#and I thought that everything with him was going really well

[darkbluekies]

Til death do us part

Yandere!mafia oc x reader

Summary: A summer romance turns dark as Silas can't accept that you've married someone else

Warnings: kidnapping, murder, blackmail, threats, Silas belittling darling, violence, isolation, jealousy, possessiveness

Word count: 5k

He’s everything you could have ever wanted. He’s sweet, caring and works at a bank. He can provide for you. He’s from a good family. Everything about him is perfect, everything you could ever have dreamt of. You could never have imagined that you would find a man like him after what happened last summer. 

You had met a man on the way home from dinner with a friend, someone that had helped you after the grocery bag you had bought food in on the way home. He had introduced himself as ‘Silas’ and had walked you home, carrying the groceries for you. You had thanked him. Silas had asked if you wanted to meet for coffee sometime, and you had agreed, innocently thinking nothing of it. You had gone out with him multiple times. Never actually becoming a couple, but acting like it. It was harmless, you thought. You kissed, went on dates and you knew that if things continued like this, you’d fall for him. 

But you noticed that something was weird about him, and it made you feel cautious in his presence. He never told you anything about his life and when you asked, you noticed that something shifted in his dark eyes. As if he tried to come up with a lie. It creeped you out somehow, because why couldn’t he tell you? Maybe you shouldn’t have trusted a man who tried to cover up his tattoos.

You finally got to know the truth at the end of the summer. A friend who had seen the two of you together had recognised him from a newspaper. He was a criminal, a leader of a mob, who was more dangerous than you could have anticipated. You had cut contact with him and moved away so that he wouldn’t be able to find you again. 

But he did. Somehow, he did. 

Letters have been piling up in your mailbox during these last few weeks, addressed to you and written in red ink. Your heart had stopped when you read the first one. 

“Y/N, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so terribly much. My heart bleeds and aches for you. You left me because you were scared. I get that. I get that very well, this is a world you should be afraid of, but I will protect you. I will take care of you better than that man ever could. Yeah, I know that you’ve found someone new. I know that you’re planning to get married. Quite quick, don’t you think? You haven’t known him that long, and now you’re getting married? Silly Y/N, you’re so cute. Do you really think you love him? Are you trying to reassure yourself that I’m a part of your past that will never return? Or are you trying to make everyone around you believe that you’ve gotten over me and moved on? I know you still think of me. I know you want me. And I want you too. I have never wanted someone other than you. You and me are meant for each other. Don’t marry him. Come back to me. It’s you and me til the end.”

You hadn’t shown your fiance, but he had noticed that something had been wrong with you. You had become silent and distant. Letter after letter came to your mailbox and he realized that something serious had happened. You had no choice but to tell him about Silas and your past with him, the present he doesn’t want to let go of, and the future he demands. Your fiance had promised that he wouldn’t get to you, and that he was only trying to scare you. 

You had been expecting to see Silas at your wedding, but he wasn’t there—or at least you didn’t catch a glimpse of him. Maybe your husband was right? Maybe he was just trying to scare you?

The start of the honeymoon is set to be on the SS Anastasia, a proud liner with three yellow funnels, a solid superstructure and a great reputation. It is set to take the two of you to Spain, where you have decided to have the rest of your honeymoon, away from all eyes and to be with no one but each other. 

A steward welcomes you on board. You thank him and give him a smile. He lets you know that your luggage, which you left down at the terminal, will be delivered straight to your cabin, a suite in first class. Only the best for the newlywed couple.

“I’m so excited to see the room”, you admit as the two of you navigate the ship to find the mani staircase. 

“The agent said that it would be nice”, your husband replies and chuckles. “Now, if we only could find it …”

You laugh. It takes you nearly ten minutes to find the right door among mazes of identical white doors. The suite is divided into three rooms: a bedroom, a sitting room and a bathroom, all decorated with expensive materials and fashionable colors. Polished dark wood and electric lights. 

“This is so nice”, your husband smiles, letting his eyes wander around. “I think we’ll have a good time here.”

You hug him and he chuckles, hugging you back. 

“I can’t believe I married you”, he says. 

Me neither, you think. 

Your mind drifts back to Silas and you feel your heart sink down to your stomach. You won’t be able to relax until you know that the ship has left harbour. There’s a constant, heavy feeling in your chest that you can’t explain. But you tell yourself that it’s just that; a feeling. Nothing more than old worries that haven’t been able to come up to the surface before now. You squeeze the man tighter, sighing out. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be safe. 

You have been promised a fantastic dinner, and the food delivers to your expectations. Everything is tasting like gold, served on a silverplatter. Sitting in the first class dining hall has given you an excuse to dress up. Everyone around is wearing their best clothes, and it is a silent competition in who looks the best. You look around, discreetly admiring everyone else’s attention to detail. You wonder how many of them have spent the entire day in their cabin, doing everything to look their absolutely best. The first night is usually relaxed, but a first time impression will always be remembered. 

“What would you like to do after?” your husband asks and sips on his wine. 

“I think I need to take a walk”, you joke. 

“Oh, yes, the night sky must be so beautiful out on deck. I reckon that you’ll be able to see the stars much easier out here. No city pollution.”

You walk hand in hand down the promenade, looking up at the starry night sky, pointing at familiar shapes. 

The next morning, after breakfast, the two of you walk to the lounge, deciding to take a calm day. Well deserved after planning a wedding and executing it. The lounge is cozy, reminding you of a simple living room rather than a first class room on an oceanliner. Maybe to make the passengers feel more at home.

Your husband takes the opportunity to indulge in a newspaper, finally having the time to sit down and actually read it.

You let your eyes wander around the large lounge, enjoying to admire the small details that give the room it’s cozy feel. But the feeling is quickly switched once your eyes land on someone. A man sitting in an armchair on the other side of the lounge, dark eyes feasted onto you, a small smirk playing at his lips when he notices you noticing him. You can feel your body go numb, feel yourself sink through your armchair, through the floor and through the ship’s metal. Feel yourself sink down to the bottom of the pitch black ocean. You forget how to breathe, head going blank. 

He found you.

You glance towards your husband who’s still invested in today’s news. Silas raises his eyebrows testingly as you look back at him, as if to say “yes, I’ve noticed him, you think he compares to me?”. 

Suddenly the air in the lounge seem to lose all oxygen. You need air, or else you will faint. 

“I-I have to get some fresh air”, you hear yourself mumble. 

“Are you okay?” your husband asks and looks up from his newspaper, eyes full of worry. 

“Yes—”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“N-No, I’ll be fine, I’ll be back soon.”

You need to get away. 

You hurry out of the lounge and out onto the enclosed promenade. The fresh air hits your face harshly. You grab onto the wall to support yourself while trying to find a way to breathe that doesn’t feel like needles poking through your throat. 

“You thought I wouldn’t find you?” 

You feel your heart stop. Quickly, you spin around, seeing his face way too close to yours. He tilts it, almost mockingly. You back away, stumbling over your feet and hitting your shoulder against the wall. Silas corners you, stopping you from escaping. 

“What do you want?” you breathe out shakingly. 

“Didn’t you get my letters?” he asks. “Or did you simply not read them?”

“Leave me alone. I-I’m married now.”

He smirks, tilting his head back and putting his hands into the back pockets of his suit pants.

“Indeed, you are”, he says and sighs out. “But do you really think that’s real?”

“What do you mean?” you almost stutter. 

Silas meets your eyes. He’s smiling. 

