warm. “I’m proud.”

And you smile. You smile because you’re supposed to. Because she’s proud of you.

But deep down, it feels like someone’s wringing the air out of your lungs. Because for one stupid, impossible second, you thought maybe–

Maybe if you got better–

Maybe if you fixed all the things she hated–

Maybe she’d come back.

But she just smiles across the table. Kind. Distant. Done.

Proud of you. Not in love with you.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, pretending you didn’t just bleed out in front of her. “Yeah,” you say, voice almost steady. “Yeah, it’s good.”

Neither of you says what you’re really thinking. That it’s too late. That getting better doesn’t undo the past. That some bridges don’t burn–they just…fade.

You finish dinner. You laugh at her jokes. You hug goodbye. And when she pulls away, she doesn’t linger. Not like she used to.

Back at your apartment, you stare at your planner–the one she gave you–open on the kitchen counter.

Tomorrow: meetings. Grocery run. Doctor’s appointment.

Everything neatly written out. Everything structured. Everything good.

You’ve gotten better. You really have. But it doesn’t matter. She’s still gone. And you’re still her–mad at yourself for wanting her anyway.

A few weeks later

The texts don’t stop after dinner. If anything, they come more often now.

You send her pictures sometimes–small glimpses into your day. Your coffee in the morning. Your planner spread out across your desk, scribbled full of meetings. Your smile, shy and proud, after hitting the gym for the first time in weeks.

Hyun-ju always answers.

proud of you.

you look good. happy. 

And it’s enough to keep you breathing. For a while.

You didn’t mean to send the next text. Not really. 

You’re just feeling reckless one night–buzzed off loneliness and one too many glasses of wine.

Your skin warm. Your heart stupid.

You take a few more photos. First one, smiling at the mirror, hairy messy, t-shirt too big. Second one, slipping the t-shirt off one shoulder, baring skin you know she used to worship. Third one, lower, suggestive, soft and a little desperate even though you don’t say anything.

You hit send without thinking. And immediately regret it.

She doesn’t reply. Not right away. You spend an hour lying on the floor staring at your phone, heart pounding, stomach flipping.

Finally, the screen lights up. Incoming call. Hyunnie.

You answer without thinking, “Hey,” you breathe.

She doesn’t answer for a second. When she does, her voice is wrecked. “We have to stop this.”

You sit up too fast, panic slicing through you. “What?”

“We can’t keep talking like this,” she says, a little steadier. “It’s not fair. To either of us.”

Your throat tightens. “Please don’t–”

“I can’t…” She exhales sharply, and you can hear her struggling with it.  “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay. I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to come over there every time you send me something like that.”

Tears sting in your eyes, hot and fast. “I’ll stop,” you whisper desperately. “I’ll be good. Just–don’t leave.”

Silence hums across the line.

“I promised myself,” she says, voice breaking, “I promised myself I’d take care of me this time.”

You press your fist to your mouth, trying to stay quiet, but a choked sob slips through.

And that’s what does it. That’s what breaks her. “I–shit,” she mutters. “I’m coming over.”

The line goes dead.

You’re still curled on the couch, wearing the same stupid oversized shirt, wiping tears off your cheeks with the sleeves, when you hear the knock at the door.

Soft. Three quick taps. One long one.

Hyun-ju stands there–messy, breathless, soaked from the light drizzle outside, looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world she ever learned how to love.

Neither of you says anything. You just launch yourself at her.

She catches you easily, arms wrapping around you so tight you can barely breathe–but you don’t care.

You press your face into her neck, inhaling the scent of rain and sweat and regret.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against her skin.

“No,” she says fiercely, pulling you closer. “I’m sorry.”

She presses a kiss to the top of your head. Another to your forehead. Another to your trembling mouth.

It’s not careful. It’s not clean. It’s messy and hungry and wrong.

But you let her kiss you. And you kiss her back. Because neither of you ever learned how to let go properly. And maybe you never will.

Hyun-ju kisses you like she’s drowning.

Like she thinks if she stops, she’ll realize how stupid this is–how doomed you both are–but she can’t stop. Her hands are shaking where they grip your hips, holding you close like she’s terrified you’ll disappear.

You break apart for a second, gasping.

“This is a bad idea,” she says, voice low, wrecked, forehead pressed against yours.

You nod, heart hammering against your ribs. “I know.”

Her fingers trail up your arms, ghost-light, hesitant. “We shouldn’t,” she breathes against your lips.

“You can stop,” you whisper back. “If you want.”

You feel her shudder. But she doesn’t stop. 

She leans in again–slower this time–mouth brushing yours so lightly you could almost pretend you imagined it. Another kiss. And another. Each one a little deeper. A little more desperate. 

Her hands move like she’s afraid to touch you and terrified not to.

She presses you back into the couch, following you down, the weight of her body so familiar it makes your chest ache.

You arch into her, fingers threading through her damp hair, pulling her closer, and she groans–wrecked–into your mouth.

“I’m supposed to be stronger than this,” she says, voice cracking.

“You are,” you whisper, thumbing over her cheekbone. “You are.”

Another kiss. Harder. Rougher. 

Her hips slot between yours, and you gasp, feeling the heat of her, the way she’s already trembling.

“Tell me to stop,” she pleads, breathless.

You cup her face,  forcing her to look at you. “I won’t,” you say softly. “I want this.”

Her eyes slam shut. Her forehead drops to your shoulder.

And then she’s moving.

Sliding her hands under your shirt. Mapping the skin she used to know by heart. Kissing her way down your throat, across your collarbone, dragging her teeth lighty where she knows it’ll make you shiver.

Clothes fall away, messy, half-forgotten on the floor.

And the whole time–

The whole aching time–

She keeps whispering, “We shouldn’t be doing this,” even as she presses deeper into you, even as her hands roam desperate and frantic over your body.

You arch against her, moaning softly, and she curses under her breath, breaking apart at the seams.

“Hyun-ju,” you whisper, guiding her hand lower. “Please.”

It’s the please that shatters her. She sinks into you like gravity gave up, mouth finding yours again, kissing you slow and deep and broken.

When she finally pushes inside you–slow, careful, trembling–you both gasp at the same time. And it’s not rough. It’s not quick. It’s aching. 

Like she’s trying to memorize the shape of you. Like she knows it’s the last time she’ll get to have this.

You clutch at her, nails digging into her shoulders, pulling her closer, closer, closer.

And she gives you everything. Every broken piece. Every unfinished sentence. Every fucking thing she spent months trying to bury.

You come undone together–messy, desperate, whispering each other’s names like prayers neither of you believe in anymore.

She doesn’t pull away immediately. She just rests her forehead against yours, both of you trembling, both of you too full of regret and relief and sadness to move.

“We’re so stupid,” she whispers hoarsely.

You close your eyes, feeling tears prick. “I know,” you say. But you don’t let go. And neither does she.

The room is dark now. The rain tapping against the windows is the only sound.

You’re lying in Hyun-ju’s arms, both you stripped down to nothing, skin cooling where it was just burning minutes ago.

Sheets tangled around your legs. Your head tucked into the curve of her neck. She’s holding you too tight, like she’s scared you’ll disappear if she lets go.

You keep your breathing slow. Even. Pretending you’re asleep. You’re not. You’re so awake it hurts.

You feel her shift slightly, her hand brushing gently up and down your back, so light it barely feels real.

And then you hear it. Her raw voice, low, barely a whisper into the darkness: “Fuck,” she mutters. “I miss you.”

You stay perfectly still. Hyun-ju exhales shakily, pressing her nose into your hair.

“These past six months…they’ve been hell.”

Her fingers tighten on your hip, grounding herself. Or maybe holding herself back.

“I tried,” she breathes. “I tried seeing other people. I tried moving on.”

Another shaky breath. “But fuck…you’re always on my mind.”

You close your eyes tighter, tears pricking at the corners. “I’m so stupid,” she whispers. “We can’t do this. I can’t hurt myself again.”

Her voice cracks on the last word. “I can’t hurt you again.”

You want to turn around. You want to tell her you’re awake. You want to tell her you don’t care–that you’d let her break you a hundred times if it meant feeling like this for even one more second.

But you stay still. Frozen in place between what you want and what you know you can’t have. Hyun-ju presses a soft, broken kiss into your hair.

And then, quieter than before, “I love you.”

It’s not loud. It’s not for you to hear. But you hear it anyway. And it shatters you.

You wake up first. For a few minutes, you just lie there–watching the way Hyun-ju’s chest rises and falls, the way her hands curl instinctively against your hip like she’s still holding onto you in her sleep.

You wonder if she dreams about you. Or if you’re just another bad habit she can’t kick.

When she stirs, blinking awake slowly, the first thing she does is pull you closer, pressing her forehead to your shoulder.

Neither of you says anything.

The air is thick. Too heavy with everything  you can’t take back.

Eventually, she pulls away, sitting up slowly, rubbing her face with her hands like she’s trying to scrub away the night. You sit too. 

Both of you fully dressed now, standing awkwardly near the door, pretending this isn’t the worst thing you’ve ever done.

Hyun-ju grabs her jacket. Hesitates.

You reach for the doorknob but don’t turn it.

You glance at her–at the way her jaw clenches, the way her hands twitch at her sides like she wants to reach for you but knows she shouldn’t.

It would be so easy. One more kiss. One more excuse.

But she steps back. Gives you space. And somehow, that hurts worse than anything else.

“I’ll see you around,” she says softly.

You nod. “Yeah.”

She leaves without looking back. You close the door behind her and lean against it, pressing your forehead to the cool wood, trying not to cry.

A few days later you text her.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Nothing serious. Just hey and how are you and you left your jacket here.

Left on read. Every time. You tell yourself to stop. 

You don’t. You just keep staring at your phone like if you hope hard enough, maybe it’ll light up. Maybe she’ll come back. Maybe this time it’ll be different.

Four days later. Almost a week. Finally.

Hyunnie: can we meet up

Your heart stutters. You don’t even think, you just reply. Where?

Hyunnie: my place

You knock once. The door swings open almost immediately.

She’s standing there, hair messy, eyes dark, wearing that same oversized hoodie you always loved. For a second, neither of you moves.

Then she’s pulling you inside, slamming the door shut behind you, kissing you like she’s been starving without you.

The clothes fall away faster this time. It’s rougher. Less careful. More desperate.

Hands grabbing, mouths bruising, bodies colliding like you’re both trying to tear something out of yourselves.

You lose yourself in her–the way she gasps when you bite her lip. The way her hands tremble when she pushes inside you. The way she says your name like it’s the only thing tethering her to earth.

You come undone together again, messier this time, more broken.

But when you’re lying tangled in her sheets afterward, skin still buzzing, you can’t stay quiet anymore.

You trace slow circles into her arm, your voice barely above a whisper, “If you just…if you just want sex…” you trail off, swallowing hard. “I’m fine with that. I just…I just want to know you. Even if it’s only like this.”

Hyun-ju stiffens under your touch. You keep going–because you have to.

“I’ll take whatever you can give,” you say, blinking back tears “Even if it’s just…being your hookup.”

The silence after that is deafening. You can feel her breathing change–sharp and uneven. She pulls away slightly, just enough to see your face. Her own face crumples–like she’s breaking in front of you. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice wrecked. “I never wanted to make you feel like that.”

You shake your head, trying to smile. Trying to make it easier for her. “It’s fine,” you lie. “Really. I just…I don’t want to lose you.”

Hyun-ju cups your face in her hands, pressing her forehead to yours. “You were never just sex to me,” she said with a shaky voice. “Never.”

But she doesn’t promise anything more. And you don’t ask her to. Because you already know how this ends. And you’re still choosing her anyway.

You try to stay. You really do.

You lie still in Hyun-ju’s bed, your face tucked against her bare shoulder, breathing in the warmth of her skin like you can memorize it. Like you can make it last.

But you can't.

You can feel it–the ache growing heavier by the second. The way her arm around your waist isn’t tight enough. The way she shifts in her sleep, turning slightly away from you. The way everything between you feels unfinished and unsaid and already slipping away.

You stare at the ceiling for a long time. The digital clock on her nightstand glows red. 

3:17 AM.

You peel the blanket back slowly, careful not to wake her. You sit up, pulling your shirt over your head, slipping your jeans back on with shaking hands.

You glance back once. She’s still sleeping. Peaceful. Beautiful. So far away.

You want to crawl back into bed. You want to stay. You want to believe that this time will be different. But it won’t be. You know that now.

So you slip out the door. You don’t leave a note. You don’t send a text. You just walk down the empty hallway, out into the cold, and let the night swallow you whole.

You curl up on your couch, pulling your knees to your chest, burying your face in your hands.

And you cry.

Not the pretty, cinematic kind of crying. The ugly, gasping kind–the kind that shakes your whole body and leaves you feeling hollow afterward.

You cry because you love her. You cry because she loves you too, but not enough. You cry because some part of you still thinks if you were just better, different, more, she’d stay.

But you know the truth. You could become everything she ever wanted. And it still wouldn’t be enough to erase the cracks that already splintered you both apart.

You fall asleep on the couch, tear stained and shivering, clutching your phone like it might save you. It doesn’t buzz. She doesn’t call. And you don’t know if that makes it better or worse.

It’s been three days since you left her bed in the middle of the night. You haven’t texted. You’re halfway through convincing yourself she’s moved on–again–when your phone buzzes.

Hyunnie: dinner tomorrow night? 7pm. i made a reservation. wear something nice.

Your stomach flips so hard it makes you dizzy. You typed out a hundred different replies. You settle on one word. Ok.

The place is beautiful. Dim lighting. Crisp white tablecloths. Waiters in black ties gliding between tables like something out of a dream.

You set out of the taxi feeling underdressed even in your nicest dress. Your hands shake a little as you walk through the doors.

