#and EVERY time i try to say something about how it makes me feel she pulls the experience card and patronizes me!!!

[jupiterpilgrim]

Storm

Dahyun x Male Reader

word count: 5K

The storm’s been pounding the world outside since morning, slashing against the windows like nature itself lost its temper. Inside, though, it’s warm. Smells of butter and chocolate fill the small kitchen as you finish arranging the last handful of popcorn in the bowl. You grab the soda cans, balancing everything like a waiter on a tightrope. In the living room, Dahyun’s voice carries over the rumble of rain.

“Babe! Hurry up!” she whines, her pitch soaring as you hear the soft thuds of her bouncing on the couch cushions. She sounds like a sugar-rushed kid waiting for cake. You can already picture her, legs tucked under her, short pink Hello Kitty shorts riding up her pale thighs, loose shirt hanging off one shoulder. You shake your head with a grin, grabbing a pack of M&Ms to complete the spread.

Three months of living together, and the novelty hasn’t worn off. It’s the little things—how she’ll randomly burst into song while brushing her teeth or how she’s somehow made every corner of the house scream Dahyun. She’s your chaotic little sunbeam, glowing even on days like this, when the world outside feels drenched in gray.

You make your way into the living room. Dahyun’s perched on her knees now, practically vibrating with excitement. “Finally! I thought you were planning a three-course meal back there,” she teases, flashing that toothy grin of hers.

“Snacks are serious business,” you shoot back, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

She claps her hands like a kid at Christmas and immediately snatches the remote. “Okay, okay, let’s do this!” She’s already flicking through the Disney+ menu, landing on the classic she’s been hyping all week. Something bright and nostalgic—perfect for a stormy night.

Just as she’s about to press play, the sky outside splits open. Thunder roars so loud it rattles the windows, and then—bam—everything goes dark.

“AAAAHHHH!” Dahyun shrieks, her voice cutting through the sudden silence. She’s off the couch in a flash, nearly tripping over herself as she stumbles toward you. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my GOD!” Her hands clutch at your arm, fingers digging in like a cat trying to climb a tree.

“It’s just a blackout,” you say, but she’s already shaking her head.

“Nope. Nope. Nope,” she chants, squeezing her eyes shut. Her grip tightens as another crack of thunder rolls through, closer this time. She lets out a tiny yelp, burying her face in your chest.

You wrap an arm around her, pulling her close. “Dahyunnie, it’s fine. It’s just weather. It’s not gonna eat you.”

“It feels like it’s gonna eat me,” she mutters into your shirt, voice muffled and pitiful. “What if it doesn’t come back? What if we’re stuck in the dark forever?”

You bite back a laugh, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Forever’s a stretch, don’t you think?”

“Don’t make fun of me!” she pouts, though the corners of her lips twitch. Her hands stay glued to you as she shuffles in place, practically curling into your side like you’re the only thing keeping her tethered to sanity.

You guide her back to the couch, sitting down with her practically in your lap. The rain hammers harder against the windows, and every so often the room lights up with a jagged flash of lightning. Each time, Dahyun flinches, burying herself further into you until she’s half-straddling you, her thin little body trembling slightly under the loose shirt.

“You’re really not a fan of storms, huh?” you ask softly, running your fingers through her silky black hair.

“Nope. Never. Hate them,” she mutters, clutching the front of your shirt. “They’re loud, and it’s dark, and it’s like... ugh, I can’t explain it.” She looks up at you, and even though you can't see it properly, you know she's scrunching her nose in that way that always makes your heart flip. “You think I’m dumb.

“I think you’re adorable,” you say, leaning in to nuzzle her. She giggles despite herself, smacking your chest lightly.

“Don’t try to charm me. I’m serious. I feel like a little kid, freaking out like this.”

“You’re my little kid,” you tease, earning another playful slap. “Alright, alright, I get it. But you know what? You don’t have to deal with it alone. I’m here.”

Her fingers relax a little, her body softening against you. She sighs, resting her head on your shoulder. “You always make me feel safe,” she murmurs.

“I mean, I am pretty great,” you joke, earning a snort.

Her laughter is short-lived as another rumble of thunder sends a shiver through her. Her legs twitch slightly where they’re pressed against yours, bare and smooth. You trail your hand down to her thigh, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Hey,” you whisper, tilting her chin up so she’s looking at you. “I know a way to make you forget about the storm.”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You lean in closer, your voice dropping low. “Distraction therapy.”

Her lips part, her breath hitching slightly as she catches the mischievous glint in your eye. “You’re ridiculous,” she mumbles, though there’s a flicker of interest in her voice.

“Maybe,” you admit, letting your hand wander just a little higher, brushing the hem of her shorts. “But you love me for it.”

Her cheeks flush pink, the storm momentarily forgotten as she shifts in your lap, the weight of her settling just right.

You move your hand to Dahyun's head, your fingers comb through her hair, the silky strands slipping easily between your fingers. She feels so small in your lap, legs folded up, her cheek pressed against your chest. The rain’s still battering the windows, and the occasional flicker of lightning casts jagged shadows across the room, but you focus on her—on her warmth, her little huffs of nervous breath.

“You okay?” you ask softly, breaking the silence.

She nods weakly, though her grip on your shirt hasn’t loosened. “Yeah... I just—tonight was supposed to be fun, you know?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You were excited about the movie.”

She pulls back just enough to look up at you, her pout exaggerated. “Of course I was! It’s a classic! I’ve been talking about it all week, haven’t I?” Her voice lilts with playful indignation, though her eyes are still wide, the thunder’s threat lurking in the back of her mind.

“You’ve been hyping it like it’s the second coming of Christ,” you tease, earning a small giggle.

“Well, yeah,” she says with a dramatic toss of her head. “Now it’s ruined. Stupid storm.” Her gaze drifts toward the window, her mood dipping again. You hate seeing that little flicker of disappointment in her.

“We’ll watch it as soon as the power comes back,” you promise, pulling her closer. “But hey, this just means we’ll have to do this whole thing again. More snacks, more cuddles. Bigger deal.”

She narrows her eyes like she’s considering your pitch, then smirks. “Fine, but only if you let me pick another movie, too.”

“Deal,” you say, grinning, just as another crack of thunder splits the air.

Dahyun screams, loud and high-pitched, the sound stabbing directly into your eardrum. You wince, half-deaf, as she scrambles up against you like she’s trying to climb inside your skin. Her arms lock around your neck, her whole body trembling like a cornered kitten.

“Oh my god, oh my god, I hate this! It feels like the sky is gonna fall!” she wails, voice muffled against your chest.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, stroking her back in slow circles. “It’s just noise. It can’t hurt you.”

“But it feels like it can,” she whimpers, squeezing tighter.

“Hey, listen to me,” you say, tilting her chin up so her glassy eyes meet yours. “You don’t need to be scared, okay? I’ve got you. Nothing’s gonna happen to you while I’m here.”

She sniffs, her lips wobbling into the faintest smile. “You always say the right thing, huh?”

“It’s a gift,” you say, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “But for real. If you ever feel scared, you just let me know, okay?”

She nods, her voice small. “Okay.”

A pause stretches between you, the storm roaring outside, while inside, it’s just her heartbeat against yours. Finally, you murmur, “You want me to calm you down now? Make you feel good?”

She blinks up at you, her breath catching slightly. “...Yeah,” she whispers, almost shyly.

You lean in, the space between you shrinking. In the dark, neither of you can see clearly, and when your lips meet, there’s a sharp clink—teeth crashing together painfully.

“Shit!” you yelp, pulling back, your hand flying to your mouth.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” she gasps, then bursts out laughing when she sees you clutching your face. “You’re such a dork!”

“Me?! You’re the one who can’t aim!” you shoot back, grinning despite the ache.

She’s still laughing as you cup her face again, this time more careful, your thumb brushing against her cheekbone. “Alright, let’s try this again,” you whisper, and then your lips meet hers properly. It’s soft at first, a tentative press, but the way she melts into you makes you press harder, deeper. Her hands find their way to your shoulders, fingers curling into your shirt as she sighs into your mouth.

The world outside seems to shrink. The storm, the dark, the cold—all of it fades as your bodies draw closer, her warmth against yours. Her lips are so soft, and there’s something addictive about the way she responds, the little noises she makes as your hands trail down her sides, brushing the bare skin of her thighs where her shorts ride up.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads resting together, you whisper, “C’mon. Let’s go to the bedroom.”

She hesitates for half a second, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip, before nodding. “Okay,” she breathes.

The two of you fumble your way through the pitch-black apartment, bumping into furniture and each other. She stifles a giggle when she nearly trips over the coffee table, clutching your hand like it’s her lifeline. By the time you reach the bedroom, both of you are out of breath from laughing, the tension from earlier replaced with something warm, intimate. You push the door open, pulling her inside as lightning flashes outside, casting fleeting silver across her silhouette.

In the dark, her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close again. “Thanks for being my storm shield,” she whispers, her voice soft and teasing.

“Anytime,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss her again, this time slower, savoring every second.

Your lips are locked with hers, warm and soft, and it’s like nothing else in the world matters. As you kiss her, you guide her backward, your hands on her waist, steadying her as you move. Her leg bumps against the edge of the bed, and before either of you can react, she stumbles, falling onto the mattress with a surprised laugh.

You’re right there with her, landing softly on top of her. She’s still giggling, her cheeks flushed, and you can’t help but smile down at her. “You okay?” you ask, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Yeah,” she whispers, her voice light, her eyes sparkling in the faint sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Her hands slide up to your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Now kiss me.”

Then your mouth finds hers again, but this time it’s slower, deeper. Your hands roam, sliding down her sides, feeling the soft curve of her waist under the thin fabric of her shirt. She sighs into the kiss, her body relaxing beneath you as you press her into the mattress.

Breaking away from her lips, you start a trail of kisses down her jaw, your lips brushing over the delicate curve until you reach her neck. Her skin is warm and smells faintly of her vanilla body lotion, sweet and intoxicating. You breathe her in, unable to get enough, and press your mouth against her neck, kissing and nipping gently. Her head tilts back, giving you more access, and she lets out this tiny, breathy moan that goes straight to your core.

“God, you smell so good,” you murmur against her skin, your lips moving to her collarbone. She shivers under you, her hands gripping the back of your shirt.

“You always say that,” she whispers, her voice soft but laced with teasing.

“Because it’s true,” you reply, grinning as you kiss the hollow of her throat. She smells like comfort, like home, like something you could drown in and never get tired of. Every kiss draws another little sound from her—a sigh, a gasp, a quiet moan—and each one just spurs you on.

“I love you,” you whisper against her skin, the words tumbling out between kisses.

“I love you too,” she breathes, her voice trembling just slightly, like she’s overwhelmed.

Your hands slide up her sides, gathering the hem of her loose shirt. You pause for a second, giving her a look, then you pull it up, revealing her pale skin inch by inch. The cold air hits her, making her shiver, and you notice the goosebumps rising on her arms. “Cold?” you ask softly.

“A little,” she admits, but there’s a teasing glint in her eye. “You can warm me up, right?”

You smirk. “Oh, I’ve got that covered.”

Her shirt ends up somewhere on the floor, forgotten, as your eyes roam over her. Her chest rises and falls quickly, her breaths shallow, and her almost-flat breasts peek out from under her bra. You lean down, trailing kisses over her skin, starting at her stomach and working your way up, taking your time. Her breathing changes with every kiss, her chest heaving as you kiss the curve of her ribs, the dip between her breasts.

“You know I love these, right?” you murmur, your lips brushing over the top of her bra.

She rolls her eyes playfully, her cheeks flushing pink. “You’ve told me, like, a million times.”

“Yeah, but I never get tired of saying it,” you reply, slipping your fingers under the fabric and pulling the bra down enough to expose her. The cold air makes her nipples stiffen instantly, but your mouth is there a second later, warm and soft, replacing the chill with heat.

She gasps sharply, her back arching slightly as your lips close around her nipple. Your tongue flicks over the sensitive peak, and her hands fly to your hair, tangling in it as she pulls you closer. “God, that feels good,” she whispers, her voice shaky.

You hum against her skin, sucking gently, savoring the way her body reacts to every movement of your mouth. Your free hand slides up to her other breast, your fingers tracing lazy circles around the nipple before giving it a gentle pinch. She moans, her hips shifting under you, and you can feel the warmth of her thighs brushing against yours.

“You’re so perfect,” you say between kisses, moving to her other breast. “I could stay here forever.”

“Don’t say that,” she murmurs, her voice soft but full of emotion. “You’ll make me cry.”

You pause, looking up at her, your lips brushing against her skin. “Good tears or bad tears?”

She smiles down at you, her eyes shining. “Good ones.”

“Then I’ll keep going,” you whisper, lowering your mouth to her again.

Your mouth stays busy on her chest, sucking gently on her nipple while your tongue flicks over the hardened peak, earning another soft moan from her lips. Her fingers are tangled in your hair, tugging slightly whenever you suck harder. It’s like she’s melting under you, her body arching and squirming, her little sounds only encouraging you to keep going.

As your lips trail from one breast to the other, your hand starts to wander. It slides down the flat plane of her stomach, her skin warm and smooth beneath your touch. You pause for a moment, just long enough to feel the slight hitch in her breathing as your fingers reach the waistband of her shorts. You know she's watching you now, her eyes wide and dark, her lips parted like she’s waiting for what’s coming next.

You slip your hand under the fabric of her shorts and panties, your palm brushing against her hip, and immediately feel the heat radiating from her. When your fingers dip lower, the first thing you feel is how wet she already is. A low groan escapes your throat as your fingers slide over her slick folds, and you pull back just enough to murmur against her skin, “You’re soaked, baby.”

“Shut up,” she whispers, her cheeks flushed, but there’s no hiding the way her body reacts. Her hips shift instinctively, pressing herself against your hand, her breath coming out in quick, shaky bursts.

Your fingers glide over her, spreading her wetness as you find her clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles. Her body jerks slightly, a sharp gasp leaving her lips. “Oh my god,” she breathes, her head falling back against the pillow.

“Feel good?” you ask, though the way her thighs tremble and try to close around your hand is answer enough.

“Yes,” she whimpers, her voice soft and high-pitched, almost pleading. “Don’t stop.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” you say with a grin, dipping your head back down to her chest. Your lips latch onto her nipple again, sucking harder this time, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make her squirm. At the same time, your fingers slide lower, slipping into her tight, dripping hole.

“Fuck,” you groan against her skin as you feel how warm and snug she is around your fingers. “You’re so fucking tight, baby.”

She lets out a choked moan, her hands flying to your shoulders, clutching you as your fingers start to move. Slow at first, pumping in and out of her while your thumb circles her clit. Her body reacts instantly, her hips rocking to meet your hand, her moans growing louder with every thrust.

“God, you’re amazing,” you murmur, kissing her chest, her neck, her jaw. “So fucking perfect.”

She’s trembling now, her breathing ragged as you pick up the pace. Your fingers curl inside her, finding that spot that makes her gasp and cling to you like her life depends on it. “Right there,” she cries out, her nails digging into your skin. “Fuck, don’t stop, right there.”

“Anything for you,” you whisper, your voice low and thick with desire. Your thumb presses harder against her clit, and you feel her walls tighten around your fingers, her body tensing. Her moans are louder now, more desperate, her head tossing back as her legs start to shake.

It’s all too much for her—your mouth on her breasts, your fingers buried deep in her slick pussy, pumping and curling just right. Every time you move, every time you kiss her skin, her little moans grow louder, her hips rocking against your hand like she can’t get enough. Her nails dig into your shoulders as she gasps for air, her voice breaking into shaky little whimpers.

But even with all that, it’s not enough for her. She can feel the weight of your cock pressing against her thigh, thick and heavy, the heat of it radiating through your pants. It’s driving her insane. Her hips jerk erratically, chasing a friction that isn’t there, and her head tilts back as she lets out a desperate, needy moan.

“Babe,” she whines, her voice trembling, almost pathetic with how desperate she sounds. “I need you. Please. I need it.”

Her words make your cock throb, the sheer hunger in her tone lighting a fire in your chest. You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you look down at her. “You need what?” you ask, teasing, though your voice is rough, your own need barely held in check.

She groans in frustration, her cheeks flushed, her thighs trembling. “You know what I need!” she cries, her hands sliding down your chest, trying to tug at the waistband of your pants. “Please, I need your cock. I can’t wait anymore.”

The way she’s begging, her voice cracking with need, only makes you harder. Your fingers slow their pace inside her, and she whimpers at the loss of momentum, squirming beneath you. “You really want it that bad?” you murmur, pulling your hand out of her and holding it up before putting two fingers in your mouth to taste it. “You’re dripping for me, baby.”

“Yes!” she gasps, her hands fumbling with the button of your pants now, her impatience clear in every movement. “Please, just—just fuck me already. I need you.”

Her begging snaps what little control you were holding onto. “Alright,” you growl, sitting back on your knees and shoving your pants down. You don’t bother with underwear—you’re not wearing any—and your cock springs free, thick and hard, the tip already glistening with precum. Dahyun's small hand immediately wraps around your cock, stroking it lightly, her breath catching.

“You’re so big,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

“Then come and get it,” you reply, leaning back against the headboard, your cock resting against your stomach, throbbing with anticipation.

She doesn’t hesitate. Her hands go to her back, unclasping her bra and letting it fall to the floor. Her shorts follow along with her panties, and now she’s naked, her pale skin glowing in the darkness. She’s perfect, every curve, every line of her body making your mouth water.

You grab her hips as she climbs onto your lap, straddling you, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of your thighs. “You sure you can handle it?” you tease, your hands sliding down to cup her ass, squeezing the soft flesh.

“Shut up,” she mutters. “I need it.”

Her hands grip your shoulders as she tries to position herself, her body brushing against yours in the process. You can feel the heat of her pussy against your cock, and it makes you groan, your hands tightening on her hips.

“It’s hard to see,” she murmurs, frustration creeping into her tone as she shifts, trying to line herself up in the dark.

“Take your time, baby,” you say, though your voice is strained. Every time her slick folds brush against your cock, it sends a jolt of electricity through you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Finally, she finds the angle she needs, and you both moan as the tip of your cock presses against her entrance. Slowly, she starts to sink down, her tight pussy stretching around you inch by inch.

“Fuck,” she gasps, her head falling forward, her nails digging into your shoulders as she lowers herself. “You’re so... fucking... big.”

“You’re so tight,” you groan, your hands gripping her hips as you try not to buck up into her. The heat and wetness of her pussy, the way it clenches around you, makes it almost impossible to stay still. “God, you feel so good.”

She’s breathing hard, her thighs trembling as she takes more of you, her pussy stretching to accommodate your girth. It’s slow, almost torturous, but finally, she’s seated all the way down, her ass resting against your thighs. She lets out a shaky moan of relief, her head falling back as her body adjusts to the fullness.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice shaky. “You’re so deep... I can feel you everywhere.”

You tilt your head back, groaning as her walls flutter around you. “You’re perfect,” you murmur, your hands sliding up her sides, holding her steady as she starts to move. “Ride me, baby. Show me how much you need it.”

The moment Dahyun starts moving, you know you’re in trouble. She wastes no time, her hips rolling and bouncing, her tight, wet pussy gripping you like a fucking vice. It’s almost overwhelming—how snug she is, how her heat wraps around you, dragging you deeper with every thrust. Even in the dark, with the only light coming from the occasional flicker of lightning outside, you don’t need to see her to know she looks incredible. Her small, pale body moving on top of you, her thighs trembling as she rides you like her life depends on it—you can feel it all, and it’s driving you insane.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hands gripping her hips, guiding her movements as she starts to pick up speed. “You’re so fucking tight, baby.”

Her moans grow louder, higher-pitched, the sound raw and needy as she rocks her hips against you. Her hands are braced on your chest, her nails digging in for leverage as she moves. “God,” she whimpers, her voice shaky but insistent. “You’re so big. So fucking thick. I can feel you stretching me out.”

Your cock throbs at her words, a low growl rumbling in your chest. She always says shit like that, like she knows exactly how to get under your skin, how to push you closer to the edge. And fuck, it works every time. “You love it, don’t you?” you mutter, your voice rough. “You love how my cock fills you up.”

“Yes,” she cries out, her pace quickening, the wet sound of her pussy taking you echoing through the room. “I love it so much. I’m fucking addicted to it. To you.”

Her confession makes your grip on her hips tighten, your fingers digging into her soft flesh as you help guide her movements. You can feel her tight little ass rubbing against your pelvis with every bounce, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. “You feel so fucking good, Dahyun,” you groan, your head tilting back as she keeps going. “I can never get enough of you.”

The rain outside seems to be coming down harder, the sound of it pounding against the windows mixing with the slap of her skin against yours. Thunder rolls through the sky, loud and sharp, but neither of you pays it any attention. She’s too focused on the way your cock fills her, and you’re too caught up in the way her pussy clenches around you, milking you like she never wants to let go.

“You’re so deep,” she moans, her voice breaking slightly as she leans forward, her breath hot against your neck. “I can feel you... fuck, I can feel you in my stomach.”

Her words make your cock twitch, and you glance down, even in the dim light, knowing exactly what she’s talking about. She’s so small, her frame so petite, that every time you’re buried inside her, you can see the faint outline of your cock bulging in her lower belly. It’s fucking intoxicating, knowing how much you fill her, how her tiny body takes you so perfectly.

“Look at that,” you murmur, your hand sliding between you to press gently against her stomach. She lets out a choked gasp, her hips stuttering for a moment as she feels the added pressure. “You feel that? That’s me, baby. That’s my cock inside you.”

“Fuck,” she whimpers, her voice high and shaky. “I feel it... I love it. I love how big you are. How you stretch me out.”

“Keep going,” you tell her, your hands moving back to her hips, urging her to keep moving. “Ride me, baby. Don’t stop.”

She doesn’t need any more encouragement. Her pace quickens again, her hips slamming down onto you with a desperate rhythm. Her moans grow louder, more frantic, the sound mixing with the rain and thunder as she completely loses herself in the feeling of you. Her thighs are trembling against your sides, her body working overtime to take all of you, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down.

“God, you’re amazing,” you groan, your hands roaming up and down her body, over her ribs, her waist, her thighs. “You’re so fucking perfect, Dahyun. I could watch you do this all night.”

“Then don’t stop watching,” she gasps, her voice breathless but teasing. “I’ll ride you as long as you want.”

And fuck, she means it. Even though you haven’t cum yet, and neither has she, the way she’s moving, the way her pussy grips you like she never wants to let you go—it’s enough to make you feel like you could lose it at any second. But you hold on, watching as she keeps going, her moans and gasps filling the room as she rides you like there’s no tomorrow.

Dahyun’s movements are growing more frantic now, her slim body bouncing on your cock with wild abandon. Her moans are louder, breathless and unrestrained, filling the room as her hips slap against yours. The wet, messy sounds of her tight pussy taking you echo beneath the storm outside, the rain beating against the windows a steady, distant drum. Her small hands cling to your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as she rides you like she can’t get enough.

“Fuck, baby,” you groan, your hands gripping her waist to steady her. “You’re so fucking good. Keep going, just like that.”

Her moans hitch, turning higher-pitched as she leans back slightly, her head tilting toward the ceiling. “It’s so good,” she whimpers, her voice shaky. “You’re so big—I feel so full.”

“Yeah?” you ask, your fingers pressing harder into her hips. “You like how my cock stretches you, don’t you?”

“Yes!” she cries out, her pace quickening as her thighs tremble around you. “I love it. I love you. It’s too much, I’m—” Her words break off into a sharp gasp, her body shuddering as she continues to bounce, every movement sending jolts of pleasure through both of you.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” you murmur, your voice rough and low as you watch her fall apart on top of you.

She nods frantically, her hands sliding up to your chest as she leans forward, her petite frame trembling with every movement. “So close,” she breathes, her voice almost a sob. “I can’t—oh god, I’m gonna—”

“Come here,” you interrupt, your voice firm but gentle as you pull her closer. She leans down, her breasts brushing against your chest, her flushed face inches from yours. You catch her lips in a messy, desperate kiss, your hands sliding up her back to hold her against you. She moans into your mouth, her hips still rocking against yours as you take over.

“I’m gonna make you cum,” you whisper against her lips, your breath hot and heavy. “Hold on tight, baby.”

With that, you adjust your legs on the bed, planting your feet for better leverage. Your hands move to her hips, holding her steady as you start to thrust up into her, hard and fast. The first deep, powerful stroke makes her cry out, her body jolting against yours.

“Oh my god!” she gasps, her voice high-pitched and trembling as you pound into her tight, soaking pussy.

“You like that?” you growl, your thrusts relentless as you drive into her over and over, each one hitting deeper, harder, making her walls squeeze around you like a vice.

“Yes! Yes, fuck, yes!” she screams, her head dropping onto your shoulder as her nails rake down your back. “I love it! Don’t stop—please don’t stop!”

Her moans are louder now, right in your ear, and fuck, it’s exactly what you need. The sound of her losing herself, the way her voice breaks with every thrust, sends a thrill through you. “That’s it,” you murmur, your lips brushing against her ear. “Keep moaning for me, baby. Let me hear how good it feels.”

She doesn’t hold back, her cries spilling out freely as you keep slamming into her, your cock hitting her deep, her pussy clenching tighter with every thrust. “It’s so good,” she babbles, her words slurring together. “You’re so good, so big, I can’t—I’m gonna—oh god, I’m gonna—”

“Come on, Dahyun,” you urge her, your voice low and rough. “Let go. Cum for me. I want to feel you.”

Her body stiffens suddenly, her back arching as she lets out a sharp, broken cry. “Oh fuck!” she screams, her walls clamping down around you as she finally falls over the edge. Her whole body shakes, her hips jerking erratically as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her.

You keep thrusting into her, your cock buried to the hilt as her orgasm rips through her. Her pussy clenches around you in rhythmic pulses, so tight it’s almost painful, but you don’t stop. You grind deeper, chasing that sweet friction even as she squirms, her breath hitching in overstimulated gasps.

“Too much—too much,” she whines, her voice cracking, but her hips jerk forward anyway, betraying her. You can’t see her face in the dark, but you know she’s rolling her eyes—that mix of annoyed and amused she always gets when you push her past her limits.

“You love it,” you growl, slowing just enough to let her catch her breath, your hands pinning her trembling thighs wide. Her skin is slick with sweat, the air thick with the musky scent of sex and her vanilla lotion.

She collapses against your chest, panting, her heartbeat wild against yours. “You’re… insane,” she mutters, but there’s a laugh tangled in her words. Her fingers trace lazy circles on your shoulder, shaky but still teasing.

You smirk, brushing damp hair from her forehead. “Not even close to done with you.”

Before she can protest, you flip her onto her back, the mattress groaning as you loom over her. Her legs instinctively wrap around your waist, heels digging into your ass like she’s already begging for more. The faint glow of lightning spills through the curtains, illuminating her flushed face, her lips swollen from kissing, her eyes dark and hungry.

“Gonna fuck you until I fill you up,” you say, voice rough. Your cock twitches, still rock-hard, leaking precum inside her pussy. “You want that? Want me to cum deep inside you?”

Her breath hitches. She bites her lip, her hips tilt upward, inviting. “Yes,” she whispers, then louder, desperate: “Fuck, yes—please, I need it. Need you to—ah—!”

You don’t let her finish. You slam into her, one brutal thrust that steals her voice, her back arching off the bed. She’s so fucking wet, her pussy swollen and sensitive from her first orgasm, but she takes you greedily, her nails raking down your spine.

“Harder,” she demands, her legs tightening around you. “Don’t fucking hold back—give it to me.”

You oblige. Your hips piston into her, the slap of skin echoing beneath the storm’s dying growls. Every snap of your pelvis drags a broken moan from her throat, her walls fluttering around you like she’s trying to milk you dry. She’s a mess—hair tangled, chest heaving, tears clinging to her lashes from the intensity—but she’s yours, unraveling again under your hands.

“You feel that?” you grunt, driving deeper, your balls slapping against her ass. “Gonna pump you so full, you’ll drip for days.”

She whimpers, her head thrashing against the pillow. “Do it—fuck, cum in me—I want it, want you—”

You feel it first in your balls—that coiled, electric tension snapping tight as Dahyun’s pussy milks you, her walls fluttering like a fucking vice around your cock. “Gonna cum,” you warn, voice shredded, hips stuttering as you drive into her one last time. She claws at your back, her moans pitching higher. “Do it—fill me up, please—!”

Your release hits like a detonation—thick, pulsing ropes of cum surging deep into her. You groan, low and guttural, as you pump her full, your cock twitching with every hot jet that floods her tight pink cunt. She gasps, her legs shaking where they’re hooked around your waist, her nails digging crescent moons into your skin. “Fuck,” she whimpers, her voice breaking, “it’s so hot—I can feel it—”

You grind your hips harder, burying yourself to the root as your cum spills into her, the wet slap of your skin against hers echoing in the dark. Her pussy clenches greedily, sucking every drop from you, her breath coming in ragged hitches as you fill her. “That’s it,” you rasp, your forehead pressed to hers, “take it all, baby. Take all my fucking cum.”

She keens, her back arching off the mattress as your cum leaks around your cock, dripping down her thighs. The smell of sex—musky and sweet—hangs thick in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of rain still clinging to the windows. You collapse onto her, both of you slick with sweat, your chests heaving as you ride out the aftershocks.

Minutes later, the room is quieter the storm outside reduced to a soft, distant hum. Dahyun’s curled into your side, her head resting on your chest, her breath warm and steady against your skin. Your cum is still leaking out of her, pooling between her thighs and staining the sheets, but neither of you care. The mess is part of it—part of this, the raw, unfiltered intimacy that comes after.

You run your fingers through her hair, the strands silky and damp with sweat. She hums softly, her body melting into yours, her legs tangled with yours under the covers. “You good?” you ask, your voice low and rough, but tender.

She tilts her head up to look at you, her big brown eyes glazed but content. “Mm. Better than good,” she murmurs, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “You?”

“Never better,” you say, brushing a thumb over her cheek. She leans into the touch, her skin warm and flushed.

Her hand trails down your chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns over your abs. “You know,” she starts, her voice teasing, “you’re kinda insufferable when you’re all… post-sex smug.”

You snort, pulling her closer. “Says the girl who just begged me to fill her up.”

She smacks your chest lightly, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Shut up,” she mutters, though her cheeks flush pink. “I was vulnerable.”

“Uh-huh.” You press a kiss to her forehead, your lips lingering against her skin. “And now you’re not scared of the storm anymore, huh?”

She glances toward the window, where the rain taps gently against the glass. “What storm?” she says, her tone light and playful. “I don’t even remember what I was scared of.”

You chuckle, your hand sliding down to rest on her hip. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not letting you go anywhere tonight.”

She shifts slightly, her body pressing even closer to yours, her warmth seeping into your skin. “Like I’d want to,” she mumbles, her voice muffled against your chest.

You smile, your fingers tracing lazy circles on her back. The room smells like sex and rain, the air thick with the kind of quiet that only comes after something real. Her heartbeat syncs with yours, steady and slow, and for a moment, the world feels perfect.

“You’re my favorite,” she says suddenly, her voice soft but sure.

You glance down at her, raising an eyebrow. “Favorite what?”

“Everything,” she says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Back at you, Dahyunnie,” you murmur, pressing another kiss to her hair.

She sighs, content, her body relaxing completely against yours. Outside, the storm fades into nothing, but inside, it’s just her warmth, your arms, and the quiet promise of more nights like this.

[i-dared-myself]

Skirt War

Requested by anonymous: Could I req a fic with the stray kids' ninth member being put in a short dress/skirt (you know those that don't look like it'll ride up if you move but it does and its annoying af??) for a performance with a dance dance - that she has to move around a lot and then she keeps trying to pull the skirt down but that piece of shit just keeps going back up. And she spends the whole performance playing tug of war with a bunch of fabric trying not to be indecent and humiliated. And backstage she feels shit bc she couldn’t dance well and looked pathetic and she's disappointed and frustrated and embarrassed and yk. Idk if this is understandable anymore

“Wow, Felix,” you say, “you look really good! The stylists worked really hard with this new set of outfits.”

Felix hums his agreement, adjusting his gloves. “Where’s yours?”

You glance down at yourself. You’re still in your normal clothes. “Ah, they haven’t called me back yet. I think they’re finishing with Seungmin now.”

Felix makes a small sound of understanding, reaching up to touch his hair. He stops himself and drags his hand back down to his side. “Should I dye my hair soon?”

You shrug. “Do you want to? Is your hair even alive at this point?”

You hear someone softly call your name, and turn before you head Felix’s response. A staff member is waving you over as Seungmin and Jisung walk by.

“Looking good,” you compliment them, smiling brightly. You’re excited for what you’ll be wearing for the performance.

So you’re handed the set of clothes that you change into. You don’t even get a chance to look at yourself in a mirror before you’re whisked away for makeup and hair.

You eventually step out, joining the others. It seems as if everyone else has finished with their own styling, and everyone looks great.

There’s one tiny little problem, though.

Your tiny little skirt.

Your shirt is amazing, and you can’t disagree with the fact that you look hot in it. But the skirt is as small as they get. You’re amazed that you’re even allowed to wear it.

You’re fairly certain it’ll stay in place during thr performance, but you really don’t want to take chances. So you do an experimental twirl, heart sinking when the skirt instantly flies up.

Hyunjin recoils when he sees you. “What the-“

“Watch it!” Chan warns, narrowing his eyes. He faces you, eyes widening. “Oh. Oh boy.”

You tug the material down, fiddling with it anxiously. “Is it that bad?”

Jeongin is averting his eyes, which does absolutely nothing to make you feel better. “Nope. It’s totally fine.”

“Did they ask you about this?” Minho frowns deeply, glancing out at the crowd between the curtains. The sound check is almost complete, so you’re running out of time to deal with this.

“No. I wasn’t aware that I’d be wearing this.” Your hands tremble. You feel sick with how short it is. You half believe you’re at risk of your most intimate areas just being on display.

Seungmin grunts a little. “Want my sweater? To tie around your waist?”

You consider it for a moment before shaking your head. “Maybe later. I don’t want it to look like I’m disrespecting the stylists.”

“But it’s fine!” Jisung assures you. “These aren’t our usual stylists, and they don’t know our boundaries.”

“But we also don’t want to start something with this event,” you point out. They stylists had come with the gig, and you didn’t want to disrespect them if you didn’t usually work with them. It might ruin any other opportunities.

“Positions, everyone,” Chan suddenly says. He gives you a pitying look as everyone files into their assigned places. “You’ve got this.”

You’re not as confident as he is, but you force a smile. You tug the skirt down one last time before bounding out onto stage.

The music starts up and you begin to dance. Every movement that involves legs (pretty much all of them) has the skirt flipping up. Felix is behind you for the beginning, and when you catch a glance of his face it’s bright red.

You miss a hand gesture because you’re adjusting the fabric again, and your stomach tumbles. The media is going to have a field day with this. Everyone is going to be talking about how unprofessional you are.

Positions are swapped, and then you’re next to Changbin. He turns his gaze away to be respectful, but it just reinforces the idea in your head that the outfit is bad. That you’re indecent.

You blink back tears as you stumble over yet another move, too busy holding the skirt down to make it to the next spot in time. You’re falling behind, mind focused on your decency and not the dance.

Then your lines come, and your voice cracks. You’re lucky enough that you don’t have to hold your microphone up, because you honestly don’t have a spare hand.

It comes to an end, and you all bow. You walk off stage, perhaps the most humiliated that you’ve ever been.

Changbin loops his arms around you, tying his sweater around your waist. You mutter your thanks and wrench your headset off. 

“Hey.” Chan gently grabs your arm and steers you back to the group. “Let’s talk about it.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You keep your head ducked, gaze locked on the floor. Your throat burns and you’re struggling not to cry.

Jeongin comes up behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder. “I think you did great.”

You shove him away. “Well I didn’t! I sucked because of this stupid skirt! I let it get in my head, and now everyone’s going to be talking about it!”

Minho sits on the ground and takes your hands in his. He gently pulls you down to his lap and lets your cry against his chest. “Yeah, it wasn’t your greatest performance.”

“How is that supposed to help?” Jisung hisses out.

“But Stay loves you no matter what. And if they don’t, they can go suck it.” Minho strokes your hair. 

Chan clears his throat. “I might not have said it in those exact words, but he’s right. And from now on, I’ll make it clear to our managers and staff about our boundaries. Including those that we work with for the first time.”

You hiccup between tears, burying your face further against Minho. “Really?”

Chan hums. “Absolutely. And we have time to change before our next song, so why don’t you go to the stylists again?”

You sniffle and push yourself out of Minho’s grip. Seungmin gives you a reassuring smile as you wander off.

“Excuse me?” you hesitantly say as you approach one of the stylists. “Would it be okay if I got a different skirt? Or maybe some pants?”

He tilts his head, nose wrinkling. “Why? Is there a problem with it?”

“Uh, it’s just that-“ You toy with the material as you try and find the correct words. You don’t want to insult the man. “Dancing in this is very difficult. I don’t feel comfortable in this.”

He smiles mockingly. “Oh, really? Well it’s fine. It’s not even that short.”

“I just danced in it and it didn’t go that well.” You’re aware that you’re running out of time. You need to hurry up. “Can you please just direct me to-“

“Have you considered that maybe it’s just your skill?” he interrupts. He sighs and shakes his head, turning away. “But fine. I could find something else.”

You swallow thickly as you follow him.

Is it actually your own fault? Are you just not a talented enough dancer for these clothes? 

“Is this good enough for you?” The stylist holds up a new set of bottoms, and you wince. It’s even smaller than the one you’re currently wearing.

“Ready yet?” Jisung comes sliding in, eyes widening at the skirt being held up. “Wow, that’s small.”

“Uh, almost,” you weakly tell him.

Jisung’s eyes catch on your face and trembling bottom lip. His arms shoot out to wrap around you, and he pats your back. “It’s okay!”