“Don’t you think I could have taken you whenever I wanted?” he asks. “The only reason you were able to marry that boring son of a bitch is because I let you. But, in the end, you belong to me. Isn’t that right?”

You don’t answer. You turn your head away, look out over the endless sea, and feel your eyes fill with tears. He wipes your tears with his thumb and you push his hand away. 

“I don’t”, you say, wondering where you have gotten the sudden bravery from. “I don’t belong to you. I belong to him.”

You show him the ring on your finger. Silas clenches his jaw and grabs a hold of that hand, forcing it closer. He pulls of the golden ring, scoffs at it and throws it overboard. You gasp and try to run forward, hoping to catch it before it falls too far, but he pushes you back against the wall. 

“Don’t ever say that again”, he warns you. “You don’t belong to him, how could you? I met you first. I claimed you first. He will have my seconds. Everything you do to him, you’ve done to me first. And he will never do anything as good as I did.”

“I left you because of this!” you hiss, reminding him. 

“No, you left me because you were scared. You don’t understand that you are in more danger if you aren’t with me. I’m the only one that can protect you. I didn’t want you to know about it because I know you’d be scared, but—”, he cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, “—but I won’t hurt you. You’re so special to me. I love you so much. You did read my letters, I can see it in your eyes. You know how much I love you.”

“Let me go”, you plead. 

“No. It’s you and I til the end, don’t you remember? I’m not letting you go again. I’ve been letting you have your fun for too long now. It’s about time I take you back. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Don’t hurt him either.”

You can see his eyes darken, his jaw clench. “You decide if it’s going to be violent or not.”

You freeze in his hold. 

“You can choose to come back to me, quietly and easy”, Silas starts and caresses your cheek. “We will be happy and your boy will be left alone.” He traces your jaw with his finger. “Or … you reject me and I take out my competition and take you with me once we reach Spain. No one will see you again.”

He seems to tell that you’ve stopped breathing, because he sits you down on one of the sun chairs and massage your throat. Your eyes are stuck onto nothing, empty. 

“I will give you until nine”, he whispers in your ear. “If you’re not outside my cabin at nine, A-30, knocking on my door, I will kill him.”

“You’re a liar”, you breathe out, voice barely audible. “You’ll kill him either way …”

Silas shrugs simply. “Maybe, but don’t you want to take your chances? You might save him.”

Silas stands up. You sit frozen. 

“Oh, and Y/N?” he says as if remembering something and looks down at you. “If I were you I wouldn’t tell anyone. You know, for obvious reasons.” 

He gives you a small, teasing smile before walking back inside. You sit still, not daring to move. Worried that if you move you’ll break down and realise what’s going on. You can feel your heart pound in your ears. No. No, this can’t be happening.

“What are you doing out here?” you hear a familiar voice ask. “You’re going to get sick!”

You feel your husband hang his blazer over your shoulders. The warmth, the familiar scent from him makes your heart hang heavy in your chest. You can’t help but feel like you’ve betrayed him, as if you’ve cheated your relationship, thanks to Silas’s threat. But if you cheat on it, you might save the love of your life. Can you cancel out a bad thing with a bad thing? Is it really a bad thing then? Can you be excused? 

You can’t tell him about it, but if you did, would he understand you?

“You don’t look well, actually”, he says and helps you stand. “You’ve probably already gotten sick. You should go lay down and rest.”

He helps you, slow and steady, to your suite. You lay down in bed and he tucks you in. 

“Should we ring for a steward?” he asks worriedly. “Ask for some tea and some medicine?”

“No, I’m fine”, you reassure him dimly. “I just need to be alone.”

“I’m worried about you. Something happened to you. I can help you.”

No, you can’t.

“Do you want to be left alone?” he asks. 

What if he gets killed?

“No, stay in here”, you wish. 

He nods. You hold his hand as you lay with your eyes closed, trying to think of what to do. He was clear; whatever you do, you’ll end up with Silas. The only thing you can choose—maybe—is to save the man holding your hand and whispering reassurance to you. The nicest you can do, in this situation, is to give in and beg Silas to leave him alone. You can’t be prideful and let him kill him. 

You find yourself outside cabin A-30 with your head spinning. You don’t want to do this, but what choice do you have? Your first is heavy when you lift it to knock, the sound of your knuckles hitting the polished wood seeming to echo throughout the entire ship. You can hear his footsteps on the other side and see him tower over you when he opens the door. His smirk sends a wave of nausea over you. 

“So, you came in the end”, he says cockily. “Good girl/boy.”

You lower your eyes to the floor. Silas steps aside and gestures for you to walk in. You do, on heavy, unresponsive legs. He closes the door behind you, locking it. You gulp. He lingers around you like a snake and you wait for him to put his fangs into your neck and shoot his venom into you. 

“You should rest”, Silas says softly and wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Let’s go to sleep.”

He leads you to the bed and lays you down, lying down behind you. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything that could scare you. You try to keep it in, but your body fails you. Sobs, quiet at first, leave your body. Tears run down your face. You hold your hand over your mouth, but Silas is close enough to hear you. He hugs you carefully and you can feel him rest his face into your shoulder. 

“There’s no need to worry”, he whispers. “You're back where you belong.”

It only makes you worry more.

“Your crying makes me so sad”, Silas whispers. “Everything will be okay, little thing. You're back now.”

You don't fall asleep that night, and you're sure Silas doesn't either. His grip on you remains tight and controlling, showing no sign of drowsiness.

The sun rises outside the porthole, and you're as wide awake as ever. Silas gets out of bed and starts to dress for the day. You remain in bed, feeling too empty to move. Your eyes fall onto the tattoos on his back and arms, wondering where he got them and what they represented. But something in you tells you that you don’t want to know.

“My darling”, Silas sighs and crouches down in front of the bed, caressing your face. “You don’t need to look so sad. You and me will have fun. We can do more than you ever could with that boy of yours could. My credit card never declines.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, frowning. 

“Oh? You didn't know?” His cocky face is getting on your nerves. “My men did some digging into him, and it seems like he spent a fortune on this honeymoon of yours. Barely anything left in his bank account. Poor thing was really trying to impress you, but the illusion would be all gone once you came back home. I, on the other hand, have all the money in the world.”

“Your money’s dirty.”

“Money’s money. I could launder it, and it’d be clean, but you wouldn’t accept it anyway. Which is why you’ll never get money from me. You’ll get jewelry, food, clothes—anything you want—and all you need to do in return is submit yourself to me.”

You sigh and look away. 

“We don’t have to talk about this now”, Silas says and stands up. “But you will submit to me, I know you will. Get dressed now, my love, we’re going to eat breakfast.”

Food is the last thing you want right now. 

“I’m not hungry”, you say. 

“Do you want to stay in?” he asks. “I can go get you breakfast that you can eat later.”

You nod, whatever will make him leave you alone for a while. Silas gives you a comforting smile and pets your head before leaving the cabin. You take the time to cry, when you know that he can’t see you, planning to stop before he returns, but failing. 

“Crying when you think I won’t notice?” he asks and scoffs, just a little bit amused. “Do you think I wouldn’t notice?”

He sets down a tray on the table in the room and walks over to the bed, crouching down and wiping your tears. 

“You’re mine”, he says. “Crying about that boy won’t change that fact.”

You don’t answer.

“Will I have to stay in here the entire time?” you ask coldly.