And there she is.

Hyun-ju–waiting just inside. Hair sleek, dark red dress perfectly fitted, holding a small bouquet of white roses. 

When she sees you, she smiles–wide, real, shy–the kind of smile that used to be just for you.

Your breath catches. She steps forward, offering you the flowers without a word. You take them, fingers brushing hers.

“Hi,” you mumble.

“Hi,” she says back, softer.

And somehow, the world tilts back into place.

She pulls your chair out for you like a gentleman, brushing her hand along your waist as you sit. You’re too stunned to say anything.

She orders a bottle of wine–something expensive, judging by the look the waiter gives her–and glances at you across the table like she’s memorizing your face.

You don’t ask why. You just let it happen.

The food is perfect. The wine is better. The conversation is easy in a way you forgot it could be.

She tells you about her work. You tell her about your little wins lately–showing up, staying steady, building a life piece by piece.

She listens like every word you say matters.

When the dessert comes–some fancy chocolate cake with fresh berries–she doesn’t even ask. She just grabs two spoons and slides one across the table to you, smiling that soft, crooked smile that makes your heart hurt.

You laugh under your breath and dig in, bumping her foot under the table accidentally–and not moving it away. Neither does she.

The check comes. She waves it away without looking. The waiter retreats, and for a long second, it’s just you and her, the candles between you flickering.

Hyun-ju clears her throat. “I’ve been thinking,” she says, voice rough, like the words are stuck in her chest. “About us.”

You hold your breath. 

“I miss you. Not just the…easy parts. I miss everything.” You blink, hands tightening around your napkin.

“I thought I had to let you go,” she says quietly. “I thought…that was the right thing. For both of us.”

A pause. A breath.

Her eyes lock on yours.

“But I don’t want to live the rest of my life wondering if we could've gotten it right.”

Your heart slams so hard you feel it in your fingertips.

“I want to try again,” her voice is steady now. “I want us.”

The room blurs at the edges. You’re not sure if you’re breathing. But your voice is calm when you answer in a whisper, “Yeah. I want us too.”

And when she reaches across the table to lace her fingers through yours–this time, you don’t hesitate.

You hold on. Tight. Like you’ll never let go again.

The night air is cool when you step outside the restaurant. The streetlights buzz softly overhead, the city humming around you–but it feels like you’re moving through a world made just for the two of you.

Hyun-ju slips her hand into yours without asking. You squeeze her fingers, and she squeezes back.

You walk slowly, no destination in mind, just soaking it all in–the warmth of her hand, the quiet rhythm of her footsteps next to yours.

It feels fragile. It feels real.

You pass a little park, empty this late at night. The fountain glitters under the streetlamps, tossing little shards of silver across the pavement.

Hyun-ju tugs you toward it, grinning shyly. You let her.

At the edge of the fountain, she stops, turning to face you, her free hand brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

“You’re beautiful,” she says quietly.

You flush, ducking your head. “You’re just saying that because you fed me three courses of fancy food.”

She laughs, a real laugh, the sound curling around your heart. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You meet her eyes–steady, calm. For a moment, neither of you moves. And then she leans in.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just soft.

Her lips brush yours–gentle, slow, careful like she’s relearning you piece by piece. You kiss her back, arms sliding around her neck, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between you.

When you finally pull away, she presses her forehead to yours, breathing you in.

“I’m not perfect,” she whispers. “I’m gonna fuck up sometimes.”

You smile, thumb stroking her jaw. “Me too.”

“But I’m staying this time,” she says, voice shaking a little. “I’m staying.”

You nod, tears pricking at your eyes, but you laugh through it. “Good,” you whisper. “Because I'm not letting you go again.”

Hyun-ju kisses you again–longer this time–and you let the city blur around you, let the world fall away.

Because for the first time in a long time, it feels like the two of you are finally standing still. Finally choosing each other. Not because you’re scared. But because you’re ready. Together. This time for real.

[somepancakeonline5377]

Are you guys completely unable to consume anything Captain Underpants related due to how excited you get and it being physically unbearable to watch because you get lightheaded, your heart starts racing, and you start to feel like your running low on oxygen so you start breathing heavily

or is it just me?

[lesbiansanemi]

I'm so tired

[kkusuka]

pt. 2

your roommate was a strange man.

can you even really call him a roommate if he's only home for one week every few months? but when he is home, simon riley is a pretty good roommate.

he fixes the heater that's been broken for two months, he replaces the faucet after it drenches you for turning it on too quick, he even takes a look at your car when you mention how your breaks have been squeaking. but other than his penchant for whiskey and the color black, you really don't know much about the man you've been living with for more than a year.

he's in the military, you know that for sure. he works with a team because he tells you that you have a striking resemblance to a man names "soap"? you take that as a compliment even if he didn't really mean it to be one. he wears combat boots even when he's off, you buy him a pair for his birthday that he doesn't take off until soles wear out. but all of these are merely observations, you don't actually know anything about him.

and it's not like you don't try to find out more things about him. you search his name on google- nothing. you ask him about his social media- 'don't got any'. you never ask about family because he never brings them up. all you have is a phone number and the license plate on his beat up dodge charger.

so, getting a call in the middle of the night, three months after you'd last seen simon, about a mission taking a bad turn and simon taking a bullet for an american private. all you really manage to catch after that was the hospital's address and a room number to ask for.

you feel like you're in a trance as you pack yourself an overnight bag, then move to simon's room and just start grabbing the softest clothes you can find and a bunch of snacks from his side of the pantry, then you're off.

you didn't want to see desperate or overly worried about a man whose favorite song you don't know but you're pushing into the high 90s on your way down. and your mind isn't clear until you're standing in front of a tired looking nurse in sanrio scrubs.

"um, i need to get into room 1206?" you barely choke the words out before she's getting up to lead you, "oh! mrs. riley, they told me you were on your way."

"oh-i'm, well" and if you hadn't watch so many hospital shows where they don't let anyone but family into the room you would have just told her the truth, but you just shut your mouth, give her a tight smile, and follow her down the hallway.

the room doesn’t take long to get to, but the door is shut and you can hear the people inside talking. but the nurse doesn't even hesitate to swing the door wide open, "mr. riley, your wife is here."

and then there are four sets of eyes trained on you, but all you can look at is the hulking figure of your roommate sat up in his comically small hospital bed. and all you can muster up is a slight smile and a small wave in his direction before the bags you're holding fly straight onto the floor.

"oh, shoot- i'm sorry. i didn't know if you needed anything so i just grabbed some things from your dresser- and some of those granola bars you like, and there should be a gatorade somewhere in there. and, oh my god, i'm sorry, how are you? i came as soon as they called, and they said you got shot, and-"

"calm down, sweetheart, or yer gonna be the one that needs a hospital bed." ok, simon could still speak that was good, and he was conscious and remembered you.

"i'm sorry. i just got worried, and-" simon knew you well enough to know that you'll worry yourself to death if he lets you keep going, "nothin' to worry about, sweetheart, pull up a chair, you've 'ad stressful few hours."

you practically fell back into the chair that the man with the kindest brown eyes you've ever seen pushed towards you. and for the first time since you arrived, you took a deep, long breath. hand clasped in your lap as you take simon in.

"feeling any better, mrs. riley?"

"she's fine, garrick." 

'garrick' seems utterly unphased by your roommate's- husband's? you can address that later- tone and just continues to smile at you.

"c'mon simon, we just wannae ken 'bout the bonnie lass yer hidin' from yer pals. ye 'aven't even introduced us." you're glad the scot waited until you'd calmed down to start speaking because it took you at least 30 seconds to realize he was even talking about you.

"sweetheart these are the boys, boys this is sweetheart, now fuck off before you scare 'er away"

they didn’t seem like they were going to leave until the older man practically dragged them out saying something about the heaping loads of paperwork they had to do. so will a little wave and a cheeky smile, they were gone.

"so, um, ho-how are you feeling? they, uh, said that you got shot?"

" 'm fine, sweetheart, better knowing i've got a bird at home who'll come runnin' cause she thinks 'm hurt, yeah wife?"

yeah, maybe you'll let the mrs. riley thing go on for a little bit longer.

idk i just really like the idea of simon just picking someone random and being like 'yeah this is it, you're mine now' and they have literally no idea

[monstersholygrail]

As part of his job duties, Demon Guard often walked around the offices as a sort of patrol. Of course, he often used this as an excuse to just fuck around or to actually fuck. But for some reason that day he found himself actually walking further along his route than usual.

And that’s when he heard you in the break room.

“I swear, I’d sell my soul to fuck Demon Guard just once!”

Followed by you and whatever coworker you were talking to bursting out into a fit of scandalized laughter.

Something old and buried flickers back to life inside of Demon Guard. His long reptilian tongue slithers out as he licks his lips, a smirk spreading across his face. With only a few steps forward he makes himself known, walking up behind you and leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“I haven’t dealt souls in a long time, sweetheart, but for you I can give it a shot,” he purrs, relishing in the way you shiver against him.

You honestly don’t know how to respond, your face more red than a tomato. Unable to fully believe that he’s right behind you and heard what you said. You’re still pretty stuck frozen when he takes your hand and drags you out of the break room.

When you come to you realize he’s brought you to the camera room full of the security cameras. You barely have a moment to look around before Demon Guard’s mouth is on yours and he’s kissing the daylights out of ya. His tongue licks along your seam and you gasp, allowing him to slide right in.

You moan around his long narrow tongue, your own swirling around his in your need to finally taste him. You almost can’t believe this is happening. You’ve imagined this a million different times, touched yourself in so many ways. Now that it’s finally happening you expect to wake up at any second. But this is real. You voiced your desire out into the world and he heard it.

“Now here’s the bargain, sweetheart. If you don’t cum for me at least seven times, you have to give me your soul,” he starts, his voice raspy and addictive. You could listen to it forever.

He starts walking you back and the moment your ass hits the control panel he’s picking you up and plopping you down right on top of it. His eyes don’t leave yours as he pushes your skirt up to your waist and tugs your panties down.

Next his hands go to his unbuckle and he slides his pants down enough to free his enormous cock, though his gaze refuses to let you look away. He steps closer and pushes his tip through your soaked folds, growling as he sees just how wet and needy you are for him. As if your desperate panting and bucking hips wasn’t evidence enough.

“And if I can’t make you cum at least ten then I will bind myself to you for eternity to use as you see fit,” he finishes with a cocky smirk like he’s just composed the worlds greatest bargain and he’s so very proud of himself for it.

And you know, maybe he has.

Without waiting for the verbal bargain to be struck, like he knows it’s an offer you just can’t refuse, he slams his cock inside you in one smooth stroke. You cry out but you can tell he’s not satisfied with it, as if the stretch of his cock isn’t making your mind burst with unknown euphoria, and he starts in at a brutal pace.

His tail wraps around your waist, keeping you right where he wants you as he relentlessly runs his length up inside you. Not giving you a moment to catch your breath. Even as he hits every perfect spot along your walls he doesn’t wait to tease or savor. No, instead he focuses on ramming into them all over and over again. Each sensation crashing into one another until your body is buzzing with an overwhelming sensation of pleasure like you’ve never known.

Demon Guard watches you happily as you arch into him but with a direct intent. A certain intensity simmering in his gaze despite his dopey smile and light demeanor. Like he can see precisely just how close you are to the edge. His thrusts remaining so wildly consistent you have to stare at him in awe. The goal clearly to send you hurtling into your first of many orgasms.

He flashes you that cocky little smirk again like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. A loud moan falls past your lips as in that exact moment his hand slips between your bodies, finding your clit with alarming ease and rolling the bud of nerves so perfectly between his clawed fingers.

Your vision flashes white and you scream fiercely as you shatter around his cock. Your precious cunt squeezing the very life out of him if he had one. Demon Guard roars, literally roars, at the explosive friction of you clamping down on him. Yet he refuses to cum just yet, wanting to edge himself with the feel of you.

Though he holds you as you shake in his arms, helping you work through it. And when you finally clear the spots from your eyesight you’re quick to find him, already looking down at you. Wanting to catch every little reaction. Your pussy flutters as that smirk remains firmly on his face.

“One down, sweets. Six and Nine to go,” he explains, a wickedly playful expression flashing over his face so quickly you wonder if it was real or if you were only seeing things…

You’ve only had one orgasm so far. Something tells you by the end of the day you’ll be so delirious with pleasure you won’t be able to tell up from down.

[tqlepatia]

OMG BODYGUARD OR DBF! SEVIKA (your choice) X READER WHOS SPOILED ROTTEN AND LOWKEY A BITCH😵‍💫

౨ৎ - abby! bodyguard. × reader! spoiled. ( headcanons )

- abby who is convinced you were put on this earth just to ruin her life, You are the worst kind of rich brat-entitled, demanding, and way too hot for your good. Abby swears she's never had a more difficult client. You complain about everything. The weather? Too hot. The car? Too old. The security detail? Too boring. "I don't need a babysitter," you snap, rolling your eyes as she opens the car door for you. Abby just stares, unamused. "Then stop acting like a damn child."

- abby who refuses to quit, no matter how insufferable you are, she has dealt with tough assignments before, but nothing compares to dealing with you. You’re reckless, entitled, and a complete pain in the ass. But she grits her teeth and does her job—because Abby is not the type to quit, no matter how badly you tempt her to.

- abby who grits her teeth every time you bat your lashes and say, "be a good girl and do it for me", You are so manipulative, and the worst part? It works. "Carry me," you whine, arms outstretched. "No," Abby says immediately. "But my feet hurt." "Should've worn better shoes." "Abs," you pout, tilting your head just right. "Be a good girl and do it for me?" And just like that, she's lifting you into her arms, scowling the entire time.