“Are you wearing this or not?” the stylist snaps. 

“No, she’s not.” Jisung tightens Changbin’s sweater on your waist. “She’s wearing this and we have to go now, since we’re on in less than a minute. But I’ll be telling Bang Chan about you.”

The man pales. Having an idol complain about you was pretty much a death sentence, especially when that idol had as much influence as Stray Kids.

Jisung grabs your hand you the two of you dash out onto stage. You burst out and join the rest of the members, just in time for the music to begin.

This time it goes smoother. The sweater gives enough weight to keep the skirt down, and you’re able to focus on the dance. Your movements are fluid and well-executed, and you know even Hyunjin would be proud.

When you go backstage, you feel mildly more confident. You take a swig of your water bottle as Jisung tells Chan about the stylist.

Jeongin huffs, overhearing the conversation. “What an asshole.”

Seungmin hums his agreement. “A real dick.”

Chan holds up his hands. “Let’s watch the language, everyone. We’re professionals at work.”

Changbin snorts. “Right. If he’s a professional, why did he basically humiliate her?”

Felix hooks an arm over your shoulder. “It’s okay, I bet Minho will screw up soon and everyone will forget about today.”

Minho makes a sound of protest, narrowing his eyes. “Why me?”

Hyunjin wipes the sweat off his forehead. “Relax, it’s just an example.”

Chan calls the stylist over, who appears vaguely nauseated as he steps closer. He bows briefly to Chan before his eyes flick to you for a fraction of a second.

“I heard you had a bit of an issue with one of my members?” Chan blandly asks. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this angry. “Were you the one who put her in that skirt? Were you planning for her to humiliate herself and get kicked out of the industry?”

“Yeah!” Jisung cries out. He’s immediately silenced by Minho.

“S-Sorry,” the man mutters. “I just- I’m sorry.”

“No, no, continue.” Chan arches an eyebrow challengingly. “You just what?”

“Bet he just wanted to see her in it,” Seungmin drawls. “Is that it?”

A bead of sweat rolls down the stylist’s forehead. “Well- It wasn’t that short!”

“Would you feel comfortable wearing it?” Felix chimes in. “Because I thought it was pretty short.”

“Guys,” you say. “Let’s just go home. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Poor thing.” Hyunjin pats your head. “Wanna eat a whole bunch of ice cream with me?”

“Maybe,” you slyly say, walking with him to the van. You ignore the sounds of Chan still scolding the man. 

“If you ever need my sweater again, just ask.” Changbin comes up from behind you to poke at the fabric of the borrowed clothes. 

“Are we just stealing these?” Jeongin questions once everyone is in the van. Everyone is also still in the performance clothing. 

Chan frowns. “Oops.”

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret

[elysianightsss]

AAAHHHHH! HI! So sorry to bother you, but I read the neurodivergent reader x 141 and AHHHHH I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING, DROOLING, CHEWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE they wont let me out

i have a little idea… how would poly 141 react when they find out your job isnt this cute barista or something along those lines, but just a regular stocking associate or a cashier for some huge corporation. like, they know you work. and every time you leave, they see you die a little on the inside from having to go to *insert shitty job*. They just didnt know that you were working there and now they are trying whatever they can to convince you to quote your job and stay home… i know i would rather stay home and take care of them than going to my job…

Oh anon I love your brain! As someone who used to be a cashier before I got my fucking wonderful, literally no joke amazing office job, I fuck with this. I’m writing them as roommates tho don’t know why just deal with it😘

It starts off with a debate over what time you get up in the mornings given how tired you seemed today. But then they realise, they don’t even know what you do for work. Johnny predicts that you’re one of those cute baristas in sweet little aprons with how good the flavoured coffees you make him in the morning when he’s back from his run, are.

Kyle can’t seem to fathom you’re not the office sweetheart he seems to picture you as. Though you’d been living with them for almost over a year now, the guys were gone before you left for work and back long after you arrived home. Still he had it in his head the whole time that you were putting on tight pencil skirts and heels in the morning before going off to work. Something he argues tooth and nail with Johnny about.

John scoffs hearing the guys argue, usually keeping out of it, but this time he can’t help himself when he interjects with, “Yer both chattin shit. She’s obviously a baker with those mouth watering pastries she makes us.” Now that opens up the argument further.

Simon is the only one who doesn’t speculate, instead he walks right up to you on a Sunday night as the guys are all readying themselves for bed and you’re making your lunch for tomorrow. “Luv.” He calls, you glance at him, eyes honing in on the way his grey sweatpants hang low on his hips. Dangerous, dangerous man.

Looking back to the fruit you were slicing, you hum in acknowledgment, “Wot’s ya job?”

You bite back the grin that fights to split your face in two, turning to him you see he visibly softens at your little smile, “I’m a cashier.” You answer, ears tinging red a little. In all honesty you were embarrassed that you worked for one of those big corporations. The dreams you had once but were never able to reach are like a damp on your heart. Like a festering mould that only grows in the worst conditions.

Sometimes you enjoy the people, there are some nice ones that overcome the bad interactions. But everyday you pull on the trousers and trainers, and that itchy uniform top, you wish that a snowstorm would lock you inside the house. You pray to receive a call telling you not to come in due to a fire that started in the bakery. Your heart aches to be told you’re allowed to go home early even if you won’t be paid as much at the end of the month.

Simon hadn’t said much after you told him, his eyes darkened a little when he asked if you enjoyed it and you had answered swiftly and without hesitation; no.

Then suddenly, the guys are leaving for work a little later in the morning. The same time as you. John offering you a lift to work, Johnny making you coffee instead of the other way around, Kyle giving you one of his soft jackets so at least your arms will be comfortable even if your torso is covered in that itchy material.

Simon is the one who places his hand on your forehead and tuts beneath his black surgical mask. You scoff when Simon says he doesn’t think you should go in today, “I feel fine.” You counter with a frown, pushing his big paw away and shoving your feet into the uncomfortable trainers.

John stares down at them like they’ve offended him personally, “You own comfier shoes lass.” Johnny comments and Kyle nods in agreement.

“I have to wear them.” You say quietly wondering why they suddenly have such an interest in your work attire. Have to. Well, that just wasn’t acceptable. The guys didn’t think you should have to do anything.

The weekends were a little weird too. You would usually cook them meals and sweet pastries or cakes with how hard they worked, they deserved nothing less. But Johnny is ushering you away from the kitchen when you walk past the dining table and the marble counter island to make him a coffee.

John says no thank you in the most strained way you’ve ever heard it when you offer to make him a sweet treat. He deflates even further into the sofa when you look offended at his decline. Kyle pulls you close to him on the other side of the couch, putting an arm around you, he continues reading his book but it’s out loud this time.

You sigh snuggling close to him, head on his shoulder when Simon brings over one of the many plushies you’d left on the floor of the lounge, again, and one of the many soft blankets you’d unnecessarily bought for the house. Maybe you could get used to this, you thought as your eyes started to blink slower. It had been a really long week, with lots of assholes. A week of sitting in that uncomfortable chair had done a number on your back too.

You’re just lucky that you’d said from the very beginning that you won’t work weekends, at least you could have those to yourself. The guys became even more attentive, not that they weren’t before, but it increased tenfold. And you wondered why.

Why Kyle is packing you a lunch box everyday now. Why Johnny is cuddling up to you at night just so you sleep warmer, better. Why John is willing to race away from very important paperwork to sit outside the big supermarket you worked at just so you didn’t have to take the bus home. Why Simon keeps buying you lush smelling soaps, bath salts and those sparkly bathbombs he knows you love, you have so many now you don’t know what to do with them. Even when you ask him to stop, he shakes his head and grunts out, “Baths are good for sore muscles.” And that’s all you get.

You just want to know why, what brought all of this on. And most of all why it all suddenly stops.

Almost like a calculated mission, like a big discussion had happened before hand. All of it stopped. They had left long before you got up for work, no lunch ready to go, no soft jacket waiting by the door, no cuddle reading sessions on the weekend, no more new bath stuff, no more lifts and an expectant look in John’s eyes when it gets to dinner time.

They’d done a total three sixty. Like they wanted to show you how good it could be with their help, how much easier life could be, going to work could be, only just to take it all away.

That’s exactly what their plan had been, Simon’s idea mostly with little suggestions made by the rest of them. They all executed it thoroughly, now all that’s left for them is to compete the final step.

“Doll I think you should quit your job.” John goes first, you frown excessively. What the hell is he talking about, you think.

“Have you gone mad?” You huff. John knows you’re annoyed with them, hell they all know you’re angry by their actions. But it’s a necessary evil.

“Not yet I don’t think,” John jokes and feels a little lighter when the corner of your lip quirks up slightly, “I am serious.” He says simply, his blue eyes burning into you before he walks away. You think it so odd, strange that he says that out of the blue.

And then Kyle says it too. Coming into your room with the same baby Yoda squishmallow Simon had placed in your lap two weeks ago, and the same blanket. He gestures towards your bed, it’s subtle but you nod. Failing to hide his grin, Kyle gets snuggled up under the blanket with you, your arms wrapped around the plushie.

He’s halfway through the book, hand brushing through your hair scratching at your scalp deliciously when he broaches the subject, “Bun?” You scrunch up your nose, blinking your eyes open to look at him accusingly. The sight makes him chuckle softly, you’re screaming with your eyes, how dare you make me open my eyes and be fully conscious.

He leans forward before he can stop himself and rubs his nose against yours sweetly, something he tells himself later was just to butter you up before talking. It wasn’t.

“I don’t think you should go to work anymore.” He says simply, with ease, his voice calm.

“What?” You blink rapidly waking yourself up fully to actually take in what he just said.

“Just something to think about bunny.” He shrugs and goes back to reading with that damn lulling voice. You don’t stop him, don’t interrupt but your mind is swirling the same way it had the day before when John had said something similar.

Johnny is not so tactful, shovelling his breakfast in his mouth. Half masticated bacon and scrambled eggs rolling around in his wide open trap, when he spits out the words. “Quit yer job lass, no one wants to be stackin shelves and scannin someone else’s shit all day.” He scoffs washing his food down with the caramel flavoured coffee you made him five minutes ago. He’s quick to put the plate in the sink and place a sloppy kiss on your cheek. His head bend slightly, eyes level with you, “Think about it pet.” He pats your cheek lightly and earns a much more harsh smack to the back of his head by Kyle on the way out of the house.

And finally Simon…well Simon…um Simon just did what he thought was best, what he thought was necessary, what he thought would get you to comply the quickest…

You pant harshly, fingers gripping onto the light bronde hair painfully hard, yanking with each stripe Simon licked up your cunt. You barely noticed John walking passed your open bedroom door with a smirk, Simon had his face buried so deep in your pussy it was hard to think, hard to conjure up your own name let alone open your eyes and catch Kyle and Johnny pushing your door open a little wider and watching for a moment before Kyle drags Johnny away.

Simon’s broken too many times to fix, crooked nose brushed against your clit wonderfully, tongue fucking into your quivering hole making you buck your hips desperate for the release he’d been denying you for around twenty minutes now.

“Say it.” Simon cooed, encouraging you gently. Shaking your head, teeth biting down on your lip, holding on as tightly to your words as you held onto Simon.

Simon grips your jaw in his big paw, a sharp look comes across his features as though he’s about to scold you when you meet his gaze, thumb rubbing your clit in tight, rough circles to keep the stimulation enough, to keep you there on the edge so he has you right where he wants you.

“Say it and you can cum.” He promises, your eyes widen, stinging harshly with their own promise of tears should you keep this up.

“b-but-“

“No buts. We’ll take of everything sweetheart, oll ya afta to do is write the resignation letter, then stay here as our pretty little housewife.” He kissed your clit before moving his thumb back in its place, circling slower this time. You gasp, a broken sob wrenching itself from your chest as your orgasm starts to slip away with the lack of stimulation.

“Please! Please Si! I-“

“Oll ya afta do is say it. Quit, find yourself a cute hobby, cook and clean for us a little. Oll ya afta do is say yes and I’ll let ya cum luv.” He grins evilly when you whine, blowing on your cunt before licking a hard long stripe from your puckered asshole to your swollen, throbbing clit.

“yes! please yes I’ll quit just pl-“

Simon doesn’t let you finish your plea, devouring your pussy like a man starved. He licks, sucks, and flicks your clit, slipping his thick fingers inside your clenching, empty hole thrusting them in and out doing his best to match the pace he set with his tongue on your clit.

You cum hard, untamed. Back arching uncomfortably, limbs shaking rigorously and Simon slurps up everything you give him. You lay there trying to catch your breath when Simon crawls up your body to hover over you. His eyes meet yours when he grins, “Good girl. Now why don’t we get started on that resignation letter hmm.” It wasn’t a question.

Safe to say you happily quit your job.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales 6

Summary: More battles and more bargains come into play as things go from bad to worse.

Content Warnings: Blood and Gore, Violence, Character Death (Unnamed); Mentions of Slavery/Assault/Incest (the twins are back)

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

-------

I’ve aged a decade in the time it takes to get inside the Imperial Palace. The blistering heat makes sweat bead down the back of my dress, every inch of heavy fabric feeling like it’s plastered to my skin. Everything feels too heavy on my body. I need to get home and into the tub, maybe with enough soap and water I will be able to purge the oppressive weight that clings to my skin.

Though I have my doubts. It’s not just the heat or the dirt, it’s this whole place. Everything I have known and loved about the city feels like it has been stripped down to nothing but the oozing, wretched thing that has been hidden beneath golden arches and layers of stark white marble. It reeks of a decay that has nothing to the crucified bodies hanging outside our doors.

Senators and Commanders mingle, wives dripping in expensive jewels hanging from their arms, laughing and talking about how magnificent this celebration for Amarantha is. I’d be shaking with the rage I feel clawing up my insides were it not for the way Rhysand still held me in his mental grip.

“Steady,” he warns for what feels like the fiftieth time today. I don’t know how he’s managed to stay so calm, especially when his men have been taken through the back streets of the city. There is a prison on the outskirts of the capitol, on the eastern wall, hopefully there will be less cruelty on the streets now that they’re away from the parade, but it is still a fate I wouldn’t wish on anyone. It cannot be easy to be forced to stay here, with the enemy at every turn, while your men labor in a dungeon, yet he and Cassian, stand with their heads high behind me.

One of the guards untethered them from the back of my horse, but holding their chain in my hands is just as bad as leading them on horseback. Cassian gives me a wide berth, far enough away that if I take two steps ahead I’ll drag him by the throat. Azriel, however, hovers near my left shoulder, head down like he’s trying to hide, even as I watch his shadows slither down the back of his legs and scatter across the floor in search of something. One still remains coiled around my ear, hidden by my hair.

“Be careful around the twins,” I warn as my cousin catches my eye and makes her way towards us. She’d been too far behind us in the procession for me to see her reaction to the horrors, but, judging by the grin on her usually stoic face, I’d say she enjoyed it. 

Rhysand shifts so he’s standing behind my right shoulder, so I’m framed on either side by a towering Illyrian. Their presence is soothing, especially when Brannagh’s grin could peel paint. She obviously wants trouble. I’d be a fool to think the bloodshed outside was enough. She’ll need something to sink her fangs into before the night is over to be satisfied with the day. 

“There you are, cousin!” We have the same slate colored eyes and that is where the family resemblance stops. Everything about her is rigid and uniform and for so long being near her had made me feel like a lamb being watched by a lion. Yet, with the males at my back, I don’t feel so small anymore.

“I’m surprised you made it,” she says, eyes raking over Rhysand, then Azriel, then Cassian, sizing each of them up to see which would be an easier meal.

I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to punch in her teeth. 

“First the Games, now this,” Dagdan says as he abandons an attempt to woo one of the Senators with his bullshit war stories, and joins us. “Maybe we are related after all.”

Rhysand withdraws his mental presence from my head and I draw my mental shields back up to make sure I keep the twins out. 

Brannagh walks a slow circle around us, tongue running over her lower lip. “I really didn’t think you were capable of this.” Her bony fingers reach out to flick the chain looped around their throats. “It’s a little… what’s the word you always throw at us? Barbaric for you?”

“All it took was Mommy Dearest to lose her head for you to grow a spine, huh?” Dagdan sneers.

Azriel’s shadow hisses angrily in my ear as his head jerks up off his chest. The glare he throws over my shoulder could melt a glacier, the heat in it seering across my skin. 

“This one’s pretty,” Brannagh coos at him, her fingers reaching out to brush across his cheek.

“Don’t touch him,” I bite out through my teeth. 

“Careful, we bite,” Cassian snarls.

This only makes Brannagh grin further and my first instinct is to draw all three of them behind my back, as if they were small children in need of protection and not three fully grown warriors. As if I had not seen them kill a Giant and a handful of Wargs in the Arena just yesterday. 

“Were they fun?” Brannagh teases, making another circle so she can draw her nails over Rhysand’s nearly bare chest.

Red tints my vision. 

“They look like they’d be a good fuck.”

I clench my hands into fists to keep my power from erupting and taking out everything in the room. Rhysand can’t save me from this one, not without them sensing his mental presence. And if we are to play this game, I need to be able to stand on my own two feet. I might not be the most skilled fighter in this room, but I have plenty of other weapons in my arsenal. 

“How would you know? The only thing you’ve ever fucked is Dagdan.”

She flinches like I’d punched her right in the stomach. It was all rumors of course, but the whispers were there. The twins still insisted on sharing a room; still went everywhere together. They were toxically co-dependant and on more than one occasion they’d mentioned old practices of keeping bloodlines pure. I knew it was a sore spot, I didn’t care very much if it was true. As long as the blow landed; as long as I had something strong enough to cut her, so the bond screaming in my ears didn’t prompt me to cut off the hand still lingering too close to my mate’s skin. They were not hers to touch. 

Cassian chokes out a cough, trying to keep back a laugh as Brannagh’s face twists. 

Dagdan’s teeth flash in a snarl.

I merely grin as I give the chain in my hands a very subtle tug. “I think we’re done catching up, cousin. Do enjoy the rest of the celebration.” I do my best to leave them in the dirt as we head deeper into the palace. I’m sure she’ll find a way to make me pay for the remark later, but for now, I’ll count it as a victory. 

The exchange took place in the open foyer, the roof held up by pillars and the outside world only separated by billowing sheer curtains. I mount the steps that lead us into a secondary foyer, where bubbling fountains and a pool of multicolored fish take up much of the space. Standing guard atop the fountains are twin statues of our gods of war and victory; the golden bowls at their feet overflowing with coins left by worshipers as they come and go from the Palace. We need more than a little luck and victory on our side and I leave a handful of coins on Victory’s altar. I will go to the Temple later and beg the Mother for forgiveness for how blind I have been, and seek a Priestess to make an offering for her blessing in what is quickly becoming an act of outright treason.

I feel Rhysand’s violet gaze on me as I make the offering. 

“The twins really are… like that?” Cassian asks as we round the fountain. It has to be morbid curiosity that prompts the conversation, but the fact that he’s speaking to me at all makes my heart race in my chest. I’ll take whatever scraps he’ll throw my way, if it only means he doesn’t hate me as much as he did yesterday.

“I’d be more surprised if they weren’t than if they were,” I say, unable to suppress a shutter when thinking about it. “They’ve always been… together… and weird about it.”

“Sure, and we’re the animals.”

I can see the back of Amarantha’s blood red head as the inner circle makes its way towards the atrium for food and whatever entertainment could be dragged into this den of vipers for the afternoon. Servants carrying goblets of wine drift through the clusters of visiting dignitaries and soldiers. There’s more than a couple armored gladiators, acting as guards for their sponsors, in attendance. I try to keep track of who belongs to who as we go, in order to give us an edge for the next match. Senators Beron and Tamlin, former lords from Prythians courts, now given new titles within the Empire for merging their kingdoms, both have sponsors shadowing them. The males have to be half Giant, with arms and thighs thick as tree trunks. Their armor has to be custom made to be able to fit them. I don’t know the names of either males, only that they’ve been employed long enough for their conditions in the Arena are they don’t fight Amarantha’s Attor. Too much money has been put into them to let them get torn to ribbons by that beast. 

I slide my way through the throngs of people to get closer. To play this game, there is no doubt that they will have to go back into the Arena a couple times. I need to start finding ways to give them an edge. I can start by seeing up close just how much taller they are then Cassian. If they have to go hand-to-hand in the future, I want to see how they compare next to each other so I can plan to get around it. 

The gladiators have at least two feet on Cassian, which makes me basically an ant in comparison. I already have to tilt my head up to look my mates’ in the eye, these males make me have to keep distance between us to be able to see anything other than they’re stomachs. 

Cassian is fairly nimble, from what I’ve seen so far, as long as the wound on his leg is healed by the next match, he can use that to his advantage. But the thought of having to watch him fight males this size makes my stomach twist. I’m going to need to do more than size up the competition. 

Beron is accompanied, as always, by several of his sons, but it is always Eris by his side. The well dressed male turns a grin in my direction when he catches sight of me. “Highness,” the bow is graceful, fox-like in a way that reminds me of Lucien, wherever he is in the crowd to avoid his Father. It’s not like him to leave Tamlin alone in these situations, they’re usually joined at the hip.

“It does me good to see you outside,” Eris continues, as he reaches out to take my hand and press a chaste kiss on the back of my knuckles.

Azriel’s shadow hisses in agitation in my ear as something hot flickers down the bond.

“It’s been too long since you’ve graced us with your presence.” I’ve known the Vanserra’s for a long time, Eris is not quite the flirt Lucien is, but he has no shortage of sway over females, males too for that matter. It had always surprised me that Father hadn’t tried to arrange a union between us. Eris was known, from time to time, to share the same savage brutality the Emperor valued in his court; it should have pleased him to have Eris for a son in law. 

“Are you finally feeling better?”

“It took longer than I expected to recover,” I say honestly. Better to not oversell anything; all lies have a little truth woven in. “But getting some air has been good.”

His russet gaze jumps to the males behind me, and the grin I’ve known for decades turns serpentine. “And profitable, I’d imagine?”

“For the Empire, of course, all earnings will go to aid the far reaches.”

“So I heard,” he nods, still studying them. “You always did have a bleeding heart, Highness. It is good to see it benefit you.”

The compliment feels underhanded, but so do most things around here. 

“When will we get to see them in action again?”

Talking about them like they’re not standing here makes me want to start smashing things, but I reign in my temper. “I was just about to ask you the same about your Father’s gladiators.”

He glances back at the male and shrugs. “Felix is always ready, but we’ve gotten no summons.”

Interesting. The Gamesmaker should already have a match-up in place, even if the Arena will be closed for repairs for a few days still. 

“How unfortunate, it’d be quite the fight for Cassian.”

I feel Cassian shift a little closer, the scent of sandalwood and snow-capped mountains invading my senses. It is an effort not to step back and lean into him, he’s never dared be this close before. 

“It would be quick,” he states.

Eris huffs a laugh. “For your neck to be broken, brute? Yes, we’d be in agreement.”

There’s a snap as Cassian’s wings ruffle and whip closed again, his agitation so clear I can taste it. The frayed edges of our bond simmer, but I can’t tell if the rage is his or my own. We are alike in that aspect.

“Who was summoned, then?” We can’t linger too long here, especially not for information I do not yet need. Rhysand still needs to get a better look around and we’re starting to linger on the stairs, people clustering behind us.

“Not Tamlin’s man either,” Eris says with a shrug. “I’m as in the dark as you.”

“You?” I force a teasing smirk to my features. “I thought you knew everything around here, Eris?”

His russet gaze darkens as his perfect teeth dart out to bite his lower lip. It’s a move I’ve seen thousands of people swoon over. “I’ll happily find out for you, Highness.”

Azriel’s shadow snarls in a language I can’t make out, but it is Rhysand’s side of the bond that ripples with promised violence. Is that jealousy I feel? I try to shove the thought aside; hoping that they feel this thing between us is too much to ask for. I will only hurt myself if I start to hope that I am more than a means to an end.

“Please do. I’d be indebted to you.” That’s all it takes for the Autumn male to bow and disappear into the crowd.

Senator Thessian and his large entourage of guards pushes past us on the stairs, the armored guard slamming into Rhysand from behind hard enough that he stumbles forward, hands reaching out to catch himself on my hips before he can take both of us to the floor. My whole body freezes under the contact, the warm press of his body against mine enough to make all rational thought fly out of my skull.

He leans in, like he might offer an apology, breath ghosting over my neck as his lips brush the shell of my ear. My whole body shivers in anticipation. “Clever, little vixen.”

The low baritone of his voice makes heat rush between my legs, something hot coiling in the pit of my stomach. Now the citrus and jasmine scent of him invades all my senses and I really, truly have no thoughts left in my head. 

My knees wobble as he gives my hip a squeeze, even as the bond roars at the loss of contact as he steps back. Maybe it’s just been awhile since I’ve been intimate with anyone, but that small amount of contact feels like an electric current beneath my skin. It is an effort to keep moving up the stairs and not turn and do something foolish, like press my lips to his and slide my fingers into his hair. 

The atrium is a wide, open room with tables piled with food lining the far walls. On the left are floor to ceiling windows, thrown open to let in the warm summer breeze, a few Praetorians standing at attention amidst the billowing curtains.. There are low couches along the walls, some of which are already taken. If not by anyone with a gladiator, I don’t linger on who sits where. 

A servant with a tray of wine passes and I snag one to try and calm the sizzling beneath my skin. I didn’t realize one of today’s many battles would be trying not to throw myself at my mates. 

There is a raised dais against the far wall, the couches and lounge chairs far more plush and ornate than the rest. Father has found his seat, a slightly less gaudy throne than usual, and reclines as a servant fans him with a palm frond. Amarantha has taken her usual seat on his right, reclining against one of her pleasure slaves. The male wears little but a strip of crimson fabric between his legs, every inch of bare skin lean and smooth. There’s another perched on the armrest of her chair, holding a goblet of wine for whenever she needs it; a third sitting at her feet, running idle fingers up the side of her calf. All that attention, and yet her dark gaze still tracks the males behind me with enough hunger I debate how much trouble I’d be in if I threw my own wine glass at her head.

She is not the only one who pays such close attention to the Illyrians. A couple dignitaries’ wives and high ranking soldiers gawk blatantly at how much skin they have on display. More than one head turns to get a better look at Rhysand’s ass in this get-up.  He neither cowers or preens under the attention; it’s like he doesn’t even register it. I can’t help but wonder if that was the point: Everybody is so busy ogling him, they’re not really paying attention to what he’s doing. It’s a good mask, it shields his intentions and lets him observe without it being obvious, but the way they look at him, like he’s a piece of meat makes me wish I had claws to scratch out their eyes. 

I take another sip of wine, trying not to look too desperate for the emptiness it’ll bring as I head in the direction of the dais. 

“You’ve surprised me,” Father says as we approach. It’s the first real acknowledgement he’s shown me all day.

The shadow curled around my ear burrows a little deeper under my hair to avoid detection, the soft ether brushing against a sensitive spot on my temple that has me gripping the wine glass a little tighter to keep from reacting.

“As I said, I am trying to do better, Father.”

His gaze flicks to the chain in my hand, down the length of it like he’s inspecting the strength of each wrung before finally arriving on the occupants tethered to it. He grins in triumph as he takes in their attire. Maybe they were right to ignore what I’d brought out. It certainly looks like I’ve intended to humiliate them by dressing them in the same attire many of the Senator’s slaves are sporting. 

“Tell me how you managed to bring the three of them to heel when Amarantha couldn’t?” 

Amarantha bristles in her seat, her perfect teeth flashing in her pale face.

Another small victory. 

“Tell him you instructed the healer to give us a sleeping drought in our wine.” The twins haven’t reappeared and his sudden return in my head nearly makes me jump out of my skin. “And faebane in the water this morning.”

I repeat his instructions as I move to take the seat that is mine on his left and force myself not to think about how it’s a couch instead of a chair like his because it used to be shared with my Mother. 

“You’re hoping to acquire mirthroot in the city to keep us docile until the next match.”

I repeat that too, making a mental note to ensure that I follow through with it. He will monitor my every move in the city, if I don’t follow through, he’ll know it and then we’re dead. An issue that seems far less pressing when Rhysand’s hand brushes over my wrist. Watching him in the Arena did nothing to show just how agile he is, not when he expertly maneuvers my hand towards his chest, the chain blocking his part in this. The next thing I know, I’m moving to sit and he’s falling into the couch behind me so it looks like I pushed him down into the seat so I could recline against his chest. The motion takes him seconds, it looks like he rehearsed it down to the exact placement of the chain to hide the fact that he’d been the one moving me and not the other way around. 

Azriel seats himself on the armrest wordlessly; Cassian grunting as he sits on the floor with his back against the couch. I get the distinct impression he is only keeping his shoulder against my knee because being any farther away would mean his wings were in reach of Father’s hands. 

It takes me a minute to find my bearings again as my brain short circuits over how close they all are. Rhysand’s heartbeat is steady against my back, his skin warm even through the fabric of my dress. He lets his head lean back against the back of the couch, feigning exhaustion or maybe repulsion from being “forced” to be this close to me. I’m close enough that I could run my hand up Azriel’s thigh if I wanted, and damn me do I want to. Or close enough to Cassian that my fingers itch to brush through the thick strands of his hair. It is a cruel trick of fate that my mates are close enough for me to touch and I can’t.

At the mention of the mirthroot, one of Amarantha’s males leans around the Emperor to offer a rolled cigarette, even dried the hint of mirthroot is obvious. The male’s eyes are glassy, shining under the effects of it himself, the grin on his features lazy and unbothered. Far too soft a male to be shackled to Amarantha. 

I tap Cassian on the shoulder to prompt him to take it. A mistake because he flinches like I hit him and I think I might have undone any effort I’d made to get him to at least tolerate my presence. He snatches the offered cigarette, and the liter that follows and passes it back to me with a huff.

The Emperor watches the exchange with more interest than he’s ever shown me in my life. “What would you have done, Amarantha?” He asks.

“The same,” she says through her teeth. 

I take a deep breath through my nose to keep from making a disgusted face at her. “Ember said that’s what she used to do for Amarantha’s slaves before she came to my keep, so I simply took a page out of her book.” 

I pass the cigarette and liter to Azriel, and pray the sight of the flames doesn’t cause the same reaction it had when he’d been branded. He grits his teeth, but there is no angered flash down the bond or hiss from the shadow to indicate it’s anything other than a show as he lights it and takes a long drag. 

“I’m glad to see that in your seclusion you’ve finally grown half a brain,” Father says. “I was beginning to worry that your Mother’s poisoned tongue had gotten to you.”

I flinch despite myself and all three of the males tense around me. Cassian’s jaw ticks, the flutter of movement brushing across my knee. For the first time all day, his hazel gaze flicks to me, and  maybe it’s a trick of the light, but I swear I see a flash of pity there.

“No, it didn’t,” I whisper, unable to put any feeling into the words. I haven’t been back here since the execution. I’d found every reason to avoid it. Being back feels like peeling a scab off the wound and letting it bleed all over the floor.

Azriel takes another drag and I wish more than anything to take a hit of it myself and numb this feeling in my chest. What I would give for the empty numbness that had filled me in the early months of my grief. There are so many tangled emotions here, between the loss and my mates and the horrors of what we just witnessed outside. I cannot pick just one to focus on; can’t find some outlet to expel the building pressure. It all tangles and lodges itself in my throat like it's trying to drown me.

Rhysand’s fingers brush over my arm as he draws his hand up to take the cigarette from Azriel. To an onlooker it looks accidental, maybe it is, maybe I’m just reading into it, but even that faint brush drags me back to the surface for a bit of air again. At least I am not alone in the water anymore. Mother had always been emotionless, nothing got to her. I was always the one that felt too much. At least now the emotions can be shared.

“Your actions yesterday inspired me,” the Emperor says after a beat. 

Apprehension licks its way up my spine.

“I haven’t taken a champion of my own in a long time. It’s become dull, betting on someone else’s man.”

Shit!

Azriel’s shadow dares to peek out around my bangs, observing the crowd as they begin to settle in their seats with plates of food, as if on some silent command. Brannagh and Dagdan join us on my left, on the seat closest to the dais, the stare they level at me hot enough to melt glass. So much for Rhysand being in my head the rest of the evening. 

With a wave, the Emperor motions over a creature I have no name for. It walks on two legs like a man, but is covered head to toe in thick, brown, fur. Horns curl from the top of its head; a beak with a hooked tip jutting from its face. Its hands end in talons like that of a bird, but there are five on each hand instead of three. Its tunic has been folded down around its waist, leaving its chest bare, revealing a spider web of scars gouged through the heavy layer of fur. A thin, whip-like tail ending in a spiked tip flicks back and forth behind it as it walks, each step sending a shutter through the Palace. 

My skin pricks with goosebumps. Some strange sort of alchemy made this thing.

“I was hoping to test it in the Arena, but with the repairs in order, I thought a smaller show would do just as well.”

My stomach hurdles into my throat.

“Why don’t we pick one of your champions to break it in, daughter?” The Emperor suggests as if this is a thought that just came to him and not something he’s been planning from the beginning. 

I take another sip of wine as I turn to look at him, trying to steady the rapid pounding of my heart. I can’t let one of them fight this thing! Its maw opens and snaps shut with a clack as it stands before us, growing impatient.

“I’d personally like to see Cassian’s thick skull get crushed like a watermelon,” Amarantha chimes in from her seat.

I’m really going to throw up right here in front of all these people.

“A splendid idea from our woman of the hour, don’t you think?” He grins like he’s caught me, like he knows I’ve been playing games and have walked right into his trap.

“Nothing can be as bad as listening to you speak, Amarantha,” Cassian snarls as he gets on his feet, effectively making the decision for me.

He cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders, wings ruffling behind him, but before he can step into the center of the room, he turns to face me, much to my surprise. Hands scarred from swordplay reach out to give the chain around his neck a little tug. “Mind letting me off the leash, Princess?”

One of the Praetorian steps forward to unchain him but I stand and snag the key from his hand instead. I’ve seen enough males get stabbed or injected with something right before a fight to give the opponent an upper hand to know I can’t trust anyone near him. And, maybe, just maybe, the act of giving him a little relief from the chain might make him not hate me so much.

My hands shake as I reach up to his neck to unclasp the chain. I know better than to take the whole collar off while there are so many people watching even if I wish I could. His breath is warm on my face as he watches me, waiting for his moment of freedom. The urge to stretch up on my toes and kiss him for luck is overwhelming; maybe in another life we could have. 

I step back with the chain in my hand and return to my seat before I can follow my impulses. 

Cassian turns to face his opponent and even though I saw him perform yesterday, I can’t shake the sinking feeling that I have just sent him to his death. The creature sizes him up like it's calculating the best spot to take a bite out of him and its beady eyes settle on the bandage tied around his bare thigh.

Rhysand leans forward, resting his chin on my shoulder to watch, arm loosely looped over my waist. It looks casual. No one bats an eye at the gesture, but I am pretty sure he’s done it so he can keep me from jumping off the couch.

Azriel leans forward, bracing himself with his knees on his elbows, hazel gaze tracking the steps of Cassian’s opponent as he also calculates its weak spots. 

“Let’s make it interesting, shall we?” The Emperor asks, leaning over to be heard over the rush of excitement the audience gives to the challengers.

I tear my gaze away from where I’m trying to memorize every line in Cassian’s wings, every curve of tattoo over his back and shoulders, just in case. “How so?”

“Cassian wins and I’ll let you pick their next opponent in the arena,” he suggests. 

I like the offer; it gives them a better chance at surviving. 

“Cassian loses, and you give Rhysand to Amarantha.”

The world flips and spins and the roaring in my ears has me clutching my hands in my skirts to keep a surge of power from destroying the room. My power singes the fabric, only the smoke from the mirthroot hides the smell. 

There is no way in Hel I am making that kind of bet!

Rhysand stiffens behind me, heartbeat skipping for half a moment before he pretends to be unbothered by the comment and takes another drag of the mirthroot. 

I’d rather throw myself on a blade than chance that. Cassian is an exceptional fighter, but I cannot take that risk. I am already risking his life by letting him fight like this, how can I risk both of them?

My chest aches. There are too many opportunities to lose them. Too many things that can go wrong. 

“And let our people think I am weak and incapable of following through on the deal we made yesterday?” I challenge. My voice trembles as I fight to hold his gaze steady. 

Azriel’s shadow hisses what sounds like a warning in my ear.

“You know if we split them up now it makes me look as if I can’t handle them.”

“Attached, are we?”

“No, but I am tired of looking weak,” I hiss. “If Amarantha wants them, she can challenge me for them herself.”

Rhysand stiffens behind me. The twins are too close for him to slip into my mind again, but I can practically feel him shouting at me down the bond.

She huffs a laugh around the other side of him, “As if you’d stand a chance in that!”

I ignore her as I hold my ground with my Father, “You have always thought so little of me.”

He doesn’t deny it.

“So if you really want to make this interesting, then fine. If Cassian wins, I pick when and who all their matches are with. And if he loses, well, you’ve already chosen a husband for me I’m sure, so you can speed up the process and I’ll provide them the heir you so desperately want by the end of the year.”

The bond shakes so hard in my chest it feels like Azriel’s screaming in my ear. Rhysand has gone still as death behind me and I didn’t think I said it that loud, but Cassian’s head whips in our direction, eyes wide.

Father throws his head back and laughs at that. “This new found confidence is amusing. I will allow you to pick the next two fights, but not all.”

Better than nothing.

“Deal.”

I think I can hear Azriel’s teeth grinding together beside me, so I force myself not to look at him. The bond thrums like he’s in physical pain and I hate that I have caused it, but I will not barter with their lives.

“To first blood!” The Emperor calls to the room.

“To the death!” Brannagh chants instead. 

When this whole Empire goes up in flames, I’m pushing her in first.

The crowd begins to murmur to themselves, debating. “I’ll put some money on it if they fight to the death,” Tamlin tosses out. 