“No”, he says. “Not all the time, but if you want to leave the cabin, you will be by my side. If I were you, I wouldn't try to run away from me or try to tell anyone, because the ship is filled with my men. You don’t know who they are, and they won’t bother you if you behave, but the second I tell them to keep an eye out for you, they will.”

You glare at him.

“But you wouldn’t do that, would you?” Silas asks. 

“And then what?” you counter. “When we're in Spain?”

“Oh, we're not staying there. I'm not allowed there. My second in command is waiting for us there and will take us back to America as soon as we arrive.”

Oh …

“I don’t want to go back. Not with you.”

“Well, life's not fair, little thing. You should eat now. I got you all the things you told me that you liked.”

He takes you to the table in the cabin and starts to feed you the bread, the coffee and fruit. You eat, just you comply, too tired to fight with him. Fighting with a wall would be easier. A wall wouldn't talk back. A wall wouldn't threaten you.

“See how much easier it is when you obey?” Silas says.

You give him a quick gaze. He traces your cheek with his fingers. 

“I look so much forward to having you all to myself”, he mumbled. 

His words send icy shivers down your back. 

You stay in the cabin the coming day. You wonder what your real husband is thinking of your disappearance. Sure that Silas has already done something to make him stay away … or worse.

“You're so down, baby”, Silas says. “How about we do something, hm? We have a whole ship to our amusement. There is a game room, a pool, a library, and a squash court. How about that? Why don't we play some squash?”

You nod, just to get out of the cabin. Maybe you can figure something out. Maybe you can hide.

“That's my boy/girl”, Silas says and takes your hand. “Let's go.”

Walking out with him, hand in hand, made you feel horrible. He looked so proud, so cocky. 

He took you down to the squash court. He picked up a racquet and bounced a few balls. 

“I hope you know the rules”, Silas said with a chuckle. “Or else I will win.”

A man came into the squash court. Silas gave the man a quick, stern look before glancing towards you, and then back at him. This is one of his men, you figure. 

“Give me a second, darling”, he says and takes the man aside. 

They turn their backs to you, whispering. You glance towards the door. As they mumble about something incoherent, you sneak towards the door, opening it silently and sneaking out. You run, but only get a few meters before a hand rips you back. 

“Where do you think you're going?” Silas hisses in your ear.

He slams a hand over your mouth to prevent you from making any sounds and almost you back to the squash court. 

“I apologize”, he mutters to his man. “Seems like my baby here can't behave.”

He holds your back firmly against his chest, hand resting securely over your mouth. “They'll learn soon enough, once they learn the consequences.”

You fight against him, but he doesn't budge.

“Stop fighting”, Silas hisses and turns to his man. “I'm sure it won't happen again, ill make sure it won't, but can you tell the others to keep an eye out for this disobedient little shit? If you ever see them wander around alone, you get me immediately. Leave us now, I need to lecture them.”

The man nods, bows slightly and leaves the squash court. Silas lets you go and you back away from him, but he's quick to corner you.

“You don't get it, do you?” he asks, and sounds a tad bit amused. “You can't escape me. And, come on, trying to do that on a ship? I really thought you were smarter than that. Where would you go? The only place you could flee would be to jump overboard. But you're stupid, not suicidal. And now, all my men keep an eye out. Just accept that your place is here, with me.”

“I want my fucking husband!” you scream. “You aren't my husband, you're a low life criminal!”

Silas’s eyes darken.

“Okay then”, he says, slowly. “If you want him so badly, go look for him. Go find him. If you do, I'll let you go with him. If not, you're mine.”

“Your men will take me back to you.”

“I'll tell them to leave you as long as you don't talk to anyone. Search everywhere. Go to the lower classes, for all I care.”

“What have you done to him?”

He smiles slightly, but it's not one out of genuine happiness, but of mockery. “Do you really want to know?”

You turn around and leave. He follows you. You barely have time to walk down the corridor before a man takes a hold of your arm. A different man from before.

“You're not supposed to walk around”, he says.

“It's okay”, Silas says a few steps behind you.

He wears his chin high, a smirk on his face and his hands in his front pockets. You rip your arm from the strange man's hold.

“My baby is using their brain”, Silas says and reaches the two of you. “We'll see where that gets them. Keep an eye so that they don't talk to anyone. We don't want to encourage talking to strangers, now do we, little thing?”

You glare at him.

“Go, then”, Silas says. “What are you waiting for?”

You don't like how he's changed. Just five minutes earlier he was set on making sure you wouldn't wander … and now he encourages it. Something has happened to your husband and you want to find him as quickly as possible.

You walk away, leaving Silas and his man in the corridor outside the squash court. You're not sure where to start. As soon as you get out of their sight, you stop and sink down alongside the wall. Needing to just catch your breath.

But you don't linger too long. Before you change your mind, you stand up and start to walk. You end up walking back and forth for hours, sure that every eye that lands on you is a member of Silas’s organization, someone being paid to make sure you obey.

You search every little corner on the ship, but your husband is nowhere to be seen. Your suite is empty, but there are signs of struggle. A glass lying on the floor, more than one person's shoe marks on the carpet. You walk over to his suitcase and take out one of his shirts. Crying as you hold it.

“Any luck?” you suddenly hear him say.

Your blurry eyes dart to the open door, seeing him lean against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks so nonchalant, so careless. How can he?

“There are words for people like you”, you sniffle with a voice draped in hate. “Did you know that?”

“What word?”

“Inhuman.”

Silas scoffs out a small smile. “If only you were as smart with thinking as you were with words, you’d have figured it out by now.”

“What?”

“You haven’t found him anywhere on the ship, and you’ve been looking for hours.”

He doesn’t have to remind you. Your aching feet is enough to make you feel your loss.

“What did you do to him?” you ask weakly.

“I have already told you, if you listened to me, you’d figured it out earlier. I said that there is only one way to escape me.”

Your eyes widen as you dart your eyes to the round porthole. 

“Atta girl/boy”, Silas says, voice smooth as honey as he walks over to you.

“Y-You … y-you …”

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t do it.”

“You ordered it.”

“Are we back to the ‘dirty money’ thing again? Does it matter if I gave the instructions or not? It happened, and even if I said I gave the instructions, you wouldn’t take it.”

You hang your head heavy in your hands, crying. Silas hugs you and you try to fight back, but he doesn’t let you go. He holds you tightly, his rough hands keeping you against his body. 

“Now that he’s gone, you have no other choice than to accept me whole heartedly”, he whispers in your ear. “You have no one else. Only me. Until the end of time, til death do us part.”

You sob in his hold, wanting nothing more than to escape. You manage to glance towards the porthole. 

Silas holds your hand in a tight, painful grip as you walk off the ship, surrounded by a few of his men. People on the dock cheer and welcome their loved ones, but you’re pulled right through the crowd. You can’t hear any of them, your own sorrow drowning out all sounds of happiness. Silas takes you over to a car. A black haired man leans against it, but stands straight when he sees Silas. His second in command. 

“Boss, there you are”, he says with a small smile. “Did you have a good voyage?”

Silas lifts your tightly intertwined hands with a smirk on his face. “What do you think?”

The second in command looks at you up and down and smirks. “Congratulations.”

“I wish we could stay here but if the cops get me I’ll be in trouble”, Silas says and pulls you close. “Let’s go to the yacht before we’re noticed.”

He helps you into the automobile and you’re off, on the way to the ship that will take you back to America. Tears run down your face silently. You shut them, trying to imagine yourself in another place, somewhere far away from Silas and his evil entourage. Somewhere where you had never crossed paths with him. Somewhere where things had turned out different. A bump in the road forces your eyes open again and you’re pulled back into the car that will take you straight to your own personalized hell, with a man who is ready to kill for you. You wish you had never allowed him to carry your groceries. 