- abby who becomes your everything—because you have no one else, Your dad is a controlling bastard. He doesn’t let you have friends, doesn’t let you go out alone, doesn’t let you do anything without his approval. Except Abby, Your only escape, One night, you’re sprawled on the couch, arms crossed. “I wanna go out, Abby barely glances up from her phone. “Not happening.”, you whine “C’moooon,” stretching, knowing damn well the way her eyes flick to the bare skin of your stomach. “My dad’s not home. Just take me somewhere.”, she sighs turning off her phone. "where?", You grin. You’ve already won.

- abby who never gets a break because you refuse to wear sensible clothing, you live for short skirts, low-cut tops, and heels that make walking a death wish. And Abby? Abby has to suffer. Every time she places a protective hand on your lower back, she can feel how warm your skin is. Every time she pulls you away from a crowd, your perfume makes her lightheaded.

- abby who loses her mind when you whine, you hate being told no, and Abby lives to tell you no. “No, you can’t go out alone.” “No, you can’t have another drink.” “No, I am not carrying you because you wore stupid heels again.” But when you pout, when you tug at her sleeve and whine, “Abs, please,” she swears her brain short-circuits.

- abby that pretends to hate you sitting in her lap, but never stops you, “There’s so many seats, princess,” she groans as you plop yourself down onto her lap for the fourth time that day. “Mhm,” you hum, wiggling a little just to make her life harder. “But this one’s the best.” She swears she’s going to kill you one day.

- abby who ends up doing all the ‘girlfriend’ things, She doesn’t just take you out. She spoils you—not because she wants to, but because you’re a fucking menace if she doesn’t. The movies? She lets you pick. You pick something horrible, just to mess with her. Abby suffers in silence, Shopping? She holds your bags, rolls her eyes when you keep buying things, but pays when you “accidentally” forget your wallet, Coffee? She already knows your order by heart. She glares when you make her say it for you.

- abby who sees too much, You love lingerie. Delicate straps, sheer lace, silk that barely clings. And you love making Abby watch. Every time you change, she's in the room. Arms crossed, jaw tight, pretending not to stare. "Abs, do you think my tits look good in white lace?", she sighs passing her hands trough her braid, and looking away to you not notice the reddnes in her face "You're asking that for your bodyguard?", You cups your tits looking at mirror, turning to her "who else im gonna ask?".

- abby who, despite everything, is so fucking soft for you, When you fall asleep on the couch? she carries you to bed. When you pout because no one remembered your birthday? she surprises you with a stupid little cupcake. When you press against her, half-asleep, murmuring her name? she doesn't push you away.

[shotmrmiller]

size difference where the one afraid to fuck you is simon. he thinks you soft. which is what you are. soft. fragile. small.

you're not like him. nothing like the guys. battle-scarred. muscles carved by relentless missions, scars that speak of duty.

your skin divots under his fingers, yielding to his weathered touch and if he squeezes hard enough, you'll have marks by morning. (he needs to be careful, he can't hurt you, won't—)

and so simon watches you touch yourself in the beginning, clever fingers swirling over your slippery clit with practiced movements even though his cock is straining against his trousers painfully. he can hear you mewl his name through bitten lips and it takes all of his self control to not tug his jeans off, slot himself between your spread, inviting thighs and push— stretch open your fluttering walls, so hot and slick, until he meets resistance, until he can push no more but—

he can't. you'd hurt. and he'd hurt because he hurt you. he won't.

after, when your eyes are heavy lidded, mouth slightly parted in exertion, you remind him that you aren't made of glass. that you won't break. you'll shatter— in the way you do when his tongue replaces your fingers— but not break.

"not a virgin either, for christ's sake," you groan.

maybe he's thinking too hard about it. he knows your teeth have edges, knows your bite is swift when deserved. but all he's truly good at is making things give. biology made it so with his bulky frame and raw mass.

his eyes trace the contour of your collarbone. delicate. then it darts to the pulse on your wrist. vital. his hands, the size of dinner plates don't coax. they demand. he'd snap you like a twig, leaving nothing but splintered remains in his wake.

you don't seem to mind, however. it slightly alarms him. where's your self-preservation? do you enjoy pain? is this some masochistic thing?

he looks at you, all glassy eyed and dewy skinned (ethereal; you're practically glowing under the soft light of the full moon that paints the room silver) and he thinks of how it's going to take work to make it work. his cock is large (he's seen the guys' eyes pop out of their heads in the showers once they caught a glimpse of what's between his legs) but you're persistent in the end. one too many nights of having him without having him.

he understands. simon knows better than most what it's like to yearn. to want and not have. he'd cause you pain by not giving in, and cause pain by giving in. damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.

so he caves. promises to go slow. careful.

"i can take it," you bravely say but he's barely pressing himself to your entrance and you're already making noises that tug at his pathetic little heart. the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip-- you look so pretty, how'd a twisted creature like him get someone like you to come home to-- as his cock fills you has him feeling lightheaded. it takes every ounce of self control to not sink into your heat, to hook your legs around his thick waist and let gravity do the rest.

an unsteady hand weaves its way down to your stuffed cunt, fingers splitting into a vee, feeling how he splits your puffy lips, and the view makes him buck his hips involuntarily.

his hands tighten around your calves when you keen, a high pitched noise that swells the lust he feels burning white hot at the base of his spine, tips of his fingers, deep within his loins. he feels ready to burst.

and he's only halfway in.

your voice cuts through the ringing in his ears. "m-more, simon, c'mon," the n is low and drawn out.

his fingers bite into your flesh as he pushes slow, oh so slowly, until your vise-like cunt envelops him completely. the sibilant hiss you let out makes his hair stand on end. (shame pricks at his nerves like a thousand tiny needles when his cock twitches at the sound of your slightly pained moans)

simon doesn't move, feeling your swollen walls around his cock ripple, tighten and slacken, like it's got a pulse of its own. he could be here, in you, cock deep in paradise for the rest of time.

"fuck me," you warble out, hand rubbing your swollen clit to well up the pleasure that's being smothered by the searing pang of discomfort.

when simon cants his hips back, he watches his cock come out of you, glistening with slick. his jaw aches from how hard he's clenching it. control. got to keep it slow, gentle. slow, simon, slow, slow--

"harder."

he feels the sudden sharp sting of your nails and jerks forward in surprise, filling you completely in one fast movement.

your moan this time is needy, thick with want, arousal dripping from your voice as it does your pussy, coating him in creamy white, a frothy ring at the root.

simon can see the barest of bumps below your navel, or maybe he's seeing things, your hot cunt putting him in a state of delirium but the way you take all of his cock and continue to beg for more, beg him to fuck you like he means it even though he's twice if not thrice your size well...

you'll just have to forgive him on the finger-shaped bruises they're going to be on your body after.

(you'd looked so cheeky before he flipped you onto your knees, grabbing onto your delicate neck like a lifeline as he pulled your hips to meet his. you'd taken him easier here, cunt sodden with slick but the angle had him reaching a devastating depth no one else could ever dream of reaching and even though it'd sprung tears to the corners of your eyes at the pinch, "mama ain't raise no bitch.")

[naughtyjjk]

testing nanami kento’s self-control

characters: nanami x fem reader warnings: 18+, smut, riding, cock tease, edging, orgasm denial, begging, creampie notes: it's just so hot to see a man who's always composed start to break down hehe

whenever nanami comes home, his suit and tie are always in pristine condition, even after a long day of work. there’s never a strand of hair out of place or a speck of dust to be found anywhere. that’s just how he is—precise and focused and meticulous, almost to a fault.

even when you’re undressing him, kissing him, bringing your bodies together, he still manages to be so put together that it’s honestly a little frustrating. it makes you want to tease him to the point of torture and go slow enough that he falls apart. so slow that he begs.

you want to see him lose control. you want to ruin him.

pushing nanami down on the bed, you climb on top of him and grab the lube, slicking his cock with a few strokes. he’s already so hard, flushed red and throbbing in your grasp, desperate for more. when he bucks his hips to try and fuck himself in your fist, you let go completely and tsk at him.

“don’t move,” you say, coaxing him. “let me take care of you today.”

sighing, nanami lies back down, hips going still. you shift yourself so that your pussy is lined up with his cock, using a hand to brush the tip against your folds, never going further than that. this goes on for agonizingly long as you tease the both of you, feeling his hard cockhead poking at your entrance.

you push down a little, applying the slightest of pressure, and hold it there until you hear nanami groan, his cock twitching with arousal. he’s looking at you with lidded eyes, expression dark and hungry. “darling…”

but you only grin and move again, this time almost allowing his cock to slip inside you. almost. so close, but not quite there. you drag the head past your entrance, dipping barely inside, before you lift your hips again. nanami’s breath hitches, chest heaving. he swallows thickly, arms tense by his side, fighting against his instincts to keep himself still.

“ah—f-fuck—”

leaning forward to kiss him, you catch his bottom lip and flick your tongue over it. meanwhile, you spread your legs a bit wider and finally, finally sink down so that the very tip nudges inside you. only the tip. nanami is moaning your name in broken pieces, mixed in with a few curses and whimpers.

then you stop. again.

nanami groans in frustration and his hips jerk up involuntarily, but you were expecting it. you move with him, keeping just the tip of his cock in you, maintaining the position and refusing to let him go any deeper.

“wh-what did i do to deserve this teasing?” nanami asks, looking like he’s about to lose it.

you lick your lips and reply honestly, “you’re always so composed, kento. i want to make you desperate for it, see you completely wrecked for me.”

for a few more seconds, you stay in the same position, unmoving. the stretch of his cock is nice; he’s hardly even really inside you yet, but your pussy is already adjusting to his size, opening up for him. it’s so tempting to take all of him like you’ve done many times in the past, to ride him and bring him straight to the edge. but no. not yet. you have a plan to follow through.

lowering your hips just the slightest, you sink down further, taking more of his cockhead until the crown is almost fully inside. you can feel him throbbing against your walls, wanting more but never getting it.

nanami lets out a broken moan, breath stuttering. “you’re being cruel. how long are you going to make me wait?”

“that,” you say, “depends on how long you can hold out.”

as if to punish him, you raise your hips again, smiling wickedly as you pull away until all of him is resting outside your entrance again. it’s hard for you, too; you miss the feeling of having him inside. but you remind yourself that you’re going slow, as slow as you possibly can. slow so that you can watch nanami break.

nanami groans, low and needy. his hands clench and unclench the bedsheets by his sides. “fuck.”

without warning, you drop down again suddenly, less than an inch just so that you have the tip of his cock in you again. nanami gasps, throwing his head back against the pillow. you take in all the sensations: the messy feeling of lube and precum, the way nanami’s hard cock twitches with desire. how he’s struggling and using every ounce of his willpower to not buck up and thrust into you.

“good boy,” you lean in to whisper right by nanami’s ear, watching with delight as he shudders in response. he’s breathing hard, every muscle in his body tensed up.

you keep him there inside you for what seems like forever. every tiny shift of movement is agonizing and extra sensitive, sending waves of pleasure from where you two connect to the rest of your body. you can tell that nanami also feels it, by the way he’s losing control more and more with each passing second.

and that’s exactly what you want. it’s working. you’re going to break him down piece by piece until he’s nothing but a shaking, writhing, horny mess beneath you.

it’s such a fucking turn on to see nanami’s self-control slipping, breaths growing ragged, waiting in anticipation for whatever you’re willing to give him next. it’s getting hard for you to hold back as well. you let just a tiny bit more of nanami’s cock into your pussy so that all of the head is nestled inside and then you start the shallowest, most torturously slow rhythm you’ve ever done in your life. hardly moving at all, the most miniscule rolls of your hips to take only the tip of his cock over and over again.

up… and down…

up… and down…

“o-oh god,” nanami curses, and he can’t help rocking his hips to follow your rhythm, matching your pace. he knows better now than to try for anything more, knows that you could take it all away from him at any moment.

each time his cock nudges its way back inside you, your pussy clenches around him. tight, like it doesn’t want to let him go. and nanami moans, feeling your walls clamp down on his cock, wishing that he could feel your warmth along the rest of his neglected shaft, too.

he looks delirious now, so fucking aroused with his mouth parted and his eyes hazy and unfocused. his cock throbs and pulses inside you, making him dizzy with pleasure. the shallow thrusts are getting to him, slowly but surely, the sensation building up in tingling layers, bringing him closer to the edge.

honestly, you’re teasing yourself as just much as you’re teasing nanami. with only short strokes of his cock that barely manage to penetrate you, you feel empty, craving for him to hit your deepest parts. on one hand, it’s so fucking hot to drag it out like this, so arousing to see nanami at your mercy. on the other hand, you’re reaching your limit, too.

“beg,” you say. “tell me how badly you need it. let me hear you beg, kento.”

there seems to be an internal battle going on within nanami as he grits his teeth, trying to resist. but it’s futile; you simply keep moving your hips in that slow, steady rhythm until it becomes unbearable and nanami gives in embarrassingly fast, mind clouded with lust.

“hah—p-please, i can’t—fuck, please—”

“mm,” you consider his words. “please what?”

nanami chokes out a moan. “i wanna fuck you���ah, please, your pussy—” he looks at his aching cock, the precum spilling down the sides, the way his cockhead disappears into you. “let me come—i-i need—” then he gasps, “oh shit—”

it’s beyond arousing to hear him like this. in that moment, you don’t let him finish his sentence as something snaps within you and you give in to your own desires. your hips slam down on him without warning, burying all of his cock inside you in a single, rapid movement.

an intense wave of pleasure rushes through both of you, every nerve ending igniting at once. you moan, overwhelmed. you’re filled so deep and so fast that it takes a second for you to return to your senses. and nanami—fuck, the sound he makes, low and guttural, a stuttering, broken moan that should be illegal. his abdomen clenches, thighs shaking. it’s only one full thrust, but you can tell that he almost came right then and there.