“As will I!” Shouts a commander whose name I’d never learned.

The motion goes around the room in a full circle, by the time the Emperor concedes, I’ve drank my full glass and abandoned it on the couch. Didn’t we just do this?

The Praetorians provide blades for the two males, but the Emperor’s creature can’t hold the blade with its claw tipped hands and tosses it to the ground with a screech. Its barbed tip tail draws back behind it as it drops into a defensive stance. 

I forget how to breathe as Cassian drops into his own.

Time slows in a familiar sensation of undiluted horror as the creature moves first, striking forward with its tail like a spear. Cassian pivots back a step, rearranging his feet as he blocks with the sword.

The crowd cheers excitedly and I distantly recognize coins changing hands as they take bets, but cannot tear my eyes away enough to watch who is participating in it. Cassian remains on the defensive as the creature rears its tail back and attacks from the other side of its body this time, testing the Illyrian’s reaction time. When the strike is blocked a second time, it switches tactics and goes for a punch, talons extended towards Cassian’s face.

While the creature is taller, it is not as agile, and Cassian side steps out of the way of the blow, using the momentum to lunge into the next step and strike the tip of his sword across his opponent’s stomach. Its ear shattering screech shakes the room as the blade makes contact, drawing black blood. If it wasn’t for Brannagh, the challenge would be over, Cassian would have won. It would have been easy for once.

Enraged, the creature strikes with its talons again, missing a second time, but catching Cassian in the jaw on the backswing. The whole room can hear Cassian’s teeth clack together as he stumbles backwards.

It takes everything in me not to squeeze my eyes shut, not to wince and react to every blow. I have to keep telling myself that this is part of the game and I cannot give them away, but by the Mother it is harder and harder with every passing second!

Rhysand remains with his chin propped up on my shoulder, the bulk of his weight keeping me in my seat. I so desperately want to reach out and take his hand, give myself something to ground in, but I can’t. I have to accept that this might be all we’re ever allowed to touch, especially after today.

The creature strikes again with its tail, once, twice, a third, each like a punch. The third blow shatters Cassian’s sword into pieces and my heart plummets into my stomach as he dodges a fourth assault. He’s not so fast on the fifth and that barbed tip punches right through his bandaged thigh! Blood splatters as the tips hurdles through muscle and sinew until it pushes through the back of his leg.

One of the dignitaries' wives reaches for a bucket and wretches as Cassian’s roar of pain rattles my teeth. 

Azriel flinches, looking like he might just jump into the fight and stop it, but then catches himself. 

The bond screams and bashes against my insides as my powers flare again, singing more of my skirts as I hold them in a death grip that only worsens as the creature yanks the barb back out of Cassian’s leg, bringing him to the floor. Blood pours from the wound from both ends, cascading down his calf to make a puddle on the stark white tile.

There’s enough of my skirts to hide the motion, Rhysand buries his hand beneath them to hold onto my hip tight enough to bruise. I don’t know if that’s to keep me in place or himself. 

The creature snarls out a noise that sounds like triumph as it pulls its hand back, aiming to use its claws to sever Cassian’s head.

Not again! Not again! Not again!

I have to stop this! I have to do something!

At the last second, Cassian throws himself out of the way, knees tucked to his chest as he rolls out of reach, right to where the creature’s discarded sword lies. He snags the blade with a grunt, one hand pressed to the gaping wound in his thigh as he pushes himself back onto his feet. His face twists in pain at the slightest movement, but he manages to stay upright. 

Rhysand breathes a little easier behind me, but his grip on my hip hasn’t let up.

The Emperor frowns beside us, displeased with the outcome thus far no doubt. He really expected this to be easy. 

The creature strikes again, sticking to what it has found successful, and it becomes a mistake. Cassian twists at the last second, blade raised so when the strike comes, he doesn’t need to block it. At this angle, not only does it miss him, he has a height advantage and he brings the sword down as hard as he can, cleaving the tail in half. The barbed tip hits the floor twitching as the creature reels backward and wails.

Holy shit! I’ve seen a lot of warriors in my life, but I don’t think I’d ever describe them as beautiful until now. Each move is calculated, backed with training and muscle. His tattoos seem to come to life with his body as his muscles shift and strike. 

He doesn’t let up as his opponent stumbles back either, he uses the distraction to his advantage and plunges the sword into the creature’s shoulder. He might have been aiming for the heart, but the wound in his leg gives him too great a limp to lunge far on. The blade catches in bone, the resounding crunch deafening in the domed ceiling, and when he reels back to pull it out, he twists it just enough to make his opponent’s arm absolutely useless.

With two of its preferred methods of fighting gone, the creature bends at the waist and charges with a roar, hoping to use its horns like a battering ram into Cassian’s chest.

An otherwise horrifying sight, if Cassian didn’t laugh and step dramatically out of the way so the creature rams right into the wall. “Is that really all you’ve got?” He taunts as a rain of dust falls on his head. 

The creature screeches as it yanks itself free from the wall and shakes its head, clearing the debris from its beady eyes. 

Cassian spins the blade in his hand, adjusting his grip, and I think it might be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen in my life.

He can’t crouch with his leg, but he doesn’t need to. The creature tries to ram him again and he dodges and brings his hilt down on its neck, knocking it to the floor. He wastes no time in rearing back with the blade and bringing it down, easily cleaving the creature’s head from its shoulders. 

Amarantha throws up her hands in a huff at the sight.

I finally take what feels like my first breath in an hour as Cassian tosses the blade on the floor. He did it! He won!

Azriel removes his elbows from his knees and reclines back against the armrest, clearly satisfied with the outcome. 

“Excellent! Excellent!” Praises the steward as he goes about helping anyone who placed bets collect their proper earnings. 

I tear my gaze away from the carnage to the nearest guard, “Find him a healer, now.” Before he bleeds out on the floor or Father decides he has another champion he wants to test. 

The Emperor takes a long drink from his goblet, eyes narrowed on the severed head the staff has to now clean off the floor. Around him, his dignitaries drink and argue over why they bet the way they did. It is business as usual, completely unbothered by the blood around them. 

When he finally turns to me, I have to brace myself against the anger simmering in his eyes. This is usually the part where I put my chin to my chest and try to make myself as small as possible. Usually. But not today. 

“It seems I’ve underestimated their talent for bloodshed.”

Cassian hobbles back over to us and I make a show of telling Azriel to help him before he gets blood everywhere, so no one thinks I just let them wander off on their own. 

“The Games will continue at the start of next week,” the Emperor continues.

That gives us days. I try not to look at the gaping hole in Cassian’s thigh. Thank the Mother it looks like it missed bone, but how is he supposed to participate with that? There’s no way it heals in time, even if I have Ember work twelve hours a day on him.

“I expect you to have their opponent picked out by the Senate meeting in the morning. You still have that end of your bargain to uphold.”

This victory will not be without repercussions, but it is still a victory nonetheless, and we have to take what we can get.

--

Managing to procure the mirthroot I need to trick my Father into thinking I’m following through with the regime I’d given him, as well as finding horses for the Illyrians to ride back on takes longer than usual, given the massive partying happening in the streets. We have to take the backroads home to avoid being pelted with more rocks, or outright mobbed. Compared to the rest of the day, the journey is uneventful, spent mostly with the others ensuring Cassian doesn’t pass out on the horse. 

The sun is already changing colors by the time we return to the River House, but I know if I try to prepare for bed now I’ll never sleep. Instead, I leave Anise with instructions to look into potentially safe opponents in the Arena, so when I see Eris again tomorrow I can compare their notes, and then set out for the Temple built on the edge of the property. 

I doubt there are enough blood offerings and animal sacrifices to cleanse the sins of this Empire, but I offer as many as I can in apology for my part in it. I don’t know how I’ve been so blind to all of it. I can’t stop seeing it now, it should have always been so obvious to me.

The Priestesses do not ask why I linger for over an hour, praying long past the time it takes for my offerings to burn atop the altar. I’d hoped that, if I said them hard enough, the weight of the day would slip off my shoulders. I’d thought, with enough sacrifices, the guilt would ease, but I can still feel my mates’ agitation and pain clearly through the bond. 

I return to the House as weary as before. Tomorrow will be a whole new set of problems. I cannot put it off by lingering in the Temple. 

The walk doesn’t clear my head, or loosen the tension, and I climb into the tub with that same heaviness still clinging to my skin. I heat the water as hot as I can, hoping it might cleanse me in a way my sacrifices couldn’t.

Exhaustion creeps its way in as I scrub and scrub and scrub until my skin is pink. Every time I close my eyes I can see the crucified bodies, gasping for air as they slowly suffocate under the weight of their own body pinned to the wood. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that sight; I can only imagine how it would feel to know each of those males before this. The bond still swirls beneath my skin, heavy with agitation the hot water can’t touch. 

I wish there was a way to take that from them, but how can I do that without calling attention to the mating bond? 

I give myself a few extra minutes in the blissful heat before dragging myself out and tossing a silk robe over my waterlogged skin. My brush is on the vanity where Anise left it this morning and I have just started to brush the knots out of my hair when I hear the bedroom door open. My hand stills halfway through my hair; it is unlike Anise to not announce herself when it’s this late. 

The door clicks shut again, the eerie silence that follows enough to make my heart drop into my stomach. The darkness of the room makes it hard to see beyond the candlelight that fills the bathing chamber and my hand goes instinctively into the vanity drawer, where my Mother had always kept an extra knife. The blade is cool in my fingers, the handle smooth and undamaged from never being used. The benefit of having constant guards is you usually never see the threats against you, though there are always exceptions.

There’s no footsteps on the carpet, but I can practically feel movement next to my bed. 

I’m a sitting duck here among all the candlelight, but if I step into the darkness beyond I’ll be totally blind. Better to wait for something to make itself known. 

I suppose there’s enough guards around, I can always start screaming for help if it comes down to it.

A heartbeat passes before something dark and snakelike comes slithering across the floor. The ether loops itself around my ankle and crawls up my thigh like a purring cat before the shadow takes its perch behind my ear.

I set the knife on the vanity with a sigh of relief as Azriel steps into the light. “You scared the shit out of me!”

His shadow caresses the back of my ear in apology, far more expressive now than it was earlier. “Sorry.”

He side steps out of the doorway, but not in my direction, which is odd until Rhysand steps out of the shadows behind him.

“How did you two get in here?”

“Found the lever on the door to your secret tunnel,” Azriel says as his eyes trace up my bare legs, brazenly taking in all the damp skin I have on display.

Heat flushes up my cheeks and I have to look away from him. The candlelight and the hour of the evening makes this feel more intimate than it should, given the way Rhysand looks like he might burst out of his skin. I certainly shouldn’t be entertaining the idea that Azriel would look at me as anything other than a means to an end. Hope is too dangerous a thing to have right now. Just because we agreed to do this, doesn’t mean they’re anxious to accept me as anything other than help. Besides, I need to remind myself that it will be even more dangerous for us than it already is if we were to acknowledge the bond.

 “We were careful, no one saw us,” Azriel assures.

I should be relieved that they’re being safe about it, but the frown on Rhysand’s face makes me rethink it.

“What the hell were you thinking back there?!” He snarls.

Normally, that kind of outburst from a male would make me jump back in surprise, but at this point I’m too exhausted to move, let alone figure out what the hell he’s referring to. “I’ve had a lot of thoughts today, Rhysand, you will have to be more specific.”

The chain rattles around his neck as he steps further into the room, like it's fighting to hold back his powers. “Your bet with Hybern!”

Ah, right. That. “What of it?” Is he really still upset about that? Cassian won, nothing was lost.

Azriel winces and the shadow at my ear hisses in warning. 

“What of it?” He repeats, his voice rising to an octave just shy of shrill, like he can’t believe he heard me right. “You can’t just offer yourself up like that!”

“And what was my alternative?”

“He gave you an alternative!” He seethes. “All you had to do was say yes!”

I fold my arms over my chest in irritation, but I don’t miss the way both their eyes dip to my chest at the motion. “Oh so it’s ok for you to put your body on the line, but I can’t do the same with my own? Seems a little hypocritical, if you ask me.”

“That’s different!”

“How so?”

He’s inched his way into my space step by step, until I’m very aware of the jasmine and citrus scent of him. Sometime after he returned home he’d changed into the clothes I’d had laid out for him, the swirl of ink along his chest just barely poking out around the dark collar. Even hidden, the urge to reach out with my hands and trace the swirls with my fingers remains. 

“Because,” he says through his teeth. “It’s not a deal I can live with.”

“You don’t have to live with it because Cassian won anyway,” I retort, tearing my gaze away to look at Azriel. Rhysand is too close to me like this. I can barely think past the urge to touch him, let alone hold the argument like I need to. “Tell him he’s being ridiculous.”

Azriel folds his arms over his chest and frowns. “He’s not. You shouldn’t have made that deal.”

I throw my hands up and push past Rhysand, trying to give myself room to breathe. “You two are impossible!”

They follow like I’m still holding onto their leashes, footsteps somehow impossibly silent despite their size.  

“You’re honestly going to stand there and tell me you’d rather I offered you up to Amarantha?”

“If it meant you were safe,” Rhysand snarls. “Yes.”

I find myself gritting my teeth, a snarl working its way up my throat. “Well that’s not a deal I could live with, Rhysand.” 

Their legs are a hell of a lot longer than mine, Rhysand manages to snag my arm and turn me back around to face him before I make it more than three steps into the darkness of my chambers. 

His face looks strained, eyes rimmed red. He has to be exhausted. The bond feels fragile, strained from all the emotions that have been blared down it today. “I need you to find a way to deal with it,” he says, voice verging on pleading. 

I hate myself, but I can’t help but wonder what the hand holding onto my bicep would feel like travelling down the rest of my body. 

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, whatever you have to do, I… We need you to find a way to live with it.”

Azriel comes to stand on the other side of him, so they’re nearly shoulder to shoulder. “If Cass had lost and you had to…” even in the dim light coming from the bathroom I can see the heaviness in his eyes. 

I glance back and forth between them. “You’ve all suffered enough, I can handle myself. I knew what I was doing.”

Rhysand shakes his head, “I can bear a lot of things, but not that.”

Hope is a cruel bastard, and I’ve never learned to master it. “Why? What does it matter to you?”

He lifts the hand not holding onto my arm, fingers just barely brushing over my damp cheek and my heartbeat is suddenly very loud in my own ears. His mouth opens like he might say something, and then he clamps it shut again, debating with himself over the words.

While he can’t seem to find the words, Azriel’s scarred hand reaches out to gently grab my chin and tilt my face in his direction. “It matters,” he huffs, voice low and rich and the reverberations of it send shivers down my spine. “Because you’re our mate.”

------

Author's Note: Hehe was gonna wait for the reveal at the end but couldn't bring myself to do it. Let me know what you thought about it! And as always, if you want to be added to the taglist, let me know :)

@sirenpearldust, @saltedcoffeescotch, @littlemissfix-itfic, @waka-babe, @raisam

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@of-outerspace, @erencvlt, @corvusmorte, @lindsayjoy444,

[vifilms]

❝ FWB!ABBY HEADCANONS ❞

word count: 2k+

content warning. eighteen+, minors dni, strap!sex, scissorcity, just a lot of p*rn written out, but omgee i'm writing foir abby again? am i returning home? me saying that when all my long fics are about a certain pink-haired butch.

masterlist.

fwb!abby who is a star-athlete, potentially a hockey player because c’mon, look at her. it starts right before the end of last season. there used to be a trio, three girls who grew up together, forever inseparable. but with a nasty fall out of abby’s break up with your best friend — you picked a side. not that anyone would believe you, but it was innocent. purely innocent.

fwb!abby who keeps you close throughout the breakup, she leans on you when she emotionally breaks, when she doesn’t want to be alone; you’re right there for her. ready to help her in whatever way you can. maybe it was naive of you to expect it to be nothing more and it’s exactly how you end up here — abby’s hand shoves down your skirt as she presses you against the locker room right after the most important game of the season. it could be how good your ass looked in the soft fabric, she couldn’t help herself. 

“mhm, how long have you been thinking about this?” gently, abby asks. “pretty girl, wanna have your fill so bad, huh?” 

all she does is tease. it’s all abby wants to do, pull those god-given moans from your lips and your whines are nothing but a symphony to her ears. but all of this is very wrong. in your bones, with every pint of blood pumping to your veins, it feels like something forbidden. even if you aren’t friends anymore, even if she hates you for siding with abby, you can’t help but love the way she strokes your puffy lips with a flick of her wrist. 

you groan as she slips a single finger inside you, whining at the welcomed intrusion. abby knows this is a slippery slope as much as you, maybe even more. it’s not lost on her what would happen if anyone were to find out, but especially your ex-best friend were to find out you loved getting fucked by her ex. 

“shut up and fuck me, yeah? you don't need to know any of that—” you shriek as she slips another inside you, effectively stretching you out as she pumps your slick, back into you as it drips over her fingers like fresh honey. 

“what was that, princess?” abby tilts her head to the side as she presses on your clit with the pad of her thumb. 

“nothing, i—” 

“hm, right. i guess the rumors are true.” 

“what rumors?” 

abby doesn’t provide any response as she fucks you into the stars, each thrust of her fingers effectively shutting you up from saying anything else. as you cry out for a release, she places deliberate kisses along your neck, her hot breath swarms goosebumps along your skin as your hips buck into her body. 

“heard a few…one from your roommate in particular.” 

oh fuck. 

the little shit knows. 

“what did you, f-fuck, hear?” abby chuckles when you can’t keep your thoughts straight. you’re close and she knows it as well when she presses her lip to your ear, it’s intentional, the cocky little shit knows just what you like. 

the first time she’s touched you and you’re already melting in her warm and needy hands. 

the sultry tone in her voice will haunt you whenever you sleep, you’ll see her in your dreams, those taunting pair of blues, the scarred cheek you love but she hates. when she says the words you fear, for some reason it sends you over the edge. 

“i heard you like moaning my name when you get yourself off, so why don’t you put on a show for me, princess?” 

fwb!abby who thinks about you, slumped against the lockers trying to catch your breath. the mantras of her name don’t leave her mind, how pathetic did it make her she couldn’t stop thinking of you. how you couldn’t escape her mind, even during practice, those stupid whimpers wouldn’t leave her. her mind can’t escape that night, the endorphins pounding her skull as she fucked you into oblivion. the secret you held close to your heart raw and exposed as you released over her pumping fingers — it all felt a little too real. a little too perfect. 

fwb!abby who tries to play it cool whenever you’re around. abby knows it’s her best shot of forgetting what happened, slipping back into normalcy. but what she doesn’t expect? how jealous she feels when she sees you chatting up one of her teammates. she suspects you might be doing the same, trying to find a distraction, anything and anyone to stop your mind from thinking of it. it’s the secret she holds close to her as she deciphers on why her blood couldn’t seem to stop boiling. she hadn’t been this possessed, the need for her sweet salvations to be found on each roll of her tongue. it’s agony as she watches you leave with them, but she just sips on her beer, calling it night at the same time as you. but her sheets will be ice while yours will be kept especially warm. 

the first thought entering your mind, this isn’t as good. she doesn’t touch you the way abby did, fuck, this girl’s mouth is eager to devour you, every drop not being wasted but you just pretend it’s abby. even if you feel slimy, a bit dirty, but it gets you where you need to be. 

when you ride the plastic cock, invisioning abby holding your hips, guiding them as you slide down and fuck yourself, chasing the high she gave you just a few weeks ago but you see golden-waves flowing on your navy-blue cotton sheets. your mind drifts to how the blue in the sheets would bring out abby’s eyes, how she might look up at you while you fuck her like it’s your right to. 

as if she belongs to you. 

the more you think of her, the easier it becomes to find your release, it comes to you quickly as you moan; you chase the high. but it still doesn’t feel as good as last time — not when you don’t have her whispering in your ear. telling you just how much you need it, whispering your dirty secrets like an oath. a string for her to pull, only one tug needed until you come apart for her like it’s the only purpose you have in life; you’re just here to please abby anderson. 

fwb!abby who doesn’t see you for a week straight. you’re avoiding her with all of you might. even going as far as missing one of her games which you never do. it pisses her off to no end and the final straw is her teammate talking about how much the two of you can’t stop fucking. yeah, god, she’s so perfect. sweetest i've ever tasted. it’s said in passing, quietly to one of her friends, not meant for abby. slamming the locker form, she sets her sights on you. she’s ending whatever the fuck this is. 

the knock on your door is harsh, spinning you out of your thoughts as you open the door to find her completely outraged. abby might as well be a bull with her nostrils flared, puffing out smoke as she only sees through a tunnel vision of red. you know why she’s upset, and you’re sure she’s heard about just who you have been spending your time with, making this all the more messy. 

“ashton? fucking ashton?” abby burls straight past the entrance, shoulder checking you in the process. 

“why does it matter if it’s her? or anyone? why do you care all of a sudden?” you go back to cleaning, as if you don’t have a very enraged woman standing in front of you. you try not to think of her sweet vanilla scent mixed with mahogany. the way she filled you up perfectly. 

“i don’t care.” abby nods as she showcases a bitter smirk. 

fwb!abby who has you pinned against the wall with her strong frame, pelvis pressed against hers, still sweaty from practice as she has you pinned against the wall. you’re not sure who kissed first, who grabbed the other closer, but she has you turned around, fingers plunging knuckle deep as she reminds you of that night. writhing against her as she whispers in her ear, “next time you crawl in her bed, remember this, when she’s failing to make you come apart. remember how easy it is for me.” 

fwb!abby who brings you back to her apartment. her lips pull the air from your lungs, suffocating you but lighting you ablaze. like a lioness when she paws at you, nearly ripping your closes to shreds with the claws she has buried in you so deep. abby is cocky about it as you pull off her clothes just the same, desperate, needy — with a angelic glint in your eyes she’ll have nightmares about. 

“princess, it will stay between us. alright?” abby groans as her baby blue dildo slips inside you. watching her defined abdomen clenched as she pushes, fully tilted inside you. “promise.”  

another secret to holster, keeping close enough to keep but not close enough where it would seep into your skin, surely to infect whatever she so craved to do. you expect everything to be a little rough, a means to an end — just a way for the both of you to fuck this out of your system — but abby’s delicate. doing her best not to completely lose it. 

you feel full as she hesitates to move, watching your face contort in divine pleasure, the way you try to move your hips, but her hands keep you in place for a moment longer. 

“baby, please, shit i need your—” a groan leaves your mouth as abby moves, thrusting her cock inside you. 

“yeah, you need it, princess?” 

it feels condescending, the stupid pet name is being thrown at you as a way to incite raw need, to instill such a primal emotion, and you feel it stirring the pits of your stomach. with each heartbeat, your chest flutters. 

your mind shuts off, all the worries that infect your mind like a disease, every reason that tells you this is a god-awful, terrifyingly horrible idea. there’s too many webs, you’re bound to be trapped up in her, with no way to come out of it. it’s the only truth settled within your soul but then she’s fucking you. it’s hard but slow. 

she’s taking her time, building you up so she has you right towards the edge. all you do is wrap your legs around her, bringing her close to you, her temple kissing yours as she loses herself inside you. it’s all more than you expected, quiet whimpers echo in her bedroom, her sanctuary she’s coaxed you into. 

“you look so hot taking my cock, pretty girl. fuck, it’s like it was made just for you but i have an appetite for something else.” 

you whimper as abby removes herself and the harness secured on her hips, until you feel her blonde bush and aching lips slide over yours. the woman above you can’t help but chuckle as your eyes roll back into your skull, a leg thrown over her toned shoulder as she slides perfectly against you. 

“you—” you gasp as she pushes her hips faster, you have no choice but to buck against her. “a-abs, oh shit, oh my fucking god.” 

quickly, you’re losing it as abby is being loud. “right in front of me all this time, fuck!” 

almost comes across as animalistic as she grunts, fucking your faster than anyone ever has, you’re so close when she grips your chin, demanding you to open. sliding her fingers inside of your mouth as you suck off your cum. effectively shutting you up in the process. 

“yeah, it’s too much, huh? are you sure you can take it, princess?” you nod your head as one thrust sends you over the end, your body twitching as you come. she soothes you through it, whispering your name over and over in your ear and it goes straight to your cunt. it’s too much but she eventually stops but you still feel her against you. everything becomes sticky and warm. 

the blunt of her nails begin to scrape lightly over the skin of your abdomen, enjoying how much your body twitches. you’re sensitive and abby chuckles.

“whenever you wanna fuck princess, just give me a call.” and after, she whispers so quietly you almost miss it, “i’ll gladly make this pussy mine any day of the week.”

[hjvi]

𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝑼𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅

Pairing: Bsf!Chris Sturniolo x Fem!Reader

Summary: After burying your feelings for Chris for years, you're caught off guard when jealousy resurfaces, watching him with another girl. requested

Word Count: 2k

You’ve known Chris for as long as you can remember. His laugh is unmistakable—the kind that echoes, rich and deep, bouncing off walls and filling every corner of the room with warmth. He’s always been loud, full of life, and incredibly magnetic, effortlessly drawing people in with his charm. But for you, it was always more than that.

You knew him long before you started feeling this way—long before his tousled brown hair, with the hints of sun-kissed highlights, started looking a little too perfect in the way it fell over his forehead. Before his blue eyes started making your stomach twist in a way you could no longer ignore. Before you started noticing the little things, like the warmth of his hand when it brushed against yours, the way he’d throw his arm around your shoulders during movie nights with the group, the way he’d pause mid-sentence, just to smile at you like he couldn’t help himself.

For so long, you’d been his best friend—the quiet one, the one who had always been there for him, laughing at his jokes, listening to his stories, offering support. But recently, it started to feel different. You started noticing things—small things—that never bothered you before. His smile. How it lingered just a little longer when he looked at you, how his eyes would soften when you spoke about something that mattered to you. The way he would rest his hand on your shoulder casually when you were hanging out, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

But you couldn’t admit it—not even to yourself. Because how could you? He was Chris, your best friend. Your partner in crime, the one you could tell everything to, the one who made you laugh when you felt like crying. If you told him how you felt, you were terrified it would ruin everything. You couldn’t lose him, not like that. Not over something as silly as a crush.

Ever since Chris and I were kids, he had the biggest crush on me. His brothers would tease him relentlessly, making exaggerated kissing noises every time he so much as looked at me for too long. Everyone knew. It was an unspoken truth, something that just existed between us, a constant presence I never had to question.

It lasted for years. And I never thought much of it—Chris always asking me dumb questions just to talk to me, always finding excuses to sit beside me, always looking at me like I hung the stars in the sky. It was just Chris being Chris.

Until he stopped.

I don’t know exactly when it happened, but one day I realized he didn’t ask me those corny things anymore. He didn’t try to sit closer. He didn’t stare at me like I was his entire world. And I should’ve been relieved, should’ve been grateful that the teasing from his brothers had finally died down.

But I wasn’t.

I missed his attention. I missed knowing I was the center of his focus..

I remember the first time we formally talked about our crushes. It was in middle school, sprawled out on his bedroom floor, tossing a stress ball back and forth.

"I kinda like Sophia," he had admitted, his voice casual, like he wasn’t saying something that made my stomach twist.

Sophia. The blonde that every guy liked. The one with the kind of effortless beauty that made people gravitate toward her. Of course, he liked her.

I had forced a smile, nodding. "Yeah? She’s cool."

Chris studied me for a second before tossing the ball again. "Who do you like?"

I froze. My heart stuttered, my mind scrambling for a name that wasn’t his.

Because for the first time, I realized—I liked Chris.

And it terrified me.

"I don’t know," I lied, shrugging. "Haven’t really thought about it."

He smirked. "Liar."

I laughed it off, quickly changing the subject, but the truth sat heavy in my chest.

The weight of unspoken words had never felt heavier than it did now. For as long as I could remember, Chris had been my person. My best friend. The one I could always count on to make me laugh when the world felt unbearable. The one whose presence alone made everything feel lighter. But somewhere along the way, things had shifted. My laughter lingered a little too long when he cracked a joke. My heart raced a little too fast when his hand brushed against mine. My eyes searched for him in every crowded room, drawn to him in a way I knew wasn’t just friendly.

I had fallen in love with him.

And I never told him.

I buried those feelings so deep inside me, convinced that if I ignored them long enough, they would disappear. Because why would someone like Chris ever look at me that way? He deserved someone beautiful, effortless—someone who didn’t trip over their own words when he smiled at them. And if I ever told him, it would ruin everything. So I stayed quiet. I convinced myself that being his best friend was enough.

But then, Leah came into the picture.

At first, it was just a passing thought. You knew about her, of course. She was friends with the group, always hanging out with them, just like you. But over the past couple of weeks, things had changed. You’d noticed the way Chris started talking about her more—how he’d smile a little brighter when her name came up, how he’d mention things they’d done together, and how his eyes would light up when he talked about her, in a way that he’d never looked at you.

It was a gradual shift, but one you couldn’t ignore.

It started small at first. The way he talked about her. A girl whose name I had never needed to remember before, but suddenly, it was everywhere. Her laugh, her texts lighting up his phone, the way his eyes sparkled when he mentioned her. And then I saw it—the way he looked at her, and it shattered me.

I had spent so long pretending that I was okay just being his friend, but now, I couldn’t pretend anymore. Every time he smiled at her, it felt like a knife to the heart. Every time I saw her name flash on his screen, I wanted to disappear. Because it wasn’t me. It would never be me. And the thought of that—of watching him fall in love with someone who wasn’t me—was unbearable.

So I started pulling away.

At first, Chris didn’t notice. He’d text me, and I’d reply hours later, blaming school or sleep. When he called, I let it ring until it stopped, my fingers hovering over the answer button, aching to hear his voice but knowing it would only hurt. I started making excuses, avoiding plans, choosing solitude over his company.

But Chris wasn’t stupid.

It was a Thursday when everything came to a head. The weather was unusually warm for an early spring evening, the sunlight streaming through the window in Chris’s room as you sat next to him, legs stretched out on the floor. Chris had his headphones on, scrolling through his phone while you were lost in thought. The space between you both felt wider than ever, like something had shifted and you couldn’t put it back.

He was talking, his voice full of energy, but you weren’t really listening. You were too focused on the way his laugh sounded when he mentioned Leah’s name—how much joy seemed to be wrapped in that one syllable.

“Yeah, Leah and I were talking about going to that concert next month,” Chris said, not even noticing the way your heart dropped at the mention of her.

You forced a smile, trying to keep the sadness from showing. “That sounds fun,” you said, trying to keep your voice light. You bit your lip, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill over. It was becoming harder and harder to control them.

Chris pulled his headphones off and turned to you, his eyes narrowing in concern. “You sure you’re alright?” he asked, his voice softening. He reached out to touch your arm, and his touch made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, your throat tight. You didn’t know how to explain it to him—not without feeling like a fool. How could you tell him that you were in love with him, that every moment with him was a reminder of what you could never have?

This was just the beginning of the interrogations

“Okay, what the hell is going on with you?” he asked one evening, barging into my room without warning, his blue eyes sharp with concern.

I sat frozen on my bed, my laptop open in front of me, though I hadn’t typed a single word in the past hour. My heart slammed against my ribs. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb, dude. You’ve been weird. Distant. You barely talk to me anymore.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Did I do something?”

Yes, I wanted to scream. You fell for someone else. And you didn’t even notice it was breaking me.

But instead, I shook my head. “I’m just busy, Chris.”

“Bullshit,” he shot back immediately, crossing his arms. “You’re avoiding me.”

I swallowed hard, looking anywhere but at him. “I’m not.”

He sighed, stepping closer, his voice softer this time. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

Tears burned at the back of my eyes. I clenched my fists, willing myself to keep it together, but it was useless. The pain, the jealousy, the heartbreak—it was all bubbling to the surface too fast for me to stop it.

“Chris,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Please just drop it.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I won’t. Because you’re hurting, and I don’t know why.” He hesitated, searching my face. “Is it something I did?”

The lump in my throat grew, and before I could stop myself, a single tear slipped down my cheek. “You didn’t do anything.”

Chris’s face fell, his expression crumbling as he reached for me instinctively. “Then why are you crying?”

He leaned in closer, his warm blue eyes locking with yours, and you could feel the weight of his gaze. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

He froze, and you felt his hand gently tug at your chin, pulling your face back toward him. His eyes were wide with concern, his usual teasing expression replaced by one of deep, genuine worry.

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, everything felt too heavy. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, and the vulnerability you’d been hiding for so long threatened to break free. You looked at him, his face so close to yours, his genuine concern written all over his features, and it hit you like a wave.

And just like that, the dam broke.

I sucked in a shaky breath, my entire body trembling. “Because I can’t do this anymore,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “I can’t keep pretending like it doesn’t kill me to see you with her. I can’t keep acting like I don’t care when you talk about her, when you smile at her, when you—” I broke off, covering my face with my hands. “God, I’m so stupid.”

Chris stood frozen, his breath catching. “Wait,” he said slowly. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

I let out a bitter laugh, wiping at my tears. “I’m saying I love you, Chris. I have for a long time. And I never told you because I was terrified of ruining this—ruining us. But now, it doesn’t even matter, does it?” My voice cracked on the last words, my heart breaking all over again. “Because you’ve already found someone else.”

Chris’s expression shifted, his brows furrowing deeply. “Wait—what?” His voice cracked slightly, the shock evident on his face. He pulled you closer, his hands gently cradling your face. “You... you’re in love with me?”

The words felt like a breath of fresh air—like a confession you had kept locked away in the deepest part of your heart. But even as you said it, you weren’t sure what would happen next. Would he push you away? Would he laugh? Or would he... understand?

Silence.

My chest heaved, the room spinning around me. I didn’t know what I expected—maybe for him to let me down gently, to tell me he was flattered but his heart was elsewhere. Maybe even for him to walk away. But I didn’t expect what happened next.

Chris stepped forward, closing the distance between us. His hands cupped my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. His thumbs brushed away my tears, his touch so unbearably gentle it made my breath hitch.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, wiping at your eyes, trying to suppress the tears. “I never wanted to say it. I didn’t want to ruin things between us.”

Chris was silent for a moment, his brow furrowing as he stood up slowly. He walked over to you and gently took your phone from your hand, placing it on the coffee table. His touch was light, his hand brushing against your fingers in a way that sent warmth rushing through you.

“Hey,” he said softly, kneeling in front of you so you were eye-level. “You don’t have to apologize for your feelings. It’s okay to feel what you feel.”

But you couldn’t stop the tears. They came in waves now, the floodgates opening. “I just thought… I thought I was fine,” you whispered through the sobs. “I thought I could handle it. But seeing you with her, seeing you get so close to her, it just—it hurts so much. I… I don’t know how to be around you anymore.”

Chris’s expression shifted from concern to something deeper—something you couldn’t quite place. He gently cupped your face in his hands, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. His eyes were intense, a mix of confusion and something else—something you couldn’t decipher.

“You’re an idiot,” he whispered, shaking his head.

“You think I don’t feel it too?” he murmured, his voice rough. He gently pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his warmth enveloping you. “I’ve been trying to figure this out, too, you know.”

I opened my mouth to protest, to explain how I had felt so invisible, so forgotten. But his next words stopped me.

“I’ve been in love with you for so long, I’m pretty sure it’s written all over my face,” he said, his voice raw, unguarded. “But I never said anything because I thought you didn’t feel the same way. I didn’t want to mess everything up. But the truth is... I can’t stand seeing you hurt. I can’t stand the idea of losing you. I need you, and I always have.” Chris’s hands gently ran up and down your back, the touch comforting yet charged with emotion.

My breath caught in my throat, my heart hammering against my chest as his words sank in. I blinked rapidly, trying to process them, to keep my composure, but it was like everything inside me finally cracked open. All the years of pretending, of burying my feelings beneath layers of friendship and doubt, had been in vain. Chris—Chris felt the same way.

“You... love me?” I whispered, still not quite believing it, my voice trembling as I searched his face for any sign of doubt. But there was none. His gaze was steady, unwavering.

“I love you,” he said, more firmly this time. “Always have. Always will.”

The realization hit you then, like a weight lifting from your chest. He had been feeling the same way all along, hiding his feelings just as much as you had.

Without thinking, you pulled back slightly, looking up into his eyes, and that was when everything seemed to come together. The pain, the confusion, the years of silence... it all fell away. The only thing that mattered now was the connection between you two.

“Chris... I’m scared,” you whispered, your hands shaking slightly as you cupped his face.

He smiled softly, that familiar, reassuring grin that made your heart race. “I know,” he murmured, brushing your hair out of your face. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

My chest swelled with something I couldn’t quite name—relief, hope, joy—until it all broke free in a rush of emotion. Without thinking, I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. My hands found his chest, pressing against the solid warmth of him, and before I could stop myself, I was kissing him—softly, tentatively at first, as though testing the waters after a lifetime of waiting.

The moment our lips met, everything else faded into the background. At first, it was slow—tentative. His lips were soft against mine, his breath warm and steady. I could feel the tension in his body, like he was testing the waters, unsure if this was real. And then, just like that, it deepened. Chris’s hand slid to my waist, pulling me in closer, until there was no space left between us. His touch was gentle but firm, like he needed me, like he was afraid to let go. His lips moved against mine with a tenderness that made my heart flutter, each kiss a promise, each one a reassurance that this moment was more than just a fleeting desire.

I melted into him, my fingers finding their way to his chest, lightly gripping the fabric of his shirt. His heart was racing beneath my touch, mirroring mine. The kiss grew more urgent, but there was still a sweetness to it, a softness that made everything feel like it was happening in slow motion, like we had all the time in the world. His lips were warm and sure, coaxing mine to respond, to give in, and I did, losing myself in the sensation of him, in the feeling of finally being close to the one person I had secretly longed for.

But eventually, I had to pull away, gasping for air. The intensity of the kiss left me breathless, my body trembling from the closeness of it. I couldn’t think, couldn’t process anything beyond the overwhelming feeling of his lips on mine, of the warmth of his touch.