[delugyu]

beomgyu teaching you how to jerk him off (pls i’m ovulating i need to be put down)

hey twin i’m ovulating too! can u tell by how depraved this is

(wc: 2k / warnings: virgin!reader, corruption kink, big dick!beomgyu, handjob)

beomgyu’s head might explode. quite possibly his dick too. you’re sitting in front of him on his bed, wide-eyed and innocent but so eager to help him with something so dirty. he has to calm down before he blows his load too fast and makes himself look like the virgin here.

“you sure you’re okay with this?” beomgyu asks, checking in one more time before he lets you put your hands on him. you nod with sparkling eyes and a cheerfulness that doesn’t match the situation at hand. he can’t deny how much your eagerness turns him on, though. beomgyu never thought he had a thing for virgins, but fuck, you’re doing something to him.

you sit cross-legged, hands held in your lap as you await instruction. it makes beomgyu’s cock throb, and his head is reeling with all the images of things he wants to do with you. he keeps himself grounded as best as he can, trying to remember that you’re here to learn, not to fulfill fantasies of his own.

“what do i do first?” you ask, looking at his pants. it makes him laugh. he grabs your chin to redirect your attention back to his face, smiling fondly when he sees a hint of embarrassment in your eyes.

“you should always start with kissing,” beomgyu says, tugging you towards him until you’re sitting in his lap. the surprise on your face is pretty cute. “it really sets the mood.”

“okay,” you say, but do nothing. beomgyu tries to hold back his laughter, but he just can’t. it’s so funny to watch you get so shy. you pout, then pull your face in to peck his cheek. he runs a hand up your thigh, endeared by your action.

“a real kiss,” he says. it really doesn’t seem like you’re going to make the move, so he decides to make it easier for you. he cups your face and brings you close, capturing your lips in a kiss that starts out much sweeter than what the moment would suggest.

your lips are soft and fit well against his own, and beomgyu finds himself feeling so lucky that you’d ask him of all people to help you with something like this. it makes him happy that you trust him this much. he bites your lip ever so slightly to get you gasping, letting his tongue slip between your parted lips to deepen the kiss.

he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, so he holds himself back from getting too intense. he’ll settle with this slow, sensual kiss, at least until you get confident enough to take more. your little noises are admittedly very hot, and beomgyu knows you must feel his cock twitching beneath you.

you pull away to catch your breath, and your eyes fall on the string of saliva connecting your lips. beomgyu smiles and licks his lips as if he’ll catch any lingering tastes of you. you hesitantly bring your face back to his, and he closes his eyes and parts his lips expectantly, but your mouth meets his jaw instead. you don’t place a peck there like you did to his cheek—you suck on his skin like you would his lips, pulling away after a few seconds to blink up at him.

beomgyu’s stomach is doing cartwheels. he can’t help but find everything you do attractive, even when it’s done with such uncertainty and inexperience. your mouth continues latching onto his skin and sucking, trailing down his neck. he’s sure that you won’t leave any marks—you’re not really sucking that hard, but it’s enough to have him losing his mind. he groans when your hips involuntarily push forward. he wonders how wet you must be right now if you’re already having trouble controlling your body.

“can i touch you now?” you ask, fingers dipping into the hem of his pants. god, beomgyu’s head is spinning. you must be some kind of succubus sent to taint his soul. if you are, it’s fucking working. he’s obsessed and all he’s felt so far is your lips.

he nods and leans back a bit. “yeah, take those off.” you pull down his pants and boxers both in one go, and he watches with a grin when your eyes widen at his cock springing out.

“you’re really big,” you muse, still staring at his dick. beomgyu bites his lip as he watches you wrap a hand around his shaft, not able to close your hand all the way because of his girth. you look up at him, unsure what to do next. beomgyu has to reel himself in, remembering that he should be teaching you right now.

“you should spit in your hand to lube it up. dry handjobs don’t feel that good,” he advises. he holds his breath as he watches you bring your hand to your mouth, a glob of spit falling past your lips and into your palm. he shuts his eyes tight to keep himself together, trying not to cum from just the sight of you doing something so dirty.

your hand falls back to his cock and gives it a few jerks to lubricate it. beomgyu bites his tongue to hold back a moan, but he can’t stop his hips from bucking up into your fist. your eyes meet his again, curious and bright. he wants to kiss you again, but he has to remember that this isn’t about him.

“is this good?” you ask, working your saliva-slicked hand over his cock. if you only knew how hard beomgyu was holding back right now—even through your clumsy handjob, something about you is making beomgyu lose his mind.

“y-yeah. you can try squeezing a little tighter, maybe,” he says, and he cringes at how uncomposed he sounds. the moment you take his advice and wrap your fist tighter around him, he throws his head back and groans. it seems to encourage you, and you start moving a little faster.

fuck, he can’t cum yet. he’s trying to think of anything else, something to keep him from bursting at the seams, but the feeling of your hand wrapped around him is so overwhelming. you look so focused, like you’re taking notes of his reactions and repeating anything that makes him keen. you’re fucking ruining him, god.

“how do i make you cum?” you ask, and the question itself is nearly enough to do it. he’s catching his breath and looking at you through hooded eyes, taking in your eager little hand tugging at his cock and the way you look so determined to get him off. a part of him wants to lay you down and get you all worked up; it’s not fair for him to be suffering alone like this.

“you can—ah, fuck—twist your hand when you come up,” he suggests, and his eyes roll back when you try it out. your movements are getting more confident now, and beomgyu can’t contain his moans anymore. his mouth hangs open, panting pathetically as he feels his orgasm creeping up on him.

you surprise him when you lean your head down to spit onto his cock, lubricating it even more and allowing you to move faster. you really are a little demon. he wants to bend you over and fuck himself into your cunt, wants to have you leaking arousal and crying out for him. he wants you to be moaning and shaking and begging him for release, but instead it’s him on the receiving end of that. he’s going crazy.

“fuck! i’m gonna cum, keep doing that,” he urges as his hips fuck into your fist. you don’t stop him, letting him chase his orgasm until he’s spilling all over his cock and your hand. he’s groaning as he watches his seed spill onto you, imagining what it would be like to cum on your face or your tits instead. shit, what are you doing to him?

“was i good?” your eyes shine with hope as you wait for beomgyu’s answer, and he chooses to respond with a messy kiss to your lips. you’re not here to let him make you cum, but god, he wants to so bad. his brain is flooded with the image of you squirming beneath him, of defiling you and taking your virginity. he wants to dip his hand beneath your pants and feel how wet you are.

you push at his chest to separate from his kiss, eyes darting across his face curiously. this is killing him. he already feels his dick stirring back to life.

“i can show you something too, if you want,” beomgyu offers, still panting from his orgasm.

“like what? you already came.” he attaches his mouth to your neck and sucks desperately, so needy for you to stay here with him. he’s not done with you yet, you can’t leave him without giving him a taste of you. “gyu?” your voice is laced with confusion, your eyes are too when beomgyu looks up at you as he marks your chest. thank god you wore that slutty little low-cut top.

“maybe i could touch you?” he suggests, hand massaging your thigh.