“fuck.” his voice sounds destroyed, fucked out. chest heaving, he wants so badly to buck his hips into you until he’s spilling his release into you. it won’t take much more to get him there. but he very carefully doesn’t move, still following your orders, still being good.

“k-kento,” you whine, staying there, the sensation of his cock pulsing and splitting you open driving you dangerously close to orgasm as well. you don’t dare to move until the pleasure simmers down into something more manageable, until you’re sure that you’ve fallen away from the edge.

that’s when you draw your hips up again. still going slow, so fucking slow that it almost breaks you—but it breaks nanami too, and that’s what you’re aiming for.

by this point, nanami’s composure has completely crumbled. he’s resigned himself to the torture as you restart the aching, brutally slow thrusts. the tip of his cock dips into you, as far as the crown of his cockhead, and then pulls out almost all the way. again and again and again.

you’re dripping wet, the teasing against your pussy reaching an unbearable degree. there’s nothing you want more than to take nanami fast and deep, to feel him hitting your most sensitive spots instead of just playing with the entrance. but you almost have nanami where you want him and you’re betting on him to give in first.

“please—ah, m-more—” nanami cries out, breathy and horny and frustrated, trembling from the effort of holding himself back.

you keep the same pace, not giving him what he wants. keeping him just on the edge of satisfaction, waiting him out. and it’s infinitely worse now that you’ve both had a taste of what you could be getting instead.

your hips move up. then down.

then up again.

the crown of his cockhead catches and releases from your pussy, delicious friction causing your head to spin. nanami’s neck is arched, looking at you with narrow eyes, aroused beyond his limits.

“f-fuck, fuck,” he rambles nonsensically, body so tense. “please—let me—i’m—i need—let me inside you—i c-can’t take it anymore—”

“just a little longer,” you tell him, and nanami groans. “you can hold out for a few more minutes, can’t you? be a good boy for me.”

those words make a desperate, wrecked sound escape from his lips and his self-control is slipping, slipping, slipping. he’s turning wild under you now, squirming, writhing, frenzied and starved for his release. your own willpower is dissolving at the sight of nanami’s desperation.

your hips descend on his cock again, clenching tight around the tip. nanami sucks in a sharp breath.

up, agonizingly slow, leaving him throbbing at the loss of contact. this time, you let out a moan, feeling so empty. god, it’s not enough for you either, not nearly fucking enough.

“need you—n-need to feel you,” nanami pleads, whimpering, chanting your name over and over. “please, please, i’m close—fuck, i’m so—”

he’s panting, cock twitching madly, and this —this is exactly what you had been waiting for the whole time: nanami completely ruined, nanami undone by your actions, nanami looking at you with pure hunger and lust, overtaken by arousal. he seems to be right on the edge of pleasure, so close to tipping over, body burning with an orgasm held at bay. you’re sure that when you finally allow him to come, it’ll be ecstasy like he’s never felt before, coming harder than he ever has in his life.

and that’s the end of your limits. you can’t deny either of you any longer.

you slam your hips down all at once, plunging nanami’s hard, aching cock inside you.

“ah—!”

“f-fuuuck—”   

nanami moans, loud and guttural and absolutely wrecked. it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. his cock splits you open, so hard and thick, and you fall forward on his chest as your pussy spasms around him.

the sensation is entirely overwhelming, your mind going blank, pleasure jolting along your nerves tenfold, having built up by the teasing and denial.

“o-oh god,” nanami pants. he bends his knees to drive his cock even deeper inside you, and the change in angle makes you fucking delirious. “good, so good—”

you’re all out of patience. there’s no more waiting, no more drawing this out.

looking at nanami, you say, “kento. take what you need. make yourself come.” you swirl your hips in a circular motion, feeling his cock hitting every corner inside you, and both of you moan at the same time. “fuck me.”

something sparks in nanami’s eyes, washed over by a fresh wave of arousal. before you know it, he’s flipped the two of you over so that you’re now lying on your back and he’s propped up above you. his eyes stare into yours, so intense, and that’s when you know: he’s going to devour you.

with a growl, nanami begins to move, pulling out his cock just enough to shove it back into you. hard and fast and so, so fucking deep. your mouth parts but no sound comes out. you can’t think straight; your pussy feels so full, stretched tight around his aching cock.

“kento—kento—”

but nanami isn’t listening to you anymore. he’s so wound up, so fucking turned on beyond reason, that he can’t hold back anymore. he starts thrusting wildly and unrestrained using short, quick rolls of his hips to drive his cock into you. each inch that enters you burns with pleasure and the room fills with the filthy sounds of your moans, of nanami pounding his cock into you again and again.

“this is payback,” he says, voice low and raspy. it makes you shudder to think about what he has in store for you. “i'm gonna—hah—gonna fuck you until you scream. fill you up with my come. shit, and i won’t stop until you’re coming on my cock like the naughty fucking girl you are.”

nanami’s hips are stuttering but his pace never falters. his next thrust hits that sweet spot inside you, making you arch off the bed and gasp, sparks of pleasure dancing along your spine. and now that nanami has found it, he aims there every time, knowing how sensitive it is, how it brings you that much closer to the edge.

moaning, it’s all you can to do keep up with the brutal thrusts. your stomach coils, orgasm building and building, threatening to take over your body. it feels so fucking good. nanami’s cock is pushing deep inside you, hard and fast, pulsing against your walls, stretching you open. he uses a hand to find your clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen nub, and you cry out, hips bucking up to chase the sensation, clenching around his cock on instinct.

“oh—fuck, k-kento, i'm—i'm coming—”

the pleasure crests and your arousal spikes. you know that you won’t be able to endure it for much longer. and nanami is right there with you, thrusts turning erratic and desperate.

“m-me too,” he says, grunting. “come. don’t hold back. come for me, baby.”

one, two more thrusts and you’re moaning his name, body convulsing in waves. nanami fucks you through it, sending aftershocks to your nerves, and then he’s coming too, releasing everything that’s built up inside of him in spurts. he’s loud when he comes, mouth next to your ear; louder than you’ve ever heard him, riled up by all the teasing. his cock twitches inside you and his hips slow, eventually go still.

god, it’s so damn hot that it almost makes you want to fuck him all over again.

for a moment, both of you lie there, catching your breaths. then nanami pulls out slowly, careful not to overstimulate you. he holds you like that and you melt in his arms, all the strength leaving your body.

“next time,” nanami says, sounding defeated, “you’re going to be the one begging for it.”

.

tag list: @megumisdivinedogs @urlilwhore @l0rdgeosupport3rr @purple-obsidian @l0rdgeosupport3rr @minni-creations @fos-tis-zois @the-reas0n-is-y0u @cantfeelherface @rxmbzzz @lysaray @zelzablues @str4wbrrycandy @that-goth-bisexual @simping4u @iminlovewqr0w @sharks31 @pseudowho @jisoonunn @outkasti @anathemaspeaks @fushigur0slut4 @barryatsumu

(comment to be added/removed)

[hyprfixate]

for the taking :: [B.C] x [H.J] x [K.S] x reader

read on AO3

summary: of your three boyfriends, you like to push chan's buttons the most so that he'll really get things going. you sadly underestimate how wild things can get when you rile him up.

pairing: kim seungmin x bang chan x han jisung x reader

tropes: poly!skz mmmf foursome, porn without plot

smut warnings: mentioned free use dynamics, dacryphilia, dom/sub dynamics, brat play, overstimulation x100000, pussy eating, implied mxm dynamics, dom jisung, soft dom/sadist seungmin, hard dom/brat tamer chan, mentions of safewords (it's not used), unprotected sex but it's a long established relationship, reader initiated slight cnc, dirty talk, reader is called a slut as a degradation thing. it's really just pure filthy, not a plot point in sight.

author's note: i didn't plan to write this at all. idk where it came from. enjoy anyway!!

word count: 8.7k

You're laying on your stomach in your bedroom. The lights are dim, music is thrumming from your speaker, and there's a candle on your wax warmer.  It's a quiet, soft night, the kind that you don't see many of. There's always something going on in the duplex you share with your partners. It can be tiring, but in the quiet, you realize you sort of miss it. You fiddle with the green beaded bracelet on your wrist as you scroll aimlessly through your phone.

Then, the door across the hall slams.

Only you and Chan are home tonight, Seungmin and Jisung off God-knows-where for whatever reason. Chan was supposed to go out with them, but he had a project to finish for his job, the same project that had him losing sleep for the last few weeks. You may never understand what exactly goes into producing music, but from the way he stayed hunched over his computer 24/7, you knew it was complicated.

You're not at all surprised when you hear your door creak open slowly. You turn over, eyes catching Chan's as he stands in your doorway with his arms folded across his chest. He's wearing a haberdash of house clothes, including a baseball cap, but you can still see the dark tint on his eyes.

You feign innocence.

“Hey you,” you smile at him. “Taking a break?”

“Something like that. What're you doing?”

You shift your phone to the hand with your bracelet, holding it up and giving it a little shake. His gaze hardens even more. “Just on Instagram.”

His eyes are trained on your wrist, just like you wanted. He recognizes the bracelet. Of course he does– he and the boys bought it for you after one of your many, many conversations. You give a little smile. "It's cute, right? The green matches my t-shirt," you say sweetly. 

It does, but that's not the only reason you're wearing it.

You're wearing it because they know that green means go. Or yes. 

Or take.

"Did you need something, Chan?"

He doesn't respond, choosing instead to push up off of the doorframe and make his way over to you. You decide to roll onto your back to see him better, and by the time you're situated, he's standing over you, arms still crossed.

You gulp.

"Um, hi," you breathe out. Nervousness was not part of the plan. "I– Did you... need something?"

He drops one of his hands and grips your ankle, and where the skin connects you feel like you've been electrocuted. Your body comes alive immediately. You can only watch as he barely strains a single muscle as he pulls you down to the edge of the bed.

"Put your phone down," he instructs. He reaches the soft part of your thigh and pinches, lips curling into a smirk when you yelp.

"Channie, I—"

"I said," he repeats, a little harsher this time, "put your phone down."

You do as you're told, dropping it on the floor next to his feet. He keeps pulling until your entire lower half is hanging off the bed. With your legs spread like they are, you're certain he can feel the pulsing coming from between your legs.

He hums.

"You know why I'm here," he says lowly. It's not a question.

Despite the speed of your heart, you blink up at him dumbly, fighting against the wave of arousal that licks down your spine when he raises an eyebrow.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you manage.

Both of his eyebrows are up now, his expression seemingly surprised for a second before it fades. He nods lightly, almost as though contemplating what you've said, and then he releases you and takes a step back.

Your heart drops for a second. You think you've messed up somehow, or maybe your tone didn't come out right. You're about to backtrack, but then he's back, hooking his fingers into either side of your waistband, and with one simple tug he has your pajama pants completely off. 

If Chan is surprised that you're not wearing any underwear, he doesn't show it.

You gasp when the cool air hits your lower body, and you watch as he smirks. He returns his vice like grip on your ankle when you start to squirm under his gaze. 

"I see you still like to pretend that you have some ounce of control in this relationship," he deadpans. He tugs you back down the bed when you try to wiggle away. You're embarrassed that his strength doesn't seem to be affected by his sleep deprivation. "Come on, baby. You know better than that."

You fight back the giddy smile that threatens to take over your face at his voice. "I don't know what you're talking about," you lie. "Why're you bothering me? Don't you have work to do?"

"I can't focus," he says smoothly. "I couldn't stop thinking about you while I was working. About how much easier work might be if I could fuck you to clear my head."

"That's too bad," you shrug, hoping he can't see how you're clenching around nothing. "I was busy."

He hums absentmindedly, letting the hand on your ankle travel higher. He runs his fingers up your calf, then your knee, until finally he hooks the inside of his wrist behind it, forcing your legs to part. You gasp and try to snap them closed, but he only has to shift a bit so that his other hand is on your opposite leg, holding you open for him.

"Why do you always act like you're not dying for me to touch you, hm?" he asks, but it's rhetorical.  He knows you don't have an answer. You never do. Even so, when you stay quiet, he huffs out a humorless laugh.

"Okay. I'm going to give you two options, because I'm feeling generous." He holds up one finger. "Option one, you admit you're just being a brat, I'll fuck it out of you, and then we can both go back to what we were doing. Or–"

You whine as he abruptly leans down with your legs still in his hands, effectively folding you in half. "Or, option two, you keep it up, and I can tell the boys to come home. Then we'll make this a lot longer than it needs to be."

Chan is dangerously close to your face now. The brim of his hat is touching your forehead. You're almost sure he can feel your heartbeat through the fabric of both of your shirts.

"So what do you want, princess?" he asks, voice dripping with honey. 

You shiver. His gaze is so intense you forget how to breathe. At your silence, he yanks you further into him, pressing himself right up against your uncovered cunt. Even through his basketball shorts you feel the unmistakable heat of his erection.

"I said, what do you want?"

Fuck.

You can't take it anymore. You feel like you're burning with need. "I'm sorry, Channie," you whine out. You can see the fire in his eyes, the way he's so worked up already, and it makes you weak. "I'll be good."

He gives you a sweet smile, leaning forward to press a kiss against your mouth. You sigh into it, letting your body go lax so he can take control. 

Despite your attempts, brattiness never lasts long with Chan. With Seungmin and Jisung, you love the challenge, love making them crack and beg a little, but Chan is entirely unrelenting. You know better than to get him too riled up, especially if you actually want anything to happen.