I pulled back just enough to catch my breath, my chest heaving as I looked up at him. His eyes were still closed, as if he were trying to hold onto the moment just a little longer. But when he opened them, he locked his gaze with mine, and in that moment, I saw something in his eyes I hadn’t expected—something so tender, so vulnerable.

He reached for me almost immediately, his hands gentle as he cupped my face, pulling me back toward him. His lips found mine again, but this time, it was softer—gentler. He kissed me with a tenderness that spoke volumes, as if he needed me as much as I needed him, and as if he had been waiting for this moment just as long as I had. His touch was no longer desperate, but filled with a quiet longing, a reassurance that we were in this together, that we had both found something we couldn’t bear to let go of.

His breath mingled with mine, warm and slow, as his forehead rested gently against mine. His hands moved to my back, holding me close, as if he never wanted to let me go. I could feel the warmth of his chest against mine, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my fingertips, and it was like everything in the world had finally fallen into place.

“I’ve been wanting this for so long,” Chris whispered, his voice soft, almost a little shaky. “You’re everything to me, you know that?”

I nodded, my heart swelling with emotions I couldn’t quite put into words. The love in his voice, the way he held me like I was fragile, like I was something precious—it was everything I’d ever wanted. He gently brushed a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering against my skin for a moment longer than necessary, as if he was memorizing the feel of me, like he never wanted to forget this moment.

“Don’t pull away,” he whispered again, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes searched mine, the intensity in them soft but unwavering. “I need you here. With me. Always.”

I looked into his eyes, feeling the sincerity in his words, the depth of his feelings for me. His hands were still on my waist, holding me close but with a softness that made me feel safe, cherished.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered back, my voice a little shaky as I cupped his cheek, running my thumb across the stubble that had started to form there. “I’m right here.”

And with that, he kissed me again, slowly this time—more like a promise than a question. His lips were gentle against mine, like he was savoring the moment, making sure we were both fully present in it. There was no rush, no urgency, just the quiet certainty that we were exactly where we were meant to be. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me even closer, and I let myself get lost in him, in the feeling of finally being with the person I had loved for so long.

When we finally pulled away again, I could see the faintest smile tugging at his lips, and I knew that whatever came next, we would face it together. His hands gently cradled my face, and I could feel the tenderness in every touch, every look. He wasn’t just kissing me; he was showing me that he needed me, that he loved me, in a way that words couldn’t fully express.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I'm sorry if this feels a bit rushed – it's because, well, it kind of is. This was a requested piece, and I apologize it's not a full-length fic, but I really hope you still enjoy it! Things have been pretty busy on my end, but I'm hoping to dive into future requests with more plot and depth. Thanks again for your patience and support!

tags - @swagalicious260 @watercolorskyy @coquettechris @lovesturni0l0s @christmastreecake @ellbowmacaroni @blog-luvdance @sophand4n4 @meg4-matt44 @mommymomm @chriss-slutt @humpster35 @courta13 @idkwhatthisis2009 @yourfavoritefangirl @slutformatt17 @watercolorskyy @mylifeisevenstranger @suyqa @junnniiieee07 @thecrawlys

╰┈➤𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚, 𝒉𝒊𝒗𝒊

[covenofagatha]

ok after the FFF post i think we now need your thought on reader teasing agatha during no nut november.

maybe first they make a bet about whether agatha can even make it through no nut november, and of course agatha is like what do u mean i can’t do it? and so she takes on the challenge.

you then start waking agatha up to the sounds of you fucking yourself with a dildo or smth and she already wants to quit.

you then proceed to tease her nonstop every day, and of course it’s harder for agatha because november has a few more days than february

- 🥕

Well it is only fair that reader gets a little payback for all of Agatha's teasing

You've been waiting ever since finger free February for this and you've been planning

It's a few days before November starts and you casually bring it up to Agatha over dinner. She scoffs it off at first, but then you appeal to her competitive nature: "Oh come on, mommy, you don't think you can last? I did. Guess you can't, though. Such a shame. You're just too desperate for me, aren't you? Can't control yourself at all?"

She takes the bait immediately and is outraged that you would even imply that she wouldn't be able to, and accepts

You two have the most sex you've ever had in the next few days, courtesy of Agatha trying to get out as many orgasms as she can

The first few days of November pass and you're her perfect baby, only making a few dirty remarks here and there and only attempting to brush her cock through her pants a few times

Agatha gets lulled into a false sense of security and thinks that maybe it won't be that hard (pun intended) after all

Until the next morning when she wakes up to hear wet squelching sounds and rolls over to find you with a dildo buried up to the hilt in your cunt, panting

But not just any dildo, no, the one you made with the penis molding kit that is an exact silicone replica of her cock (purposefully for this month - but she doesn't need to know)

So not only is she watching you fuck yourself with it, but she also now has the memory of you on your knees in the shower in front of her, blowing her to a full erection, and then stroking the molding powder over her cock to make the toy

"Fuck, mommy, your cock feels so good inside me," you moan, pumping it fast inside you, and Agatha is instantly hard as a rock, the few days without an orgasm finally catching up to her. She starts to hump the air and wonders how embarrassing it would be if she didn't even make it a week into it

She barely avoids cumming untouched when you orgasm all over the toy

Thus begins you starting to tease her for real

You've never been a big banana fan, but you certainly are now and you make eye contact with her every morning as you slide as much of it as you can take down your throat before gagging (which only makes her harder)

You give her your best "fuck me" eyes every night as you hold a vibrator to your clit, hips bucking, while you beg for her to put her cock inside you. "It's okay, mommy, you can just stop before you cum and it won't count," you tell her, but you both know that the second she gets inside you, she'll blow her load instantly

When she sits at her desk doing work, you saunter over in nothing but lingerie and straddle her lap, claiming you just want to be close to her, but that doesn't stop you from grinding on her rock hard cock through her pants while she grits her teeth and turns red as a tomato

It gets to the point that she's pretty sure if you were to touch her cock with your bare skin, she would fail

"Only four days left," you say cheerily and she grumbles something incoherently. She's been irritated and a little quick-tempered and you love it.

"It's not fair," she says. "November is two days longer than February."

You mockingly pout and suck on a lollipop. "Oh, poor mommy. But just think, on December first, you can fuck me again. God, I can't wait to have your cock inside me. I love when you twitch and pulse and throb and then fill me up with your cum and leaks out of me."

Agatha has to leave the room with a whimper because she's so painfully hard and doesn't trust herself to look at you without cumming right now

That night, you're laying next to her in bed, idly playing with your clit and sliding your fingers into your cunt every now and then. Agatha is making a pointed effort not to look, but you can see how tense she is. It comes to a breaking point when you push your wet fingers into her mouth and she groans before getting up, positioning herself between your legs, and hauling your cunt into her mouth

It's the first time she's touched you since October and you can't help yourself from making louder noises than you're used to because of how good it feels and you're so lost in pleasure that you don't even notice how she's started to grind against the bed

You're so close to an orgasm when she suddenly freezes and pulls back with a strangled sound. Her eyes are wide with panic, face red, and you can see her hips rutting

"Fuck fuck fuck," she chants and a thrill runs through you before her head drops down to rest against your stomach with a groan

When she flops over onto her back, you can see a wet stain on the front of her boxers and you laugh

"Guess since you lost, you can just go ahead and fuck me now," you sigh. "No point in waiting a few more days."

Agatha can't even be mad about it because at least her torture is over

You never fail to remind her that you made it longer than she did

[todosdream]

stress relief | ony

15k wrds. strangers to friends? to lovers. slow burn. plot with smut. fem black oc. see the moodboard.

warnings: MNDI! lots of profanity, usage of n word, pet names, mentions of weed; smut: unprotected sex (PLS BE SAFE), edging, a spank or two, naaasty talk, degradation? more like brat-taming, dacryphilia for two seconds, ony rightfully has a bbc, begging, ony’s a talker (duh), choking? really just a hand necklace, pussydrunk ony, lowkey d/s but not explicitly mentioned

additional #: oc needs to get laid fr. kt needs her headphones. becca needs a new job. author doesn’t box. shout out mrs. etta. ony is chalanting with a girl for the first time. (and he’s vibing with it.) oc really needs to get laid. oc is a bit bratty… sorry. ony needs to get off his ass. oc is actually very bratty, damn. oh hell, oc gets laid!

“girl, I’ma be real with you… you need some dick,” crystal’s best friend tells her through her screen. kt’s giving a look, an interesting mix of pity and annoyance. her knotless braids are framing her face, mocha skin radiant as always but lashes looking quite barren. “yeah, and you need a lash refill, ho,” crystal snorts. since she’s bringing up needs and shit. it’s unfortunately been a while since they’ve hung out, kt now visiting family in colorado for about a week.

being the type of friends they are, the both of them have no issue communicating through tiktoks and sending pictures of silly things. just yesterday kt sent a picture of herself holding up a peace sign with a joint between her lips. she stood next to a 'no smoking' sign, the ‘no’ smudged. she thought she was just so clever. crys in return sent a saved picture of an unimpressed squidward, a typical exchange between the two goofballs.

“yeah, okay, ho. I’m just saying. maybe you’d be a little nicer to me if you got some,” she rolls her eyes, giving yzma. her rescheduled lash appointment can’t come quick enough. “says the girl getting some every day and still being mean to me,” crys scoffs.

kt’s living with her boyfriend, expecting his title to change to fiance after feeling a certain anticipatory energy from the man. her time consists of working and chatting with friends, and being with and posting videos with her partner. crys, however, explores her free time in many ways. picking up hobbies that have about a 50% chance of sticking, trying different restaurants, teaching her dog funny tricks, and the occasional friend hangout. it’s friday night and she’s doing her own nails just for the hell of it. although the uninhibited girl’s words trigger an automatic negative response, crys knows why she’s speaking them. when the phone call ends, kt will turn over and cuddle up to her man, maybe ‘get her shit rocked’ as she likes to so delicately put it. crys, however, will be left with her dog, her empty home and bed, and whichever toy she vibes with for the night.

she likes being alone, it’s an accomplishment for her to feel confident and comfortable being single after wasting her time with people that don’t care, men that don’t even actually like her. but when it’s all said and done, people are meant for connection. of course platonic, family, community… but that pull? that yearning? it can’t be replicated, no matter how many times she rewatches bridgerton or insecure.

it’s been a while since she just let go with anyone other than those already close to her. the last time she let someone new in, he showed her exactly why ‘niggas ain’t shit’ is such a popular phrase. it was a situation that didn’t make any sense, and in retrospect, she cringes. the embarrassment, the useless attempts at communication, the settling… never again. however, that’s a part of her life that’s being fully neglected. no dates, no late night rendezvous, no flirting, no sex.

one word: cobwebs.

“why are you more worried about my coochie than I am, anyway?” crys jokes as she fixes her gel polish, deflecting the conversation. it’s not something she wants to discuss or harp on. that’s just life for her right now. she’s tired of people wasting her time, so she became unavailable. simple. plus, she knows kt’s nosy ass man is lying next to her and listening because that girl never wears her damn airpods. “you think that’s an insult? girl. that only makes you look bad, not me,” she sasses. crys hears a soft snicker in the background. “oh, fuck you,” the girl mumbles in response. “and will you please put headphones on the next time you decide to go talkin’ bout my coochie? cause I’ll happily tell all those stories about yours, pimp.”

“stories?” crys hears in the background of the call. “ain’t no way she just called you that. what the hell that mean, crystal?” the bestie purses her lips and squints at crys. she watches as the brown skinned girl tilts her head, making her curls flop to the side with a ‘gotcha’ look. “I know where you live, you know that, fo’head? have a good night with your vibrator, ho,” she speaks lowly. shuffles are heard as she drops the phone onto the duvet next to her. “she don’t mean that, pookie, she’s just all pent up.” kt’s middle finger is all that’s visible on the screen before the phone echos a tone a few times, indicating the end of the call. crys snorts in response and sits her phone to the side. she sighs, looking over her nails for any imperfections as her mind echoes her words.

she wouldn’t be opposed to a night in the sheets. it’d be nice to dust off the cobwebs. get some head, maybe get her shit rocked like she hasn’t had in a while. part of her wants the slow and sensual, romantic sex with someone special. the kind of sex that touches her soul, that you can feel on every level. the other part… well. that part stays right in the cage where it belongs. that part likes to drown in frisky pleasure even if the one giving it is a life source draining leech.

it’s normal to want pleasure, it’s human. but the thought of all the bullshit that comes with dealing with another human, let alone a man in this day and age is enough to make her reconsider taking that step. so like usual, she brushes the words off and refocuses on her spa day so that she can be at her best for the work week.

ᥫ᭡

despite her best efforts, the next week is particularly irritating. mercury must be doing her shit, maybe all the damn planets, because so many people have had wack ass attitudes and it’s rubbed crys wrong. terrible interactions with customers, coworkers called out and left her in a busy store with little help, and she broke a nail doing something very much so not in her job description. on top of that, the amount of random things outside of her control that have gone haywire is deeply irritating. her tv crapped out and decided to just stop working out of nowhere, her wifi is out for local renovations, and her trash can is missing.

again.

it’s a wonder she hasn’t either had some type of crash out or just cashed in her pto for a fucking break. instead, she decides to get dressed for the gym and puts on a purple workout set. if she wants to be cute and sweaty she damn well will be. she grabs her favorite gym shoes and her essentials. she leaves her curls alone for now, but takes a scrunchie to put it up later. when she gets to the gym at a completely different time than she’s used to, it’s practically empty, save for a young and obviously bored receptionist that’s glued to her phone and a middle aged woman power walking into her destiny.

seriously, crys will have some of what she’s having. the woman is on fire.

sighing to herself, the frazzled girl goes to scan her member qr code, only for the damn scanner to decide to stop working. the blonde receptionist behind the desk sighs as if doing her job is the last thing she wants to do. crys usually wouldn’t blame her for that, but the way she’s popping her gum has the curly headed girl imagining a modern re-enactment of that one scene from that madea movie. the receptionist seems to be in absolutely no rush to fix the scanner, completely oblivious to the metaphorical cloud over crys’ head that’s growing by the minute. she fights the urge to furrow her brows and take a week’s worth of irritation out on the worker, deciding to take a deep breath instead.

the brief look up that the girl gives in response has her immediately regretting her decision.

before she can even think of something to say, the door opens behind her. she’s in no mood to look at the person, figuring they’ll both be waiting in line. she doesn’t want to seem open to small talk because she’s just not. however, the receptionist— becca, her nametag reads— looks up like the sun just graced the sky for the first time in centuries. she stands up straighter, obviously trying to make herself look like she’s doing the job that she’s been failing at, and calls over crys’ shoulder. “hey, ony, technical difficulties. you’re free to go ahead you don’t have to wait, I can check you in once this is fixed,” she smiles. that lucky bastard. it’s the first smile on her face in the entire time the bristling girl has been there. crys swears if this was a cartoon scene, the blonde girl would be fluttering her lashes with hearts in her eyes.

there’s a deep chuckle from behind. “thanks, becca. they should give you a raise,” a low, raspy voice responds. crys’ eye twitches. the hell they should, she thinks. hand me the damn performance review form cause I got shit to say. becca, now looking as if she’s on cloud nine, waves him off dismissively. “just doing my job. leg day?” she questions, trying to sound as casual as possible and not like her drool is threatening to ruin the damn scanner beyond repair. “mhm,” the stranger hums. “nice kicks,” he mumbles.

crys is too busy zoning out and imagining herself tap dancing on the broken pieces of the scanner to realize that he’s talking to her. the way becca’s eyes shift gets her attention. “oh. uh, thanks,” she murmurs, looking up. all she sees is a muscular back walking towards the men’s locker room. she doesn’t have time to look him over because ms. becca decides she actually can do her job and calls out to her that the scanner is fixed.

it just needed to be plugged up again.

ain’t no fuckin’ way.

becca doesn’t even seem embarrassed. she’s holding the scanner lazily and looking around, probably for that ony guy. the blonde doesn’t realize that crys is holding her phone out, and she’s still popping that damn gum. instead of saying something to the girl like she really wants to, she grabs the scanner from the “worker” to check her damn self in and quickly heads to the locker room. the girl doesn’t deserve her week’s worth of anger.

after some time, she’s finally out on the floor to stretch out. soon after the warm up, she’s at the punching bag. it’s not her usual choice of workout, but she took classes when she was younger and knows it’s a great way to release all that irritation from the week in a more physical outlet.

crys quickly wraps her hands and soon she’s throwing punches and listening to rico nasty, an artist who has several tracks on her ‘temper tantrum’ playlist. she gets into her groove, trying to remember the important tips from the classes she attended years ago. it’s hard to recall all the basics, but she gives it her best shot. not too long after, she notices a shadow of someone’s frame behind her. it must be that lucky asshole from earlier, probably here to be a bother. or maybe becca decided to do her job and came to tell her to move her bag off the floor. she sighs, taking out her headphones and turning to look. it’s the stranger. the man’s arms are crossed as he watches, showing his sleeves of tattoos.

crys wishes she could say he was ugly, but he’s definitely not. he’s fine as fuck, actually. his skin is dark and healthy, making him look like he actually has a skincare routine and not just 100-in-one soap. he has an athletic build visible even through his clothes that makes her want to drool like dear old becca. he’s tall, maybe 6’4 or 6’5, so she has to look up at him, even being on the taller side herself. his black durag matches his all black workout fit and she wonders what exactly lies underneath considering the size of his arms.

his demeanor is calm and steady, confident in a way that’s quiet, as opposed to many other gym bros™. his face is calm and there’s barely any tension in his body. crys thinks she’d like to make him bothered, just to get a rise. see if he’ll hold ip or bite back. but no, that’s rude, and she doesn’t know this man at all. his eyes are looking at her intently, and she despises how beautiful they are. why do men get to have natural lashes that look like that? it’s not fair she has to get extensions when his are so long with an almost perfect curl. and the color of his eyes make it worse, the light brown contrasting his dark skin so prettily. and his lips? full, perfect for kissing, among other things.

lucky bastard.

“you gone bite my head off if I suggest how to fix your form?” he asks with a simple raise of his brow.

ᥫ᭡

ony’s a hardworking man. he likes to handle business but have some fun on the side too. he’s chill. everyone would describe him as that. he’s the levelheaded friend, usually the calm in a storm, and not one to be all over the place physically, mentally, or emotionally. he’s a steady beat and he likes it that way. life is peaceful and secure, challenging in certain ways, but calm in others. he has a good paying job as a personal trainer, proper work life balance, and a good head on his shoulders. he doesn’t do too much, honestly, but that doesn’t mean that his life doesn’t have some interesting twists and turns. his boys always seem to need rescuing in some form, sisters all a whirlwind of their own. his mom is always a source of entertainment, although his dad is much like himself. he likes his life, simple as that.

but things have been becoming monotonous lately. his clients aren’t having any interesting developments and his social life is steady but uninteresting overall. his family group chat is going through a quiet spell and his boys are actually not up to anything stupid like they somehow always are. he’s been particularly unfulfilled by the game and there’s no sport he wants to keep up with as of late. it’s all kind of… blah. he’s grateful that nothing’s going wrong. he could be having a bad week as opposed to a boring one, but he aches for a spark, something different to bring a bit more color to his life. maybe he should get a pet? maybe some little fish couldn’t hurt. he thinks over the new idea while he follows his usual routine to pack up and leave for the gym.

and then he sees crys.

he notices her form as she stands at the check in desk, interest piqued. he’s never seen her before, and he comes to this gym at least five nights a week. he knows names and faces, especially since there’s usually no more than five people when he comes. her figure catches and keeps his eye, his gaze taking in the woman’s long legs, thick thighs, and plump ass, seeing how her afro falls around her shoulders. his excuse for where his gaze is centered is that it’s all he can see from where he’s standing, but it’s not much of an excuse. she’s just fine as hell. her workout fit is cute and colorful, contrasting his dark and bland one. her hand is in on her hip that’s popped out, accentuating her form.

his interest is definitely piqued.

he gets to see more of her when he comes around to speak to becca. pretty almond eyes, soft looking lips, the bottom currently being chewed with vigor. she’s beautiful… but one look at her profile and the flames in her eyes tell him all he needs to know: look the other way. ony grew up surrounded by strong black women in his life, his mom, sisters, aunts, cousins… learning to read body language and— well, the room, was something he learned quickly and he’s applied that lesson everywhere in life. everything about her body language and that cute, barely contained frown screams bad day. so he greets becca— who’s really a sweet girl, just unbothered— compliments her shoes, and moves on about his routine.

it’s like clockwork. he puts his stuff away, makes sure his chain is safe and secure, fills his water bottle, waves at mrs. etta on the treadmill, stretches, locks in, and gets the workout started.

he’s getting into his mode and enveloping himself in the feel of the workout, but he can’t help the way his eyes are pulled back to crys. the way she stretches, the way she adorably bobs her head to the seemingly… aggressive? music. she’s gorgeous and new, which has him feeling like every routine move he makes is just a little different. her and her angry pout and her curves and her curls…

she approachs a punching bag, which ony can admit he didn’t expect. the outfit convinced him she’d be power walking with mrs. etta, or doing pilates in the corner. his mom always told him what assuming does to someone, though. he looks away as he tries to focus on anything other than her. he counts his reps like usual, trying to submerge himself in his music. it doesn’t work. as soon as she takes her first swing, his eyes are back on her, taking notice of how she punches.

hm.

he can see she knows a bit more than someone just randomly choosing to throw a few hits, but he isn’t fond of some of the habits she has that could actually hurt in the long run. he debates approaching, but he’s always been one to help others in the gym. attitude be damned, he’s a personal trainer. he knows the importance of doing things correctly. after watching for a while, he decides to walk over. he knows that if she doesn’t fix her punch, she’ll be angry all over again tomorrow because of sore wrists. she turns, obviously annoyed, but he’s not scared. she looks him up and down, her facial expression barely shifting. he wonders what she’s thinking, wants to hear her voice. when she finally looks up at him with those eyes, he almost tilts his head.

how can someone be so fuckin’ pretty?

she’s a vision with her bare face. eyes he could get lost in, features he wants to admire for moments on end. he would actually guess that she’s quite sweet behind the haze of her frustration. obviously a multifaceted person, and he’s interested in the idea of learning all those facets. who she is, maybe what she likes, what she doesn’t like. maybe even what makes her happy, what would put a smile on the adorably scrunched up face. for some reason, he wants to see that happy expression. actually, as a matter of fact, he wants to see all her expressions. smiling, confused, relaxed, aroused. she’s caught him with a simple gaze and he’s confused about it.

“you actually know what you’re doing?” she asks. it’s not meant to be a jab, truthfully. she’s been hit on by guys that try to “help” just to flirt, but ultimately make a fool of themselves— and her for giving them the opportunity. she doesn’t have the patience for it today, it in fact might be the straw that breaks her back. she can see amusement tickle at his expression, but no signs of him being offended.

because he’s not. he can tell she isn’t asking in a facetious way, she just seems… tired. like she doesn’t want her time wasted. he can respect that. “I promise you, I do,” he says with a slight smile. just a little one, unable to contain his utter enjoyment in her sass, and still having that almost sickening feeling of attraction.

crys hums, her gaze sweeping over him again briefly, taking in his calm but confident demeanor. the little smile on his face is lowkey pissing her off, but she has enough sense to know it’s because she has a lot of stress to work out. he’s fine as hell and now’s really not the time for all that. even still, he’s bold to come over with the metaphorical storm still rolling above her head. bold… or stupid. who walks towards a burning house? but she knows if he could tell her form was off from so far, she could really be messing herself up with how she’s going at the punching bag. she wants to just kick and punch it randomly, similar to what her ‘temper tantrum’ playlist suggests, but she knows that’s no good. and again, he’s fine as hell.

all the same, she’s still irritated and frustration-filled. “sure, yeah,” she mumbles as she turns back to the bag.

ony’s quite intrigued, interestingly enough. he knows a person close to the brink when he sees one. he can see the irritation in her eyes and in the way her shoulders are set. her movements are stiff and her brows are still pinched, gorgeous even with the possibly dangerous amount of upset toiling in her. despite her tense demeanor, he can tell she’s still at least trying to be respectful. and he appreciates it.

“what’s your name?” he asks, shifting to stand next to her. she’s staring at the bag, itching to just punch. “crys,” she answers, sparing him a glance as she fixes the wrapping on her hands. she’s pulling it tight, her movements swift. she can feel him watching her intently and she doesn’t know how she feels about it.

he nods. “ony. I’m no expert but I can share a few tips to keep you from gettin’ hurt. mind if I touch you?” he asks, the question second nature from dealing with his clients. he knows better than to start without given permission, and he definitely knows he doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of her irritation. “s’fine,” she answers, ignoring the very inappropriate response that her brain comes up with. not now, brain. nasty ass. she really just wants him to hurry up so she can go back to punching, but she supposes she can hold back for a few more minutes if it’s him that’s going to touch her. plus it’s important to do it right, and even through her upset she knows that and is grateful for his help. if he could just be a little faster, though, that’d be wonderful.

he approaches, gently taking her hand in his as he unwraps her binding. “it’s a good wrap, but they shouldn’t be too tight. you gone hurt yourself that way,” he mumbles. his hands move slowly, demonstrating to her as he explains. it’s not in the show off-y way she expected, but direct and intentional instead. she’s glad he’s helping but a part of her is focused a bit too much on how his hands feel, how calming his voice is. “you should be able to spread your fingers. this’ll save your wrists and then some, yeah?” he murmurs, gently tapping her hand. still upset, she hates how soothing the contact is. she doesn’t need soothing, she needs violence.

that… might be dramatic. she knows it. but the week’s frustrations have all built to this moment and she plans to take full advantage of the punching bag in front of her. if he doesn’t pick up the pace, he might just take its place, handsome or not. “gotcha,” she mutters. “can I hit the bag now?” ony chuckles, and she’s mad that she really likes the sound. “sure. do a couple jabs.”

she takes a deep breath, her focus zoning on the bag. his presence fades slightly as she begins going at it, a bit overzealous. he lets her take a few punches, seeing how she obviously needs it. his gaze sweeps her form, watching her hips swivel slightly as she swings. her hits start with a decently healthy form, but the more she gets into it, ony can tell her focus is slipping. “okay, hold,” he murmurs. she doesn’t hear him and continues punching. her breathing is picking up and the cute scrunch between her brows is deepening. “hold,” he says louder, getting her attention. she huffs and raises out of her stance, blowing a stray out of her face. she steps forward and holds the bag to stop its movements, looking over at him.

ony could almost laugh at the way the curl flops right back into place. swears he could almost see her eyebrow twitch. damn, who pissed her off? “you got some good habits and some bad habits,” he mumbles, standing parallel to her now. “need to swing your hips more, not push through your arm. pop the bag, don’t push your punch.” he moves slowly as he speaks, demonstrating his words with his movements. it’s easy to follow, but his muscles are stealing the show, to crys’ dismay. “I was doing that,” she mumbles in response because she indeed was. “mhm, at the beginning. the more you put in, the less you focus on your form,” he says as he returns to his earlier position, arms crossed. “go again,” he nods. “bossy,” she mumbles. she likes it. he’s giving proper tips and doesn’t really care about her attitude, seeming unaffected.

ony chuckles, seemingly knowing there’s no actual anger in her tone, at least not completely directed at him. crys supposes he’s right. when she gets in the flow, her mind focuses less on her form and more on the happenings of the week. she definitely could’ve weakened her stance, and his words bring memories of her previous instructor. he might not be an expert, but he knows what he’s saying for sure. she gets back into her stance and takes a few more hits, more focused on her form this time around. she can’t quite lose herself to the exercise with the newfound focus, and she doesn’t like it. “better,” ony calls out. “keep goin’.” so she does. she follows his instructions to a t, feeling a bit more comfortable with the continued form as she practices.

“nice, real nice,” he murmurs, shifting to hold the bag from behind. he notices the hesitation in her movements as she focuses on her form. “come on,” his deep voice encourages. “where that fire go, huh? tellin’ me you can’t fight and focus?” crys, probably feeling goaded, looks up to him for a moment. ony could laugh again at the look in her eyes, but he doesn’t. “don’t look at me, look at the bag. you mad, I know it. let it out,” he nods his head to the bag in his hands. he doesn’t have to tell her twice. she starts to hit with more vigor, putting more into her punches. “mhm, yeah. control that shit, stay tight. swivel your— there you go, exactly,” he encourages. she’s picking it up, movements smoother and becoming more confident by the minute.

shit’s sexy as fuck.

crys is actually starting to fuck with him more, feeling herself in the workout. the way he’s talking is having an affect on her, and she knows she’ll be thinking back on this very moment tonight. his voice is deep, and slightly raspy as she keeps at it, and the encouraging makes her wonder if he’s like that in… different circumstances. she can feel her breath picking up for several reasons. “had you mad as fuck, huh? had you fucked up?” ony questions, pushing her a bit more. “let that shit out, ma. ain’t doin’ you no good to hold it in.” they both know that he’s telling the truth. she was just about bursting at the seams and his encouragement is helping her tap back into that. she punches harder, small grunts falling from her lips. the week’s frustrations are pouring out of her now and she’s pushing herself so that she can get him out of her head.

the way he’s talking to her in her amped up state just shouldn’t be legal. she’s pretty sure he’s the type to talk his girl through it, probably tease and taunt to get a reaction. damn, she needs to get laid. “form,” he reminds as her focus slips. she gives a quick nod, readjusting herself quickly before taking another shot. ony likes how quickly she responds to his guidance. “hell yeah, you got that shit. keep goin’, mama. ain’t nobody fuckin’ with you, that’s for damn sure.”

damn his fine ass with his deep voice and his face and his pet name.

she keeps going until every ounce of upset is drained, listening to his encouragement and occasional shit talking at a particularly weak punch or slip of focus. she’ll be honest, she feels good. great, actually. she feels as if she actually knows what she’s doing, confident in her moves. the upset has trickled away, but its absence is leaving too much space to think about the man in front of her. his fine ass is pushing her in the way she likes and needs, encouraging but taunting just the way she likes it.

after several more minutes, she steps back, panting. “killed that shit,’ ony mumbles, double tapping the bag. she really did, the difference between her earlier attempts and now is stark. and all because of just a few pointers. he watches as she catches her breath and unwraps her hands. “you done?” he questions. he wasn’t expecting her to finish so soon, she was just getting in her groove. he was honestly expecting a few more rounds.

“yeah,” crys answers as she nods. “thanks for your help, really. just needed to blow off some steam.” feeling better now, she decides that she should finish out with her regular workout. the less angry she is, the more she focuses on that damn smirk on his face, the way his muscles move with each shift of his body, the birthmark she’s spotted on his jaw. she’s trying hard to resist the pull she feels as she catches her breath. she gets another chuckle from ony. “could tell. I almost didn’t even come over. bad day?”

crys gives a sheepish smile, sliding her wrap in her bag. ony likes the smile a lot, but he wants more. “my bad. bad week, actually,” the woman responds. ony shakes his head, uncrossing his arms. “no harm, I get it,” he responds. and he really does, most of the time people’s attitudes really have nothing to do with you. “you should keep at it though, you got good form. at least when you’re focused. with some more practice, you could easily make it muscle memory.” and I’d like to see you more, he thinks. crys smiles and nods. “think I will. thanks again for your help, woulda been pissed if I hurt myself.”

ony’s eyes trail over her features. with the metaphorical cloud gone, she’s shining brighter. her smile is gorgeous, revealing a small gap in her teeth and a crinkle by her eyes. yeah. fuckin’ beautiful. “course. can’t have you gettin’ mad again, yeah?” he laughs, the sound deep as it rumbles from his chest. crys playfully rolls her eyes. “whatever, ony. actin’ like I’m godzilla or something. you can gone back to your workout.”

the two separate, continuing their sessions. but their eyes continuously meet as they sneak glances at each other and they exchange flirty quips. crys questions the amount of weight ony chooses for his sets, teasing that she’d thought he’d lift more. ony calls her out for a weak rep, telling her she should start over for half-assing. they just can’t seem to get enough of each other, teasing and poking at one another like crushing kids in school.

crys is definitely eating their interactions up. he’s fun in a way that isn’t childish, regardless of how he makes her almost giddy like a teenage girl. he’s not afraid to go along with a joke, but it’s obvious he’s not one to be messed with. no matter how many shots she takes, no matter how much she teases, he never breaks a sweat. it’s almost as if he’s welcoming the challenge and crys is more than willing to indulge.

ony likes her fire. it’s invigorating and it keeps him on his toes. he’s used to women being like becca— fawning, overly sweet, and obviously interested. the push and tug he gets from crys is different, and he’s enjoying every interaction, every tease, every glance at that ass. she just draws him in and he can’t get enough. where the hell has she been and why are they just now meeting? he could’ve shown her a lot more than boxing tips by now.

for her cool down, crys decides that since the gym is pretty much empty, she can take some extra time to do some yoga and meditation. she zones in and takes a plethora of deep breaths, regulating her nervous system and releasing tension. grounding herself in the present moment and releasing stress, anxiety, and frustration. it definitely helps as a follow up to the punching bag. she’s always appreciated how centered she feels after even just a few minutes of reconnecting with herself, tending to her mind, heart, and soul and not just her body. she should definitely do yoga often to stay balanced, but shoulda woulda coulda.

the second she starts to stretch, ony’s eyes are stuck on her like glue. she stretches for a long time, he notices. it seems like some type of meditation, the way she holds her hands together and closes her eyes, highly focused as she takes deep breaths almost audible where he stands. it’s interesting how he can notice the shift she makes from her earlier demeanor. she’s much calmer, locked in in a way unexpected to him. of course he knows how to calm himself, how to regulate. but those stretches… not only is he sure he could never replicate them due to lack of flexibility, but he can see the intention in each move, seemingly in each muscle and breath.

it’s weird to him how pulled he feels in her direction. he just wants to know her and is curious if she’d give him the chance. and of course he wants to know her body too… he could definitely help her relieve a lot of that stress. over and over again. probably until she couldn’t take anymore. something about her just keeps pulling him back in. maybe he’s just interested in her newness with his life currently feeling a bit more dull, but he knows he’d be just as interested if it wasn’t. she has spice, a good sense of humor, sweetness, she’s undoubtedly beautiful with all her little quirks, and that ass is the kind that a man would go to war for.

seriously.

especially with the way she’s sitting and stretching with her legs wide, chest flush against the floor. it’s making ony have thoughts, and a lot of them. after a while of being unable to stop looking, he decides to walk over. he stands above her with his arms crossed, head tilting as he looks down at her. “how the hell you even doin’ allat?” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself. and what else can she do? he wonders.

crys laughs in response, still enjoying the feel of the stretch. “I do it often. years of youtube videos, I guess,” she responds. she raises, intentionally moving slow for the practice. it’s just a bonus that she can feel his eyes on her ass. “sit down,” she grins, looking up at him with mischief in her eyes. he had his turn helping her, and now she’s going to do the same. whether he likes it or not. plus, it’d be real nice to spend some more time with him. she likes his presence and his laugh and his little jokes. his looks, his demeanor, the way he’s not scared when she nips at him instead either remains unaffected or nips right back… kind of everything about him, so far at least. “huh?” he asks, eyebrows raising. “nigga, if you can ‘huh’ you can hear. sit down and stretch with me,” she laughs.

ony likes the sound. a lot, he realizes. and her sass really tickles him. so why not? he shrugs, plopping down on the floor next to her.

“yoga’s more than stretchin’,” she begins. “yeah, it feels good for the body, but it’s good for the mind too. it’s a lot deeper than I can explain. it’s one of those things that’s been taken from another culture and kinda wiped of its authenticity.” he watches her as she talks with her hands, her caring a lot more about it than he expected. but he’s interested and following along with her words. “I try to respect it, y’know? it has a lot of benefits. can I touch?” she asks with a tilt of her head. he appreciates how her curls bounce with the movement and gives a simple nod of his head. “sit up straight,” she adjusts his back. “and keep your focus on your breath, keeping an awareness of your body as well. stay mindful of the present moment.”

the moment her hand touches him, he sits up. not because of her words but because of the feel of her hands on him. she’s gentle with her guidance, her touch almost hesitant and her voice has softened in a way that sends a slight chill down his spine. “sorry, are my hands cold?” she asks apologetically. “as fuck,” he answers with a laugh. “keep goin’ though.” crys laughs and pinches him softly. “aht, aht, I’m the teacher now, I give the directions. straighten out your legs.” ony rolls his eyes in response but follows her instruction. he mumbles a soft “yeah, aight.”

she gently bumps her shoulder against his at his sass. “lean forward and reach for your feet, curving your back. take a moment to center yourself, focusing on your breath and how your body feels. don’t think about anything, not even me,” she teases slightly. ony can’t help but smile at that. “you make it difficult, sweetheart,” he mumbles. her stomach flutters in response. he takes a deep breath before closing his eyes, reaching for his feet. “don’t forget to breath, nice and deep. relax your mind and let your thoughts fade away,” she mutters softly. “relax. really feel the peace and the stretch.”

oh, ony feels something, alright. but he focuses his mind on the way his muscles feel. he’s used to stretching, but the mental part has never been the most important aspect. he likes how quiet his mind is, how the peace envelopes him like a warm hug.

she guides him through several more positions, helping him to stay centered mentally. her voice is so soothing, her touch as she adjusts him doing things to him. he feels good. really good. the combination of the practice with her presence is something he intends to make sure he gets more of. she’s so cute with her little chides. a “stretch deeper, ony” here, a “you’re not even trying” there. and her obvious favorite, “you know you can do better than that”. actually, no, her favorite thing to say in reprimand is his name. it’s a pleasant hint of flirting and teasing mixed with gentle guidance and words of calm.

by the end of the night, ony’s hooked. before she can walk to the locker room, he gently grabs her wrist to get her attention. “hey, wait, ma,” he murmurs softly. she looks up at him with those eyes again and he’s suddenly parched. “can I get your number? you know, I can send you some boxing tips.” crys tries to fight a smile but fails. “oh, really? boxing tips? sure, long as I can send some yoga tips.” he laughs a bit, smiling at her tone. “yeah, send ‘em. gotta be on my namaste more, shit was nice.” crys tilts her head back slightly as she laughs. “boy, whatever. here.”