“but that wouldn’t be teaching me anything,” you say, tilting your head. he kisses you again, so endeared and turned on by your innocence. he coaxes your mouth open and shoves his tongue inside, licking into your mouth and holding your face still. he wants to leave you dripping and needy, to tease you until you’re begging him for more.

he guides you down against the mattress, never disconnecting from your lips, eating up your moans and whines. his hands descend down your sides slowly, stopping when they reach your hips. he’s dying to take off your pants and dive into your cunt.

he pulls back to look at you. your lips are puffy and red, and your hair’s all disheveled around you. your eyes are glassy, and your chest heaves with how hard you’re breathing. he might cum again just from the sight.

“do you want me to touch you?” he asks, hoping you’ll say yes. if you even start to nod, beomgyu wouldn’t hesitate to tear your pants off. he needs this more than he’s ever needed anything else in his life.

you sit up suddenly, which makes beomgyu pull away in confusion. “i should go,” you say, picking up your phone from his nightstand.

“what? why?” did he do something wrong? he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he could have sworn you looked just as into it as he was.

“i have to see taehyun tonight,” you say meekly.

“oh. right.” you’re seeing taehyun. that’s why you had him teach you any of this, after all. he got too caught up in the moment.

you stand up and stare at him, swaying awkwardly in place. beomgyu thinks briefly about convincing you to stay.

“thank you,” you say, not even looking him in the eye. beomgyu’s hands itch to pull you back onto the bed. he wants to hold you down and keep you from leaving. he’d kiss you speechless until taehyun’s not even a thought in your mind anymore.

“yeah,” he says, feigning nonchalance with a simple nod. you’re walking out now, and he has to ignore the voice in his head telling him to run after you.

he collapses against his bed when he hears his door close. taehyun’s his friend, but beomgyu really hates him right now. he can’t think about you and taehyun together without seething. beomgyu doesn’t know where this is coming from—sure, he had a little crush on you some time ago, but he thought that left as soon as you two started hanging out more.

he just hopes that whatever you’re doing with taehyun isn’t better than what you did with him. he’ll be damned if he finds out that taehyun laid his hands on you tonight. he prays and prays that you miraculously stop finding interest in taehyun and leave him before anything happens between you.

what does he want then? for you to come back to him, crying about how bad you need him?

…yeah, that kind of is what he wants, honestly.

[thebestsetter]

"Men used to go to war, now they..."

Isagi Yoichi

...follow you around like a lost puppy.

Need to cook something? Yoichi can help! (Not really, since he doesn't know batshit about cooking and burns everything he touches, but it's the thought that counts, right?) Are you going out? No problem! He's gonna sit put and still on the edge of your shared bed, watching with a fond look as you rummage through your wardrobe trying to find the perfect clothes to go out! (Even though he thinks all of them look perfect on you) Need help shopping? He's already holding all of your bags for you! (Even if he looks ridiculous holding so many bags, but he refuses to let you touch a single one of them). In the end, he's just a lovesick boy who loves acts of service and some good old quality time, so just let him follow you around, yeah?

Chigiri Hyoma

...gossip and do skincare with you.

He literally hates the girls you talk about without even meeting them in real life. Like, what do you mean that Penelope lady cheated on her husband because he was on a 20 days trip? Ridiculous.

Anyways, skincares are a must in your relationship. You guys do it everynight, and, when he's away (for soccer reasons), you facetime to do it. It became a little tradition: he calls you the night before an important game, askijg if you already treated your skin. Then, when you say that you didn't, his eyes visibly, clearly - and a little comically too - light up (even though he already knew the answer. It's the same one everytime. You never do it without him). After that, you both just talk and laugh, trying to calm his nerves down before the game. Most of the times, the call only ends when one of you end up falling asleep. It's honestly cute how comfortable you are with eachother.

He swears he plays better when you do that. His many hat tricks can confirm that.

Nagi seishiro

...can't sleep if it isn't on your lap.

He physically can't anymore, and it makes him pissed.

His sweet pillows that looked oh so comfortable before must as well feel like rocks right now, because NOTHING compares to the fluffiness of your lap mixed with you petting his head. He feels like he's in heaven everytime you do it. He HATES when he's travelling and has to sleep on a 5 star hotel's bed, because how is it SO uncomfortable?? What the heck??

And you can BET the first thing he does when he comes home after his soccef trips is sleep. For a long time. Like, "hibernating" kind of long. One time, you seriously thought he was dead. But it was just the effect your lap has on him. Deal with it.

Reo Mikage

... spend an unholy amount of money on you.

This isn't even surprising. I mean, it's Reo we're talking about: the boy who has more money than what to do with it. And his financial situation obviously reflects on your relationship.

Looked at that hair product for 0.2 seconds more than the last product you saw? He already bought it! Want ice cream? He'll have 4 scoops, please!

The thing is that he was taught money=love (especially by his parents, who tried to make up for their absence by giving him money), so that's what he thought would swoop you off your feet. But it wasn't. It was the tender moments, the gentle kisses on your knuckles, and the goals dedicated to you. So don't think he only gives you money - he gives you PLENTY of quality time too!

Perhaps a part 2 will be written

[dreaminguponlilypads]

HOLY FUCK!!! I absolutely adored “punishment”!! You did really well writing it, had me HOOKED

Would love to see a part 2, please (no pressure tho! I appreciate whatever you decide to post <33)

ofccc!!

PUNISHMENT PT.2

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

pt.1

The days that followed were unbearable.

Simon had faced impossible odds before. He had survived missions that should have been his last, endured horrors that would break lesser men. But nothing—nothing—felt as gut-wrenching as the way you now looked through him like he wasn’t even there.

You weren’t avoiding him, not outright. You still showed up for training, still ate meals with the others, still followed orders with the same precision and focus that made you an asset to the team.

But to him? You had gone silent.

Every glance you used to give him—soft, full of warmth—was now vacant. Every touch, every whispered joke between you both, had vanished. If he spoke to you, all he got in return was a clipped nod or a quiet hum of acknowledgment.

He was losing you.

And it was his own damn fault.

Simon tried everything.

At first, he kept it simple—small gestures, reminders that he wasn’t giving up. He’d leave a cup of coffee on your desk the way he used to. You never touched it. He’d linger beside you during training, offering help or pointers. You’d take instruction from anyone but him.

He hated it.

Then, one night, he found himself standing outside your door, his fingers hovering just above the wood.

He had rehearsed what he wanted to say over and over. Had tried to figure out how to fix what he broke. But for the first time in years, words failed him.

So he knocked.

Silence.

He tried again. “Love.” His voice was quiet, rough with emotion.

Nothing.

Simon exhaled sharply, resting his forehead against the door. “Please.”

Still, you didn’t answer.

But he could feel you on the other side.

His hands clenched at his sides. He could walk away. Give you space. But the thought of losing you, of letting this fester, made something cold settle in his chest.

So he did what he had never done before.

He let himself be vulnerable.

“I never deserved you,” he murmured. “I know that.” He let out a slow breath. “And I sure as hell don’t deserve another chance after what I did. But I need you to know… it stopped being a joke the second I met you.”

Silence.

Simon pressed on. “I was an idiot. I thought I didn’t need anyone. That I didn’t deserve anyone. But you—you came into my life, and you made me want more.”

His throat tightened. “You made me better.”

He swallowed hard, his fingers grazing the ring box in his pocket.

“I was going to propose.” His voice was barely above a whisper now. “Not because of a bet. Not because of guilt. But because I love you. Because I want a life with you.”

A long pause. Then—

The door didn’t open.

But he heard the quietest hitch of your breath.

It was enough.

For now.