The kiss is a stark contrast to what you know is to come, and you know that it's on purpose. He always likes to give you the chance to back out, a way to change your mind. Bracelet or no bracelet, your comfort is still always his first priority. It's what makes you comfortable enough to tease him.

But when he pulls away from the kiss and you chase after his mouth, he only smiles.

"There's my good girl," he says. He releases your knees and presses a kiss against your cheek, and then the tip of your nose.

"Chan," you whine. Your body feels cold where his hands just were.

He only tilts his head when he looks at you. "Hm?" Then his gaze turns sinister. "Did you... need something, princess?"

Oh. 

Shit.

"Wait,” You're scrambling up from your position. “Wait, please, Chan, don't–"

He hums. "You were so mean to me," he says, trailing a single finger down your cheek. "I don't think you deserve anything from me."

You attempt to sit up, eyes widening, but he's keeping you pinned down on your bed. "But I said I'm sorry," you whine. "Channie, please, I'll be good--"

He tilts his head again, pretending to think, letting his hand fall down your face to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"No," he decides, and he straightens up, taking a step back. "I think I'm gonna go back to work."

Before you can grab him, he's slipped away, nearly halfway to your door. "Sorry, babygirl. Maybe next time, yeah?"

The smirk on his face is proof he's anything but sorry. He gives you a fake little pout before winking and stepping out of your room, clicking the door closed behind him.

You're sat up on the bed, staring at the door with your jaw slacked. This is a new level of evil, you think. You hear his bedroom door open and shut, then the muffled sound of the track he's working on vibrates the walls.

It takes longer than you'd like for your wits to come back to you, but when they do, you're both utterly gobsmacked and thoroughly impressed.

He's teasing you.

There's a part of you that's tempted to just give in, to make your way across the hall and apologize. Chan is stubborn, but not unreachable. You know if you march into his room, you could get on your knees and make him relent in seconds.

But fine. He wants to play dirty?

You can play dirty, too.

-

It's less than an hour later when you hear the front door open and shut, the sound of Jisung and Seungmin's voices carrying up the stairs. You hear takeout bags and the jingling of their keys, and then–

“We're home!”

You make no effort to move, waiting to see if Chan will leave his room first. Besides, you're still working through some of the details of your plan.

If you stay in your room, Seungmin would come upstairs to check on you first. You know he'll fuck you good, but it takes time to warm him up. By the time you start getting anywhere, Jisung will get to Chan, who might do something stupid like tell him that you were being a brat, and then he'll come in and ruin the whole thing.

No, you need eager. You need impulsive.

You need Jisung.

You pad to the bedroom door, opening it and sticking your head out. Chan's door is still closed, the track he's working on still pumping through the speakers, so you take the opportunity to get the ball rolling.

You make your way down the hall and to the top of the stairs, where you can see Jisung standing in the entryway of the kitchen. The two have already shed their jackets and shoes, and Seungmin is now busy unloading the food they brought back into the fridge. His back is turned to you.

Bingo.

"Hey," you say softly. Jisung's head whips up, eyes brightening as he spots you. He says something you can't hear to Seungmin before he's jogging up the stairs towards you. He scoops you into a squeezing hug.

"Hi my baby," he says happily, pressing a kiss against your forehead. "How was your day?"

You giggle in the hug. "It was alright. Kind of boring. How was yours?"

"We had fun," he says. He sets you down and leans against the wall next to you, reaching and catching your hand in his. You deliberately give him the hand with the bracelet, but he doesn't see it. "I missed you though."

"I missed you, too."

Jisung grins. He opens his mouth to speak again, but then he furrows his eyebrows when he looks at you, like he's just noticing something.

"Is that my shirt?"

“Is it?” You look down, feigning surprise. "Oh, yeah I guess it is."

He hums, tilting his head. His eyes trail to your hand, and he finally seems to notice the bracelet on your wrist. "That's weird. I could've sworn I saw it in my drawer this morning."

You shrug. "Maybe you're just losing your mind."

He grins, bringing your hand up to his mouth and pressing a kiss against your open palm. "Yeah, maybe. Or are you trying to tell me something?"

You bat your eyelashes up at him. "Am I?"

His smile turns sly. "You are, aren't you?"

Jisung doesn't wait for a response, clasping his hand around yours and pulling you down the hallway back into your room. He kicks the door shut behind him and spins to face you, a wicked grin on his face.

You squeal when he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and laughing against his mouth. His kisses are hot and eager– there's no break for breath as he moves across the room with you. You don't even pause when he lays you down on your bed, hand sliding “his” t-shirt up your body.

You shiver when he brushes against your thigh. His hands are cold from outside, and the contrast against your warm skin feels like electricity. He smiles in the kiss and squeezes the skin tight.

Your own hands find their way around his neck, pulling him even closer into you. Through the thin fabric of the shirt you're wearing, you can feel the hardness of his body all pressed against yours. He shifts against you and the friction makes your nipples harden right under him.

His hands leave your thighs. They wind their way up your torso, feeling you up all along the way until he finds the stiff peaks that called his attention. He runs his thumbs over them, drinking up every sound you make. One of your hands cards into his hair and you tug.

He groans at that, finally pulling away from the kiss with a grunt and instead trailing his kisses down the column of your throat. His teeth graze your pulse point and you buck up into him in surprise.

You feel him laugh against you.

"You're so cute," he says into your neck. He mouths over the skin before biting down, hot wet tongue immediately after. A bruise, then.

"Sungie," you gasp out. Your back arches off the mattress as his hands wander all over you. You've always loved how naturally his mouth works its way around your body– he knows just where to kiss, what spots to brush his nose over. Like he's learned the entire road map to your pleasure.

Maybe he has.

He mouths down your body, pausing and sucking on your breasts before leaving wet, soft kisses down the expanse of your tummy. When he gets to your core, he shifts his kiss-trail over to your inner thigh.

"Do you know how hot you are?" He murmurs. "Like all the time. Holy fuck. This is my shirt, princess. My shirt. Don't you know that drives me crazy?"

You do. It's precisely why you grabbed it.

His tongue meets your skin in an agonizing, slow stripe along your inner thigh. The higher he gets, the more your legs tremble around him, until finally his lips close around your clit.

The feeling is overwhelming. Your head lolls back against the bed and you let out a breathy moan. He hums against you, fingers digging into the skin of your thighs as he holds your legs up. Your hands are shaking, but one winds its way back into his soft hair, and you tug.

He moans at that, a sound that sends vibration up through your whole core. He takes a hand away and brings it down, letting his thumb just press lightly against your entrance. Even in the slightest sense of pressure, you arch further into him, wanting more, more, more.

He sucks on your clit even harder, his tongue joining, and when you look down and see his blissed out expression between your legs, you think your heart might jump right out of your chest.

In all the times the boys have taken you apart, they've never made you come this quickly. You're not sure if it's because of the moment with Chan earlier, or because you've been thinking about having one of them fuck you all day. All it takes is two large fingers, pushing and stretching inside of you while his mouth moves so perfectly around your throbbing clit for you to snap. You come with a sob, your thighs pressing against his head.

If there's one thing Jisung certainly loves, though, it's eating you out. He could spend hours between your legs, kissing and sucking and licking until you're boneless and spent. So there is no sign of slowing in his rhythm, even when you wriggle from overstimulation.

"Sung," you moan. He responds by pinching your thigh, sucking hard on your clit so your yelp turns into a moan.

Distantly, you register the sound of footsteps that pause right outside of your door. You hear knocking, but not on your door, and you realize Seungmin has finally come upstairs, likely to grab everybody for some quality time after a day apart.

You almost laugh at how well this is working out for you.

Jisung slides his fingers back into you, and your attention is split between straining to hear what's going on in the hallway and the blinding pleasure you're feeling. He curls his fingers up and you find yourself gushing on his hand, your own fingers tangled in his hair so tight he can barely move.

"God, you're so fucking wet," he murmurs against you. He almost sounds giddy. "Did you miss me, baby?"

You can't even form a response, only able to whine as he fucks into you with his fingers, tongue flicking over your clit just fast enough to make you tremble. Your orgasm is coming on strong, and you feel like you're floating above your body, every touch electric, every movement monumental.

And then–

"Ah, so that's where they are."

Your eyes snap to your now-open door. Your other two boyfriends are there, and you make direct eye contact with Chan just as your second orgasm reaches its peak. You arch up off the bed, gasping into the air as your body trembles, and Jisung keeps his mouth on you, sucking hard and making your vision go white.

After a minute, he finally slows his pace, pulling away and finger-fucking you slowly and deep. He would never stop completely, especially not now that everyone's in the same room. His voyeurism is likely cranked up to 10, and you know he'll be pouty and whiney for the rest of the week unless he gets to watch one of the other boys split you open on their cock.

From the way he's looking at you, you feel like it'll be Chan doing the splitting.

Seungmin, ever the sane one, pretends to roll his eyes. "So this is why neither of you were answering my texts about movie night? This couldn't wait?"

"Well, she was wearing my shirt and nothing under it," Jisung says, grinning up at him. He gives your clit one last suck before kissing it and propping himself up, fingers still buried to the hilt inside of you. Your brain feels foggy as you stare at the three of them. You can still feel yourself gushing on his fingers.

Seungmin notices, eyes glued to your cunt as he walks over. You see his faux annoyance dissolving. "Fuck, she's really wet, isn't she."

Jisung grins. He presses a kiss against your inner thigh. "Yeah, I think she missed us."

Chan scoffs. He finally makes his way into the room fully, and you can see where his cock is straining against the fabric of his shorts. "No. She missed getting fucked." 

He stands at the end of the bed, eyes fixed on Jisung's hand as he continues to move inside of you. "Did you tell Jisung what happened earlier, baby?"

Jisung huffs out a little laugh, half lidded eyes going back to your face. "Hmm. No. She didn't."

A chill runs down the length of your spine. Fuck. It sounds like Chan got to them first.

"Chan said you were being a real big brat earlier," Seungmin hums. He pulls his eyes away from your center and finally looks at you. "Is that true, angel? Were you being bad for Chan?"

You shake your head, eyes going doe-ish as he gets closer to you. You realize you need to change your plan and do it quickly. It takes less than half a second for a new idea to come: Seungmin is the softest of the three of them, at least in sexual situations. If you can get him on your side you might have a chance.

That thought flies out of the window when his hand makes its way around your throat, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. 

"Don't lie to me, sweetheart." His voice is deceptively soft. "Don't you think Chan already spoke to us?"

You fight back a gasp at the sheer betrayal, but decide to double down anyway. "Wasn't being bad," you manage. You stick out your bottom lip in a pout. "I didn't do anything!"

Seungmin squeezes again, harder, and you really do gasp this time. "Then why did we both get a text from Chan earlier saying you were being mean to him? Hmm?"

"He said he came to blow off some steam and someone," Jisung presses his fingers directly against that squishy part inside of you, "Was being all bratty. Telling him to leave her alone."

It's at this moment that you realize all your planning was futile. You've fallen right into their trap.

You try the Seungmin strategy again, panting as you look up at him. "Minnie, please," you whine. You can't think with Jisung hitting your spot like that. "I wasn't– I–"

He tilts his head. "Oh come on baby. I think you're just lying to us now."

Your chest heaves. Jisung has chosen now to dive back into your cunt, tongue swiping up your slit and circling around your clit. Your brain is too scrambled to think of any other ways out of this situation, so you resort to what you always do: 

Pleading.

"'m sorry, Minnie," you rasp. "Didn't mean to– Didn't mean to be bratty."

Seungmin softens only slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" You're gasping around your words. "I promise. I just wanted to make him mad, wasn't trying to be mean."

In all of your begging and the relentless fervor of Jisung's tongue, you barely notice Chan making his way to the other side of your bed. Seungmin's grip loosens around your throat, his fingers tracing the outline of your jaw as he takes in your words.

"Hm. What do you think, Chan?"

You turn to look at him. He's shed his shirt somewhere along the way, and the hard musculature of his stomach is glistening with sweat. He climbs onto the bed and situates himself so that he's behind you with your head in his lap. You're expecting his hand to replace Seungmin's around your throat, but instead he reaches over you, gripping the hem of your shirt and sliding it up over your chest until your breasts are on full display. Seungmin immediately sinks down to his knees and takes your nipple into his mouth.

You're a gasping, whining mess, eyes rolling back until all you can see is white. You feel Jisung sling his arm around you to keep your body still.

Above you, Chan lets the shirt go and switches his focus to your hands, pulling them up and holding your wrists together in one hand to keep them above your head.

"I think," he murmurs, using his free hand to caress your face, "That if she wants to cum so bad, we should let her."

Your heart drops. To the untrained ear, it sounds like you've won, but you know better. You know Chan, and you know he has something up his sleeve. But when you look up at him, he's looking down at you with a sickly sweet smile.

"If she's sorry," he continues, "She'll behave. Right, babygirl?"

You can't speak. The dual sensations are sending you to the moon. The hand caressing your face grips your jaw tight, keeping your gaze locked on him.

"I asked you a question, princess."

As soon as you open your mouth to answer, your orgasm crashes into you without warning. It's the third one in a row, and you feel much like a washcloth that's been wrung out. Your movements are jerky, uncoordinated, and even as you continue trying to respond to Chan, your voice is not coming out.

"Jisung." He says simply.

The boy in question pulls away from your cunt with a satisfying pop. He's absolutely pussy drunk, eyes half lidded and tongue rolling over his lips to savor the flavor of you. If it were just the two of you, he'd keep going, but amongst the hierarchy of dominance, Chan has been, and will always be, at the top.

"I think she's ready now, yeah?" Chan rubs his thumb against your skin. "Fuck her good for me."

When orchestrating your own plan, you looked at Jisung’s eagerness as something to work in your favor. You hoped he would get you riled up enough for you to scream his name a couple times and really make Chan mad. But now, as he shimmies out of his sweats and boxers, taking his thick length in his hand, you feel nervousness tickle your gut.