ᥫ᭡

crys is folding. real bad.

at first, she thought she’d just do some light flirting, maybe just tease and taunt and go on about her merry way. she didn’t have any intentions on really following through with the man because he just seems like a threat to her safe, protected little bubble of diy nails and chilling alone at home. but as time goes on, she realizes that she’s in a quicksand situation. swapped informational videos of boxing and yoga are just the beginning. soon, they’re texting back and forth. funny videos sent at way too late at night, a range of questions exchanged as they get to know each other, random voice messages that make her stomach tingle… she looks forward to speaking with him, even changes his text tone so she knows when it’s him.

he’s just so funny in such a simple, straightforward way. sometimes she bites at him and he doesn’t budge a bit, not giving her the satisfaction of a reaction. sometimes they go back and forth like a tennis match. he’s not afraid of her sass and she loves when he actually bites back. he’s just… attractive. in a lot of ways, on so many different levels. she ends up going to the gym late more often because he’ll be there, spotting her while she lifts and helping her with her boxing. ms. becca at the front desk seems to really not like it, but her non-working ass can move on somewhere. crys and ony start a routine that whenever she comes to work out with him, they grab food and sit in one of their cars to goof around. they even decide to power walk with mrs. etta every now and then.

it’s insanity to kt, though. she doesn’t understand why they haven’t ‘fucked each other like bunnies’ already and she reminds crys every time they talk. they’d scrolled his instagram together several times and he’s a popular topic between the two of them, three including kt’s boyfriend. he, of course, has a front row seat to these conversations since ms. kt never wants to use her damn headphones.

one particular night, crys is just really not feeling the workout. she’s more tired than usual and ony can tell. she’s not her usual, witty self. not a single jab has any bite to it, and it’s the same with her words. he doesn’t like it. she’s not supposed to be quiet or sad. he doesn’t like the distant look in her eyes and how she gives a weak smile at his teasing. “hey,” he murmurs. “go get changed and get your stuff.” he watches as she looks up at him with a furrowed brow. “you’re obviously not feelin’ up to it. we’ve done enough, let’s grab sum to eat.”

crys was going to push through, get her workout regardless. “nah, I’m good,” she shrugs him off. “no, you ain’t. quit playin’, it’s not a suggestion,” he grumbles back. that surprises her, but she guesses it shouldn’t really. one thing that she’s noticed is how good he is at reading people, and he’s really good at reading her now. he knows when to push, and has learned how to in several different circumstances. she guesses this is one of them. his tone is different than usual though. it’s set, no room for negotiations, no joking around. his eyes are focused and sharp in a way that almost even she doesn’t want to argue with. “…right. yeah, okay. I can go by myself though, you can finish your workout,” she mutters softly.

“what I say?”

crys didn’t need to be told again. his whole demeanor is looking more immovable than ever, eyes and tone telling her to get her ass to the locker room, basically. if it were anyone else, she would’ve fired back and asked who the hell he thought he was. but at this point, she’s too tired and she really doesn’t want to poke the bear. so she sighs and nods, grabbing her bag as she shuffles back to the locker room to get her stuff. she’s grateful, honestly, because as soon as she sits in the passenger seat of his car, she feels like she’s been hit by a bus but it’s really just a wave of exhaustion.

“you pushin’ too hard, ma,” he murmurs, his eyes on the road as he drives. he’s seen her energy decreasing over time, the spark in her eyes dimming. he’d slide a comment in or two about taking a break only for her to brush it off like it was no problem. she’s stubborn and he knows that, but fully capable of taking care of herself, which is why he wasn’t expecting it to get this far. she’s drained and he’ll be damned if he just stands by and watches her continue down this path. especially with the way her head is leaning against his window. usually he’d say something about her hair products getting on it, but he couldn’t give a damn about that.

“you been slackin’ and you know it. wassup?” he questions as he spares her a glance. she sighs, her eyes closing as he makes the familiar trip to their usual spot. “stress. I’ve just been stressed,” she answers. that much he could tell. it’s not really the information he’s looking for though. “mhm. why?” he presses. his voice is a mix of tenderness and concern but also firmness. he’s not going to let her brush this under the rug. “just a lot of shit goin’ on, ony. work’s a mess, they can barely do anything without me there they’re always arguing and never getting anything done. I’ve been looking for another job for months with no luck and it’s really starting to become a problem because I want to leave soon. and I don’t know, I just want to be in a different situation than I am right now.”

ony hums, rolling her words over in his head. he knows she’s been trying to leave her job, even sent her resume out to a few people he knows just to help out. he can understand her frustration, he was in a similar boat before he started his own thing and became a personal trainer. he gets it, the stress from working in a place that drains you and how so many job rejections can affect a person. “it’s alright, ma. I know that don’t mean much to you right now, but it’s gone work out, aight? I’ll put some pressure on my folks, help see what’s out there. you still got some pto right?” he asks. she sighs, rubbing her forehead. “yeah, but I’ve been saving it for a rainy day.” he could almost chuckle.

“it don’t seem like it’s rainin’ to you?” he pushes slightly. “take some time off. rest and relax so you can come back better. do yo yoga and shit, smoke some, whatever. you need a break, babygirl. no positive change is gonna come from you stressin’ and burnin’ out. it’s a three day weekend coming up, take the couple days before that off too.” she looks out the window as they pull into the drive thru. he’s right and she knows it. it’s just so easy for her to get swept up into the stress and lose herself a little bit more and more until she realizes just how close she is to burning out. she can feel tears gathering in her eyes from the stress.

“oh, pretty girl,” he mumbles, seeing the emotion in her eyes. he pulls off to the side and parks in the back of the lot instead of getting in line. “c’mere, crystal,” he croons, reaching an arm around her to pull her close. she sniffles and her shoulders shake as she cries into his shoulder, letting out what she’s let build up for so long. “s’okay, ma. you really doin’ good shit, providin’ for yourself and workin’ hard. it’s gonna work out, you gotta believe that,” he presses, squeezing her tighter. “but you can’t do this, okay? you can’t wither away like this. your health is important and if you neglect it, it’ll affect everything. I don’t like seein’ you upset and tired and drained. wanna see that pretty smile, get a taste of that sass that irks me so much.” she laughs slightly in his arms, her own wrapping around him as he gives her the most comforting hug she’s had in a while. “you’re right or whatever. big headed ass,” she mumbles.

“there she is.”

ᥫ᭡

after that night, she did exactly what he suggested. she took those extra days off and just recovered. smoked, slept a whole bunch, had a self-care day, and even booked a massage just for an extra treat. of course she talked ony’s ear off, and texted him and her best friend a bunch too, but it was necessary in her eyes. she knows they love her presence, even if they call her annoying. by her last day off, she feels rejuvenated.

she feels less stressed. she has a revamped resume, a mini twist out that’s cute and lets her leave her hair alone, new nails, and a new attitude. but… crys is running out of excuses to give as far as her and ony. his support that night meant more to her than he probably even knew. the way he held her, calmed her down, and comforted her… it’s something that’s been plaguing dancing in her mind. he’s shown that he can handle her full range of emotions no problem and can support her regardless of how strongly she feels. at this point, even she’s started to wonder why they haven’t done anything. she hasn’t made a move, no, but neither has he. he seems perfectly content with the way things are and is starting to become bothersome.

she can’t get him out of her head. his voice, his laugh, his features. every time he encourages her while she’s going at the punching bag, she wants to push the damn thing out of the way and just tackle him. when she can feel his eyes on her while they stretch, she wants to show him exactly what she can do and how her flexibility can blow his fucking mind. she wants to kiss him, touch him, hear those encouraging words that he gives her in an entirely different setting.

but his lack of action is causing her to overthink. is he not as affected as she is? does his heart not pound in her presence like hers does in his? how the hell is she the only one gnawing her lip at the thought of more? maybe it’s because she hasn’t had sex in so long. maybe that’s it. she’s just like this because of her wack ass sex life.

contrary to crys’ perspective, though, ony is losing his shit.

he definitely would’ve made a move by now if these were usual circumstances. he’s just so thrown off by how much he likes her, how much she makes him feel. she’s so much more than that pretty face and that mouth watering body. she’s funny, witty, and she packs a nasty ass punch both with her words and her hands. he likes the full range of crys. mouthy and annoying, intentionally trying to get a raise out of him. flirty and teasing, sensual in the way she draws him in. sweet and serene, almost like an oasis of calm and tranquility. oh, and he can’t forget how expressive she is with every emotion. her anger when her order’s wrong at the late night burger place they frequent, her excitement and joy when mrs. etta tells her about another good scan at the doctor, her sadness when she sees a sad tiktok during rest periods.

he just doesn’t get it. how can one person be so damn enthralling? how can someone’s quirks and flaws be so beautiful? he’s never felt pulled like this, but you know what? he’s fucking with it. she’s done nothing but add color to his life, a great addition that he felt like he was waiting for without even knowing. he loves her presence. she makes him smile and belly laugh, she pisses him off, she lights him up. he can be goofy with her, serious, sensitive even. he just wants more and more of crys, and even when he thinks maybe there’s nothing left to surprise him about her, she whips something new out of her arsenal. it’s just crazy how she has him by the throat but he’s happy to be along for the ride.

but he’s really wanting that ride to go somewhere. he’s always thought that it was crazy that crys is single, he just doesn’t understand it. in his eyes, she’s everything great in a woman. confident, sensitive, hardworking, sweet… annoying but in the best ways, enthralling, sexy as all hell.

when he’s ranting to eren about her for the nth time, the brunette raises an eyebrow at him and asks what’s taking him so long to ask her out. ony blinks. he thought they were… well, something already. but the sense that’s been chasing him for quite a while now finally catches up to him and hits him like a truck. he has to say something. do something. the unspoken thing doesn’t work for adults, and definitely not if he actually wants to keep her. is he an idiot? he wants to say no to his own question so badly, but he knows he would be delusional if he did.

so he quickly decides to get his shit together. the next time he sees crys, he’s asking her on an actual date, and that’s it. this whole thing could’ve been at a different point if he’d taken his head out of his ass and asked her out that first night he saw her in the gym. but it’s too late to try to change the past, and he can fix his mistakes in the present.

ᥫ᭡

unfortunately for ony, crys has a nasty attitude the next time they meet. her answers are short and snippy, and not in the usual, fun way. they had plans to go shopping together to buy mrs. etta a congratulatory something for completing her treatment, both having become extremely fond of the lady and being supportive of her on her journey. ony picks her up, being the gentleman he is (he hates her driving) and it takes no time at all to notice the bitter air around her. he actually realizes it the second she closes the door to her townhouse too damn hard. she huffs and puffs as she gets settled in the passenger seat.

crys doesn’t really know exactly why she’s so mad. it’s another one of those days where the stress has built up so quickly without her noticing, something that happens when her head isn’t fully in the game. she doesn’t want to take it out on ony, never means to, but something about knowing that he can handle that shit keeps her from being as mindful as she should be. “hey,” he speaks, his eyebrow raising at her lack of greeting. “hey,” she greets blandly. “what’s wrong, ma?” he asks, looking from her to the road as he pulls off. she just shakes her head. “thanks for picking me up,” she murmurs. “of course,” he responds.

he’s eyeing her every once in a while, trying to pick up on whatever he can. she’s fiddling a lot, tapping her fingers as she looks out the window. antsy? irritated? what is it, he wonders. but he’s not super fond of playing the guessing game, by now she should know that she can talk to him about any and everything on her mind and in her heart. he’ll listen, he’ll care, and he’ll support. hasn’t he shown that? “you lyin’ to me, ma. don’t like it,” he mumbles. she doesn’t answer and he really doesn’t like that. “what’s the issue, crys? talk,” he presses, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. this isn’t anything he’s used to from her. mouthy sometimes? sure. that’s nothing he can’t handle. but the silent treatment mixed with the tense attitude is not how he was planning to spend this time with her.

“nothin’, just tired.” she murmurs. his eyebrows furrow. “we can reschedule if you want,” he responds, understanding. “nah,” she says simply. she can’t explain it, she doesn’t really want to act like this. she’s just not exactly happy at the moment and the two seem to have very different vibes. guess that’s the theme, huh? she thinks. “mama, you not bein’ fair. tryna talk to you,” he mumbles. she rolls her eyes, looking out the window. “yeah, talk. your favorite thing to do,” she mumbles.

ony pauses, but only for a moment. “and that’s supposed to mean?” crys sighs, as if she’s really just over him. “nothing, ony, m’sorry. are we goin’ to macy’s or ross first?” she’s trying to deflect, and although ony’s not stupid, he lets her. maybe she just needs time, she can be like that every now and then. carrying around irritation from an earlier incident until it eventually fades and she’s good to go. sometimes she just needs to process her emotions, and ony’s cool with that. he’s cool with anything with her, it seems.

they end up at ross first, mrs. etta’s favorite store that she talks about when they power walk with her. they get her random things, little trinkets that remind them of her, lotions and candles, and a few decorative pieces for her house. they move to macy’s to get her a perfume she likes, and a few other random things that draw their attention. last is dollar.25 tree and a couple other craft stores, the mission being to grab a big basket and additional stuffing to make her a custom gift basket with a congratulatory card from both of them. crys is quieter than usual the entire time, but not necessarily agitated. it seems like shopping for mrs. etta is cheering her up.

seems.

once they get to her house, ony can tell by the way she groans as she flops onto her couch that she’s not a hundred percent. at this point, he’s confused and maybe a bit worried. what is it that has her so upset? he doesn’t like when she’s quiet, much rather her be loud and expressive with whatever emotion she’s feeling. it’s eerie when she’s quiet and ony can’t tell what she’s thinking or feeling. he doesn’t like to be in the dark.

“c’mon, ma, let’s go ahead and get this assembled. we can talk and smoke after,” he mumbles, moving to set the stuff down on her dining room table. he wants to sit and smoke, get her to shake herself out of whatever fucking funk she’s in, but he figures it’s a good idea to finish up mrs. etta’s gift. he really wants it to be perfect. he’s known mrs. etta for a while, she was even one of the people that encouraged him the most when he first started training, and he’s extremely happy that her treatment is done. a bratty sigh is heard from the girl on the couch and ony has to close his eyes to center himself. “we can’t take a break? all that shopping. m’tired.”

ony licks his lips and lets out a breath. “sure, ma, take a break. imma get started on this, I’ll chill after,” he responds. crys doesn’t like the little breath he takes, his tone coming across patronizing to her. “you tired of me? cause I can really do that shit by myself,” she responds lowly. she swears she can see a vein appear on ony’s forehead, but only momentarily. “nah. just want this gift to be good,” he mumbles. crys sits up to look at him. “it’s good already, we put a lot of thought into everything. what, you think I can’t assemble it myself?” her head tilts. because she could make the prettiest damn basket all on her own, really. she’ll prove it if she has to.

ony’s on the brink. he’s been patient all day— he’s always patient with her. it’s usually no issue, but today she’s really pushing it. mrs. etta should be the focus right now. “you don’t hear me talkin’ to you?” she asks, her eyebrows beginning to furrow. “yes, love, I hear you,” he murmurs. “just focused.” he’s really trying to keep it together.

crys scoffs, “yeah, well, you can focus and talk. you wouldn’t have to focus as much if you waited on me.” ony wonders what he did to be in this position. he hasn’t done shit to her, hasn’t said anything disrespectful, and he knows that she isn’t usually one to take her shit out on him, so he’s just thinking. wondering what has her so mad. “there you go again, not fuckin’ responding,” she huffs, standing up and crossing her arms. “you can just get the hell out forreal, I can finish this mysel—“

“sit the fuck down.”

crys blinks. and then blinks again. “excuse me?” she asks. she couldn’t have heard that right. he wouldn’t talk to her like that, he’s not insane. but the look he gives when he turns to her gives her second thoughts on that theory. “you heard me. sit the fuck down. I’m not leavin’ and you’re about to act like you have some fucking respect instead of poppin’ off at the mouth. I’ve dealt with your shit ask damn day, trying to be patient and understanding— like I always am with yo lil ass. I’m not playin’ crys. sit down,” he demands. and he really means that shit too, she can tell.

crys’ jaw is damn near on the floor by the time he finishes talking. “who you talkin’ t—“ she starts, only to be interrupted by a slow approaching ony, having put the materials he was working with down. “crys, I swear, if you don’t get some act right—“ he starts, trying to keep his breath even and his body calm. tired of being interrupted, crys decides to give him a taste of his own medicine. “what? what you gone do? talk my ear off? stand there and look at me with your arms crossed? I ain’t scared of you, ony. you don’t do shit and won’t do shit to me.”

“nah. I’ma fuck you,” he answers as he steps into her personal space. if crys’ jaw was on the floor before, it’s in hell now. there’s no way he just said that. “fuck that nasty ass attitude right outta you. you playin’ in my face, ma. you know I don’t like that shit. I’ve been so fuckin’ understanding with yo ass, somethin’ not every nigga is willin’ to do, by the way. you push and you push and I let yo ass. is that the problem?” he tilts his head, chest almost touching hers as he looks down. his eyes are dark, his jaw tense. the vein she thought she saw earlier is bulging now, almost angrier than ony himself. “is the problem that I let yo lil ass keep pushin’ me? cause I swear it don’t mean that I’ll just let the shit slide. and I’ll prove that shit too.”

ᥫ᭡

“fuck,” crys pants, tugging on the sheets in front of her. “please,” her voice breaks. “just— just lemme come. I’m so close, ony, please!”

she’s been on all fours for a while now, face buried in the bed as ony works her with his tongue and fingers. she’s in a pool of her own arousal, thighs wet and pussy drenched from the several times she’s been close to the edge, only to be disappointed each time as she’s denied her orgasm. her bottom lip is bitten raw, toes almost permanently curled and eyes finding a home in the back of her head as she pushes her hips back again and again to coax ony to at least let her have one. if she knew this was going to be the result of her attitude today, she would’ve just asked him to fuck her before they even left to go shopping. she’s waited enough for this, and even now when she’s so close, she’s getting denied.

there’s a harsh but absolutely welcome smack to her ass and she whines so damn pathetically that ony almost laughs. pulls his full lips from her clit with a pop and massages the cheek. “you want me to stop?” he asks, his voice low and raspy in a way unfamiliar to crys. she quickly shakes her head and grips the sheets tighter. “no, please! keep going, wanna come on your face,” she begs, pushing her hips to meet his lips again. the sound and sight of her is addicting, ony thinks. he likes the way she seems so desperate for his touch and tongue, craving that release that he’s been building up for so long. “you wanna come?” he asks, his fingers sliding back into her soaked pussy. he can feel her clench around him almost instantly. fuck he’s going to enjoy tonight. “yes! yes, wanna come!” she pants, rocking her hips to meet the thrust of his long fingers.

“then shut the fuck up and let me have my fun,” he murmurs, diving his face back in as his tongue meets her clit once again. “ah, shit,” she whimpers, her eyes rolling back again at the pleasure that washes over her. “yes, yes, just like that. fuck, you eatin’ my pussy up,” she moans. she’s never been so mad but so pleased at the same time. he’s torturing her and she doesn’t know how much longer she can last before she releases all over him without his say so. she’s already been through so much, she doesn’t want to find out what else he’ll do , even if it’s his fault. “my fuckin’ pussy,” he pulls back to murmur, flicking his tongue quickly over her pearl as his fingers continue to pump. she’s so wet, his fingers move with ease, and the sound that’s made is delicious. “say that shit.”

“fuck, I’ll say whatever you want,” she whines, back arching and toes throwing up gang signs. “s’your pussy, baby! take it take it take it,” she moans, throwing her ass back over and over. she’s so damn close, so damn close. she can almost taste it. her tummy feels like it’s about to burst and her poor pussy is sobbing. he pulls back once again to her dismay, reading her body like a book. “you betta not fuckin’ come,” he murmurs, fingers moving faster as they stretch her. how the hell is she not supposed to come? is he insane? “you fuckin’ kidding meee?” she whines, her head falling down onto the sheets. ony likes how spent she looks already, and he hasn’t even fucked her yet. “you know damn well I ain’t,” he grumbles, smacking her ass again. “arch that shit. it’s gone be a long night if you don’t listen to me, baby.”

in a turn of events, ony’s pussy drunk. he’s enjoying himself way too much, taking in her moans and slurping up what’s now his to pleasure. he’s just drowning in her, hands exploring everywhere he can touch. caressing, appreciating, adoring this beautiful woman falling apart on his tongue. he could do this all day and be grateful every second of it. he’s absolutely aching in his shorts, but something about bringing such a normally mouthy girl to babbles is too hard to turn away from. he didn’t even mean to take it this far, he just doesn’t want to stop. he wants her to keep feeling good, and the way she begs and reaches back for him to bring him closer lets him know that he’s doing his job

“please, I can’t,” she begs, back arching but breath deepening. “ony, I caan’tt, m’gonna come,” she whines. she’s trying, really she promises she is, but it’s just become too hard to hold out. it’s too good, she wants it and needs it. if he doesn’t stop or give her the green light, she’s gonna make a mess of both of them, and she’s not going to regret it. ony groans at her whines, basking in the sound of her begging and pleading. he can feel how she’s clenching, hears the desperation in her voice. she’s gone, melting into a pile of goo at his touch, and he’s never felt more satisfied. not only are they both having the times of their lives, but that attitude is just about gone and she’s actually acting like she has some fucking manners.

he reluctantly pulls back and removes his hand from her, licking at his fingers like a man starved. “flip over,” he huffs, standing and palming his aching dick. she seems to be too out of it, raising her head full of messy curls to look up in his general direction. “w-what?” she questions. ony doesn’t have time for her shit, so he grabs her hips and flips her over his damn self. the way he looks down at her is downright sinful and crys flutters simply at the sight. “fuckin’ bratty ass. you did this to yourself, crys. was gonna take you on a nice ass date, make love with your pretty ass, do shit the right way. but that fuckin’ mouth of yours,” he grumbles as he grabs her by her ankles, pulling her to the end of the bed. “is too damn bold with me. gotta fix that, sweetheart. you gone be my good girl after tonight, I can promise you that.”

she whines and grinds against his hand as his thumb traces circles on her puffy clit. looking down at her, he realizes that this is one of his favorite sights now. her eyes are blurry with tears from the constant denial, her face scrunched in a cute and sexy pout of pleasure, her tits shifting with each movement. ony could watch her like this all day, bringing her to the edge over and over just to see those pretty tears fall and hear that voice of hers crack. that’d only be torture for himself as well because he feels like he’s about to burst. “you so damn beautiful. you want this dick, sweetheart? tell me, I’ll give it to you,” he murmurs, licking his lips as he lets his shorts fall. crys whines and nods, unruly curls all over the place. so damn breathtaking.

“gimme it, please. wanna come all over it, baby. paint it for you,” she begs. her arms reach to hook around the back of her knees, pulling her thighs back slightly to open up for him. her words only serve to rile him up more. “you a lil freak, huh? mmm, you can do better than that, baby. stretch them legs like I know yo lil freaky ass can,” he grumbles, pulling his underwear down and off, his cock hanging low between his legs. crys knew it— she just knew it was big, and she was right. it’s long and thick with a minimal curve, and if she wasn’t so deprived she’d get on her knees and pay him back for the teasing. she whimpers and bites her lip, sliding her hands to hook behind her knees instead. she pulls her thighs flush to her chest and keeps going, extending her legs.

“fuck, yeah, baby, show me that pretty pussy. fat pussy all mine,” he grumbles. he lessens their distance, letting himself rest on her as he takes her in. what a fucking vision of a woman. he takes his dick in his hand and lightly taps it against her before her rubs himself all in her wetness. “look at ‘chu, baby. so fuckin’ sloppy. this all for me?” he asks, tilting his head as he looks back to her face. she goes to speak, but ony considers her next words unimportant in the grand scheme of things. before she can speak, she feels him start to press into her. she lets out a breathy moan, her grip tightening on her legs. “f-fuck,” she moans at the same time ony lets a groaning “shiiit,” pass his lips.

the two pant, looking each other in the eyes as he continues to press forward. crys is seeing stars, feeling the stretch of him. her face scrunches and her eyes begin to close. “mm-mm, keep them pretty eyes on me,” ony‘s breathing heavy , his hand coming to lightly wrap around her throat. “sexy ass. you bet not deny me that shit.” crys can only lick her lips, forcing her eyes open to meet his, clenching at the way he speaks. his words add to the growing fire within her. “there you go, baby. love that shit,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press his lips against hers in a nasty, sloppy kiss. crys is upset at the fact that this man is really bringing her to her knees. “so damn fine. don’t know why I waited so long to be in yo shit. too fucking good,” he groans, pulling out just slightly before pushing back in. crys gasps, pulling her legs closer just to have something to grab, but it just makes him go deeper.

“feels so good, onyyy,” she moans, keeping the eye contact as much as she can. ony’s hovering over her now, watching her with his bottom lip between his teeth and his eyebrows together in concentration. he’s moving slowly, letting her adjust to him and just taking in the view in front of him. “onyyy,” she moans, clenching around him as her pussy flutters. he’s so damn fine and it’s been so long since she’s been touched. he’s deep in her shit and she’s on cloud nine. she wants more, so much more, and she wants it all from him. she hates it took so long to get to this point and hates that she the fact that she stopped herslef from persuing him. she wants this, needs all of him. “fuck me,” she chokes out. “c’mon, please.”

“relax,” he mutters, his free hand rubbing up her thigh. “just keep that pretty pussy open for me. I’ma always give you what you need, sweetheart. always.” and he means it. he’s never going to play with her, not her heart or her mind. but he’ll play with her pretty pussy until the sun comes up, until the cows come home. he’s never felt anything so good, seen someone so beautiful while they take his dick. she’s everything to him in this moment, her curls sprawled around her like the sun’s halo, face showing all the pleasure she’s feeling. her breathing is deep, her eyes staying on his just like he said.

he’s fucked. shit, he might just be in love.

“ooo, fuck, ony,” she keens, her nails slightly digging into the skin of her thigh. “so big. oh my God, baby.” she’s having the time of her life. he’s stretching her so well, and he feels so damn good digging into her like that. ”yeah, yeah. been waiting for thisss,” she pants, unable to keep her mouth shut. it’s just so good and it’s hitting that spot. would could blame her? “give it to me,” she moans. ony groans above her, his hips starting to meet hers sharper and sharper. she’s still so vocal, and he’s eating it the fuck up. “mhm,” he breathes, his hands moving to rest on hers, helping to hold her legs as she falters. “take that dick, babygirl. s’all for you. swear it is,” he groans. she doesn’t know it, but she could ask for just about anything right now and he’d give it to her.

her eyes scan over him, her hand reaching out to lightly scratch down his abdomen. “fuckin’ me so good, ony.”ony groans at the touch of her nails, his gut tightening at the way she’s looking up at him. he pulls out, reaching down to tap himself against her again. she’s too much, her voice, her eyes, her touch… the way she keeps clenching around him. “you fuckin’ dangerous, mama,” he pants. “can I beat this pussy up, baby? lemme take it.” crys bites her lip and nods, looking up at him in a way that makes him grip her thighs a little tighter. fucking minx. he’s beating himself up for not doing this sooner. he adjusts himself on the bed, leaning down to press his lips to hers as he slides back in, the two of them moaning into each other's mouths. he immediately picks up the pace as he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, nibbling slightly as he presses more of his weight onto her.

crys starts to gasp with each thrust, toes curling and a squeak escaping her when she feels his hands on her clit. “w-wait— fuck, wait, m’gonna come quick,” she moans, fingers gripping ony’s shoulders as he pins one of her thighs to her chest. she wants to come with him, but her earlier pleasure is coming back with a fucking vengeance. ony chuckles— actually chuckles, and rasps down to her, “that’s the point, sweetheart. give it to me.” if she wasn’t on the brink of a mind blowing orgasm, she’d be pissed and annoyed at that fucking smirk. but instead she pants and pants until her breath stops. her orgasm washes over her in delicious waves, and she’s just frozen in pleasure, unable to do anything but come and come, pulsing around ony.

“breathe, mama. come on, breath through that shit,” ony guides, pressing kisses up and down her neck. right, breathing. she forgot about that. crys lets out a long moan, her eyes rolling back as she tastes her sweet release. sweet isn’t even the word, though. the denial and delay just makes things ten times stronger, her orgasm wracking her in a way she wasn’t prepared for. she’s holding onto ony tightly as he talks her through it, breathing heavy as she just takes it. “yeaah, there you go. breathe, baby, I got you. gonna take real good care of you just like I said,” ony grumbles, nipping at her skin here and there and slowing his thrusts and his assault on her clit. he has to pant at the way she’s so tight around him, and he’s just so strained holding back good open release. “you deserve that shit, baby.” more kisses and nips than either of them can count are placed on crys’ neck as crys comes down and tries to calm down as well.

his hand reaches to gently caress her cheek as he presses soft, sweet kisses to the other. “you’re so beautiful, babygirl. you feel okay?” he asks softly. okay? she’s riding down a fucking rainbow of happiness and bliss. okay is an understatement. crys figures that would boost his who a bit too much, so she just tilts her head to rest on the side of his. “mhm,” she hums breathlessly. “so good,” she murmurs. ony’s glad, pressing more kisses to her sweet face. he’s happy he can make her feel good, especially considering how she was sarlier in the day. “good enough to gimme another one?” he asks. he just can’t get enough, so he has to ask. he wants this night to last as long as it can.

crys lets out a breath, wondering just what the hell is wrong with the man. she’s been through the wringer for a good while now. but it’s felt amazing every step of the way, so the answer is yes. of course it’s yes. she nods. “just one more, sweetheart,” he croons, looking down at her dazed face. he pulls out, turning her over onto her stomach, much gentler this time. he guides her on all fours and reaches to rest his hand on the headboard, his other hand positioning himself once again. once he begins to push inside, his arm wraps around her torso to hold her tight as they both moan. his hips start to move again, this time with a slower pace as he braces himself on the headboard.

ony can’t help but feel the shift on the room. it’s much more intimate than before, crys sensitive from one release already. he wants to be so many things for her. he can be a little aggressive, knowing she likes when he bites back. he can be goofy and unserious. and he can be soft. he can be serious with her and about her. that’s what he wants. “wanted this for so long, baby. wanted you,” he murmurs into her ear. the sound makes her pussy flutter, causing him to chuckle again. “sh-shut up,” she mumbles, her hands slowly tightening around the sheets below them. the combination of his intimate confession and his thrusting into her is a double whammy that she didn’t see coming.

“mmm, I’m serious babygirl. want you, been wantin’ you,” he presses, eyes falling shut as his hips continue to move. she feels so good, it’s ridiculous. he’s going to be in it every day if she lets him. “gotta make you mine, ma. I’m forreal.” and he is, because what kind of idiot would he be to let her slip through his fingers? crys let’s her head fall back in a moan as he starts to gently work her clit. everything about this is just insane. who knew what today was going to bring? “y-you never… ah,” she cuts herself off with a moan as he curves his hips, fucking her in just the right way in such an intimate moment. fuck, what was she saying? “I never said anything, I know. s’my fault, no excuse. I was just too busy enjoyin’ bein’ around you,” he murmurs, moaning as he holds her tighter. his hips are starting to move a bit faster and crys is starting to meet his every thrust.

“but you mine now, right? I’ma do— fuuuck, I’ma do right by you, mama. always,” he groans. he means every word. it’s like she has a spell on him and he doesn’t care. if she wants his heart, she can take it. he leans back from the headboard, sitting up on his knees as he keeps her back against his chest. gosh, crys’ heart just flutters. “yeah,” she moans. “yeah, ony, m’yours. f-finally.” that puts a tired smile on ony’s face, his already racing heart squeezing. with one hand massaging her clit and the other now on her hip, ony begins fucking into her faster. “that’s right, baby. and I’m yours. can’t get rid of me, can’t push me away, sure as fuck not scarin’ me away,” he groans. i’d important to him that she knows that, with her lil stubborn ass.

crys reaches back behind her, grabbing onto him. “yeah, j-just like that, ony. me and youuu,” she moans, feeling that familiar sensation again. her body’s almost tired of it after so much teasing and edging and repeating. “gonna come for you, baby,” she groans. she has no fight left, it’s going to rock her and she knows it. “you gonna come for me?” he asks, his voice coming out breathy as he continues to thrust into her. he doesn’t remember the last time he felt as good as he does in this moment. he doesn’t want it to end, but he can’t hold anymore. she’s tight around him, pulsing as her release approaches once again. “paint my dick, baby, just like you said. then I’ma give you this nut,” he huffs, working his hips more and more. crys is a moaning mess, her head dipping as she feels another strong orgasm approaching. “keep breathin’,” ony croons. “want you to feel all that shit, mama.”

she breathes as even as she can, breaths deepening as she quickly approaches that line. “ohhh, ony!” she cries out, her eyes squeezing shut. ” let it out, baby, give it to me. give me that shit,” he groans to her, working her clout faster and faster as he keeps pumping into her. it’s all too much and it brings her over the edge, her toes almost cramping and hips moving without her knowledge. “there it goes, keep breathing. fuck yeah, mama, take that shit.” it’s an intense feeling and she’s chasing it, breathing like ony directs and it makes the difference. she feels the shit down to her toes. her eyes are crossed and she can’t even fucking speak, just taking whatever comes as her eyes shut tight. “that’s it, baby, feel that shit. know you feel good, I know,” he pants.

ony’s fucking into her faster, the way she’s clenching around him making his head spin. his grip tightens on her hip as he chases his own high, watching her fucked out face. she looks so good like that, spent and satisfied and his. “fuuuck, you so gorgeous, crystal. gahdamn you feel good as fuck,” he rambles, praising her over and over just because he can and she deserves it. soon, he’s pulling out and pumping himself all over her ass, groaning as his body jerks. “yeah, ony,” crys coos with a raspy voice. she’s giving a tired wiggle of her hips, encouraging him to spill all over her. “fuckin’ perfect.”

the two pant, spent from such a lovely day together. it’s silent as they just back in the afterglow of their impromptu endeavors. eventually, ony starts to press sweet, calming kisses to her shoulder and back. he appreciates the small marks on her skin, random beauty marks and freckles. “perfect, mama. you were perfect,” he rasps. as far as he’s concerned, today couldn’t have been more successful. crys is… well, crys is out of commission at the moment. her mind is fuzzy in her post orgasm bliss, and she’s catching her breath as she basks in his kisses. “fuck…” she mumbles. that was very unexpected but completely welcome. the wait was more than worth it, and now she can have that again and again and again. “yeah,” ony chuckles tiredly. “yeah, that was crazy. damn.”

the two laugh together, gross and sticky, but so happy with the situation. that line was finally crossed, and there’s no going back. not that either of them would want to, anyway. ony glances down at crys as she rests for a moment, eyes closed and lashes tickling her skin. the earlier tensions are gone, nothing but fondness and connection in it’s wake. he reaches to caress her cheekbone, tucking a curl behind her ear and out of her face. “sorry for earlier,” crys mumbles into the quiet. she really is, she doesn’t like when she projects her upset like that. she nevers wants that for anyone she’s connecting with, especially not ony. he’s been understanding with her in a way that she’s learned to deeply appreciate. “but I’m glad we did this.”

ony hums, pressing another kiss to her shoulder. he can deal with a little push from her, especially since he gets to keep her. she’s a sweet girl, and she invigorates him. he appreciates her expressiveness and range of emotions, and understands that sometimes she’s just human. he’s okay with that. but now that they’re together, he has the ability to take a different approach. sometimes she needs him to snap back at her, and that’s what he’ll do with absolutely no hesitation from now on. there’s a mutual respect and understanding, and ony really fucks with that shit. “just needed some attention… and dick,” he murmurs. and he’ll give it to her whenever, wherever.

crys groans and starts to fuss, turning to weakly slap at his chest. “oh, shut up! go get me a damn towel!” here he goes saying some slick shit, right when the moment is good. he’s such an idiot sometimes, but it never fails to put a smile on her face. ony lets out a bellowing laugh, backing off of her and standing on his only slightly wobbling legs. he hopes she didn’t see that, but she’s already talking shit again. “yeah, pussy got you walkin’ crazy,” she sasses as he starts his trek to the bathroom, watching his sweaty but oh so fine figure walk away. ”better act right or you’ll never get it again,” she huffs. ony laughs again, shaking his head. “don’t make me start this shit all over, crystal,” he calls over his shoulder. she rolls her eyes but nuzzles her face into a pillow as she grumbles under her breath. she’s not scared, she’s just still recovering, is all. “yeah, that’s what I thought,” he laughs.

soon, they’re all cleaned up and on fresh sheets, crys refusing to sleep in the crusty bedspread after everything was said and done. they get into a spat about who gets to sleep on which side of the bed, and then over whether they should sleep with some time of light on. ony also demands to cuddle, but crystal fusses that she’ll get too hot and won’t be able to sleep. for that brief period, it’s war.

eventually, though, after bargains and begrudging compromises, crys is on her back on her usual side of the bed and ony is half-sprawled on top of her, head buried in her neck and hand softly rubbing her outer thigh. a random sitcom plays with no sound and the room is a nice, cool temperature with the fan blowing on the both of them. crys caresses ony’s back gently with her nails, eyes closed as she enjoys the weight of him on top of her. the pleasant feeling is like a weighted blanket, lulling her to sleep. ony is holding crys close, enjoying her warmth and presence. he’s taking full advantage of being able to cuddle with her. they fall asleep like this, wrapped up in each other, and wondering what the next day will bring.

hoooooly moooooly. this was not supposed to be this long. was hoping to post this sooner, but the words just kept coming omg. pls excuse any mistakes lmao. hope you like it! feedback welcome and wanted 🫶🏽

[honeyryewhiskey]

mirrored souls

or, dean dreams of what he believes he can never have. warnings ! angst, hurt/some comfort, dean's feelings are hurt, unexpected pregnancy, tough conversations, two ppl with the same fears j's note ! hey so let's not even talk about the fact that this is neither of the two fics i posted snippets of lol idk what possessed me to write 5k fucking words for this i'm sorry i just want to baby trap dean winchester erm idk enjoy? it's sad but maybe pls dont take my word for it i'll continue this and let them be happy also i stopped proof reading half way through bc it is my bed time <3 5k words

He’s had this dream every night for weeks. 