-

The next day, Simon didn’t push. He didn’t hover, didn’t force conversation. He gave you space.

But during a morning briefing, when he passed by you to take his seat, he caught the smallest thing—

A cup of coffee.

Placed beside his usual seat.

Your silent way of saying you had heard him.

And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t ready to let him go either.

Simon knew better than to rush things.

The coffee had been a small olive branch, but it didn’t mean everything was okay. You were still distant, still guarded, but you hadn’t completely shut him out—and that was enough to keep him from spiraling.

He took it slow. Kept his distance but made sure you knew he was there. When you needed extra ammo at the range, he was the first to hand it over. When you stayed behind after training to work on close-quarters combat, he was the one holding the pads, letting you take out your frustration in controlled strikes.

And when you finally—finally—looked at him without that hollow expression in your eyes, he knew there was still hope.

It was nearly a week later when you finally spoke to him.

You found him sitting outside, mask pulled down, a cigarette burning between his fingers. It was late—most of the base had already settled in for the night. The sky stretched above, dark and endless.

You hesitated.

He noticed.

“Didn’t think I’d see you out here,” he murmured, flicking the ash from his cigarette. He didn’t look at you, didn’t push—just let you decide how much space you needed.

You sat down beside him, leaving just enough distance that he felt the absence of your usual warmth.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“I don’t know how to fix this.” Your voice was quiet, raw.

Simon inhaled deeply, exhaling a slow stream of smoke before finally turning to look at you. “I don’t either,” he admitted. “But I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You swallowed, your fingers curling around the fabric of your fatigues. “I trusted you.” Your voice wavered slightly. “You made me believe I was worth something, that I—” You exhaled shakily. “And then I find out it started as some bet?”

Regret twisted in his chest. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Your voice sharpened, but not with anger—just pain. “You don’t know what it’s like to finally feel wanted, only to realize it was never real to begin with.”

Simon clenched his jaw. “It was real,” he said firmly. “Maybe not at first. And maybe I was too much of a coward to tell you sooner. But everything after that first date? That was real.”

You searched his face, eyes flickering over every inch of him like you were trying to determine if he was telling the truth.

And then, so quietly he almost missed it—

“I don’t know if I can trust you again.”

The words hit harder than any bullet.

For someone who hardly trusted anyone, it sure hurt more than it should've.

Simon exhaled, his grip tightening around the cigarette before he finally put it out. “Then let me earn it back.” His voice was steady, unwavering. “However long it takes.”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t leave, either.

Instead, after a long silence, you leaned just slightly against him, the smallest shift, barely noticeable—but he felt it.

And Simon knew.

You weren’t ready to forgive him.

But you weren’t ready to walk away, either.

[daryltwdixon]

Could you do bicep choking 🌚🙈

Daryl Dixon x Reader Grip

Summary: You let something slip—just a thought, just a passing comment—but Daryl hasn’t been able to shake it since. A week later, the tension between you reaches a breaking point.  tags: smut MDNI 18+, awkward pining, pinv, breast play, praise kink. awkward daryl & fmc, bicep choking obvi a/n: hello my love! thank you so much for this request and for your patience. in a second ask, anon did specify that they meant Daryl bicep choking. fair warning, I did not reread this a ton / proofread much. please lmk of any mistakes/errors!

The sun hangs low over the trees, heat pressing in heavy as you weave through the abandoned gas station, boots crunching softly over broken glass. Daryl moves a few steps ahead, bow slung across his back, knife in hand, moving with that effortless quiet of his. Always aware. Always in control.

And his arms.

You tell yourself you’re just paying attention—watching his movements like he watches everything else around him, staying alert. But your gaze keeps catching on the shift of muscle beneath his skin, the way his forearms flex when he grips his knife, the lazy tension in his biceps every time he lifts his arm to wipe sweat off his brow.

You shouldn’t be looking.

But it’s hard not to.

Especially when he plants a boot on a fallen shelf, using his weight to pry open a rusted metal door. The strain makes his muscles coil tight, veins standing out just enough to make you swallow hard.

"Well?" His voice snaps you out of it.

You blink. "What?"

Daryl jerks his chin toward the darkened storage room behind the door. "You goin’ in first or what?"

Shit. You’ve been staring.

"Yeah. Right. On it."

You step past him, ears burning. The space inside smells like old rot and motor oil, a few overturned boxes scattered around. You crouch, rifling through some supplies, heart still kicking too fast. It’s stupid. You’ve been on runs with him before. But something about today—the heat, the silence between you, the way he’s been rolling his shoulders like his muscles are wound too tight—has you hyper-aware of every damn thing he does.

A tin of peaches clatters loose from a shelf, and you reach for it at the same time he does. Your fingers barely brush his, but the contact is enough to send a jolt up your arm, like static crackling under your skin. He pauses. Just for a second. And when he draws back, you swear you catch the flicker of his gaze sweeping over you before he looks away.

You can feel your pulse in your throat.

You should let it go. Should get back to work. But the words are out before you can stop them.

"You ever—" You hesitate, pulse hammering, but you push through. "You ever, I don’t know, choke somebody with your arms before?"

Daryl stops. Slowly, he turns his head toward you, eyes narrowing just slightly. His bicep shifts as he adjusts his grip on the tin in his hand. "The hell kinda question is that?"

Shiiiit. You fucked up.

But instead of retreating, you force yourself to keep looking at him, tilting your chin up just a little. "I just mean, you’re strong." A shrug, like it’s no big deal. "Bet you could hold somebody down real easy."

Silence.

Then, Daryl exhales through his nose, shaking his head. But there’s something in his expression—something flickering behind his eyes, sharp and considering.

He tosses the tin into your hands and mutters, "You’re weird." and walks away.

═════════════════════════

Back at the prison, dinner is quiet, the usual hum of conversation mixed with the occasional scrape of utensils against tin plates. Most people are too tired to talk much, a day of tending to the gardens, cleaning out cell blocks and keeping walkers at bay making everyone look forward to the slower evenings. The air in the hall feels thick with the kind of exhaustion that settles deep, making everything feel slow, heavy.

You should be eating, but your stomach isn’t interested.

Because Daryl’s staring at you.

You haven’t looked at him, not really since you got back, but you can feel it. That steady weight from across the room, the burning of your ears, it makes it almost impossible to keep your stomach from doing somersaults. 

You should’ve kept your mouth shut on the run. Should’ve swallowed the words down, let them die in your throat. But no—you had to go and say it. Maybe it was your stupid hormones, the way he seemed to speak to some primal part of you that evolution put in your dna, maybe it was just some stupid impulse you couldn’t control. Either way, it’s too late now.

Not like it meant anything.

Except, if it didn’t, why was he still looking at you?

Your fingers tighten around your fork, but you don’t move to take another bite. Instead, you stare at the food on your plate, willing yourself to focus on anything other than the way your face feels too warm, the way your pulse is pressing a little harder than it should.

Maggie shifts in her seat, nudging Beth’s arm. “You good?”

You blink, glance up. Beth tilts her head, studying you, while Maggie smirks like she already knows something you don’t.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost today or somethin’,” Maggie says, “The run go that bad?”

“N-no,” you stammer, already feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, “It went fine. Got a lotta good stuff, actually.”

Maggie hums, unconvinced, and you watch as her eyes flicker behind you when she says, looking back at her plate, “Looks like someone’s got a little crush.”

The fork slips from your fingers, clattering against the plate, “I do not!”