Seungmin has pulled away from your nipple, reaching down to hold one of your thighs up. He's murmuring sweet nothings to you as he holds you open for Jisung. The latter is poised at your entrance, stroking himself and watching you with hungry eyes. 

You tip your head back to look at Chan again, and he only smiles down at you.

"Channie," you whimper out. You can barely speak, you're so overwhelmed. "Please–"

"Shh," he coos. "I know, baby. But this is what you wanted, yeah?" His hand moves from your jaw to your mouth, pressing a finger against your lips. You suck it in without thought, letting your tongue swirl around him with your cheeks hollowed out like you would on his cock. "I just want to see you take Sungie's dick. Be good, baby."

You almost choke when Jisung thrusts into you. You're already so wet and so sensitive, and his cock is stretching you so wide, pushing deep inside until you're sure you can feel him in your stomach. He gives you no time to adjust, that eagerness coming full force as he fucks right into you.

"God, she's still so tight," he breathes. One hand finds purchase in the dip of your waist, the other moves to the thigh not being held by Seungmin, folding you up and spreading you open to give him more leverage as he fucks into you hard.

Seungmin hums, trailing kisses along your leg and the side of your neck. "Feel good, angel? You like having Jisung's cock inside you?"

You can't even respond, mind blank as Jisung plows you deep. Your back is arched off of Chan's lap, head pushed back as his finger keeps your mouth propped open. You're a dumb, drooling mess around him, and despite the soft smile on his lips, you know it's wrecking him. 

To prove your point, he digs his nails in one of your palms, a stark contrast to the way Seungmin's hand is gently rubbing up and down your body, playing with your nipples and caressing your sides and stomach.

It's all too much, the sensations are overwhelming, and you're so wound up from earlier that you already feel the orgasm building. You mewl pathetically, eyes watering as you look around for someone to have pity on you.

It's Chan who catches your pleading gaze, but he only raises an eyebrow.

"You're gonna cum again? Already?" he says. It's not condescending or snarky, rather genuine disbelief and curiosity. His finger leaves your mouth and you let out a dry sob as trails of spit drip down your chin.

Jisung doesn't hear this– or can't, rather. He's fucking into you like he'll die if he stops, breathy moans leaving his mouth as he does. He's babbling nonsense, things like how tight you are and how well you take him in. You know he's close too, because his hips have gone erratic in their rhythm. Yet somehow, he gets faster.

The knot in your stomach feels heavy as lead. This orgasm might genuinely take you out. 

"Please," you rasp. "Please, please, I can't–"

Chan shakes his head, smiling. "Oh, but baby, I thought you wanted to cum?" 

"I do," you whine. "Want to so bad but 's too much. Too much, Channie, please–"

"No. Shut up and cum, princess," the grit in his voice is back. "Cum on Jisung's cock. Be good for us."

That's all it takes for you to snap. You let out a broken cry as another orgasm rocks through your body. It's even more intense than the others, pulling all of your muscles taut so you sit up before slumping back into Chan's arms. You barely register the way your hands flex uselessly above your head, writhing in Chan's grip. You can only vaguely feel Seungmin kissing your cheek, whispering little encouragements in your ear, telling you how good you are and how pretty you look when you cum.

And then Jisung is grunting, snapping his hips against yours one last time before spilling into you. Your walls spasm around him as he cums, milking him dry and causing you both to whine into the air.

In typical Jisung fashion, he's still rutting up into you after you're both well past overstimulation. The pressure in your cunt throbs throughout your body, tears springing into your eyes. You're very close to abandoning the little bit of pride you have and begging him to stop.

It turns out you don't need to, because as if on cue, Jisung finally pulls out and Seungmin lets go of your legs, standing up. You nearly sob at the loss of his gentle contact, so you don't even notice he's taking off his clothes until he's standing where Jisung was, hands gripping the soft skin of your thighs to hold you open. 

"Aw, baby," he says softly. He runs a hand up your leg. "You did so well."

You pout, a sob bubbling in your throat when you realize their plan now. They're gonna drag as many orgasms out of you as they can, overstimulation be damned. The thought makes your clit throb, and that alone makes you whine. It's all too much.

Despite knowing you're already so wet and lax and malleable, Seungmin reaches down to rub at your clit in an attempt to open you up. 

"Min," you cry, squirming at his touch. Your cunt feels tender, and even though the first set of tears are long dried up on your cheeks, fresh ones start to come. "Minnie–"

"Shhh. It's okay, angel."

His words are gentle and reassuring, but when his eyes catch yours, all you see is darkness.

Seungmin's gentle dominance has a limit. He doesn't get all stern and mean like Chan, or desperate like Jisung, but there's only so long he can last before that other, darker part of him surfaces, the one that gets off on hurting you, on seeing you in pain and feeling good from it. You can tell by the look in his eyes that this is the part of him you'll be dealing with.

When he finally sinks his cock inside you, it's slow, and the moan that he lets out vibrates through his length and right into you. Your neck seems to give up, dropping you right back down in Chan's lap less than gracefully. It gives him better access to you, and he leans immediately to attach his mouth to yours. He alternates between soft kisses and hard bites that will surely bruise in the morning.

Seungmin is only a bit longer than Jisung, but he's so damn girthy. Every tiny thrust he rocks into you sends shivers down your spine. Your skin feels like it's on fire and you're not even kissing Chan back, basically panting into his open mouth.

"Prop her up, Chan," Seungmin grits out. "Wanna watch her while she cries."

He gives you one final peck, and then the hand that's still holding your wrists lets go. It takes a second, then both hands are under you, lifting you up off the mattress until you're sat up on his lap with his chest against your back. He crosses your wrists against your chest and holds them in one hand, and then the other snakes up and finds your throat. His hand is way bigger than Seungmin's, and he's not as gentle when he squeezes and forces you to look back at him.

He doesn't look mad, or even turned on. He's smiling at you, like you're a particularly good puppy. "Good girl. Gonna give us a big one, yeah?”

You barely have a moment to understand what he's implying before you feel a hand on your clit. Both of Seungmin's hands are occupied, so you're not sure why it surprises you to see that it's Jisung's deft fingers on you. He's standing behind Seungmin, one hand on him and the other on you.

It feels like your eyes are bulging out of your head. The touch is gentle, but it still feels like you're being hit with lightning bolts. You're too spent to even buck up at the contact.

"Oh my God," you choke. "Oh, oh, I–"

“That's it,” Chan purrs when you cum again. He kisses whatever skin is closest to his mouth, his fingers gripping your jaw. Your head feels light, the only thing keeping you grounded to the bed are their hands on you. You feel like you're going to faint, and Seungmin's eyes are only egging you on.

Your body trembles so violently, Seungmin is forced to pause in his motions to hold your knees and keep your legs from buckling in. Your vision is blurry, but you can see Jisung has a steady grip on Seungmin's hair, effectively holding him in place.

"Good girl," he breathes, those big brown eyes trained on your face. "You take him so well."

His words send shivers down your spine. Jisung is always more coherent and in control after an orgasm. You know if Seungmin was today's focus, Jisung would likely be spitting all kinds of nasty, filthy words in his ear, but his gaze is fixed on you. All it takes to get you going is a good stare.

He taps at your clit with his free hand. You jump, moaning loudly at the contact, your back arching off Chan's chest and into Seungmin's body.

"She's good. Keep going," Jisung murmurs, pulling his eyes away from yours to look at Seungmin. He pulls a little at the hair on the nape of his neck, causing Seungmin's cock to jump inside you.

They work in tandem. Jisung's hand keeps circling your clit in the same soft rhythm, and you're not sure how but it's making you even wetter and more loose. You're a mess of moans, not knowing whose name to scream when they all have their hands on you. It's dizzying in the best way. 

Seungmin has started rolling his hips into you with more vigor, the soft sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. The dark shroud over his eyes is back as he stares down at you. "Feels good doesn't it," he grunts. "Look at your little cunt fluttering open for me like a good slut."

You feel another sob bubble out of you, this one accompanied by tears, but it dies in your throat when Chan's grip on you gets even tighter. All you can do is pout and whine.

"Aw, look at the little crybaby." Seungmin starts to fuck into you in earnest, his own moans getting higher in pitch. You can tell by the way Jisung's grip in his hair tightens that he's close. "C'mon angel. You're being so good, you can take it."

"Minnie," you rasp, barely able to speak. "Please–"

"I said take it." He’s looking down, watching where your cunt is sucking him in with each thrust. He thrusts into you particularly hard, and your entire body lurches forward, causing you to gasp. "And if you can't, you know what to say. You know your word."

You do. Somehow, under all the begging and pleading, you're actually insanely giddy with want. It's all part of the little game you play, so you just pout pathetically at Seungmin as his hips snap harder into yours.

"She's not gonna say it," Chan sing-songs. He uses the hand on your throat to tilt your head to the side, giving him perfect access to more of you. He nips at your skin. "She likes being treated like this. Like a little toy."

It's all too much. Every inch of you is on fire, the room feels like it's a thousand degrees. Chan's mouth on your neck, Seungmin's cock deep in your cunt, and Jisung's fingers–

It's like something snaps.

A knot you didn't even realize was in your stomach explodes and your vision goes white. It's an orgasm unlike anything you've experienced before. Your brain completely melts, your hearing dulls, and you can feel the drool running down your chin. You feel like you're floating and drowning all at the same time. 

"Oh shit," you hear Seungmin groan. Your cunt is spasming around him. His thrusts become harder, sloppy. "God, fuck–"

He cums hard inside of you, hips jerking as he chases the aftershocks. You've gone completely limp, barely able to move at all as Chan continues to bite at your neck.

The hand on Seungmin's shoulder drops. "That's so hot," Jisung mutters, almost to himself. He's lost some of his in-control voice. "Wow, baby, you should be bratty more often.”

If you could see straight, you'd probably laugh at that.

Seungmin pulls out slowly, and when the head of his cock leaves you, you let out a tiny mewl. You're overstimulated to the point that you're numb. Seungmin smiles softly as he rubs the inside of your thigh.

"Oh, sweetheart, I know. It's a lot. But you're being so good for us.  I think it's Chan's turn though, hm? Wanna make him feel good?"

"Give her a minute," Jisung chides. You hear a sharp intake of breath and you know he's likely yanked on Seungmin's hair again. "She's about to pass out."

You can feel your limbs slowly returning to you, the fog clearing in your head. When Chan moves the hand from your throat, you breathe deeply, taking in gulps of air as moves his hand down to rub against your tummy. Jisung and Seungmin are bickering somewhere around you, and you let yourself relax in Chan's hold.

"Do you want to finish now, princess?" His lips are warm against your ear. "We can be done. You don't have to take me.”

It's a very tempting offer, especially with the way you can hardly remember what day it is. You could easily take it and call this all done. The four of you have almost certainly been at this for more than an hour now, and they've wrung six orgasms out of you. They're sweet enough to offer to call it a night.

But then you think about Chan, and how, despite being the reason this all started, he's barely done anything. Hasn't tasted you, hasn't shoved his cock down your throat– He's usually not one for letting go until you've milked him dry at least twice, and you can't stand the idea of him having that buzz under his skin all night. 

So you shake your head.

"No?" Chan laughs, almost like he's surprised. "Really? You still want to finish with me? Are you sure, princess?”

He's giving you the same offer he gave you earlier. An out. Making your comfort the first priority. The thought alone is what gives you the strength to nod against him.

"'m sure, Channie."

"Oh, fuck, okay." His grip around you goes a little slack as he moves, pulling you away from his lap and  laying you back into your bed. He leans over you and presses a gentle kiss against your mouth. It feels like he's thanking you, almost.

When he pulls away, his eyes are sparkling. You want to look into them for hours.

He barks something at Jisung and Seungmin, and the bickering stops immediately. You hear shuffling around you before Seungmin takes Chan's empty space and Jisung appears at your side. They're pressing soft kisses to your face and praising you as Chan works his shorts and boxers down. When his cock springs free, he lets out a hiss of relief.

The sight of him alone makes anxiety rear its ugly head. You start to wonder if maybe you should've taken the opportunity to tap out, or if maybe you should use your safeword, but then Jisung is grabbing your hand and pressing kisses against it, squeezing you and keeping you tethered to the present.

"You can do it, pretty girl," he murmurs in your ear, breath fanning over your cheek. "You did so good for us, just a little longer."

Chan catches your eyes, and he smiles again, reassuring. His hand runs down your body and grabs one of your legs, lifting it and hooking your calf over his shoulder. "Gonna go easy, baby. I know it's a lot."

Your stomach is filled with butterflies, and your hands are shaking a little bit when he ruts himself up against you. You're so open from the others that when his head catches on your entrance, it nearly slips inside.  

Your back arches as you moan, and then his cock brushes against your entrance with purpose and it feels like you're going to split right open. He rocks into you again, pushing in the barest inch and pulling right back out. You whine and shift your hips in an attempt to escape.

"Come on, be a good girl now, princess." His voice has gotten lower, lust taking over. "Relax.”

His eyes flit up from where you're connected to look at you, and in one move he pushes right inside of you.

It doesn't hurt– you're way too wet and open for that. It does feel like your stomach is being forced open, however. Like his cock is pressing against all of your internal organs. You arch up off of Seungmin's lap and he pulls you back to him quickly.

Chan groans, bottoming out inside you. His eyes are closed as he lets himself bask in the sensation, hips rocking shallowly. You're thankful that he doesn't move immediately, but even the barest amount of movement feels like too much, like you'll come apart at any second.