The sun is golden, thick with warmth, stretching over endless fields of green. It settles on his skin like an old friend, seeps into his bones, loosening the ever-present tension in his shoulders. The air is clean, carrying the scent of wildflowers and summer, and for the first time in his life, he feels safe. Like he could lie back in the grass, close his eyes, and let the world move on without him.

Then, he hears her.

A laugh—small and weightless, like wind chimes in a summer breeze—rings through the stillness. It stops him cold, strikes something deep in his chest that he doesn’t know how to name.

He turns, and she’s there.

She can’t be older than four, standing barefoot in the grass, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes—green as polished emeralds, too big for her little face. His eyes.

But everything else—her delicate nose, the slope of her cheekbones, the way her wild hair frames her face—that’s you.

She tilts her head, smiling in a way that makes something inside him shatter. Then she reaches for him, small fingers wrapping around his calloused hand like she’s always belonged there.

And just like that—like the break of a wave, like the snap of a thread—she’s gone.

Dean wakes with a sharp inhale, the remnants of warmth already fading, replaced by the cold press of reality. His chest aches, heavy with something deeper than longing. A quiet, creeping fear slithers in, curling around his ribs.

Because she has his eyes and your face—a combination that will never exist.

You left. And you haven’t come back in months.

It was always cat and mouse with you—years of fleeting moments, an unspoken desire for more that neither of you had the courage to face. You’d cross paths, use each other's bodies to release some tension, but never linger long enough to ignite anything real. 

Until about eight months ago, when everything changed. You stayed longer than just a weekend. Dean had you in his arms for four months—four months that felt like a lifetime of stolen moments, of finally letting down walls you both had built so high. But when it all started to feel too real, when the weight of it all settled between you like an unspoken truth, you pulled away. You told him it was too much, that you needed space, that you couldn’t do it anymore. You needed to breathe, to step back before it swallowed you whole. And with that, you walked away, leaving him to sift through the pieces of something that was never meant to last.

His heavy hand slams down on the bleating alarm clock beside his bed. The sharp noise cuts off, leaving only the ragged sound of his breathing in the dark. He drags a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his tired eyes, but it doesn’t do anything to clear the remnants of the dream—the sunlight, the laughter, the way she looked at him like he was her whole damn world.

Dean exhales sharply and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Another short night, another dream of something that doesn’t exist, of someone who will never be real. He tells himself it’s just a trick of the mind, a byproduct of too many years spent running on empty. But the truth—the one he won’t say out loud—is that the dreams never started until you left.

And maybe that’s what makes them feel more like a haunting than a fantasy.

He’s spent each day the past four months trying to shove it down, burying it under booze and hunts and half-hearted distractions. But it doesn’t matter how many times he tells himself he’s over it, that he saw it coming. Because he did. He knew you would run the second things got too real, the second you got too close, too comfortable, like maybe you wanted this life with him.

And then, just like his dream, you were gone.

You never said it outright, but he knew—deep down, you were always more like him than you wanted to admit. Built for the road, for the chase. Love wasn’t something you stayed for.

Except you never really left, not completely.

Every now and then, his phone would ring, and it’d be your voice on the other end—casual, distant, asking about a hunt, about a lead on something nasty you were tracking. Always avoiding the bigger conversation, never asking how he’s been, never giving him the chance to ask where you are.

And Dean let it happen. Let you keep him at arm’s length. Because at least this way, you were still something in his life.

But now, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, the dream still fresh in his mind, it pisses him off.

He stands, yanking on a t-shirt and running a hand through his hair before heading for the door. He just needs coffee—something to shake off the lingering ache sitting heavy in his chest.

But the second he steps into the hall, Sam is there, hovering with that anxious look that never means anything good.

“Hey,” Sam starts, lifting a hand like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Before you go in there, just—don’t freak out, okay?”

Dean’s stomach tightens, his muscles tensing. The look he cuts Sam with makes the younger brother’s eyes widen, searching for words to mediate and settle the storm brewing at either side of him. “Sam, what the hell are you—”

Before Sam can answer, Dean hears it.

The sound of pacing. Quick, uneven steps against the kitchen floor. His body goes still, his breath catching in his throat. He doesn’t need to see you to know.

You’re here.

Dean’s pulse pounds in his ears. His stubborn rage choking out the glimmer of childish hope that sets his nerves on fire. He stares at Sam, waiting for some kind of explanation, but Sam just shifts on his feet, uneasy.

That’s when another sound cuts through the silence—your voice.

Muffled, pacing, like you’re muttering to yourself between shallow breaths.

Dean swallows hard, his jaw clenching as he pushes past Sam. His mind is already racing, his thoughts a tangled mess of you, his dreams, his heartache and the damn voice in his head telling him to grip you tight enough so that you can’t leave him again. Whatever this is, whatever brought you back, he’s not in the mood for it. Not today. Not after all this time.

But when he steps into the kitchen, the world tilts on its axis.

You freeze mid-step, eyes wide, hands curled tightly around the edge of the counter as if you’re holding yourself together, bracing for something. For him, maybe. Your posture is rigid, your whole body taut with tension. You look… different. There’s an unreadable heaviness in the way you stand, the nervous bite of your lip as you chew it—like you’re preparing for a blow, for him to lash out, to reject you. 

A heavy silence falls over the room, thick and suffocating. His heart hammers in his chest, but there’s no anger now, no easy target to aim it at. Just this painful, aching pull between what he wants and what he’s afraid to hope for.

“You…” He’s barely able to get the word out. His throat feels tight, words caught somewhere between anger and something much softer, something more dangerous. He’s not sure which one is scarier.

You glance at him, then quickly look away, the uncertainty in your eyes like a crack in a mirror he never thought he’d see. Dean feels something in his chest twist—familiar, painful, like it’s been waiting for you to come back and break him open all over again.

His mind is a whirlwind. He wants to be angry—hell, he’s had four months of anger built up over your disappearing act. But standing here, with you so close, he realizes just how torn he is inside.

He wants to scream at you, demand to know why you didn’t come back sooner, why you couldn’t have just stayed. But that’s not the real question, is it? Because deep down, a part of him knows it wasn’t just you who ran. It was him, too. He shut off long ago, convincing himself it was easier that way. He was easier that way.

But you? You always seemed to slip through his defenses.

Dean stares at you, struggling to find his voice, his hands suddenly feeling useless at his sides. The walls he’s built up for his entire life—years of anger, bitterness, and pain—are cracking, piece by piece, and he has no idea how to stop it.

Dean crosses his arms, trying to shove down the storm already brewing inside him. “Well,” his voice is rough with sleep and something dangerously close to hurt. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Your spine straightens, and just like that, the tension shifts. Whatever nerves had you pacing seconds ago are buried under the sharp edge of your own attitude. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly plan on it either.”

Dean scoffs, a bitter chuckle, the undertone to the eye roll he throws you. “Oh, great. That makes me feel real special.”

“I…” You hesitate, fingers digging into the edge of the counter before you let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Dean. I don’t know if this is the right thing, or if I’m just—” you stop yourself, biting your lip again. You were never as good as he was at hiding your pain. It’s evident now, in the vulnerability in your eyes that cuts through him, raw and unguarded, and it makes everything inside him spin faster.

Sam clears his throat. “Why don’t I give you guys some space?” He glances between the two of you, clearly ready to escape the tension.

Dean doesn’t look at him, just stares at you as you stand firm, the scowl on your face trying desperately to cover the sadness in your eyes. The fact that you’re asking for anything at all should piss him off. After months of the half-hearted check-ins that only ever came when you needed something, after the way you left—why should he give you the time of day?

But he can’t say no.

And that scares him more than anything.

Sam nods to himself when neither of you protest and slips out of the kitchen, leaving you and Dean in thick, suffocating silence.

“Why are you here?” His voice comes out quieter than he intended, but the question hangs in the air, laced with something deeper, something that sounds too much like hope. A falsehood he’s terrified to acknowledge.

You take a shaky breath, your shoulders slumping just slightly, as if the weight of being in the same room as him is too much to carry alone.

Dean takes a step toward you, his feet heavy on the floor, his chest aching. His instincts shout at him to pull away, to protect himself from the inevitable hurt, but something else—something buried deep inside him—begs him to go closer.

The words come out before he can stop them, quieter now, barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this again, are we gonna keep pretending we have nothing to talk about?”

You wince, a flicker of pain crossing your face, and it rips through him. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, but he can’t stop the words. He can’t stop the fear, the resentment, that’s built up over all this time.

"I don't know if I can just act like nothing ever happened between us. Like you didn't leave me. Like..." His voice breaks off, his throat thick with emotion he’s been swallowing for far too long. He’s not even sure who he’s trying to convince anymore, you or himself.

His hands are trembling now, and he clenches them into fists, fighting to keep the storm inside him contained. But every time he looks at you, sees the way you’re standing before him, so tired and lacking the fire that he always adored. That you’re here now when he never thought he’d see you again, it pulls him under a wave of emotion he can’t quite place.

“I don’t know how to do this, not after everything,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “You can’t just waltz back in here and expect me to be okay with it.”

Your eyes fill with regret, but there's something else too—a quiet understanding. You know what you’ve done. You know what this looks like, but still, you're standing here. And that small, painful spark of hope flickers in the pit of his stomach.

“Can we just sit and talk, please?” Your voice is soft, pleading. And this time, you don’t look away.

Dean stands there, his whole body tense, his mind screaming conflicting words in the crosshairs—walk away, stay. But something in your gaze, in your quiet desperation, tugs at him. For a moment, he’s paralyzed—conflicted in the most unfamiliar way.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he nods. “Fine. But we talk,” he jabs a finger at you, his brows set with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat, “really talk. No more running.”

You nod, your shoulders relaxing, just slightly, and Dean wonders, not for the first time, if maybe—just maybe—he’s still capable of believing in the possibility of this. Of you.

His eyes narrow, the weight of years of unresolved anger and hurt pressing down on him. But despite it all, despite everything you put him through, he can’t seem to dig his heels into this anger. Not when you’re standing here, so close, with those big, pleading eyes that always seemed to strip him bare.

The years of touch and go, the broken promises, the words left unsaid—they all float between you, a suffocating fog that neither of you knows how to break. But Dean’s tired. Tired of fighting this pull, this pull toward you he can’t seem to ignore, no matter how many times you leave.

With a frustrated sigh, he crosses the kitchen, the hard floor beneath his boots clacking louder than it should. He grabs two chairs from the worn wooden table, scraping them across the linoleum as he sets them down. Wordlessly, he nods toward the seat beside him.

“Sit,” he mutters, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You stand there for a moment, the air between you thick with things left unsaid. And then, quietly, you take the seat next to him.

Dean can feel the weight of the moment in every fiber of his being. He doesn’t want to look at you. Not yet. Not until he’s ready to hear whatever it is you came to say.

The silence stretches on, thick and uncomfortable, as you sit side by side, neither of you knowing how to begin.

Finally, you clear your throat, a small sound, but it’s enough to break through the tension. “Look, I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything. But… can we just talk, like we used to? No games. No running away this time, okay?”

Dean stares at the table in front of him, his fingers tapping restlessly against the edge. Your words hit harder than he expected, and for a second, his chest tightens with something raw and unfamiliar.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore, you know?” he says quietly, almost to himself. “Every time you leave… it’s like you take a piece of me with you. And I’m just left here picking up the pieces, wondering if you’ll ever come back.”

You wince at the admission, and it hits him harder than he wants to admit. He doesn’t know why he said it—maybe because this is the first time in years that you’re actually sitting here, facing him. Maybe because it’s the first time in years that he feels like you might actually be willing to stay.

You reach out, placing a tentative hand on his, stilling the tapping. And for a brief moment, his breath catches.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dean,” you say softly. “I never wanted to be another person who hurts you.”

to forget the months of silence, the aching space you left behind. He wants to pull you close, bury his face in your neck, and pretend none of it ever happened—that you never walked away, that he never let you.

But reality crashes down just as fast.

He can’t let himself go there, can’t let himself believe this is something he can have without it slipping through his fingers. So instead, he exhales sharply, shoving that fragile part of himself deep down where it belongs. His jaw tightens, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rough, edged with his angry armor.

“Then why did you leave?” he grits out, his voice quiet but commanding. He needs to know. Needs to understand why the person he thought he might finally let himself love disappeared without a trace.

You pull your hand back, lips pressed tight. “I—”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, like the weight of months spent apart. Dean’s still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening, why you’re here, why you’re sitting beside him, but something shifts in your expression.

You take a deep breath, eyes falling to your lap before lifting to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words soft but full of weight. “I’m sorry for always running off. For disappearing when things got too real. I know it’s not fair.”

Dean’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t know what to say, what to feel.

“I was scared,” you continue, voice breaking just a little. “I still am. I…” Your words falter, but then you press on, searching his eyes for understanding. “I was consumed with this fear of losing it all. That I’d attach myself to you and this life would rip you away.”

The quiet admission sits heavy in the air. Dean feels his heart thudding faster beneath his rib cage. A pang of regret washes over him, for never admitting he shared that fear. That he thought he would be the thing that rips you apart. And maybe if he had, you wouldn’t have felt alone in those thoughts. 

You run a hand through your hair, a nervous gesture, and he watches the movement, the tension in your body. “I didn’t think I could do this. I didn’t think we could do this. I don’t see a world where something like that survives,” you shake your head, lost in the thoughts that shuffle through as you try to find your words, “Where… where we get a happy ending.”

Dean feels his chest tighten, his pulse speeding up as he takes in what you’re saying. The words hang between you, both of you holding your breath. And for a long, painful moment, the only sound in the room is the distant hum of the refrigerator, a constant reminder that time is still moving, even when it feels like everything’s frozen in place.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want it, Dean,” you add quickly, your voice cracking. “I just—I don’t know how to believe it’s possible. But I didn’t come here to ask for you to take me back.”

Dean stares at you, his pulse hammering against his ribs. There it is—that damn crack in your voice, the one that always cuts through him like a blade. He wants to be angry, to hold onto the bitterness that’s been festering since you left, but it slips through his fingers the second he sees the way you’re looking at him. Like you’re scared. Like you don’t expect him to want this.

Like you don’t expect him to want you.

His throat tightens, his fists clenching at his sides as he fights the urge to reach for you. “Then what do you want?” His voice is quieter now, rougher. “If you’re not here to ask me for anything, then why come back?”

You open your mouth, then close it, searching for words. Your fingers twist in the hem of your jacket, your shoulders curling inward, like you’re bracing for him to tear you apart. And damn it, that does something to him, because he’s never wanted to be the reason you look like that.

Dean drags a hand down his face, trying to ground himself. His mind is a battlefield, waging war between the fear clawing at his insides and the need to fix this—fix you. But how the hell is he supposed to do that when he’s still not sure how to fix himself?

“You don’t know how to believe it’s possible?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, join the damn club.” His chest feels too tight, his voice breaking under the weight of it. “You think I had some fairytale idea of us, sweetheart? That I thought this would be easy?” He lets out a breath that’s more of a laugh, humorless and hollow. “Hell, I don’t even know if I’d be any good at this. But you didn’t give me the chance to figure it out, did you?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, a tear slipping down your cheek before you can stop it. And God, he hates that. He hates seeing you cry. Hates even more that he’s the reason for it.

“I was scared,” you whisper, your voice breaking apart like shattered glass. “I am scared.”

Dean swallows hard, his anger flickering, giving way to something deeper, something more painful. He’s scared too. He’s scared as hell. Of not being enough. Of screwing this up. Of losing you all over again.

But when he looks at you—when he sees the way you’re trembling, barely holding yourself together—it hits him. He’s not the only one drowning in this.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair before finally, finally stepping forward. His hands hover for a second before settling on your arms, grounding you. Grounding himself.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, softer now, “I guess we can be scared together.”

You drag the backs of your hands across your cheeks, trying to contain the tears that just won’t stop flowing. “No, Dean, you don’t get it—” you cut yourself off with a groan. Your breathing is coming out uneven as anxiety pulls at your every nerve, and suddenly you can’t sit still. You can’t do this. 

You’re up on your feet again, pacing slightly as you try to steady your breathing. 

Dean watches you, his stomach twisting as you distance yourself. There’s a wild, frantic energy in the way you move, your arms wrapping around yourself like you’re trying to hold yourself together. Your breath is uneven, shaky, and those damn tears keep slipping past your lashes no matter how hard you try to blink them away.

His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach for you again, to do something—anything—to stop that panicked look from overtaking your face. It melts his resolve, steadies his rising temper.

His voice comes quieter this time, hesitant. “Hey—what’s going on?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press the heels of your hands into your eyes, shaking your head as if you can will away whatever storm is raging inside you.

Dean’s chest tightens. His mind is running through every possibility, each one worse than the last. “Sweetheart,” he tries again, the pet name easing off his tongue as if no time had passed since he last called you that, “talk to me.”

"I... I didn't catch it in time, I'm sorry." You start, your voice barely more than a whisper, the words thick with something he can't quite name. Your eyes squeeze shut as if the simple act of speaking is too much.

Dean’s chest tightens, a knot of confusion twisting in his stomach. “What the hell are you talking about?” His tone is gentle now, trying to coax it out of you, but the moment you raise your eyes, he sees it—the fear, raw and trembling beneath the surface.

He’s on his feet again, closing in on you like you’re a scared animal that’ll take flight from any sudden movement. 

“I just thought it was stress making me miss my period again, but…” You choke, your voice cracking as if admitting it out loud is tearing something inside you apart.

Dean’s breath hitches, and his heart races, but he doesn’t dare interrupt you, his own confusion giving way to a growing sense of dread. He takes another step toward you, but you flinch, eyes shimmering with tears that slip through your heavy breathing.

You finally break, the tears turning into sobs that shake your shoulders. You shake your head, wiping at your face again, as if trying to push it all away. But it’s too late now.

“I’m scared, D.” You gasp the words out, the weight of them crushing you. “I’m so scared.”

Dean’s chest tightens, a cold sensation creeping down his spine, even as his heart lurches in his chest. He can feel the tremor in your voice, the rawness in every syllable, but he can’t make sense of it. The world seems to slow, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place—but not quickly enough for his mind to catch up.

“What… What are you saying?” He asks, his voice quiet, strained with confusion and something that feels dangerously close to panic.

You glance up at him, eyes wide and glassy with tears. You open your mouth, but the words seem stuck, lodged in your throat. The silence between you is deafening.

Finally, you take a deep breath, almost like you’re gathering the strength to face something unbearable. “I’m pregnant, Dean.” The words fall from your lips in a broken whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

Dean freezes. His entire body goes still, as though he’s forgotten how to breathe. The weight of your words hits him like a freight train, and for a moment, everything goes silent except for the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

Pregnant.

His mouth goes dry, his thoughts scrambling, trying to make sense of it all. The pieces click into place—the missed periods, the way you looked at him when you walked in, the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes.

His dreams.

 He takes a half-step back, his mind too far behind, too rattled by the weight of what you just said.

And then, slowly, it hits him—this isn’t just a shock; it’s a bombshell. One that could tear everything apart, and yet, at the same time, it pulls something from him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. The edges of his world begin to blur. He’s scared. He’s terrified.

“Are you… are you sure?” His voice comes out rough, almost panicked, like he’s waiting for you to tell him this is some sick joke, but he knows it’s not.

You nod, sniffling. "I took a test, I went to the doctor and they told me I was already four months along." you whisper, choking back a sob. "I didn’t know what to do."

Dean steps closer, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady you. But you flinch again, the space between you thick with everything you’ve never said to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you. I could have just called, I should have—” Your voice cracks, and you finally meet his gaze, eyes full of everything—regret, fear, and a raw, aching vulnerability that threatens to break him.

Dean's heart races, the panic starting to crawl up his throat. He wants to scream, to tell you that he’s terrified—that he doesn’t know how to be a father, that he’s too broken, too fucked up to raise a kid. The thought of something happening to you, to your child, terrifies him in ways he can’t even put into words. But you’re standing there, so small, so vulnerable, looking at him like he’s the only one who can fix this. And damn it, he has to be strong.

He closes the distance between and pulls you into his arms before either of you can second guess it. His hands are warm and steady on your back, but inside, his mind is a storm. His pulse is erratic, his breath shallow, but he holds you close, trying to give you the comfort he doesn’t know how to find for himself.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice like a lighthouse to steer your sinking ship. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not alone in this.”

You shake your head against his chest, a shaky breath escaping. “I’m so scared, Dean. I don’t know what to do.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression soft but full of intensity. His thumbs pushes away your tears, warm and rough against your skin. “You don’t have to know right now,” he assures you, trying to convince himself as much as you. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time. I’m here, okay? We’ll get through this.”

Inside, though, his mind is spinning out of control. He doesn’t know how to be the man you need. He doesn’t know if he can even be the father this child deserves. But in this moment, he’s all you have. And somehow, he knows that no matter how badly he’s freaking out, no matter how scared he is, he’ll find a way to make this work—for you, for the little life growing inside of you.

He gently strokes your hair, pressing his cheek to the top of your head, grounding himself in the act. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispers again, his voice thick with the promise of something more than just words.

But inside, the panic churns, a rising tide he can’t escape. He holds you tighter, pretending for your sake that everything will be fine, even as the weight of the world presses down on him.

edit to add tags why do i always forget tags @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @snowluvvie @ultravi0lence14

[loveandleases]

This just happened to me what do the Ro's do if Mc screams from their room jolts out screaming their was a spider near their face in their bed and they are scared to go back to bed (legit woke up to a big spider next to my face forever traumatized 💔)

That is nightmare fuel right there.

❤️ Cam - "Where?! Where was it? Did you bring it with you? Shit, did you just give it directions to my room?!"

He will usher MC to his room, allowing them to sleep in the back of the bed, farthest away from the door. They can even cuddle if it makes MC feel better, I mean Cam is absolutely willing to do that for them.

"It's not like I'm afraid of it or anything, I mean I could go take care of it right now. But... oh what, what if it's like a rare species? I gotta let it live. Conservation and all that."

(such a little liar.)

💙 G - They're not afraid, they're a vet. They can handle arachnids. Yet it takes them a good ten minutes to go into your room. They refuse to let MC come in, since clearly MC is afraid. They'll hear some things falling over, that was not a scream. G would never. Then G comes out, stone faced and grabs MC by the hand and heads to their own apartment with them in tow. "Wait, what are you... did you not get it?"

G doesn't say anything not at first. Instead they get a glass of wine and down it in one go. "I was thinking, for old time's sake. We let Cam handle it."

MC chooses to say nothing about the tremble of G's hand that holds the glass, or the slightest twitch of their eye. For now, the spider is Cam's problem. *queue ungodly screaming*

💚 Kara - "Aww, you don't have to be afraid. I'll take care of it." She is like the spider whisperer. She isn't afraid of them, if anything she thinks their tiny little bodies and hairs and beady eyes are cute.

"If you're uncomfortable sleeping here we could always… go to my place?" She says, a hint of mischief in those blue eyes.

💛 M - They're prepared, they bring out everything, from sprays to powders. If this isn't a termination situation then M has other methods. They can get the spider out, and into the hall, "Come on little one, I'm trying to be humane here." they say as they nudge the spider closer to Ardent's door.

"Then why are you moving it towards his apartment?"

"Oh... was I?" M says, hoping that playing dumb will cover up that little gremlin streak. They'll take it out, where its safe, if that's what MC wishes. If not, they're ready to help MC and prep their apartment for the future.

💜 Isaac - (dependent on relationship since isaac will be rather flirty early on) He bursts into the room at the sound of MC's scream, his eyes scanning every inch of their body to ensure they're safe. Only to find them on the bed, pointing at the tiny little spider that scurries in the corner of the room. He takes one look, then smirks.

"Damn, I thought you were being murdered in here or something," he drawls, arms crossed as he leans against the door frame. "But nope, just a tiny, defenseless spider terrorizing you."

Isaac strolls over, taking his sweet time, and plucks up the spider. Zero fear. And winks at MC. "You know, if you needed an excuse to get me in your bedroom, babe, you could've just asked."

Then, as he walks past MC to take the spider outside, he adds in a low, teasing voice: "Though if you’re looking for someone to keep you safe at night… I wouldn’t mind volunteering."

Isaac then takes the spider outside, and plops it on one of the flower beds that he has meticulously taken care of.

🖤 Ardent - (he is getting a long one because idk i feel like making him suffer a little)

“What the hell is going on?” he grumbles, his voice still thick from waking up.

He doesn't spare the spider a second glance when he sees how shaky MC's hand is when they point at the spider. He's never had an issue with them, despite how fucking big that spider is. Just seeing MC's distress causes him to act. He sighs, shakes his head, and grabs their hand. "Come on."

He then guides them to his apartment, it's an instinct like he's done it a hundred times before, and he doesn't even question it. He settles them in his bed, letting them nestle under the cover. "Just stay here tonight. I'll check again in the morning," he mutters, the weight of sleep thick in his voice.

Without thinking he presses a kiss to their forehead - just a reflex, an unconscious gesture that feels so natural despite everything. With another groan, he sinks back, and his body instinctively curls around MC's. Before MC can even tell him goodnight, he's asleep once more.

The next morning, when he wakes up, and he notices the warmth beside him, that's when it all sinks in. The kiss, the words, the way he pulled them into his bed - it all feels like something he wouldn't do if he were fully awake. When he was acting guarded or like an ass. This causes his irritation to flare as he sits up, raking a hand through his hair that is a mess, clearly still disoriented from a deep sleep.

"Shit…" he groans, muttering under his breath and realizing MC's scent clings to his body. He doesn't wake them, partly because he's still too comfortable with them curled next to him. Instead, he silently marches to their apartment (cam's already gone for the day, which is a small win.) and begins fumigating the place.

He's embarrassed and frustrated, and this will cause him to hate spiders (or love them, dudes in denial) In all honestly he can't put a finger on why he feels the way he does.

"Just get this shit over with," he mutters, spraying the room's corners, his grumpy mood hiding the confusion and vulnerability that he's still sorting through.

[00valentina-writes00]

Ur take on long distance relationship

(Ellie Williams x Reader)

something soft and sweet!!

Them doing little virtual dates,making each other playlist, playing video games, making funny google slide presentations,then sending each other love letters

But if you wanted to do something with angst and smut.

Ellie or reader has been experiencing major jealousy issues,and because of this they have been distant and annoyed with the other, leading their FaceTime call into an argument over said jealousy issues, and it ending with angsty phone sex.

Gang- the phone sex is just staring at me I’m gonna do it

✞⛧ Ellie with a long distant relationship ✞⛧

(College au ellie btw-)

✞⛧ You and Ellie have a standing virtual date every Friday night. She sets aside time to play video games with you, even though she’s usually buried in textbooks or guitar practice. When she wins, she gloats with a smug “I told you I was better,” but when you win, she makes an exaggerated pouty face and jokes that she let you win.

✞⛧ One of your favorite things is when Ellie sends you surprise playlists. You’ll get a random text from her saying, “Put on this playlist and think of me,” followed by a mix of grunge, indie, and punk that totally fits her chaotic energy. It makes you feel closer to her, even if you’re on opposite sides of the country.

✞⛧ She’s terrible at singing, but she still sends you voice memos of her trying to learn a new song. It’s hilariously off-key, but you can’t help but love how genuine and unbothered she is.

✞⛧ Sometimes, Ellie will FaceTime you with her guitar, strumming along to one of your favorite songs, hoping you’ll sing along. You’ll both end up laughing through the chorus because neither of you can hold a note, but the moment is so sweet, you don’t even care.

✞⛧ Late-night Google slides sessions become your ritual. You both work on silly slideshows, like “The Best Ways to Distract Ellie During Finals Week” or “Top 10 Ways I Would Survive In A Zombie Apocalypse (With Ellie).” Ellie takes it seriously, adding in ridiculous survival tips like “bring snacks” and “find a good Wi-Fi spot.”

✞⛧ Ellie loves sending you random memes, even when they’re not really funny to anyone but the two of you. She’ll say, “I thought you’d appreciate this one” and then give you an in-depth explanation about why it’s funny.

✞⛧ When you both miss each other, Ellie writes little handwritten notes and takes pictures of them to send. They’re simple: “I can’t wait to see you one day,” or “Just thinking about you while I pretend to study.” It’s not much, but it means everything.

✞⛧ When Ellie’s feeling down, she’ll send you one of her old mixtapes she made in high school. It’s a weird mix of angry punk and sappy love songs that she claims “speaks to her soul.” You listen to it and text her back that it’s perfect.

✞⛧ Ellie doesn’t mind being vulnerable with you. She’ll text you long rants about how stressed she is with school and her side hustle, and you’re always there to remind her that she’s doing the best she can.

✞⛧ When she’s really missing you, Ellie takes a picture of her bed with your favorite hoodie on it and texts it to you with a simple message: “Wish you were here.”

✞⛧ Sometimes, you send Ellie a video of you singing along to one of her favorite songs, and she can’t help but tease you about it. “I didn’t know you had that in you,” she’ll say, but you can tell from the way she keeps replaying it that she loves it.

✞⛧ On special occasions, like birthdays or anniversaries, Ellie sends you care packages full of your favorite snacks, a mixtape, and a handwritten letter. She makes it clear that she might not be able to be there in person, but she’s thinking of you constantly.

✞⛧ Ellie can never leave you on “read” for too long. You’ll get a text from her within minutes no matter how busy she is, usually something snarky or sarcastic, but it always shows she’s thinking about you.

✞⛧ You both have inside jokes that only make sense to the two of you. Ellie has this one where she’ll send you a random picture of a cat and caption it with something like “this is the only thing keeping me sane right now,” and you’ll both crack up because it makes zero sense, but it’s hilarious anyway.

✞⛧ You love sending Ellie playlists, too, but you make sure they’re different from hers. You’ll send her one full of songs she’s never heard before, just to get her reaction when she listens to it. It’s always the same: “This is weird… but I love it.”

✞⛧ Every now and then, you’ll both spend an hour just texting each other about your dream life together. You’ll talk about the little things, like where you’d go on your first real vacation or what you’d eat for breakfast when you’re finally living in the same city.

✞⛧ When things get tough, Ellie likes to tell you stories about the worst day she’s ever had in college. It’s mostly funny and full of chaos, but you can hear the tiredness in her voice. You always remind her that it’s okay to feel worn out and that she’s still doing amazing.

✞⛧ She’s not the type to send “I love you” too often, but you always know when it’s coming. It’s in the little things, like when she texts, “I miss you, you dork,” or signs off with “talk to you soon, babe.”

✞⛧ Ellie sometimes sends you little sketches of things she’s working on. Whether it’s a half-finished drawing of a band logo or a quick sketch of the dorm room she’s stuck in, it’s something she’s proud of, and she wants to share it with you

✞⛧ She’ll randomly drop voice memos on you just to say something random. “I just saw a dog that looked exactly like you, and it made me think of you,” or “I wish you were here so I could steal your snacks.” It’s always a little weird, but in a way that only makes you smile.

✞⛧ When you both start to feel disconnected, you make a point to schedule a “real” date. You’ll set up a Zoom call, order food to eat at the same time, and just talk about anything and everything like you’re sitting across from each other at your favorite diner.

✞⛧ She’s a huge fan of sending surprise memes to keep you entertained. The more ridiculous, the better. You both end up spamming each other with stupid, unexplainable memes, and it’s the best part of your day.

✞⛧ The moment Ellie knows she’ll see you again, she starts planning. She’ll text you things like “I’m saving all my good snacks for when you get here,” or “I’m picking the worst movie to show you, I hope you’re ready.” She can’t wait to have you near her again.

✞⛧ Ellie sometimes just calls you to hear your voice, even if there’s no big conversation. You’ll talk for hours about nothing in particular, but the sound of her voice makes you feel safe, even when she’s halfway across the country.

✞⛧ You’re both masters of making the other feel special from afar. Ellie will text you little “good morning” messages even when she’s still half asleep, and you’ll send her little updates about your day that you know will make her laugh.

✞⛧ Ellie finds comfort in the small things, like knowing that you’re there to listen when she needs to vent or that you’ll never judge her for being a little messy.

Dun dun dunnn (knew you dirty animals would be looking for the smut, and I have provided)

The screen flickers slightly, the connection unstable, but Ellie’s face is crystal clear. Her sharp green eyes are narrowed, her freckled cheeks flushed with frustration, and that ever-present smirk of hers is nowhere to be seen. Instead, her lips are pressed into a thin line, her jaw tight. You can practically hear the tension crackling through the air, even through the distance separating you.

“You’re avoiding the question,” she says, her voice low and edged with accusation. Her fingers tap impatiently against the edge of her desk, the sound muffled but insistent. “What’s going on, huh? You’ve been so distant lately. I feel like I’m talking to a ghost.”

You cross your arms, leaning back in your chair. The dorm room around her is a mess—guitar picks scattered on the floor, a half-eaten bag of chips on her bed, and the faint glow of string lights illuminating her chaotic space. But you’re not focused on that. You’re focused on the way she’s looking at you, like she’s already decided you’re guilty of something.

“Distant? Seriously, Ellie?” you shoot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “Maybe I’m just busy. Not everyone’s got time to hang out at skate parks or sell weed to freshmen, you know.”

Her eyes flash, and for a moment, she looks like she’s about to snap back. But then she exhales sharply, running a hand through her messy brown hair. It’s a gesture she only makes when she’s really trying to keep her cool.

“That’s not what I meant,” she says, her voice quieter now but still laced with frustration. “I just… I feel like you’re pulling away. Like there’s something you’re not telling me. And I can’t help but wonder if—” She cuts herself off, biting her lip.

“If what?” You lean forward, your heart pounding in your chest. “If I’m cheating on you? Is that what you’re thinking?”

Ellie flinches, her sharp features softening for just a moment before she hardens again. “Well, are you? Because I’m not gonna lie, it’s been on my mind. You’ve been so… off. And it’s not just me. Even your friends are saying you’ve been acting weird.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, that’s rich. Coming from you. The girl who spends half her life ‘delivering product’ to random people. How do I know you’re not the one sneaking around?”

Her eyes widen, and for a second, she looks genuinely hurt. But then that smirk of hers returns, though it’s darker now, more defensive. “Oh, so that’s how it is? You’re gonna turn this around on me? Fine. Let’s do this. You wanna know if I’m cheating? Here.”

Before you can even process what’s happening, she’s standing up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. She reaches for the hem of her hoodie, pulling it off in one swift motion. Her vintage band tee follows, revealing her wiry, athletic frame. Her skin is pale and freckled, the fern tattoo on her forearm standing out starkly against her flesh.

Your breath catches in your throat as she undoes the button of her jeans, sliding them down her legs with a practiced ease. She kicks them aside, standing there in just her boxers and a black sports bra. Her sharp green eyes lock onto yours through the screen, challenging you.

“Go ahead,” she says, her voice steady but tinged with defiance. “Look. No scratches. No hickeys. Nothing. You wanna know where I’ve been? Here. Dealing with your bullshit.”

Your heart is racing now, your mouth dry. But then something in you snaps, something defensive and raw. “Oh, sure. Like you’re the only one who’s allowed to be jealous. You think I haven’t noticed how secretive you’ve been? How you’re always ‘busy’ when I call? Fine. You wanna see? Here.”

You stand up, your chair nearly tipping over in your haste. Your fingers fumble with the buttons of your shirt, but you manage to pull it off, tossing it to the floor. You can feel Ellie’s eyes on you, watching every move. Your jeans come next, sliding down your legs and pooling at your feet. You’re standing there in just your bra and underwear, your chest rising and falling with every breath.

“Happy now?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and vulnerability. “No scratches. No hickeys. Just me. But maybe you should be asking yourself why you’re so quick to accuse me when you’re the one who’s always hiding something.”

Ellie’s smirk falters, and for a moment, she looks almost… guilty. She crosses her arms over her chest, her bare skin glowing in the dim light of her dorm room. “I’m not hiding anything,” she says, but her voice lacks its usual confidence. “I just… I worry, okay? You’re my girl. And I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

The vulnerability in her voice catches you off guard, and suddenly, the anger that’s been simmering between you both feels like it’s starting to dissolve. You sit back down, your legs feeling shaky beneath you.

“Ellie…” you start, but she’s already shaking her head.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice soft now. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I needed to know. And I didn’t know how else to ask.”

You let out a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry too,” you admit. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was pulling away. I just… I’ve been stressed. With school, with work… and yeah, maybe I’ve been a little paranoid. But not because I don’t trust you. Because I… I don’t know. I guess I just needed to hear you say it.”

Ellie’s expression softens, and for the first time since this whole argument started, she looks at you without that guarded edge in her eyes. “Say what?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“That you’re mine,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “That no matter what, you’re mine.”

Her breath hitches, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. Then, slowly, she reaches for the waistband of her boxers, sliding them down her legs. Her sports bra follows, leaving her completely bare. Her skin is smooth, her body wiry and toned, the fern tattoo on her arm seeming to almost dance in the dim light.

“I’m yours,” she says, her voice steady but tinged with something deeper, something raw. “Always.”

Your heart is pounding now, your body responding to her in ways you can’t ignore. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you reach for your own bra, slipping it off and letting it fall to the floor. Your panties follow, leaving you completely exposed to her gaze.