But your reaction is what does it– it’s too sharp, too defensive. Beth startles a little, but Maggie just stares, slow realization spreading across her face as you lock eyes with her.

“I was only kiddin’." she says incredulously, "I meant the grouchy archer sittin' across the room, he keeps starin’ atcha.” she shakes her head, eyes lighting up. “But I see I’ve been mistaken.” She leans in. “You like Daryl?”

Your stomach drops.

Beth gasps, slapping Maggie’s arm. “Oh my god.”

Your face is on fire. “I don’t—”

Maggie grins. “Holy shit, you totally do.”

Beth’s trying to stifle a giggle. You shake your head fast, like that’ll help, like it’ll undo the last five seconds, but it only makes Maggie look even more certain. You can feel the walls closing in, feel their eyes on you, but worse—you can still feel his.

It’s too much. You push your plate away and mutter a quiet, “Not hungry anymore,” before standing and heading for the stairs, their laughter echoing behind you.

You don’t look back, because if you were to turn around and find those ocean blue eyes still on you, it would be your undoing.

═════════════════════════

The book in your hands is old, pages yellowed and brittle at the edges, the spine cracked so deep you have to be careful when you turn the pages. You’re not even sure what it’s about. Something about a man lost at sea. Maybe.

You’ve been staring at the same paragraph for the last ten minutes.

It’s not that it’s boring. It’s just that your mind refuses to focus.

You shift on your cot, tugging the blanket over your lap, trying again, but it’s useless. Your brain keeps circling back, over and over, to dinner. To Maggie’s knowing grin, Beth’s giggles, and—worst of all—Daryl.

You squeeze your eyes shut, exhaling sharply. You should’ve never said anything. Should’ve kept that stupid thought locked away where it belonged.

A quiet scuff of boots outside your cell makes your stomach jolt. There’s a pause, then a hesitant knock against the frame of your open door. Not loud or rushed, more like a question.

You look up.

Daryl stands in the doorway, hands shoved deep into his pockets, head slightly ducked. His shoulders are hunched, like he’s already thinking about leaving before he’s even fully stepped inside.

For a moment, neither of you say anything.

Then, he clears his throat. “Didn’t know ya read.”

You blink. It’s such a small thing to say, but something about the way he says it, like he’s searching for an easy way in, trying to settle into the conversation, makes your stomach tighten.

You glance at the book in your lap. “Yeah. Helps pass the time.”

Daryl nods, his eyes flicking around the small space of your cell, like he’s looking for something else to comment on, something to delay whatever it is he actually came here for. Between your haphazardly taped posters and handmade streamers, he doesn’t find anything, so instead, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, exhales through his nose, then finally says:

“That thing you asked me.”

Your stomach drops. Of course. You should’ve known that was why he was here.

Your fingers tighten around the book, but you shake your head quickly. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry if I made you–”

“You think I can?” he asks, huffing.

You frown. “Think you can what?”

His jaw tenses, and when he speaks again, it’s lower. Almost cautious. “Forget it.”

Your breath catches slightly.

He shrugs, but it’s not casual. It’s forced. “Ain’t exactly somethin’ you just let go of.”

Your chest feels too tight all of a sudden. You can’t quite place the look on his face—something careful, something guarded, like he’s trying not to let on that it’s been sitting in the back of his head since you said it. What went through his mind when you asked him?

You shift on your cot, swallowing. “Daryl, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

His gaze flickers, just barely. “Yeah?”

You nod, but something in the way he’s looking at you makes your throat dry out. He still doesn’t seem convinced.

“You think that’s what I am?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge there, frustration starting to rise in his voice. “Some kinda animal? The kind of man who would kill someone with–” he shakes his head slightly, jaw clenching. “You think I’m like that?”

The realization hits you hard. Your stomach twists. “Daryl, no,” you say quickly, sitting up straighter. “That’s not—”

He shakes his head again, looking at the floor. “Wouldn’t blame ya.”

Your heart kicks against your ribs. “That’s not what I meant.”

Daryl exhales, folding his arms over his chest, still avoiding your eyes. “Then what did you mean?”

You hesitate. Because now he’s looking at you. Not guarded, not distant—just waiting.

Your fingers press into the book in your lap. This is your chance to brush it off. Laugh it away. But you can already feel the heat creeping up your face, and Daryl is still standing there, still waiting, and if you don’t say it now, he’s just going to keep thinking the worst.

You shift slightly. “I meant…” Your throat feels tight. “I meant in bed.”

Daryl blinks.

His whole body stiffens, like his brain short-circuited, like the words hit him sideways and he can’t quite recover. His face is already turning red, slow at first, then creeping all the way up to his ears.

Your own face burns, and you clear your throat, pushing through the embarrassment. “I meant—if you’d ever choked someone in bed. With your arms.”

A silence falls over the room. A long, unbearable silence.

Daryl shifts, dragging a hand over his mouth. He scratches the back of his head, looks anywhere but at you.

Finally, he exhales, mutters, “Jesus,” under his breath, then huffs out a quiet, almost nervous laugh.

Your stomach clenches. “I know. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s—uh. That’s what ya meant?”

You nod quickly, still burning. “Yeah.”

Daryl looks at you for a second. His fingers flex slightly at his sides, like he’s thinking too hard about where to put them.

Then, after a long pause—his voice comes out quieter.

“You’d want me to?”

Your stomach drops.

Your eyes snap to his. “What?”

Daryl shrugs, but it’s forced, like he’s trying to play off how red his face still is. “I dunno. Just—” His mouth twitches slightly, like he can’t believe he’s even saying this. “Sounded like somethin’ you were real curious about.”

Your breath catches.

He’s not teasing, not quite—but there’s something in the way he says it, something light, something almost amused. Like he’s surprised at himself, surprised at you, but now that he’s said it, he’s not taking it back.

Your mouth opens, then closes again. Your hands are way too warm.

“I wouldn’t—” you swallow. “I wouldn’t not want you to.”

Daryl huffs out another soft laugh, shaking his head, glancing toward the hall like he’s wondering how the hell this conversation ended up here.

Then he looks back at you, eyes a little sharper now, lips twitching.

The heat in your face flares as he just chuckles under his breath, rubbing at his jaw before he steps back toward the door.

“Get some sleep,” he says, still smirking.

He turns, but not before you catch it—just the slightest flicker of something in his expression.

Something knowing. Something interested.

And when he finally walks away, you can’t do anything except stare at the empty doorway and try to remember how to breathe.

═════════════════════════

The past week has been unbearable.

It’s not like anything has happened, not really. No one has said anything, no lines have been crossed, but the air between you and Daryl hasn’t been the same since that night in your cell.

It’s in the way his eyes catch on you more often now. The way he lingers a little too long before walking away. The way your skin prickles when he’s nearby, too aware of the space he takes up, too aware of how small you feel in comparison.

And now, you’re on another run together.

“Last one went well,” Rick had said, shoving packs toward both of you. “Might as well stick with what works.”

The drive into town is quiet. Neither of you talk much, just like last time, but it’s not the same. There’s a different kind of weight, and you’re grateful that the open road on the motorcycle leaves little conversation to be said over its echoing roar.

When you finally reach an old pharmacy on the outskirts, the sun is starting to climb higher in the sky, heat burning your neck and the pavement glimmering.

Inside, dust clings to everything, thick in the air. It smells stale, like old paper and time left to rot. Shelves are overturned, bottles and boxes scattered across the floor.

You do your job, scanning for anything useful, but your focus keeps slipping.

Because every time you glance up, Daryl is there.