You barely feel it when Jisung slips your hand into his. It takes you a minute to realize it's because your brain has been reduced to nothing. Your body has melted into the bed, your muscles are lax, and there's an emptiness in your brain filled with nothing but static and Chan's name. You don't think about anything at all, can't form a single coherent thought. You don't feel the kisses on your throat or the way Seungmin's hands have taken residence on your stomach. The only thing you feel is the overwhelming pressure in your cunt as Chan slowly pulls out, leaving just the tip, before pushing all the way back in.

He builds a rhythm quickly. Seungmin is holding you tight to his body, as though he's scared you might float away, and you appreciate it because it gives you another sensation to focus on. Your head is lolled against his shoulder, eyes rolled back into your head so far all you see is white.

The sound of Chan fucking into you is absolutely obscene, a mixture of your juices and the remnants of the cum still leaking from your hole. He fucks you slow, but hard, snapping his hips into yours so hard it almost feels like you might get a bruise on your thigh.

Jisung is watching with hungry eyes from your side. He's not touching you at all anymore, too engrossed in the scene unfolding to do much else other than stare with his jaw slacked. Seungmin takes over for him.

"That's it," he breathes. "That's it angel, look at you." He moves the hand on your stomach and lets his thumb rub circles on your clit. You feel like you're going to pass out. You don't get time to beg him to stop before you feel that same hand move to your mouth, and two fingers push past your lips.

"Here, sweetheart," he breathes, eyes fixed on your lips as you suck his fingers. "That's you on my fingers, baby. Isn't it good?"

You moan around his hand, head spinning both at the taste of yourself and the intrusion of Seungmin's fingers in your mouth. He's not fucking them into you with any kind of rhythm, just shoving them in there until you're dribbling around his hand. He hums happily when he pushes in more and makes you gag, kissing away the tears the spill over.

Chan grunts, head falling back. "Min, again, please, she just– fuck, she–"

Seungmin doesn't need to be told twice. He repeats the motion again, making sure his fingers go far enough so you're choking around him. This time, when you splutter and gag, you can feel it when you clench down on Chan and his cock pulses in response.

"Oh my God," he moans, thrusting into you again. "Oh my god, baby, you're so good. You're doing so fucking good–"

Between the movement of his hips and the feeling of Seungmin's fingers down your throat, you're not quite sure you're still on this plane of existence. Everything is spinning around you, your cunt is throbbing, you can hear Jisung moaning somewhere, but you don't know from what.

You can feel Seungmin's lips pressed against your forehead as his fingers fuck your mouth, your eyes rolling back into your head again. You're so lightheaded, so far gone, you can barely remember your name. 

It's when Chan starts to thrust faster that you come back to your body with a jolt, mind filling with white hot heat. The pleasure has long since lost it's edge, and you're a moaning, writhing, teary mess again. The coil in your stomach starts to build for the seventh time, and you're pretty sure your brain has gone empty. The only thing you're able to focus on is Chan. Chan, Chan, Chan.

"Almost done, angel." You register a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth, and then another on your forehead. You think the voice belongs to Seungmin. Maybe, if the way he eases his hand out of your mouth is any indication.

Nothing is making sense anymore. It all feels like you're having an out-of-body experience.

Chan's hips falter, and his hand slides up to your throat again, but he doesn't squeeze. Just rests it there as his orgasm approaches, hips snapping against you at an erratic rhythm.

"Sweetheart." His eyes flutter open with strained effort, but they remain locked on yours. "Can you give us one more, princess? Hm? Can I get you to cum on me too, please?"

There's a desperation in his voice that makes your body feel hot. You want to tell him yes, that you're close, so so close, but all that comes out is a weak noise that you're not even certain you made. 

Seungmin seems to get it though, because he slips his fingers down between your legs, finding your clit again. He rolls it between his fingers with one hand while his other reaches up and settles on your jaw. You feel Jisung's tongue flick over your nipple and your world draws to a pinpoint.

Chan curses above you, fucking into you at an almost punishing pace. "Yes, baby, let go for us. That's it. We got you."

It feels like someone's stuck a vacuum in your brain with the incoherent way you're thinking. The sound of his voice saying your name in that desperate tone is all it takes, and suddenly you're floating out of your body, ears ringing as the pressure inside you bursts. Your eyes roll back and the clinging remnants of an orgasm wash through your body. It feels more like an aftershock. You're only vaguely aware of the way Chan moans, loud and throaty, when he finally spills into you.

It takes a couple minutes before the two of you come back down to earth. You can't move, and even though you know Seungmin is holding you tight, it feels like you might drift right off the mattress and float up into the clouds.

Chan pulls out slowly, and you shudder when you feel a trickle of his cum leaking from your hole. It's not long before your eyes droop shut from pure exhaustion. You think you might pass out right on the spot.

The room gets kicked into gear pretty quickly after that. From what you can tell in the hazy state you're in, someone grabs a wet cloth to wipe you down with while someone else finds you a new t-shirt (and panties this time). They dress you like you're a doll, maneuvering your limbs and telling you you're good, you're so good, they love you so much.

Then you're scooped up into a pair of arms while the distant sounds of sheets being pulled off the bed floats up to you. They take you out of the room.

"You did so good for us, baby." The owner of the arms whispers against your ear. From the cadence in their tone you're pretty sure it's Jisung. "You were such a good girl for us, sweetheart. We're so proud of you."

You think you nod against him, but you can't be sure. You hear him kick a door open, and then he sets you down on a bed and you register Seungmin and Chan coming in.

"Okay," Jisung murmurs, going through his aftercare list out loud. "Fresh bed, fresh clothes, we got her some water."

You feel the bed dip behind you. "We got it, but she's gotta drink it, though," Chan chimes. There's fondness in his voice as he scoots closer to you. "Come here, baby."

You let yourself go limp, and a content smile plasters on your face as your boys fuss over you and make sure you're comfortable. They're so gentle, despite what just transpired, and they all take turns pressing kisses against your head, your cheeks, your nose.

When you've all settled into the bed, you feel three pairs of arms around you, holding you close, and you feel insanely lucky for all of it. You snuggle deeper into someone's chest, humming absentmindedly in that dreamy, fucked-out headspace.

"Thank you," you mumble, pressing a kiss to whoever you're snuggled against. You think it's Jisung from the way they nuzzle into your cheek.

"Of course, princess," Chan replies, his voice vibrating against your back. You feel his lips press against your temple, and you smile again. "You're our good girl, even when you're a brat. We'll always take care of you.”

You don't bother replying, simply allowing yourself to sink back into that fuzzy state. You're about to slip out of consciousness when you feel Jisung's nose against your cheek.

"You really do need to be bratty more often, though."

You hear a dull thump as Seungmin smacks the back of his head, and you let their hushed bickering be the lullaby you need to lull you into sleep.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Every Part of You

Pairing - Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader A.N. - Alright, I've been asked to write about Bucky and Sunshine's first time many, many times. And the thing is, like sure, I could write that, but also I want us to take a moment to consider trying to build up to that. There's so many firsts buried in there that I think need to be navigated through before they even get there. This is one of those firsts. Like the first time you see Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Grumpy Sunshine Series

"You're just- " You stop speaking, searching for his lips again. Though you're breathless, you can't bring yourself to pull away from him, "You're so pretty."

You shudder as you feel his hand slip under your sweater. The occasional graze of the cool metal on your skin enough to send shivers down your spine.

His lips trail down, nipping at your jaw, "I'm not pretty."

Your hands, winded in the hair at the nape of his neck, glide down his neck, to clutch the fabric of his henley. The moment he feels your fingers toy with the collar of his shirt, his heart hammers against his ribcage. Not in the sort of way that he usually feels in these moments with you. He feels a sense of dread, of panic. It wraps around his spine like a python. It feels like he can't breathe.

"You're so -"

He wrenches away from you, his chest heaving, "Stop, stop, stop."

You freeze, immediately dropping your hands. Panic starts creeping up your throat, coating your words. "Did I - did I do something wrong?"

He gulps, silently shaking his head. It takes him a moment to regain his composure, to regain the ability to speak clearly, "No, no, you're - you're perfect."

Guilt starts to eat at him. He can see you doing your very best to keep your own feelings off your face. He can see the sting of his rejection in the way your lips press together in a tight line. The embarrassment in the pallor of your once flushed cheeks.

You two have worked so hard to overcome your own personal issues and traumas, to build trust in each other, moments like these hadn't come easy. And he so callously pushed you away, it makes him feel worse. And what makes his heart ache even more, he sees nothing but concern for him shining in your eyes. You just look so worried for him.

Your hands rest in your lap. You twist and untwist your fingers. "If you don't want to, we don't - we don't have to do anything. I'm really sorry -"

"No, no, please don't be sorry." He reaches for you, gently squeezing your hand. It soothes him as much as it does you. "I want to. You don't know how much I want to."

"But?"

His eyes squeeze shut. He can't bring himself to meet your eyes. "You haven't seen it before - my arm, my shoulder."

"Oh."

He drops your hand. That feeling takes over him again. It feels like there's not enough air in the room. He slides away from you, closer to the edge of the tiny couch in your apartment. "It's - I am not pretty."

It breaks your heart, watching him pull away from you. You can only imagine how many people have turned away from him before. "James..."

He fervently shakes his head, refusing to open his eyes, "No, no, I know what you're gonna say, but it's bad. A lot worse than you're thinking."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?"

"It's bad," he insists. "I see it every day and I can barely - it's just bad, okay?"

You take his hand, squeezing it tightly. "It's okay if you don't want me to see it. I understand."

He finally opens his eyes again as his eyebrows pull together. He still doesn't meet your eye. "No, no, I want to - I trust you with this, I do. I just - I want you to be prepared."

In that moment, you realize that it's not really about preparing you. Not at all.

He thinks you're going to react badly. He thinks that this will make you turn away from him for the first time ever. He's worried that the love and adoration in your eyes will turn to disgust and repulsion.

It's less about preparing you for the scarred flesh, and more about warning you that he couldn't take a bad reaction. He's not sure he could take it if you turned away from him too.

"I love you," you promise him. "There's nothing that you could show me that would change that. I hope you know that."

There is no response to that. And you know that he won't believe it until he sees it. It takes him a moment. His hand toys with the hem of his shirt. His hand grips the hem, only to let it go.

"I love you," you remind him.

He takes a large gulp of air, pulling off his shirt with one quick movement.

You weren't really sure what you were expecting. You knew the story. You knew how Bucky lost his arm. He even confided the bits and pieces he remembered from getting his vibranium arm.

Your eyes trail over his skin. The shoulder is scarred, scars jut in every direction. Each scar is etched into his skin. It's clear it was a painful, violent experience for him. The metal plate protrudes from the scar tissue in a way that you're sure was painful when first placed. You look on with curiosity, you're not really sure how this, a sign of survival, a badge of resilience, could ever make anyone turn away from him.

He's as breathtaking as you could ever imagine.

Your eyes flicker up at him. He looks at the blank wall of your apartment, scared to watch your facial expressions as you take it in. "Can I?"

He nods, barely able to look you in the eyes. He sucks in a breath when your fingers make contact with the scar tissue surrounding the metal plate.

You immediately pull your fingers back, worried you've accidentally hurt him. "Does it hurt?"

"No," he answers reflexively.

You know he's lying. "I've seen you holding your shoulder before - holding it like it hurts."

"Sometimes," he amends. "The doctor said there's a lot of nerve damage. Things they can't fix."

"Does it hurt now?"

"No."

You run your hand over the plate, over his scars, down to his shoulder blade.

"Still think I'm pretty?" he sarcastically remarks.

You press a gentle kiss to his bare shoulder. "I'll always think you're pretty. Every part of you."

Bucky Barnes Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

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[lyrefromthesea]

Period sex with upper moons?

Akaza, Kokushibo, Douma - Period Sex

author's note: guess who's my favourite character in here and who i have personal beef with, i dare you.

pairing: Kokushibo x reader, Douma x reader, Akaza x reader

content warning: (obviously) period sex, mentions of blood, fem!reader

Kokushibo:

• though internally panicking, looked just fine when he picked up on the smell of blood

• came to check and the silent panic vanished

• will eventually know when your period starts before you know it yourself

• has no problem going down on you, but somehow always end up balls deep inside you

you whined as the man pulled two fingers out of your cunt, satisfied with the way you were dripping both blood and arousal.

he held eye contact with you as he brought the two digits to his lips, pushing them past his lips and licking the blood off.

"it's more than sweet.." he uttered, all three pairs of his eyes narrowing slightly. you held back a needy hum, seeing him glance at you.

he let his kimono slide of his shoulders, your mind occupied by the gracefulness of his actions. the cloth fell to the ground, revealing the pale body you've seen many times already.

"now let me have you.." he quietly said, steeping out of the last piece of clothing. though your eyes were focused on the clothes piled beside him, he was completely focused on you.

before you knew it, the man was over you, strong arms caging you between them. you felt your face heat up, almost making you forget the cramps you were experiencing.

"look at me." he demanded - requested. despite the embarrassment, you met his gaze, the smallest tug on his lip indicating his content state.

you held eye contact with him until he had fully sheathed himself inside you. his hand traveled over your stomach, pressing down where he suspected his cock would be.

you gasped, trying to keep yourself from arching your back. with his hand still on your stomach, he began slowly thrusting into you, watching your face for any discomfort.

"is that it? are you feeling good like this?" he whispered into your ear, his voice lightly breathy. you didn't answer - he didn't need one, not when you were squeezing around him so tightly.