“I’m yours too,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Always.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence between you, the tension palpable even through the screen. Then, slowly, Ellie reaches down, her fingers brushing against the soft skin of her inner thigh. Her sharp green eyes never leave yours as she spreads her legs slightly, her fingers moving lower, tracing the delicate folds of her pussy.

Your breath catches in your throat, your own hand instinctively moving between your legs. You can feel the wetness there, the ache that’s been building inside you. Ellie’s fingers slip inside her, her sharp intake of breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“Touch yourself,” she says, her voice low and husky. “Let me see you.”

Your fingers move of their own accord, slipping inside you as you watch her do the same. Her movements are slow, deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours. You can hear the soft, breathy moans escaping her lips, the way her body trembles with every touch.

“Ellie…” you moan her name, your fingers moving faster now, the slick sound of your arousal filling the room. Her lips part, a soft gasp escaping them as she watches you, her own fingers moving in rhythm with yours.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need. “I miss you. I miss touching you. I miss feeling you.”

“I miss you too,” you whimper, your body trembling as the pleasure builds inside you. “So much.”

Her fingers move faster now, her soft, whimpery moans filling your ears. You can see the way her body tenses, the way her hips lift off the bed as she gets closer to the edge. Your own fingers move faster, the slick wetness between your thighs a testament to how much you need her.

“Come for me,” she whispers, her voice raw and desperate. “I wanna see you come.”

Your body obeys her without hesitation, the pleasure crashing over you in waves. You cry out her name, your fingers still moving inside you as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. Ellie’s own orgasm follows moments later, her body trembling as she falls back against the bed, her chest rising and falling with every breath.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence between you, the only sound the soft hum of the computer fan and the sound of your own breathing. Then, slowly, Ellie reaches for the screen, her fingers brushing against the image of your face.

“I love you,” she whispers, her voice soft and tender. “More than anything.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back, your heart aching with the need to be close to her. “Always.”

[steveseddie]

‘cause it’s you and me

rating: g | cw: none | wc: 1,9 k | tags: eddie lives, hospitals and injury recovery, steve has a crush, he also knows how to play guitar, fluff

written for @steddielovemonth day one | You and Me by Lifehouse & the quote “every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.”

read on ao3

Steve doesn’t know how much time he’s spent on the chair that is next to Eddie’s hospital bed.

Too long probably, if the recurrent pain on his back means anything. But not even that is enough to prevent Steve from staying glued to that chair, neither are the doctor’s mean looks or Robin’s insistence about him getting proper sleep or meals for that matter. Steve only leaves the chair when he has a shift or when he wants Wayne to have time alone with his nephew or when the nurses wheel Eddie away for surgery or tests or physical therapy. That’s it.

It makes the months that Eddie spends recovering blur together. Sometimes, Steve even forgets what day it is, only managing to keep track of it by the nurse’s schedule or depending on who shows up to visit Eddie. The kids and Wayne and Robin all come on different days, effectively balancing keeping their friend company with their everyday lives.

All of them except Steve.

Ever since Spring Break, it’s been Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Find Eddie. Get Eddie’s heart beating again. Drag Eddie out of the Upside Down. Pray that Eddie makes it out of surgery. Wait for Eddie to wake up. Comfort Eddie when he’s in pain. Take Eddie’s mind off of the murder charges that haven’t been dropped yet or the loss of their trailer or the long hours of physical therapy ahead of him. Listen to Eddie ramble on the days that he feels better about books and music and Dungeons and Dragons. Watch Eddie sleep and only then try to get a little sleep himself.

The last one might sound a little creepy but Steve thinks it’s justified considering he still can’t forget how Eddie looked when they found him– pale, bloody, dead. Watching him sleep, his chest rising and falling slowly but steadily is the only thing that calms Steve enough for him to doze off in that damn uncomfortable chair.

Only at some point it stops being entirely about making sure that Eddie is alive– the staring. Suddenly, Steve can’t keep his eyes off of Eddie at all times.

Steve stares at his face while Eddie reads a book to him out loud and forgets to pay attention to what he’s saying. He stares at Eddie’s hands while he explains something to the kids and completely miss a question from Henderson. He stares at his mouth while Eddie slurps the extra jello cup that Robin sneaked in past the nurses and blush when she catches him and smirks knowingly at him.

It takes Steve some time to figure out why he looks at Eddie so much, obvious as it is, and when he finally does he actually leaves his chair and heads to the bathroom for a proper floor freak out.

He just doesn’t know what to do with these feelings for Eddie or where to go from there so he just– doesn’t do anything.

And things stay the same.

Except for the way Eddie keeps getting better.

The doctors are so optimistic that they announce that Eddie might get to go home soon. They have him doing laps around the hospital and start slowly tapering off his pain meds and encouraging him to pick back up things he used to do like writing and playing guitar to work on his dexterity, they said.

It’s why Eddie starts writing down plans and ideas for future dork campaigns again and why Wayne brings his sweetheart to the hospital.

(Eddie almost cried when he saw it, making grabby hands and hugging it against his chest with a happy sigh.

“I swear you’re happier to see that thing more than you’ve ever been to see me,” Steve muttered through pursed lips.

“Steve, don’t call her a thing! She can hear you!” Eddie protested, appalled. Which wasn’t a no but at least later he tells Steve that there’s enough room in his heart for two sweethearts.)

It’s not like Eddie goes back to being a rock god on the guitar right away and his writing is intelligible more often than not, but none of that stops him. He keeps trying, keeps practicing, and Steve loves him more and more for it.

Yes. Love. The first time the word pops up in Steve’s head it leads to yet another bathroom floor freak out but once he realizes it, he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from blurting it out several times a day.

He’s doing it right now while watching Eddie excitedly write down a D&D character sheet for him with his tongue poking out adorably between his lips, tempting Steve to lean in and kiss them. So when a nurse interrupts them to take Eddie away for some test, he appreciates the short break.

When he’s alone, Steve reaches for the notebook that Eddie left on the bed. It’s off limits for any of the kids, but Eddie has let Steve peek at it before. He doesn’t think he’ll mind.

He reads his character sheet, recognizing some of the nerdy words while others fly completely over his head. Then he leafs lazily through pages of notes and doodles until he pauses at what looks like an unfinished song, fragments of lyrics and melodies written messily over the page.

Steve sends a sidelong glance to Eddie’s guitar where it’s leaning against the wall.

He’s never told anyone but he took some guitar lessons back when he started high school, hoping that playing an instrument would help get him girls. He knows how to read music and can fumble his way through a few simple songs, but he never made it past that. It seemed useless when he already had Nancy, and then when he didn’t have her anymore, he had the kids and the Upside Down and playing guitar didn’t seem like a useful skill to have when fighting monsters.

He chuckles. “Guess I was wrong,” he mutters to himself, thinking about Eddie saving the world with a Metallica song of all things.

Without giving it much thought, Steve stands up and carefully grabs the guitar, bringing it back with him to the chair and resting it on his leg, Eddie’s notebook open on the bed in front of him.

He clumsily places his fingers on the fretboard and tries to play the melody that Eddie wrote down. He messes up a few notes, but for someone who hasn’t touched a guitar in years he thinks he plays it decently enough. Eddie would surely do a better job, but it still doesn’t sound half bad. Maybe he can ask Eddie for help to improve and–

“What are you doing?” Eddie’s voice breaks through the melody. His fingers slip and the guitar makes a loud, screechy sound that makes Steve wince.

He whirls around and finds Eddie staring at him from the door, his face unreadable.

Steve gulps, his cheeks pinking up at being caught. “Playing guitar?”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together. “Since when do you know how?”

“I– uh, I took lessons years ago but I stopped,” he says, tripping on his words. “I– I found your– your song and I was trying to play it–”

Eddie’s eyes dart to the notebook on the bed. Steve winces again, worrying that Eddie will get mad because he went through his things or because he touched his sweetheart.

“That sounds nothing like what I wrote.”

Or because he butchered his song.

Steve blushes brighter, reaching for the notebook and fumbling to close it. “Sorry, I– it’s been a while and I was never that good to begin with.”

With three long strides –and a lot less limping than a month ago, Steve proudly notices– Eddie reaches his side and snatches the notebook from Steve’s hands.

“Give me that!” He says, flopping down on the bed and flicking furiously through the pages, his face pinched.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry, I– I didn’t think you’d be mad–”

“You bet I’m mad!” Eddie says with a huff, patting the bed sheets, trying to find something.

Steve shrinks down on the chair. “I– I think I’m gonna go–” he says, pushing himself to his feet. Better to leave now before Eddie finds whatever he’s looking for and throws it at his head.

“Aha!” Eddie gasps, holding up his pen. Then he notices Steve standing awkwardly and frowns at him. “Wait, what? No, stay. Play it again.”

Steve blinks down at him. “What?”

“The song!” Eddie urges him but his voice is soft, gentle. “Play it again, Stevie, please.”

Stevie. Please. He’s not mad.

“What?”

Eddie heaves out a sigh, but it comes across as fond. “Dude, I’ve been trying to figure out the right melody for that song for like, half a year!” He says, shaking his notebook aggressively. A few pages fall off, but he pays them no mind. “But I just couldn’t get it fucking right, there was always something missing! And it was whatever you were doing when I walked in!”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

“Not at you, Stevie, no,” Eddie chuckles. “Just mad that it was you who figured it out with your secret magic guitar skills and not me.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and he can’t help but let out a chuckle himself. “So you want me to do it again?”

Eddie nods enthusiastically and that’s enough to make Steve flop back down on the chair, propping the guitar on his legs and doing his best to play the song like he did before.

He must get it right because Eddie lets out an adorable squeal before using his pen to cross out something and write down whatever Steve accidentally came up with.

“Goddamn, sweetheart, I’m gonna have to dedicate this song to you now as a thank you,” Eddie says, grinning so wide at his notebook that it shows off his dimples.

Steve hangs a hand from his neck. It feels hot to the touch, probably from the pet name. “Too bad it’s a love song,” he jokes weakly, even if he wants nothing more than for Eddie’s words to be about him.

Eddie glances up, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “I know,” he says softly, his eyes flickering nervously over Steve’s face.

Oh. Oh.

Stomach fluttering with butterflies, Steve stands up, grabbing the guitar by its neck to prop it up against the wall.

“Uh, you– are you leaving?” Eddie asks, chewing anxiously on his pen as he watches Steve move around silently. Little does he know that his heart is currently screaming at him to gently tackle Eddie into the bed.

But first–

“Just making sure your guitar is safe before I go over there and kiss you, Eds,” he says, the corners of his mouth ticking up when Eddie squeaks again, his eyes widening.

“Oh, o–okay. That’s smart. Yup,” he stammers out, his voice an octave higher, his cheeks pinking up. “Does that mean you also–”

“Feel that way about you?” Steve asks, sitting on the bed next to Eddie, who nods expectantly. Steve reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. “Yeah, Eddie, I do.”

When Steve leans in and finally, finally kisses him, Eddie lets his notebook fall to the floor so he can grab Steve’s shoulders. The urgency to write down that perfect melody now replaced by an urgency for Steve.

But it doesn’t matter, Steve thinks that melody is now seared into both of their memories forever, as is their first kiss. The first of many.

[illshakeyouallnightlong-dean]

Take Me To The Sun (Rewritten)

I know everything. The things beyond weapons drops across the border. And yet I stay quiet. Until I can't. Being a marked one, being a friend of Xaden Riorson doesn't mean I am granted unfiltered access to information of what goes on beyond Navarre's walls. But it should when lives are lost and rules change. My compassion doesn't make me weak. My dragon chose me. I am meant for more.

A/N: This fic is updated on my AO3 as well. Here. Happy Reading! Gonna try to update once or twice a week but as you know, life happens so we'll see! xoxo K

The quadrant is in chaos. 

Finding out who is alive, who we all lost - it’s a mess. The only thing I can focus on, however, is the fact that they aren’t back. 

He isn’t back. 

I wish I could comfort you, flare. Rathnait whispers to me in the library of my mind. For a brief moment, guilt consumes me. Gripping my throat with the threat of tears and a scream. A failure of a rider -  not able to even give her a reprieve from the onslaught of my emotions. That she must feel it all with me down our bad. 

A low growl as she narrows those golden eyes of her’s at me. Talons tick nervously on the flight field, vigilant over my every move and breath. All I can do is stare at my dragon vacantly. Streaks of dark copper highlighted her grace, her beauty - running down the length of her neck and down each of her legs. Rathnait was a sight to behold, and I was only grateful to be considered worthy to be hers. Her scarlet colored scales glistened in the setting sun, as if mirroring the sun itself in all its bright glory. Her swordtail flicked in the air back and forth, as if it were involuntary. We must not get ahead of ourselves, you would feel it if something happened to him. Don’t you dare assume what I can and can’t handle. Shutting me out only hurts you in the end.

My shaky hands outstretch, desperation to run them against the warmth of her scales. Her nose to my chest, needing to feel the steadiness of her breath on my clammy self. She nudges me gently, trying all she can to ground my spiraling thoughts. 

How could this be happening? How did it come to this? All that will be left is bitter words and unspoken longing for a man who didn’t choose me.

~

“Xaden is already bending the rules with bringing Violet along, I can’t ask him to risk your well being as well,” Garrick murmurs in my ear as we watch the tense showdown between Dain and Xaden. Ignoring the sting in my chest is a feat itself, having to wrinkle my nose to rid myself of  the tears that threaten to fall.

“You're not even gonna try, after everything? You just expect me to watch you go? You’ve been keeping secrets, Garrick. This seems like part of one of them.” Stepping away from his hold, the warmth long gone from the two of us. My desire to punch him, to yell at him at the very least - gods why doesn’t he ever choose me? 

Rathnait glowers at both Garrick and Chradh, his brown scorpion tail - the irritation evident in her golden gaze. Unrelenting. Every tone, every unsaid word she analyzes and catalogues. Watching me get hurt right before her very eyes, and not in a physical way is something she doesn’t stand for. Teeth as sharp as steel snap towards Chradh, the brown dragon pulls away in shock towards the obvious display of aggression. Garrick’s jaw shuts and clenches at the show the dragons are putting on, his ever composed features faltering at the anguish I knew he could see in my eyes, could hear in my voice. 

Just say the word, flare. I’ll teach him to treat you with more care. Rathnait snarls at Chradh as he tries to nudge her affectionately. I don’t want to put her in an uncomfortable position, to push away her growing care for Chradh. You let me worry about that. Chradh knows you are the one I chose, the one I will always look out for.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wish we had time to talk more, but right now I would rather know you’re safe with the rest of your squad. Your anger towards me is worth it if I am guaranteed your survival,” I watch as he makes sure his flight gloves are secure, flexing them before flickering those earth toned eyes towards me. My heart cracks a little bit more - all I want to do is scream. To shove him and get him to see that this is hurting me, is crushing me. How much more can I let slide? How much more can I take?

“And what about you? What if you don’t come back?” The very thought is enough to have my knees lock and heart stutter. 

Xaden and Violet make their way towards their dragons. Squads have begun to launch to their respective posts. Dain and I are being waited upon by Second Squad. 

“I’ve survived too much to lose now. I’ll be back and we can talk - I’ll tell you everything,” Garrick promises, stepping forward to plant a soft kiss on my temple. Clutching his flight jacket, I can’t help it as tears fall down my cheeks. 

“It seems like you might lose me though.”

 Turning around to follow my squad leader, ignoring the curses from Garrick, ignoring the way in which my squad watches me with grimaces and pity. All for fucking War Games, all for nothing. Being co-section leader means nothing to me, Dain can be in charge for all I care. Steps that feel like bricks on my feet, it’s all the energy I can muster towards the group, needing the familiar, needing their constant. Ridoc opens his arms, bringing me in for a brief tight embrace. Sawyer offers a wavering smile.

“Are you gonna be ok?” Rhiannon softly asks, wiping my wet cheeks with her hands. A shaky smile graces my lips, hands busy with making sure my own flight jacket and gloves are secure. It takes everything in me to not watch Garrick and Chradh take to the sky, having to believe that he’ll be ok, it’s all that I can allow myself to think of. 

Xaden didn’t even glance my way, Imogen or Bodhi - no one. As if the rest of the marked one’s had decided together who should and shouldn’t go. Guess I made the cut. My own relic curved over my fingers and wrist - briefly burning as if answering to my very thoughts. 

“Let’s go get this over with.” Quickly scaling up Rathnait, she chuffs at me, making sure I’m secure in my seat. Let’s go flying, Ray. Take me towards the sun. Sending my devotion to her down our bond. She launches quickly, wings flaring gloriously. The rest of the squad is quick to follow. 

I’ll always make sure you’re near it, flare. The light will never die in you, not even from this pain. 

At least she always chooses me. 

~

It’s been 10 days. 10 days of agony. 

I’m the only third year left. 

Expected to carry on my co-section leader responsibilities as if the absence of Garrick is a minor inconvenience. The early sun rises with a flourish of pinks, reds and oranges and all I can do is relish in this fleeting moment of peace. 

No one seems to care or notice that they aren’t back yet. My only anchor, my only comfort is from that of my dragon. Spending many hours against the curve of her back, staring up at the sky in hopes of seeing or hearing familiar dragons, of hearings wings. When I’m not near her, our bond is wide open. The familiar fire red tether in my mind ablaze with every thought and emotion that runs through us. A warmth of what I could only describe as security floods down the bond. 

We can’t worry about things that haven’t been confirmed yet, flare. She knows my true questions, the things that I can’t bring myself to ask or think about. You must think about today, where we will go. 

Graduation day. 

Today would be the day we’ve been waiting for since entering this school, assignments to outposts were being given, and by this evening I would be gone, my journey at Basgaith over. Turning away from the river, I make my trek towards the flight field. The few third years left of this school congregate, awaiting as Colonel Aetos and Commandant Pancheck begin the assignments. 

“Congrats on graduating, Section Leader. It is a shame that Wingleader Riorson and Section Leader Tavis aren’t here to accompany you.” Colonel Aetos nearly sneers at the mention of Xaden. The obvious disdain is unsettling as he rifles through different papers. “Ah yes, your assignment. Due to your signet and the savagery of your red swordtail - you’re being assigned to the eastern wing…specifically, Samara.” The grin directed at me is maniacal, a joke I’m not privy too, a dare. Rathnait snarls in my mind, unbridled rage igniting the very blood in my veins - but all I can do is take the papers from his hand, saluting in acknowledgement and walking away.

Where are you, Ray?  Hands tremble, the crinkling of paper beneath slender hands is all I can focus on as I sprint towards my room. Can’t be out in the open, can’t let them see, can’t let anyone see what will surely be my own falling apart. My own demise. 

You will not fall apart. An outpost is just a different place, as if you haven’t endured years of people hating the very ground you stand on. As if you haven’t been bonded to me. 

I make it to the middle of an empty hall that leads towards our sleeping quarters, knowing in a matter of moments the rest of the cadets will be awake to get into formation. Pressing the heels of my hand into my eyes, I can’t help but rest my back against the cool stone behind me. My own body feeling as if it had everything sucked out of me, the very air I breath feels strained.  

Samara is the front line. Trying to get the ever rising beat of my heart under control, I must not panic. I am a rider. I am Rathnait’s rider.

Are you afraid, flare? I shudder at her question, not wanting to admit the fear, the panic. But I know that she can feel everything, hear all that I think. 

They aren’t here. He isn’t here. A whimper escapes my lips, the reality of it all just crashing down like rubble. I will be going to Samara, there is no avoiding it, there is no changing it. While I had spent years trying to survive Basgaith, I would be sent to one of the most active posts in the region. 

“Section Leader? Ar-are you ok?” Dain Aetos stands before me, hands out as if approaching a scared animal. “We need to get to formation.”

I don't hate the kid, knowing that following the straight and narrow path is the life that is meant for some people over others. However, that doesn’t mean I want him to see me having a mental breakdown. Giving him a small nod, I manage to get myself to stand before fully looking at the Squad Leader. 

Something’s wrong. My own senses are beginning to go haywire. My signet. Only Xaden and Garrick knew. Command and Basgaith are under a different impression as to what it is. None of the other marked ones knew either. The manipulation and detection of emotions however was a daily venture, there was no turning it off, there was only controlling it and living with it and right now Dain Aetos was a mess. 

“I would ask you the same thing, what’s wrong?” Dusting off my flight leathers. I don’t miss the way he flinches at my question, his hesitancy. “Do I have to give an order to know?” Glowering at him - I am still a section leader. 

Taking a deep breath, he stands tall despite the sorrow in his eyes, “Xaden and the rest of the squad he took with him are being declared dead at formation.” I startle myself at the immediate sob that escapes my lips. My body has accepted what my mind cannot. “Leadership has been looking and there is no sign of them.” Feeling the agony of his own loss, it feels as if a tidal wave has pulled me under. The roaring from Rathnait in my brain feels as if it will explode any second. Dain’s grief, his regret all barrel into me with no filter, no shield. Rathnait’s confusion and rage down the bond. My own sorrow, my own heartbreak. There is no stopping it. There just is feeling it. Unaware of the stream of tears that roll down my face, the taste of salt jolts me out of the shock, the horror. 

“Round up everyone, squad leader. I’ll be at formation in a moment.” My voice doesn’t feel like my own, the assignment papers feeling like large weights in my hand. He turns away to head towards the Quadrant, “Dain,” I call out, sounding like a garbled mess. “Thank you for telling me.” His own eyes glisten with unshed tears as he nods. 

My flare. I hear her call out, though to reach out seems like so much energy, all I can do is let her in with no barriers, allowing her to be there in the comfort of my mind. I’m coming, flare. 

Standing at the bottom of the stone dias. Everyone in formation, I don’t bother to look around. There is no one here to look for anymore. There is no Wingleader, there is no co-section leader - there is just me alone at the front. 

We don’t even have our leader. What hope is there for the revolution? Rathnait has no answer for me. 

To look at my squad is the last thing I am able to do, not being able to endure their unsaid questions. Answers? I had none. Being known for being put together, not a hair out of place, no rumpled leathers, no dirt unless necessary was once a pride and pleasure I reveled in. I’m sure the current state of me was a shock. Strands of hair fell in front of my face, eyes dry and cheeks raw from the tears. 

Captain Fitzgibbons overlooks formation, reading off the death roll. “Violet Sorrengail.” A moment of silence as all eyes look to the stoic face of General Sorrengail. “Garrick Tavis.” My heart feels as if it bleeds on the very floor I'm standing on, flinching harshly at the reading of his name. “And Xaden Riorson.” Captain Fitzgibbon’s voice rings out echoing around the quadrant. 

“Well this is awkward,” a voice calls out. Gasps are heard around the quadrant, even command seems unsettled by what’s happening. My knees seem to be locked in place, unable to turn around and see what is going on. My breaths turn into small gasps of air - no no no it can’t be, I’m dreaming. Dain said. I need to wake up. Heavy footsteps approach behind me, and two individuals take up position on either side of me. A calloused hand brushes against my own. 

~

Angry steps make their way towards the leaders seated at the dias. Xaden Riorson commands the very space, as if he were part of leadership. Violet Sorrengail makes her stand next to me, and the presence of the person on the right of me is one I can’t pay attention to - no matter how badly I want to turn and look, no matter how badly I want to cry. Colonel Aetos is furious, cheeks flushed and furrowed brows do no favors as General Sorrengail questions everything that has been happening since the start of War Games. All directed towards the fumbling Colonel and Xaden.

“I was directed to take a squad beyond the wards to Athebyne and form the headquarters for Fourth Wing’s War Games, and I did so. We stopped to rest our riot at the nearest lake past the wards, and we were attacked by gryphons.” Xaden states, fists at his side as he looks at both General Sorrengail and Colonel Aetos. “It was a surprise attack, and they caught Deigh and Fuil unaware.” He pivots slightly, telling the wing the rest of what we don’t know. “They were dead before they ever had a chance.” My Wingleader looks at my briefly for the first time in what seems like years, for a moment there is a crack in his ever perfect expression. 

I must have blinked, I must’ve staggered. My knees crash against the hard floor for a moment before arms reach themselves around my waist to hoist me up. We lost Liam? We lost Soleil? Unable to hear anything other than the rushing of my own blood through my very veins, the beat of my heart as if it were to come out of my chest. Violet flits her hands around my face, her mouth moving but for the life of me I don’t know what she’s saying. 

Liam was so good. Too good. And just like that he is gone? 

“And we almost lost Sorrengail.” 

Violet’s eyes widen as she takes in the horror in my eyes. My friends were in trouble and I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there. Tears blur my vision, and all I can do is breathe through the rattling in my chest. 

I will never forgive you. Pushing the thought towards Xaden. Watching as his spine stiffens, for a brief moment the hurt is detectable in those onyx depths, but in a blink it vanishes. 

“Breathe,” a warm voice whispers against my ear, “ Or you’ll pass out.” The emotions of everyone in the quadrant are too much. However, Garrick Tavis’ were always those of beacons to me - I was nothing more than a boat lost at sea in this very moment. And yet how do I differentiate between him and me and our emotions when all this time I thought he was dead? I thought he was never to come back? How do I ever look at him the same way after leaving me behind? “Let go of me,” shrugging myself out of his hold, I get back into proper formation. Violet watches warily, unsure of what to do. “Go help our Wingleader, Cadet Sorrengail.” Anguish flickers from her emotional tether, being dismissed was something she didn’t think I would ever do to her. To treat her as a lesser. However, in this very moment, the very reality I have endured through seems pointless. There is no belonging to the marked one’s or to a cause or to the protection of Violet and Xaden. There is nothing but the chasm in my chest at every word being revealed, at every tether holding loss and grief. And the worst part of it all is that in a matter of less than 12 hours none of this will matter, Basgiath won’t matter - I will be long gone, a new post, a new death sentence. Like always, being forced to move on. 

Making myself numb is a simple yet effective aspect of my second signet. The dying of emotions is a strange and vacant liminal space in my mind. Gone are the bright hues within the library. The dimming of my own tether to Rathnait. The rest of questioning -  I don’t bother with the insistent touching from Garrick as he tries to get my attention. I don’t bother with the few glances from Xaden, and unfortunately I can’t be open to the bond between Rathnait and I - my cruel humanity unable to withstand her words at this moment despite her numerous attempts of ramming against my shields. I know it isn’t her fault, this hurt and sense of loss that I feel - but I’d rather be alone. 

With dismissal from command, Xaden and Violet get back into formation. There are words exchanged between them and Dain, but again why does any of it matter anymore? As Captain Fitzgibbons calls out the additional names to the amended death roll, there are no tears shed, there is only silence, deathly still silence. Commandant Panchek takes the stand and addresses what is left of the riders remaining. “Beyond military commendations, there are no words of praise for rider. Our reward for a job well done is living to see the next duty station, the next rank. In keep with our traditions and standards, those of you who have completed your third year will now be commissioned as lieutenants in the army of Navarre. Step forward when your name is called to receive your orders. You have until morning to depart for your new duty stations.” 

The orders I received earlier feel like lead against my breast pocket. I had received mine earlier as a taunt, a warning since command had already believed that my Wingleader and his squad were dead. My duty station was punishment for whatever it was that Xaden and Garrick had been involved in, what they are still involved in. 

“Garrick Tavis!” My heart feels like it lodges itself in my throat, as if it were to splatter all over the floor as I look at him, fully look at him for the first time in days as he strides towards the commandant. A new scar lines from his jaw to his temple, deep and red - fresh. His wide strong frame grabs the paper and lets out a breath as he reads the duty station he is assigned to before looking at me as he makes his way back to formation. For the first time, I note an emotion that is rare from him, from someone I have come to know as unwavering. 

He’s scared. Garrick Tavis is afraid. 

~

A resounding cheer goes up in the courtyard as we are dismissed from formation. Everyone has their new orders and I watch as Ridoc, Sawyer, Nadine and Violet gather each other into a hug. Liam should be here with them too, I can’t help but think. Soleil should be graduating with us. Violet tries to catch my gaze but I am not one for appeasing our lightening wielder tonight. A tall figure blocks my vision of the squad, and I know who it is without having to truly look up and see.

“Wingleader,” I nod, staring blankly across his shoulder. “What can I help you with?” 

Xaden raises his hands as if to grip my shoulder, or Malek forbid, pull me into a hug. He must second guess himself though as he falters and his hand hangs limply at his side. “We need to talk, the three of us. And I’m no longer your Wingleader, we’re equals. We made it, flare.” 

Whipping my gaze at him, lips pulled in a snarl. “Don’t. I was never your equal, I was someone who helped you all get away with whatever bullshit it is you’re doing. I was the scapegoat. I was the distraction.” With each word, rage bellows in my belly. My shields must be faltering between Rathnait and I, because I feel like decking him, hurting him. I don’t bother lowering my volume, all sense of decorum out the window as cadets make their way across the quadrant. “I’m not even your friend.” 

Xaden flinches at that. 

“That’s not fair, sweetheart,” A raspy deep voice comes from behind me, calloused hands attempt to grab my own. Ripping them out of his grasp, I can’t help but ram my elbow into his side, the sound of wheezing only slightly satisfying. Xaden attempts to help him but the glare I pin at him leaves him immobilized . 

“What is not fair, sweetheart, is being left behind. Is not being there to help. Is not being trusted after everything I’ve told you out of faith!” Whirling around to face him, Garrick struggles to fully stand upright after my jab. “And now it doesn’t even matter. Excuse me, I have to go pack.” 

Hurt. Regret. All that I can feel from the two shocked idiots. 

****

Shutting me out isn’t the answer, flare. Rathnait snarls in my mind. There is nothing my dragon hates more than to be purposely shutout from me. If I can’t reach your during moments of distress, how can I help you?

Sometimes I don’t want help, Ray. Sometimes I just have to feel it. Folding the rest of my clothes and putting away what few belongings I do have, I’m able to rest for a moment on the bed. The wooden figurine of Rathnait sits on the window, all I can do is watch it. 

Liam was so sweet. Eager to please, eager to excel - and training him was something that I actually found fun. He was the little brother I never had. Someone who could bring me back down from the emotional highs, someone who made me laugh when all Xaden and Garrick wanted to do was be serious. When he made the figurine of my dragon, Rathnait herself chuffed in amusement at how endearing she found Liam. He was just so filled with light that this hellhole had to swallow it up and take it away. It wasn’t fair. 

A knock echoes throughout the empty room. Already knowing what is to come, I steel myself for the inevitable emotional onslaught. Adjusting my new officer flight leathers, I wave my finger to open the door, staying close to the window. 

Both Garrick and Xaden are dressed in their new flight leathers as well. A pack and sleeping pad hitched over their shoulders. Remorse written all over their faces I don’t even have to use my signet for that. 

“Is it ok if we talk in here?” Xaden asks. Yelling from the graduated cadets echo throughout the halls, celebration in all forms was everywhere tonight. Glancing away from their hesitant stares, the sound barrier shimmers slightly overhead as Xaden shuts the door. With a heavy, burdened sight, he slides against the door and sits on the floor, legs outstretched. It’s the least put together I’ve seen from him. Garrick sits on the bed, glancing at the wooden figurine with a wavering smile before glancing at me. I don’t make a move to sit by him, my arms cross as I lean against the window bay. No one says a word. The friendship the three of us had, seems like it teeters on the edge of the cliff. Well it seems like I’m the one starting this.

“I thought you were all dead. That all I had left was the memory of disagreeing with Garrick before War Games and watching my Wingleader not spare me a second glance as he makes his squad when I was meant to be a section leader as well.” Bland words escape me, trying to say something other than the yelling that I want to dish out to them. “And knowing I didn’t even get to see Liam before he -“ I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’ve never asked, Xaden. I’ve never demanded Garrick tell me when I could easily hold it against him as someone he supposedly cared a lot about-“

“Care.” Garrick interrupts. Leaving no room for argument. “I care a lot about you, sweetheart. More than that. Don’t blame Xaden when I am just as much a part of this as he is. Be mad at me too.” His hazel eyes blaze with a fight I know he’s aching for. To yank the deadened words from my lips with something fiery, something that feels like more. Garrick doesn’t know what he’s asking for.

“You don’t think I’m mad at you too? Tavis, I am furious. I am heartbroken. I was resigned to a life without you, and now?” Gasping for air, I pound my chest for some sort of relief from the tightness I feel. Garrick is quick to try and help me but I raise my hand, ordering him wordlessly to stay put. 

“There are a lot of things I regret,” Xaden rasps, “You helped me, confided in me - and I didn’t do the same thing to you.” 

“I was ready to fight alongside the two of you if you had told me to. I would meet Malek with honor. I may not be like you or Imogen or Bodhi - that everything I feel is so much and bleeds with every word I say or person I interact with - “

“No, flare that’s no-“

“You act like I’m not even a marked one. That I am not a part of what you all are planning. I’m kept in the shadows so that command never suspects you all. You asked me to help train Violet. You asked me to be a constant, to be unwavering. For what? To be forgotten?” With each question, my shouts echo throughout my bedroom. Neither of them are able to meet my eyes. “I would die for Aretia.” The whisper in to the space between us hits their mark. The full realization of what I know - the understanding, make it’s way across their expressions, their emotions. Xaden rakes his fingers through his hair, clutching it almost painfully. Garrick staggers slightly, holding himself up by clutching the bed post. “And now? It’s too late. I have my duty station. Basgaith is done. My journey here is done.” 

I brush my signet along their emotional tethers, unable to break the habit of comforting them ever so slightly. Understanding that the two of them lost their brother, lost people that were a part of them. Garrick lets out a shaky laugh as he feels the familiar sensation of soothingness. 

“H-How did you know about that?” Garrick questions, eyes finally roaming over me in disbelief. 

“Did you not think I would know every time you would lie to me? That the drops you were making were all that you were doing? I don’t know anything else but the restoration of home, of our home? How could you not think I would defend that with every ounce of my life for you?” 

“It was never because I didn’t trust you.” Xaden looks at me with a resolve I don’t understand. He gets up slowly, standing tall. “If anything it was because I didn’t want to chance losing someone else we all cared about to. We lost Liam and Soleil too easily. I lost them. I’m the one who is responsible for you all.” 

Truth. Feeling his honesty. Feeling his belief. 

“Flare, if were to lose someone like you, too? You’re glue, you’re binding. You’re a bridge. The same way that Violet is.  You bring Navarre and Tyrrendor together with your compassion. With your grace and spirit. When others look at you, they don’t see a marked one. They see more.” A knuckle taps against his flight leather pants in agitation. "I took a chance and made a mistake and I’ll never be able to earn that trust back. But look into my tether and now that I’m so fucking sorry. That I fucked up.” Xaden pleads, “And selfishly I was looking out for my brother, knowing that if he lost you? There was nothing in this world that would bring him back.” His voice cracks as he looks over at Garrick, a hand on his broad shoulders. “I’d rather you be alive and hate me, whereas dead and I lose the two of you in the process.” 

A shudder makes it’s way past my lips, tears trailing down my cheeks. I felt exhausted, I felt confused and scared and so many other things and all because we we’re so fucking human it seemed like despite my signet, despite my bond with a dragon - I was still so susceptible to human experiences and emotions. 

“I’m being assigned to Samara,” I tell them, not being able to dance around that any longer. Both of them look at me with wide bloodshot eyes. 

“Say that again?” Garrick demands, making his way towards me. 

“Samara is my new duty station?” Confused as to their reactions. “I was assigned my station before the official formation. It’s a death sentence, one they thought they could give me since they thought you were dead and I was a loose end towards command.” 

Garrick and Xaden smile, both blinding and perfect. Garrick for the first time in what seems like ages, swoops me into his arms, clutching me tightly as he cradles the nape of my neck. He shakes in my hold, as if whatever energy he feels is suddenly constrained in his body. 

“We’ve been assigned there as well, we didn’t get to chose our station. I guess they forgot that they had put you there too,” Xaden laughs, watching the disbelief as I realize what this means. 

“You’re gonna be with me?” I whimper towards Garrick, burrowing my face into the crook of his neck feeling the tidal wave of emotions of all three of us. 

“Never leaving you, sweetheart.” He laughs again, rubbing his hands along my back, clutching my hair, doing anything he can to just touch me. It’s been ages since we’ve been near each other like this. I can feel Rathnait chuff in the back of my mind, her also understanding that she gets Chradh with her as well. 

“We get a second chance,” Xaden grins, although I know he means it more towards himself. 

“If by second chance you mean I get to be in, full in. Than yes,” I demand, untangling myself from Garrick, to look at both of them. Garrick clutches his hand in mine tightly. 

“You’re in, flare. However much you want to be involved in. Garrick and I will tell you everything, and from there -“ He nervously wavers, “From there you can fully decide what it is you want to do. There is no one else I’d rather station and fight alongside with than with you two. The three of us entered Basgiath together, we leave together.” 

Opening my arms, he rolls his eyes playfully - ever the grump. Garrick and I pull Xaden into our embrace, clutching each other tightly with relief. We weren't gonna go through death alone, we weren’t gonna suffer alone. Samara was meant to be our death sentence but maybe, just maybe - it wouldn’t be so bad. 

[themultifanshipper]

Seeing your requests open seats makes me happy 🤗

Id like to put another request in whenever you can or want to! Reader x the Spaniards (Alsonso & Sainz and honorary Franco- I know he’s not Spanish) with 🟣 and somehow semi public? Honestly whatever your magic can whip up is good too

Five times Carlos was jealous of Franco. 

And one time Fernando helped him do something about it. 

Warnings: smut, anal (mxm), Jealousy, mention of alcohol, idk if yachts count as semi-public? Fernando is manipulative, he is also bisexual, kinda dom nando, sub franco,  Carlos being pathetic and Nando being a good AND BAD friend, franco gets railed, idk what else to say

Prompt list

● The first time Carlos noticed you with Franco he almost threw up in his mouth. 

Franco and you were walking into the paddock, hand in hand and looking all happy together. 

For the entire day, when Franco wasn't busy, his arm was around you. 

Or his hand was on your back, or your neck, or your hair. He apparently felt the need to touch you at all fucking times. 

Carlos wasn't entirely sure why your relationship with the Argentine made him so angry. 

He wasn't into you like that, you were close friends, and he had nothing against Franco, so his own anger confused the hell out of him. 

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Carlos had been building up the courage to finally make a move on you. 

● The second time, Carlos felt his blood boil when he caught the two of you making out behind one of the garages. 

He'd almost punched the younger man in his stupid boyish face. 

How could you let Franco rope you into doing something so stupid and reckless? 

He was a bad influence on you, and Carlos told you so but you laughed him off. 

You said you and Franco weren't serious, that you were just messing around. 

That almost made it worse in Carlos' opinion. You deserved better than that, you deserved someone more mature. 

Someone who knew to please a woman. 

Someone more like him. 

That thought made him shiver.  

● The third time he finally thought he was getting somewhere. 

 In between race weekends you chatted often, and when you had two week breaks, the opportunities to see each other multiplied.  

You could feel how distant he'd been lately, and you wanted to remedy that by inviting him to your yacht party. 

It wasn't a huge thing, just a few drivers (the ones that could make it) and a few friends. 

But the first thing he saw when he got there was Franco, with his arms wrapped around you as you danced. 

He'd been stupid to think Franco wouldn't be there, but it still pissed him off to no end every time you kissed him. 

And that little number you were wearing wasn't helping either. 

It was somewhere between lace and mesh, covering and hugging your bikini clad figure underneath. 

You'd spent the afternoon swimming with Franco, it transpired. 

The only time he smiled was when you finally gave him some attention, sitting in his lap, obviously slightly tipsy, and told him how much you enjoyed being his teammate. 

Then you pecked him on the cheek, which made his heart beat out of his chest, before going straight back to Franco. 

He scowled the rest of the night, hoping everyone could forgive him for his inexplicable sour mood. 

But there was one other person there that didn't need an explanation. He knew Carlos well enough by now to know exactly why he frowned more than he smiled nowadays. 

● “Jealous? Of him? You have got to be joking” 

Fernando levelled Carlos with a look that clearly said ‘Cut the bullshit mate’ 

They were both standing around, watching the mechanics rushing around on media day, trying to get everything ready for the next day. 

“You have been teammates for two years and you never made a move, of course she has someone else now” 

The old man was right. Damn him. 

Carlos had been attracted to you from the moment you joined the team, but had been hesitant to potentially ruin the great dynamic you had going with him. 

“I know, and it's not like I love her, I just think I could satisfy her better than that kid” 

Fernando sighed. They watched you suddenly emerge from somewhere, pursued by Franco. 

From their vantage point they couldn't hear anything, but it looked like you were having an argument. 

“Ah? Trouble in paradise?” Fernando smirked. 

Carlos hummed thoughtfully. 

He wasn't about to jump in while you and Franco were having problems, he wasn't a dog. 

But he was insanely curious about what you could possibly be angry about. 

Maybe Franco had caught feelings? Maybe he was bad at sex? Maybe you were ending the arrangement because you liked somebody else? 

A man could dream, anyway. 

He won the race on Sunday, and when you'd jumped out of your car and into his arms he felt the weight in his stomach lift, just a bit. 

But you couldn't celebrate his win with him because you had an early flight. 

The more Carlos thought about it, the more he wanted to strangle himself for not fucking you sooner.  

● By the next race, Fernando was officially sick of Carlos' behaviour. 

He'd slumped down on his driver’s room couch and ranted about how he was sure you were in love with Franco because you'd stopped paying attention to him. 

“Listen, mate” He huffed “Do you want me to talk to her? Do you want me to talk to Franco?” 

Carlos scoffed at the idea. 

“No that would make it worse. They would know you came from me” 

Fernando rolled his eyes and made his way to the door. 

“I can be very inconspicuous…” 

… 

That night, Fernando followed you home. 

Not in a creepy way, he just took an uber with you to your hotel, so that he could start a conversation and hopefully dig into some gossip. 

Or at least that's what he told you. 

His real intentions were to get you to talk about Franco, and Carlos. 

And then if he got the answers he suspected he was going to get… maybe a little something extra. 

This week, your hotel room had a minibar, which you and Fernando made full usage of during the evening. 

“So what is the deal with you and Franco? If you are dating it is not very discreet… I am surprised social media hasn't picked up on it yet” 

You laughed putting your 3rd shot of whatever concoction Fernando had created down on the smooth marble of the bar. 

“No, no! We're just having fun!” you chirped “You know, like young people do” 

You winked and Fernando raised an eyebrow at you. 

“Have more respect for your elders!” he chuckled. “But if you aren't serious, why were you fighting in the paddock the other day?” 

“Nando!” you gasped “You little gossip monger!” 

He raised his hands in surrender. “Just curious” 

“Well… if you must know, we were arguing about Carlos” 

Beautiful, he thought, he didn't even need to bring up his fellow spaniard, you were doing it for him. 

“Franco thinks Carlos hates him. Because he has this idea in his head that Carlos wants to fuck me, which is absurd, and that I want to fuck Carlos!”  

Fernando gasped. 

“No!... but… do you?” 

You seemed to hesitate at that. “Well, I wouldn't say no, he is fit. But I doubt he'd be interested” 

He chuckled. “Really? I assumed you were more interested in younger men because of Franco” 

You smirked cheekily at him. 

“Not really, I can go for slightly older men. In fact I haven't spoken to Franco in a few days now…”  

Your hand landed on Fernando's knee, and he gulped. 

"I think I need a change of pace…” 

His eyes darkened and he leaned against the counter. 

“How much older can you go?” 

“I don't know…” you purred, hand slowly making its way up his tense thigh “twenty years? Give or take” 

The look in his eyes was predatory as he glanced at your lips. 

“Good.” He rumbled “Then let me show you the benefit of experience”... 

By the time he got on his plane the next day, he had a plan. El plan to end all plans. He just wasn't sure how to set it in motion. 

● The perfect opportunity landed in his lap a week later, when you sent him a text. 

“Nanooo, how would you feel about an afternoon on my yacht? Maybe have a bit of fun ;)” 

He grinned, typing out a response immediately. 

“I am always down for some fun ;) Can I bring someone to join us?” 

You were taken aback by his request, but you agreed without much convincing, even though he refused to tell you who he was bringing because it was a surprise. 

You sure were excited though, because there was only one logical choice. Carlos.  

The reason (you suspected) Fernando wanted to talk to you that night before… well… 

The memory made your heart beat a little faster every time it crept into your mind. 

How own earth were you going to handle two of them?

When the day came, you picked out your nicest bikini and sprawled out on the deck while you waited. 

When you heard a voice call out your name, you bolted upright. 

That wasn't Fernando's voice. It was… 

“Franco?”  

He grinned, making his way over to you. 

“Ooh you look nice today!” he embraced you warmly, but you just sat there in shock. 

“You were who Fernando wanted to bring?” you asked incredulously. 

“Yes? Are you disappointed?” he seemed a bit hurt at your lack of enthusiasm. 

“No of course not! I just wasn't expecting it to be you. I’m surprised you’d want to… you know, with Fernando.” 

You giggled and he kissed your forehead affectionately. 

“I am up for anything, you know that” 

Fair enough. 

“Why don't I get us a couple of drinks while we wait for him?” he offered kindly, he knew your yacht in and out by now and you accepted. 

Your heart was beating out of your chest as you watched him jog down the steps. 

You weren't sure whether you were happy or disappointed.  

Franco and Fernando seemed like quite duo, but you'd kind of build yourself up to the idea of finally getting to fuck Carlos and… 

Well you didn't really have time to finish that thought, because suddenly Carlos was there, walking across the deck, having just come aboard. 

He quickly noticed your terrified expression and stopped in his tracks. 

“I am guessing Fernando didn't tell you I was coming…” 

Your eyes darted to the steps, up which Franco would be coming any second now. 

“No he did not” 

“Are you… are you not happy to see me?” he looked heart broken and you snapped out of your stupor to go and give him a hug. 

“Of course I am… it's just-“ 

“Listen, I told Fernando if you are not comfortable with this, we do not have to do anything. He told me you would be…” 

He trailed off, eyes fixed on Franco who was standing back on the deck with two glasses in his hands, and looking slightly confused. 

Carlos scoffed “Why is he here? I thought it was going to be the three of us?” 

Franco’s eyes narrowed at the older man. “I could ask the same, I was invited by Fernando” 

Carlos looked at you questioningly, and you looked at Franco, who looked a Carlos, and it carried on like that for several seconds, a festival of wide eyes traveling back and forth. 

“I'm gonna call him” you finally broke the silence and grabbed your phone. 

When he picked up, his smiling face took up the entire screen and he was wearing the most ostentatious sunglasses you'd ever seen. 

“Fernando what the fuck did you do?” 

He just laughed and set his phone down so that you could see he was in a car. 

“Ah, I take it the other two are already there. I’m sorry nena, I will be a few minutes late, don't let them kill each other before I get there” 

He hung up, and you just stared blankly at the screen for a minute. 

“So… what do we think his plan was?” Carlos asked warily. 

You thought back to the conversation you had with him in your hotel room. 

“Well… I'm guessing he wants me and Carlos to fuck.”  your gaze snapped towards Franco “But I'm not sure what your role is in this”

 

“Well… I will get another glass then” Franco responded, and promptly made his way back downstairs. 

“I'm sorry Carlos, I had no idea about any of this” 

He chuckled “Well I supposed it is partly my fault. I have been complaining to Fernando that I have wanted to fuck you since you joined the team” 

You choked on your spit. 

Franco didn't take long to come back and sit with you, each of you with a cold drink in hand while you waited for Fernando. 

When he did finally arrive, the three of you just stared at him, waiting for an explanation. 

“I thought we could all have some fun!” he shrugged. “Given that some of us are already… intimately acquainted” 

You blushed, avoiding his eyes. 

“And also I want to see you two finally fuck” he pointed between you and Carlos. 

Franco, who was closest to him, looked up at him shyly. 

“What about me?” 

Fernando threaded a hand through Franco's hair, pulling his head back slightly and making the younger man's breath hitch as his eyes widened. 

“You… are going to sit on my lap, hermoso, and watch them” He smiled evilly “And if you are a good boy, I might reward you” 

Franco gulped, and that image was so hot your thighs clenched together involuntarily, which caught Carlos' attention. 

“You like that idea?” he muttered, leaning close to your ear “You want me to fuck you while they watch us?” 

You nodded with a small whimper, and that was all Carlos needed to press you down onto the sun lounger and devour you. 

Almost literally, he all but attacked your neck with his greedy mouth, licking and sucking at your skin in an effort to mark you up. 

His hand made quick work of the ties on your bikini, getting you completely bare for him, and he marveled at the sight. 

He then worshipped your chest, sucking hickies into your soft flesh while his hand made its way between your legs to teasingly slip a finger inside you. 

You moaned and wrapped your legs around his waist. 

“More, Carlos.”  

He slipped another finger in and his thumb came to rub circles around your clit, sending jolts of electricity up your spine at the contact. 

He couldn't believe you were this wet already. 

It took you an embarrassingly short time to come, and Carlos groaned into your neck at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around his fingers. 

The sound of a bottle cap opening caught your attention and you looked at where Fernando was lubing up his fingers. 

What made a new wave of arousal course through you though, was that Franco was on his lap, bare from the waist down, his legs spread open by Fernando’s thighs. 

“Fucking hell” you muttered, and Carlos seemed to have the same though as he watched with an open mouth as Fernando teased Franco's rim, before pushing two fingers inside the younger man. 

The whimper he let out made your cunt throb, and you licked your lips at the sight of Franco's cock leaking precome onto the floor in front of him. 

“Look at me” Carlos muttered, and the look he was giving you made butterflies erupt in your stomach. “I have waited for this for a long time, I am going to savour it” 

His eyes were fully black, and he slid into you slowly, inch by agonising inch until his hips met yours. 

You let out a breath, and pulled him down for a sloppy kiss while he waited for you to adjust to his girth. 

You glanced to the side, to where Fernando was placing Franco over his cock, and the younger man didn't even wince when he sank down onto it. 

“Now don't move until I say so” Fernando rumbled, and the order made Carlos twitch inside you. 

He thrusted into you shallowly, figuring out the angle and pace you preferred by the amount of noise you were making. 

Thank god your yacht was docked right at the end of the marina, next to the cliff face so you weren't very visible (or audible).  

As Carlos picked up the pace, he could feel your legs trembling, so he hooked them over his shoulders to press you down harder while he bullied his cock into you. 

The new angle made you fucking melt into the lounger, it was so good. 

 

Franco was having trouble obeying Fernando's orders, the sight of you falling apart under Carlos was making him so fucking needy it hurt. 

Not to mention Fernando's cock buried inside him, stretching him out so perfectly it was keeping him on edge.

“Nando…” he whimpered “Please, I'm gonna come” 

His hips were twitching uncontrolably, and the Spaniard decided to take pity on him. 

“Carlos!” he called “bring her over here so she can suck him off” 

The two of you crawled over without hesitation, and Franco was manhandled onto his knees with Fernando behind him. 

The first lick against Franco's angry, leaking tip made him sob out a whine and you promptly took him down as far as you could go. 

Carlos resumed his earlier pace, and stared at the way Franco's eyes rolled into the back of his skull. 

Fernando held him in place and thrusted into him at a brutal pace while you sucked him off diligently. 

Suddenly his body clenched and he threw his head back in pleasure. 

“Fuck- Mierda… Puta ma-“ 

Carlos couldn't hold himself back at the obscene sight in front of him, Fernando fucking into Franco like an animal, while you swallowed his cum like a good girl. 

A few more thrusts and he was spilling inside you as well, panting hard as he curled over you and wrapped an arm around your middle to ground himself after that intense wave of pleasure. 

Fernando wasn't far behind, coming inside Franco with a low groan while the Argentine let out a breathless whimper at the feeling of being filled up. 

Carlos thought he looked almost ethereal, glowing in the sunset with his lips bitten raw and his utterly fucked out expression. 

The thought almost made his cock twitch back to life.

 

Maybe there could be some room in his bed to explore some more with you and Franco by his side…

[buzzinrusso]

meeting the family

Based off this request !! Thank you and keep sending in more :)) And thank you for 500!!! That's just insane tbh

You had never been this nervous in your life.

It had started the moment you woke up, a deep, gnawing anxiety settled in the pit of your stomach, slowly creeping up through your chest. Every thought was a swirl of nerves, making your limbs feel heavy, and your mind running in endless circles. The day had arrived: the first official dinner at Emily’s parents’ house. You had met her family before, but this dinner was different. This wasn’t just a casual get-together—it was the first time you’d be meeting them as her girlfriend. Her serious girlfriend. And despite all of Emily’s reassurances, you couldn’t stop worrying about the possibility of saying or doing something awkward.

You couldn’t help but rehearse every potential disaster in your mind: What if they didn’t like you? What if you said the wrong thing? What if you tripped and spilled something on her mum’s lap? What if they thought you were too weird, too quiet, or too different?

Your heart was pounding in your chest, and the feeling was overwhelming as you tried to distract yourself by adjusting your shirt once again in the mirror. Your stomach churned, and your reflection felt foreign to you. Why was this dinner so important? Why did it feel like this moment was somehow a measure of how everything between you and Emily would turn out? You couldn’t even begin to explain it, but the nerves wouldn’t let go.

“Em,” you called out to her, pacing around her room. “What if I mess it all up? What if they don’t like me? What if—”

Emily’s voice interrupted you softly, filled with that calm confidence she always seemed to exude. “Babe, you’re overthinking this.”

You spun around dramatically to face her. “Of course I’m overthinking! I’ve never been this nervous in my life. This is huge for me!”

Emily sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with that patient smile that always had a way of calming you. She was standing now, crossing the room toward you with a relaxed energy, completely unphased by your anxious rambling.

“You’re acting like you’re about to meet royalty, not my family,” she teased, and you couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, even though your nerves were still swirling. “They’re just normal people, love. They’re gonna love you, I promise.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, still not entirely convinced. “What if they don’t? What if—”

Emily placed her hands gently on your shoulders, grounding you instantly. Her touch was warm, reassuring, and when she looked at you, her gaze was soft but full of certainty.

“Stop worrying,” she whispered, her voice tender. “They already love you.”

The words were simple, but there was so much trust behind them, so much faith that you could feel yourself starting to believe it, just a little. “You really think so?” you asked quietly, meeting her eyes.

Emily’s smile deepened. “I know so. You’re amazing, babe. You have nothing to worry about.”

You let out a slow breath and, for the first time that day, felt a sense of calm wash over you. “Okay… okay. I’ll try.” You paused before looking at yourself in the mirror once again, still unsure about your outfit. “But what if I look ridiculous?”

Emily laughed softly, walking up to you and glancing you up and down. “You look perfect. Don’t overthink it. My family isn’t expecting you to wear a ball gown or anything.” She raised an eyebrow playfully. “Trust me, just be yourself. That’s all they’re gonna want to see.”

You sighed and nodded slowly. “Alright, I’ll just be me.”

Emily leaned in to press a quick kiss to your temple, her lips soft and warm against your skin. “That’s my girl.”

---

As you pulled into Emily’s parents’ driveway, the nerves returned with a vengeance.

Your palms were sweaty, and your heart was racing again. Every step felt heavy, every breath shallow as you tried to calm your mind. You could feel the weight of the evening ahead pressing down on you. Emily reached over, gently taking your hand in hers. Her touch was grounding, steadying, and as she rubbed her thumb over your knuckles, you felt a slight calming effect.

“Breathe, love,” she murmured softly, glancing at you with a reassuring smile. “It’s just dinner. It’s not like you’re about to meet the Queen of England.”

You turned to her, eyes wide and filled with anxiety. “It’s not just dinner, Em. It’s my first impression. What if I mess it up? What if I say something awkward or—”

She laughed, the sound light and soothing. “You’re adorable when you panic, you know that?”

You groaned, leaning back in your seat and staring at the ceiling. “I’m doomed, Em.”

“Drama queen,” she teased, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Come on. Let’s get this over with. They’re gonna love you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh along with her. Her playful attitude helped ease your nerves, even if just a little.

---

When Emily knocked on the door, it swung open immediately.

“Oh, finally!”

Before you could even react, a woman who was unmistakably Emily’s mum pulled you into a tight, affectionate hug. You barely had time to register her warm embrace before she pulled away slightly, holding you at arm’s length.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s so lovely to finally meet you! Emily’s been talking about you nonstop!”

Your cheeks flushed a deep red. “Oh—uh, really?” you stammered, still caught off guard by her immediate warmth.

Emily groaned, rolling her eyes. “Mum—”

“All good things, don’t worry,” her mum assured with a wink. “I promise she only says the best things about you.” She looped her arm through yours, pulling you inside as if you had been coming here for years. The feeling of comfort was immediate, and you could already feel the nervousness begin to fade.

The house was exactly how you imagined it: cozy, inviting, filled with framed photos and little trinkets. You couldn’t help but admire the picture of a younger Emily—probably eight or nine—grinning with pride on a football field, holding a trophy in her hands. It was a simple picture, but it made your heart swell a little. You could almost hear her telling the story of that moment if you listened hard enough.

Before you could even speak, a deep voice came from across the room.

“You must be the famous girlfriend.”

You turned to find Emily’s dad standing near the fireplace. His smile was warm and welcoming, a genuine look of happiness on his face. He stepped forward, hand outstretched, and you hesitated for just a moment before shaking it.

“No need to be nervous,” he chuckled, his voice rich with kindness. “We’re just happy our Emily’s found someone who makes her happy.”

“She definitely makes me happy,” Emily added, squeezing your waist affectionately.

Her younger siblings arrived shortly after, and you found yourself instantly caught up in their energy. They immediately bombarded you with questions, everything from “How did you and Emily meet?” to “Who asked who out first?” and, of course, “Do you know she snores?”

Emily protested with a flustered laugh, denying the accusation. “I do not snore!”

You giggled beside her, enjoying the teasing atmosphere. It was light, playful, and completely different from what you had expected.

Her family was so warm, so welcoming, and you felt yourself slowly starting to relax as the evening unfolded. This wasn’t some formal, uncomfortable dinner. Instead, it was like you’d stepped into a family gathering where you already belonged.

---

Dinner was filled with laughter, teasing, and stories of Emily’s childhood.

At one point, her mum started telling a story about Emily getting stuck in a tree at age eight, and you nearly choked on your drink from laughing too hard.

“She refused to come down because she was convinced she could make it higher,” her dad recalled, shaking his head with fond amusement. “Took us a full hour to convince her to jump down into my arms.”

You turned to Emily with wide eyes, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “You never told me you were a little daredevil.”

Emily huffed. “I was a very ambitious child.”

Her younger sibling, a 15-year-old girl, laughed loudly. “You were a menace.”

You laughed so hard you nearly cried. Emily shot you a playful glare before leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek.

“If I had known my own girlfriend would betray me like this, I might have reconsidered bringing you here,” she whispered dramatically, making you chuckle even more.

You grinned at her, nudging her gently. “Liar. You love that I’m here.”

She huffed but squeezed your thigh under the table. The touch was subtle, but it spoke volumes, and you felt your heart flutter at the tenderness.

---

After dinner, Emily led you upstairs to her childhood bedroom.

You couldn’t help but feel a bit in awe as you looked around. The room was a testament to her younger years—old posters still stuck to the walls, fairy lights strung across the ceiling, and the bed that was definitely too small for two people to sleep in comfortably.

“This is where you grew up?” you asked, your voice soft as you took in every detail.

Emily grinned, plopping down onto her bed and patting the spot next to her. "Yup. This is where all the magic happened."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Magic? I don't know about that. But it’s cute."

Emily’s room was like a time capsule of her childhood—a mixture of her past interests, little mementos, and the cozy ambiance that made it clear this place had been her sanctuary. You glanced around at the tattered plushies on the shelf, the notes pinned to the corkboard, and the fairy lights still strung around the room in lazy loops. You could almost see the 12-year-old version of her lying on the bed, scribbling in her notebook, or maybe laughing with her friends on the phone.

You stood still for a moment, taking it all in. It was surreal, seeing this side of her—the version of Emily that had been a child, growing up in this very room. You turned in a slow circle, wondering what it had been like for her during those early years. It made her feel even more real, somehow, like she’d had a whole life before you came into it, and you were lucky enough to be part of it now.

When you finally met her gaze, she was grinning, her eyes dancing with mischief. "What do you think?" she asked, obviously enjoying the effect her childhood bedroom had on you.

"I think..." you paused, pretending to deliberate, "...that I’m in danger of getting buried in all these stuffed animals if I sit down. There’s not even enough room for me in here."

Emily rolled her eyes but patted the bed beside her again, an invitation you didn’t hesitate to accept. "Fine. Get comfy. And for the record, I totally offer my childhood room for cuddling. It's a privilege."

You laughed and plopped down next to her, where she immediately threw her arm around you, pulling you into her side. You relaxed into her warmth, and for a moment, the nervousness of earlier seemed like a distant memory. The evening had been so much easier than you had imagined. Her family was everything Emily had promised—welcoming, kind, and full of humor. They had made you feel like you’d been a part of their world for years.

As you settled in beside Emily on the bed, you noticed her room’s soft ambiance. The glow of the fairy lights bathed everything in a soft, comforting warmth, and you felt a strange sense of contentment. Your nerves were completely gone now, replaced with a feeling of home. A feeling you hadn’t expected to have, but there it was.

"You know," you murmured, shifting so your head rested against her shoulder, "I think your family really does like me."

Emily let out a soft laugh, brushing her fingers through your hair. "I told you so." Her voice was gentle, teasing, but there was something else behind it—a pride, maybe, or a deep, quiet affection.

"I know, I just—" You paused, your voice growing softer as you realized how much this moment meant to you. "I’m glad. I was worried at first, but they made me feel like I belong."

Emily's fingers paused in your hair as she looked down at you, her expression softening. She kissed the top of your head, her lips lingering there for a moment before she pulled away, but not without leaving the warmth of her affection behind. "You do belong, love. They like you because you make me happy. And that’s all that matters."

Your heart fluttered at her words, and you snuggled closer to her, feeling the weight of the day slowly ease off your shoulders. You hadn’t expected to feel so... content, so at ease. Her family had made you feel accepted, loved, like you were already a part of their lives without even having to try.

"I’m still kind of in awe of everything," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper now. "It’s just... perfect. You’re perfect. Your family’s perfect."

Emily chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and you could feel the warmth of her smile against your skin. "I’m glad you’re feeling that way," she whispered. "It means a lot that you like them. And that you’re comfortable with me and my world."

You grinned up at her, feeling your chest swell with affection for her. "Well, it’s easy to like your family when they’re as awesome as you are."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she teased, but there was a sweetness to her voice that made your heart skip.

You snuggled into her more, letting the quiet of the room wrap around you both. Outside, the evening settled into a peaceful calm, and the sounds of distant conversation from downstairs faded as the house grew still. But in this room, in this moment, everything felt so right. You could almost imagine the years stretching out ahead of you—visits to Emily’s childhood home, holidays spent with her family, quiet nights like this one where everything was simple and warm.

And then Emily broke the silence with a soft laugh, her breath tickling your ear. "You know, I can’t believe I let you get away with embarrassing me in front of everyone with that tree story."

You lifted your head from her shoulder to look at her with a teasing smile. "Oh, come on. You were a daredevil! It’s an important part of who you are!"

Emily groaned, but you could tell she was enjoying the teasing as much as you were. She leaned forward to press a quick kiss to your lips, her hand resting on the back of your neck as she pulled you into the kiss. "You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?"

You laughed against her lips, the sound muffled but light. "Nope. I’ll bring it up every chance I get."

When you finally pulled away, Emily smiled at you—one of those soft, full smiles that made your heart flutter. "I don’t mind. I like that you’re here. That you’re part of my life now."

The words felt like they meant so much more than just a simple statement. You could feel the weight of them, the affection, the depth of emotion in the way she spoke them. And for the first time that day, you truly believed it. You belonged here. You belonged with Emily.

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable haze, filled with soft laughter, shared glances, and moments of quiet contentment. Emily’s family eventually came to say their goodnights, but the feeling of being welcomed, accepted, and cared for lingered. You were no longer the nervous, unsure person who had walked in through the front door. You were part of something now—a family that embraced you without hesitation, and a love that made everything feel possible.

As you lay there, nestled against Emily, you couldn’t help but smile softly. Everything had gone better than you could’ve imagined, and the future suddenly felt bright. For the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to dream of all the memories you’d create together. You belonged, and this felt like just the beginning.

---

Emily pulled you closer as the night stretched on. The soft flicker of the fairy lights created a peaceful glow in the room, and the occasional sound of distant laughter from the downstairs mingled with the silence of the bedroom. It was surreal being in this space with her, the two of you sharing such a simple, yet deeply intimate moment. You rested your head on her chest, your hand resting lightly on her stomach. It felt like time had slowed down in the best way possible.

“I can’t believe how much your family already loves me,” you murmured, breaking the silence, your voice soft and reflective. “It feels like... I’ve known them forever.”

Emily’s hand brushed gently through your hair, and she chuckled. “You’re making it sound like a fairy tale,” she teased. “But seriously, I think they just see how happy you make me. That’s all it takes, really.”

You smiled against her chest, your fingers tracing little patterns on her skin. “Still, I didn’t expect it to feel so natural. Like I just fit into your world without any of that awkwardness I thought would happen.”

“I told you,” she whispered, kissing the top of your head. “You fit perfectly. And they see that too.”

You both grew quiet again, the contented hum of the house lulling you into a comfortable peace. The warmth of Emily’s body next to yours and the rhythmic sound of her breathing soothed you, filling you with a deep sense of belonging. Her family had embraced you with open arms, and it wasn’t just their warmth that made you feel like part of the fold—it was the way Emily looked at you, the way she made everything feel effortless, like nothing could go wrong as long as you were together.

“Hey,” Emily murmured after a moment of peaceful silence, her voice low and playful. “You know what’s something I didn’t mention earlier?”

You looked up, intrigued. “What’s that?”

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “I told you about my family, but you haven’t heard any of my embarrassing stories yet. There’s a whole list of those.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, now I’m intrigued.”

She laughed softly. “Well, let me just say—there was the time I tried to bake cookies for the first time and nearly set the kitchen on fire.”

You gasped in mock horror, pressing a hand to your chest. “No way! Tell me more!”

Emily sat up slightly, an impish smile on her lips as she began to recount the story. “I was about 10, and I had this ‘brilliant’ idea that I would surprise my mum by baking cookies. But... I didn’t read the recipe correctly. The oven was on too high, and the cookies were black before I even realized it. I remember standing in the kitchen, staring at the smoke, thinking, ‘Well, at least the house is still standing.’”

You burst into laughter, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you did that! Did your mum freak out?”

Emily giggled, lying back down beside you. “She was more concerned about the smoke alarm than the cookies, honestly. She came into the kitchen and just stared at me, and I remember her saying, ‘Emily, you’re never baking again.’”

You snorted, unable to contain your laughter. “I can totally see that. Your mum seems like she’d be very direct about things.”

“She’s definitely not shy,” Emily agreed with a grin. “But she’s also got a big heart. She was laughing just as hard as I was once we aired out the kitchen.”

You smiled, your heart feeling fuller as you listened to Emily’s playful retelling. It was these small glimpses into her childhood, these intimate stories, that made her even more endearing to you. She had grown up just like anyone else—messing up, laughing at herself, and learning along the way. It made you feel closer to her, like you were discovering pieces of the puzzle that was Emily, and you loved every second of it.

"You're so lucky," you said softly, your fingers brushing against her hand. "Your family sounds amazing. I wish I had that when I was growing up."

Emily turned to face you, her expression softening. “You know you’ve got that now, right? With me, and with my family. They already see you as part of the crew.”

You sighed contentedly, letting her words sink in. There was something about the way she said it—like it was just a fact, a given—that made you feel truly accepted, more than you had in a long time. You didn't have to prove anything. You didn’t have to try to fit in. You just did.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice quiet but full of gratitude. “That really means a lot to me.”

Emily smiled, leaning in to kiss your forehead softly. "You're more than welcome, love."

You both lay there for a while, just enjoying the quiet of the room, the weight of the day finally lifting off your shoulders. Eventually, though, Emily broke the peace with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“So,” she said, her voice suddenly playful, “since you’re all cuddled up in my bed and I’m feeling generous, I think it’s time for one more embarrassing story. This one’s a real gem.”

You groaned dramatically, but your curiosity won out. “Oh, here we go. Hit me with it.”

Emily chuckled, her fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm. “Alright, so when I was 14, I had this huge crush on this girl in my class. Like, I had it bad. I had the whole ‘love letters, blushing every time she spoke to me’ kind of crush, you know? Anyway, I decided to write her a note, because obviously, I was the best at expressing myself in writing at that age.”

You snickered, already loving where this was going. “Please tell me you didn’t make it too dramatic.”

She rolled her eyes with a grin. “You have no idea. So, I handwrite this note, and I even put a heart doodle on it to make it super obvious. Then, during lunch, I finally work up the courage to slip it into her locker. But... well, turns out, I was so nervous that I grabbed the wrong locker.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh no. Did you leave the love note in the wrong locker?”

Emily nodded, stifling her laughter. “Yeah. And not just any locker. The jock’s locker. The guy who, by the way, was the worst at keeping things to himself. He found the note, read it out loud in the middle of the hall, and—well, let’s just say that story made its way around school faster than wildfire.”

You gasped, holding your stomach from laughing so hard. “Oh my god, that’s priceless. What did you do?!”

“I spent the rest of the week hiding in the library,” Emily admitted with a sheepish grin. “But the worst part? The girl I had a crush on? She was actually really sweet about it. She came up to me the next day, apologized for the misunderstanding, and then said—‘If you ever want to try again, just make sure it’s the right locker next time.’”

You wiped a tear from your eye as you giggled uncontrollably. “That’s amazing. Honestly, you’re lucky she didn’t totally roast you.”

Emily shrugged, her smile genuine. “I learned a lot from it. Mostly about being more careful with where I put my notes and not trying to be so dramatic.”

You settled back against the pillow, still chuckling to yourself. “I love hearing these stories,” you said softly. “It’s like I get to know you in a whole new way.”

Emily smiled, her hand finding yours again, intertwining your fingers. “I’m glad you like them. I think there are a lot more to tell, if you’re up for it.”

You squeezed her hand gently, feeling the bond between you both deepen with every shared laugh and story. "I'm definitely up for it," you whispered, smiling as you closed your eyes. "As long as you promise to always be this honest with me."

Emily’s voice was soft as she whispered back, "I promise."

And in that moment, with the warmth of her presence beside you and the quiet peace of her room wrapping you both in its comfort, you knew—this was just the beginning of something

[gottencents]

Me After You - Jennie Kim

pairing. idol!jennie x singer!reader

synopsis. after an exhilarating concert, Y/N and Jennie share an intimate moment backstage.

The roar of the crowd had barely begun to fade as Y/N walked off stage, her heart still racing from the exhilarating performance. The spotlight had been blinding, the energy of the audience almost overwhelming, but now that she was backstage, there was a strange sense of emptiness creeping in. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the fatigue from the long tour hit her all at once.

She leaned against the dressing room door, taking deep breaths, trying to shake off the buzz of the show. The tour had been an emotional rollercoaster, each concert pushing her limits, but tonight had felt special. Maybe it was because of the people she shared it with—or maybe because of Jennie.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice that made her smile before she even turned around.

“Y/N,” Jennie’s voice came from behind her, low and playful. Y/N could hear the faint trace of breathlessness in Jennie’s tone, and for some reason, it made her pulse spike in her chest. Jennie always had that effect on her, no matter how many times they were close.

Y/N turned around to face her, her heart skipping at the sight of Jennie, slightly winded but glowing. She had just finished her own performance earlier that evening—everything about her was radiant. Jennie was one of those people who made everything seem effortless, even though Y/N knew better. She had witnessed firsthand the amount of work Jennie put into each performance, the sacrifices, and the discipline.

“Hey,” Y/N greeted her, her lips curving into a smile she couldn’t suppress. She was glad to see Jennie here. They hadn’t had much time to talk before or after the show, and Y/N found herself missing her presence more than usual.

Jennie stepped forward, her eyes scanning Y/N’s face as if trying to gauge her mood. There was an intimacy between them now, something unspoken that had built up over the past few months. Y/N wasn’t sure what to make of it yet—her feelings were still too new, still too raw—but there was a pull to Jennie, a magnetic force she couldn’t resist.

“You were amazing tonight,” Jennie said, her voice a soothing melody. “The crowd was wild. They loved every minute of it.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “I don’t know about that. I’m just trying not to pass out on stage,” she joked, rubbing a hand over her forehead.

Jennie laughed softly, moving even closer to Y/N. She tilted her head, the dim light backstage catching the soft gleam in her eyes. “You’re too humble. You know that’s not true.” She paused, her gaze drifting from Y/N’s face to the floor, then back up again. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest, and the weight of the exhaustion seemed to momentarily lift. She swallowed, unsure of how to respond. There was something in Jennie’s voice that made her heart race—something tender, something real. It caught her off guard, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to fully face it yet.

Jennie took another step forward, the air between them thick with an unspoken tension. She reached out, fingers brushing against the hem of Y/N’s sleeve, a soft touch that sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine. “I meant it,” Jennie whispered. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you tonight. It was like watching someone who has finally found themselves on stage.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Was that what Jennie saw when she looked at her? Y/N had spent so much of her life drowning in self-doubt, self-destruction, constantly questioning if she deserved anything good. But with Jennie, for some reason, she felt like maybe she did.

Before Y/N could say anything, Jennie closed the remaining distance between them. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if both of them were still figuring out what they wanted, what this meant. But it quickly deepened, the heat between them growing more palpable with every movement. Y/N’s hands found Jennie’s waist, pulling her in closer, as if trying to anchor herself to the moment, to this feeling she hadn’t allowed herself to embrace fully before.

Jennie responded immediately, her lips soft yet insistent as she parted Y/N’s lips with her own. The kiss was slow, explorative—tender but full of yearning. Jennie’s hand slid up Y/N’s back, gently cupping the back of her neck, and Y/N tilted her head, allowing Jennie better access. She could taste the faintest hint of the perfume Jennie wore, a sweet floral scent that made her feel like she was drowning in it.

Y/N’s mind raced. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking that this felt so right, so comfortable, even though they were still on the edge of figuring everything out. Jennie had been a constant in her life lately, and despite how unexpected this all was, Y/N couldn’t deny the pull she felt every time they were together.

Jennie’s hands slowly slid to the back of Y/N’s head, gently pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. The world around them seemed to blur into the background. All that mattered was Jennie’s soft breath against her lips, the way she melted into Y/N’s touch, and the magnetic force that kept drawing them together.

When they finally broke away for air, both of them were breathless, their chests rising and falling in sync. Jennie rested her forehead against Y/N’s, her fingers lightly trailing down the curve of her jaw.

“Y/N,” Jennie murmured, her voice a little shaky but soft. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of emotions flooding her. She wasn’t sure what this was, where it would go, but she knew she couldn’t walk away from it. Not anymore. There was something about Jennie that made everything feel like it was falling into place, something about the way Jennie looked at her that made her believe maybe she could finally stop running.

“I know,” Y/N replied quietly, her voice just as soft. “I think… I think I’ve wanted it too.”

Jennie smiled, her eyes shining with something so pure, so raw, that it made Y/N’s heart ache in the best way. “Good,” Jennie whispered. “Because I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into Jennie’s touch, allowing herself to relax in her arms. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she could be herself—unapologetically, completely. And she realized, with startling clarity, that Jennie was everything she needed, even if she hadn’t known it until now.

“Good,” Y/N whispered back, pulling Jennie in for one more kiss. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty. Just the certainty that maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something beautiful.

And it was theirs.