Douma:

• you know he takes advantage of situations that could be good for him and this is definitely one of them

• yes, sex is something he had come to enjoy, but this was totally different

• blood, he didn't even need to do anything

• free source of food for a week, definitely will eat you out, no way he'll use his cock when he can just fuck you with his tongue

this was perfect, you were perfect, everything about this situation was perfect to him. he had you right where he wanted, right at his mercy.

you, on the other hand, were exhausted and in desperate need of a break. when did this start? you couldn't even remember how many orgasms the man - the demon - has pulled out of you.

his tongue licked a long stripe up your pussy, watching you shudder and cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain. he was too focused on his actions to notice the way you were weakly tugging at his hair, trying to stop him.

"so sweet, my little follower." he muttered against you, eyes finally opening, just enough for them to be lidded. he looked at you, realizing that the blood had decreased over time.

"don't tell me you're already finished? i thought you were going to give me more - show me your respect." he laughed, knowing that you could barely react to his words.

tears had started falling down your cheeks a long time ago, not sure how to handle any following orgasm. yet you couldn't move, body cramping up every few minutes while his arms pressed you against his face.

he didn't care how messy it got, a mix of slick, spit and blood staining his lips and chin. how could he care? you were divine.

if there was anything close to a god, it had bestowed him with the pleasure of getting to taste you every month.

your weak cries pulled him out of his thoughts, feeling you convulse and tremble once more, cooing at the orgasm he pulled out of you.

"look, there's more! i knew you had it in you, little follower, now be good and give me even more." he chuckled, kissing up your thigh until he was ready to dive into eating you out again.

Akaza:

• panicked when you got your first period and he didn't know of it

• first thought: danger, first thought after finding out you were on you period: nonexistent

• knew you were in pain and does his best to help, but keeps away from sex for quite some time

• eventually gives up because he can't resist your pleading

• enjoys it, but constantly worried

you watched him wipe the blood off his chin with the back of his hand, licking the rest of his lips. the action alone made you shudder in anticipation, feeling him stand up to position himself over you.

"are you feeling better, darling?" he asked, his voice quiet, as if he knew it would hurt you. you were fragile in his eyes, at the verge of breaking whenever you felt like this.

he treated you with the outmost care, abandoning pride to ensure your comfort. feeling another cramp shoot pain through your stomach, you held onto him, squeezing your eyes shut.

"please.. i need you.." you breathlessly whispered, his warm hand coming down to rub soothing circles against your waist. his other hand helped him guide his cock towards your entrance.

"shh.. i'm here for you." he answered, rubbing his cock against the mix of your slick and blood, the action making you moan out quietly.

he let you hold onto him as he pushed in, whispering words of praise and appreciation. the man didn't stop until you took him full, quietly grunting at the way you were squeezing.

"you.. you have to relax, darling. you're squeezing me so damn tight.." he groaned, letting his head fall down.

his hand let go off your leg, rubbing circles against your clit. "a- ah.. relax for me, darling. relax so i can take care of you."

he made sure to put your pleasure above his, to ensure your safety, your comfort. you gifted him the opportunity to eat you out, to taste you in such a special way, he needed to make sure you were doing good. it was only fair in his opinion, this wasn't about him, he could hold himself back if it made you feel better.

nevertheless, you didn't mind thanking him once your period was over, making sure to give him the pleasure he made you feel.

[firewasabeast]

crash that helicopter, let chimney and tommy talk, and let's get buck and tommy back together!

“Hang on, Tommy! We got ya, Bud. Just hang on.”

A part of him wondered why they were even bothering. He knew his chances the second he decided to change course and crash into the ground.

Actually, he knew before then. He knew the second the gun was put on him and he was told to fly. There was no alternate ending for him.

He was going to die today.

That’s when he decided he might as well take the rest of them with him.

Now, familiar hands were on him, touching his body. Reaching underneath him to feel along his spine, strapping a brace around his neck, sticking needles into his arm, all while asking him questions he couldn’t quite form answers to.

“Can you feel this, Tommy?” Hen asked. She was poking at his foot.

He could feel it. He could feel everything. He could feel too much.

“Y- Yeah,” he choked out.

There was a strong taste of metal in his mouth. Something wet on his lips, running down his chin.

Through blurry eyes, he could see Howie and Hen share a look. Then Hen was grabbing some gauze and wiping his mouth clean.

“We’re nearly done, Tommy,” Chimney said, and Tommy was impressed by how steady he kept his voice. Howie was meant for this job, for this life. His ability to keep people calm even as they knew they were taking their final breaths was a gift. Tommy wished he was able to say as much before he died. “We’re getting your leg set before we go.”

“S’fine,” he muttered out. “I… okay.”

A tear fell out of the corner of his eye, but he wasn’t crying. At least, he wasn’t meaning to cry. It was more from the pain than anything else. He felt like every bone in his body had been crushed. Like all his organs had been rearranged and squeezed with a vise.

There was a loud wheezing sound happening, and he was pretty sure it was coming from him.

Slowly, his eyes began to close, and the pain started to fade a bit, until a harsh rub on his chest had him gasping and his eyes opening up wide.

“Stay with us, Tommy,” Hen instructed, wiping at his mouth again. “Almost there.”

“Is… I don’t… Ev- where’s…” Tommy’s arm flailed out beside him, his brain a jumbled mess. He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say, but he knew he needed to say something.

“What’s that, Bud?” Chimney asked, placing pressure somewhere low on his abdomen.

“Ev… Where’s E- Evan?”

Another shared look between Chim and Hen.

“Buck is-” Hen paused, looking just past Chimney. “He’s actually coming over right now, Tommy.”

Tommy went to shake his head no, but the brace prevented it. He didn’t want Evan to watch him die. He just needed them to tell him something, if he could think of what that something was.

“No,” he breathed out, voice barely audible. “N- No, d-”

“Tommy! Tommy, I’m here. You’re okay, I’m here.” Buck was panting, kneeling down beside Tommy and leaning forward so he could look right at him. “I- I’m here. You- You’ll be fine, Tommy.”

He was trying to be strong, Tommy could tell. Trying to blink away the tears that filled his eyes. Trying to keep his voice from breaking.

Tommy couldn’t have that. He didn’t want to see Evan sad. He never wanted to see Evan sad.

He tried to reach for Evan, but his hand wouldn’t quite move the way he wanted it to and it ended up just flopping up and down.

Understanding, Buck took the hand in his and held onto him. “We’ll b- be taking you to the hospital real soon, Tommy. They’ll g- get you fixed right up.”

Tommy had to focus on his words. See them in his head and work to get his mouth to open and his voice to work the way he needed it to. “S’okay,” he gasped out. “S’okay.” He could feel more tears pouring from both corners of his eyes. A steady stream that he had no control over. Still, he kept talking to Buck. “E… Evan, I- I’m… okay. Don’t w- worry.”

There was so much he wanted to say. So many things he wanted to tell Evan before it was too late.

I’m sorry I ever left.

I’m sorry I was too scared to be honest with you.

I’m sorry I thought we were more than what we were.

You made me so happy.

I love you so much.

Thank you for being my last.

None of that would come out though. Not when he was coughing, choking on the blood that was gurgling up in his throat.

“We gotta go now,” Chimney decided, and everyone sprang into action.

Tommy remembered them lifting him. He remembered groaning out in pain. He remembered Evan holding onto his hand tighter.

Then, there was nothing.

*****

There was a pressure weighing his body down. A heavy, thick pressure.

It wasn’t painful.

A little warm, if anything.

Made his body feel half numb, but in a good way.

His finger twitched. His eyes did too.

It took a second but, eventually, he was able to crack them open.

He was in a bed, elevated slightly, sheets up to his waist, the room white and sterile.

He was alive.

How the hell was he alive?

“There he is,” a familiar voice said beside him. His eyes drifted toward the sound, and there was Howie, standing right beside him with a wide smile on his face. “About time you joined us.”

“I…” God, Tommy’s throat felt like sandpaper.

“Buck’s gonna be pissed that you woke up the first time he leaves for ten minutes to go eat lunch in the cafeteria.”

Tommy’s brain was foggy. “Wh- What?”

“You’ve been out for a day and a half, Man,” Chimney informed him. “Scared the hell out of everyone, by the way. Coded three times on your way in. I think you’ve broken a record for body parts that required surgery.”

Tommy blinked a few times, trying to comprehend the things Chimney was telling him. “Can I… water?”

“Oh, yeah!” Chimney grabbed the little styrofoam cup off the tray table and held the straw to Tommy’s mouth. “Go slow. Not too much.”

Slowly, Tommy drank on the water. He swallowed down three sips before pulling away. “Thank you.”

“Need anything else right now? In any pain? Need a nurse?”

Tommy shook his head. “No, thanks.” He glanced around the room, noticing five different bouquets lined up along the window sill. There was a teddy bear in the middle, and a piece of construction paper taped to the wall that was covered in different colors of hearts.

He knew the picture had to come from Jee. The rest though… he couldn’t think of that many people who would send him stuff.

“Wh… What happened?”

Chimney grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it closer to the bed, then took a seat. “You’re a dumbass who played hero,” he replied. “Crashed your helicopter on purpose to prevent a terrorist attack.”

Oh yeah. Now Tommy remembered.

“D… Did they-”

“You’re the only survivor, Tommy.”

“Oh.” Tommy didn’t really feel one way or the other about those men dying. Not when they were planning on killing hundreds, if not thousands, of people anyway.

He raised a finger toward the flowers. “Who?”

Chimney glanced back. “Oh, those? Uh, Bobby and Athena sent one, Hen and Karen, Eddie, Ravi, and then Maddie and I got the ones on the end. The picture there is courtesy of Jee, and the teddy bear is all Buck. Said it’s an inside joke or something about bears, I did not ask beyond that.”

A grin briefly appeared on Tommy’s face, but it quickly disappeared. “You didn’t h- have to-”

Howie rolled his eyes. “Don’t even start. Harbor is setting up a food chain, by the way, once you get home they’ll be bringing stuff by.”

“That… That’s nice.”

Chimney sighed, looking back towards the door before he continued. “Listen, Buck’s gonna come bursting through the door any second, so I’m gonna fast forward through the small talk and get to it. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but I know love when I see it. He loves you, Tommy, and I know you love him too.”

Now was really not the time. “Howie-”

“No. I know things were said between the two of you. Maddie and I aren’t great at keeping secrets, especially from each other. Whatever Buck said to you that day, he didn’t mean it. Just like I’m sure there are some things you said that you didn’t mean.”

Tommy looked away from Chimney, opting to stare out the window.

“Okay, maybe you did mean it. Maybe you really think so little of yourself that you think there’s no way anyone could ever love a guy like you.” Chimney leaned forward, moving so he was in Tommy’s direct line of sight. “But let me tell you something about you, Tommy. You’re a good person, whether you believe it or not. You’re there for people. You show up. You were willing to die just so other people wouldn’t get hurt. Even as you thought you were dying you were trying to console Buck and make sure he was okay. That’s the Tommy I know.”

Tears filled Tommy’s eyes. His lip trembled slightly. He tried to keep it together.

“I know that Buck hasn’t left you for a second until today, and he only did that if I promised to stick to your side like glue. No bathroom breaks,” Chimney continued. “I know that there were five men holding him back at the scene of the crash. He had direct orders from the chief that he’d be suspended or worse if he so much as tried to get near you, but he did it anyway. That’s a man who has loved his job more than anything else in the world for as long as I’ve known him, but he didn’t give it a second thought when it came to you.”

Tommy swallowed hard. A tear fell down his cheek.

“You’re loved, Tommy. And not just by Buck. See those flowers?” He pointed back to the bouquets. “The smallest bouquet is like fifty dollars. That’s insane. You’re loved.”

Tommy let out a laugh at that. But before he could respond, the door opened and Buck hurried inside.

“You’re awake!” he exclaimed, eyebrows furrowing. “Chim!” he pouted. “I told you not to let him do that.”

“Like I can help when he wakes up!”

“I can close my eyes,” Tommy offered, voice still gravelly and eyes feeling heavier by the second. “Pretend to... wake up again.”

“No, I- that’s not…” Buck let out a breath, his body relaxing. “Tommy.”

Tommy smiled sleepily. “Evan.”

“I- Do you need anything?” he asked, stepping closer. “Has the nurse come in yet? Did Chimney give you water? Are you in pain? Do you-”

“I- I’m fine, Evan,” Tommy interrupted. He looked over his heavily bandaged body before returning his gaze to Buck. “Well… maybe fine’s the wrong word.”

Buck couldn’t take his eyes off of him. “I’m, um, I-” he cleared his throat. “We were worried about you.”

“Thank you, Evan,” Tommy responded, holding his hand open for Buck to take, “for staying w- with me.”

Buck closed the remaining space between them in an instant. He took Tommy’s hand in his, sitting down carefully on the side of the bed. “Nowhere else I’d wanna be, Tommy.”

“Well,” Chimney spoke up, “seeing as you both forgot I existed, I am going to go.” He reached out gave Tommy a pat on the shoulder. “See ya later, Man. Try not to break anymore bones while I’m gone.”

Tommy smiled. “Thanks, Howie. See ya.”

When Chimney left out of the room, he shut the door behind them. Buck waited until it clicked shut to speak. “Tommy, I,” he breathed out shakily, his eyes red-rimmed, “I know you’re tired. You… You need sleep, but I- I want to, um, I’d like for us to talk when you feel like it. If that’s okay,” he added quickly.

“Yeah, Evan.” Tommy gave his hand a little squeeze. “That’s okay.”

Buck grinned. “Okay. You look tired. You should, um, you should rest.”

As much as Tommy wanted to stay awake, his body was not getting the memo. “You’ll be here... when I wake up?”

Buck nodded. “Of course.”

“Good." Tommy's eyes began to close, but his grip on Buck’s hand remained. Half asleep, he mumbled, “Don’t le- let go, m’kay?”

Buck wrapped Tommy’s hand in both of his, bringing it up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “I won’t, Tommy. Not this time.”