He’s not doing anything different. Not saying anything. Just moving through the space like he always does—quiet, efficient. But somehow, it feels like every single movement is deliberate. Like every shift of muscle under his skin is something you shouldn’t be watching, but you are.

The dust-covered counter at the back of the building gives you something to focus on, something to do besides thinking about the weight of Daryl’s gaze. You hop over the counter and crouch down, scanning the lowest shelf, rifling through half-empty boxes of medication, checking for anything still worth taking back.

A prickle of awareness crawls up the back of your neck.

It’s not the usual kind of awareness you get on a run, not the instinct that tells you someone—or something— dangerous is lurking nearby. It’s different. Warmer. Closer.

When you stand, a bottle of pills in your hand, you nearly jump out of your skin.

Daryl is right there, barely a foot away, standing between you and the only way out.

Your breath stutters. He doesn’t usually get this close without reason.

He’s blocking the exit, but it doesn’t feel like he’s trapping you—it feels like he’s stopping himself from walking away. His weight shifts between his feet, his arms twitch like they want to cross, but he doesn’t move, just watches you with something unreadable in his eyes.

Your fingers tighten around the bottle in your hand. “Wha—what’s up?”

Daryl doesn’t answer at first. He just looks at you, quiet and considering, something simmering beneath the surface. His teeth catch against the corner of his lip for a second, his fingers flex at his sides, but it’s like he still hasn’t worked out how to say whatever it is that’s sitting heavy on his chest.

Then he exhales through his nose and mutters, “Can’t stop thinkin’.”

His voice is rough, like the words have been stuck in his throat all day.

Your pulse jumps. “Thinking... about what?”

He shifts again on uneven footing, glancing toward the counter before dragging his gaze back to you. The moment stretches, thick enough to smother, before he finally speaks again.

“Since last time,” he mutters, voice quieter now. Your stomach flips. He shakes his head, almost to himself. “You got me all fucked up, girl.”

It’s not frustration, not really—it’s more like exhaustion, like he’s tired of pretending that something between you hasn’t changed. And when he steps forward, closing the last bit of space between you, your body reacts before your brain catches up.

Your back hits the wall behind you.

The old metal shelving is cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat rolling off him. He’s so close now, close enough that you catch the faint scent of pine and sweat clinging to him, close enough that every nerve in your body locks up, unsure whether to tense or melt.

His arms come up, hands bracing against the metal on either side of you, and suddenly you can’t look anywhere but at him.

Your breath feels too shallow.

Daryl dips his head slightly, breath warm against your cheek, and you hear the way he inhales, slow and deep, smelling the remnants of the apple shampoo you used days ago. 

“S’not like I haven’t thought of ya before.”

A shiver runs down your spine, and your lips part, but you don’t know what to say. You can barely think straight with him this close, his voice this low. He smells of musk and leather and summer sunshine, something distinctly masculine and Daryl all at once. His words sink in, heavy and real, and before you can even process them, he huffs a quiet breath, shaking his head against the side of yours.

“Thought of ya a lot, actually.”

Your stomach twists, heat flaring under your skin.

Daryl pulls back just enough to look at you, and that’s when you see it—the way his pupils are blown, the way his breath comes slow and measured like he’s still holding something back. His jaw is tight, his fingers flex slightly against the metal, and you don’t know whether he’s waiting for permission or for you to push him away.

“Say somethin’,” he murmurs, voice rough like gravel in your ears. “Please.”

You reach up then, your hand trembling slightly as your fingers brush along his jaw, skimming over the uneven scruff growing in patches on his face. He exhales, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you trace up along his cheekbone, down the side of his neck, feeling the tension there, the way his pulse beats strong beneath your fingertips.

“I think of you a lot too,” you finally manage to say, and it’s barely louder than a whisper.

His eyes open, still blown wide as they flicker between yours, then drop to your lips. His breath is slow, measured, like he’s forcing himself to hold back.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you breathe. It’s more than just a response—it’s permission, it’s consent, letting him know that whatever he’s thinking, whatever’s been running through his mind, you want it too.

And like you’ve just cut the cord that’s been wound too tight between you, he pushes forward, his lips crashing into yours with urgency.

You’re surprised just how soft his lips are, how gentle he tries to be, but the way he moves is anything but hesitant. There’s no testing, no waiting—he’s done holding back, done second-guessing. He kisses you like he’s been starving for it, like it’s something he’s wanted for too damn long, and you can’t help but act in equal fervor.

Your fingers tighten against his jaw, then slide up into his hair, gripping, pulling. He groans into your mouth, the sound low, wrecked, sending a sharp pulse of heat straight through you. His hands move without restraint now, gripping at your waist, fingers pressing into your hips, pulling you closer like the space between you is unbearable.

You barely register the sharp clatter of bottles knocked from the shelves as your back presses harder against the metal. Daryl doesn’t seem to care. If anything, the mess spurs him on, makes him more reckless, more desperate.

He kisses you deeper, tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your legs weak, makes your stomach tighten. He’s breathing hard, fingers digging into your sides, body pressing fully into you now, until there’s nothing between you but heat and friction.

His lips drag from your mouth down to your jaw, then lower, his breath hot as he murmurs against your skin. “Been losin’ my mind over you all damn week.” His teeth catch on the pulse in your neck, not biting, just grazing, making you shudder. “Longer than that, if I’m bein’ honest.”

Your nails bite into his shoulders as he kisses lower, pressing into the spot just beneath your jaw, the one that makes your breath hitch. His hands are everywhere—roaming, gripping, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips brush against bare skin, warm and rough, and you arch into his touch without thinking.

“Daryl…”

He groans at the way you say his name, a quiet, broken sound that sends a deep shudder through his body. He presses his forehead against yours for a second, breath ragged, like he’s trying to steady himself but failing. Then his hands tighten on your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter of the pharmacy.

You gasp softly, but he’s already between your legs, already pulling you flush against him, the heat between your bodies unbearable. His lips are on yours again, claiming, devouring, his hands moving up your thighs, squeezing, gripping like he can’t get enough.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as you kiss him harder, the urgency between you growing into something more frantic, more consuming. His hands slide beneath your shirt, pushing it up and over your head, and you shiver as his palms drag over your ribs, rough and warm.

His mouth leaves yours just long enough to mutter against your skin, voice thick with something wild, something unraveling. “You sure about this?”

Your only answer is to pull him back in, crashing your lips to his, fingers fisting in his shirt as you tug him closer, needing him, needing more.

That’s all he needs. His shirt is gone in the next instant with yours following suit, and the moment the fabric is over your head, his lips are on you again, everywhere. You arch into his touch, heat rolling through you as his mouth works down your neck, trailing over your collarbone, then lower. Each kiss leaves behind something electric, something you feel everywhere, and when he drags lower still, down onto your bare chest, his lips and teeth and tongue worship everywhere but where you want him most.

Your breath hitches, your hands restless, gripping at his arms, his shoulders, his hair—anywhere you can reach, anywhere you can pull him closer. He’s between your legs now, his body solid, burning against yours, his hands gripping your thighs, fingers flexing like he’s holding himself back.

You look down at him, ready to beg, but the sight of him wrecks you.

Daryl between your legs, his lips on your skin, mouth open, breath warm as he stares at you like he’s never seen anything like you before.

Any coherent thought vanishes the moment his lips close around your nipple.

A breathless moan leaves your lips as his tongue flicks over it, hot and slow, sending a deep ache curling low in your stomach. His rough fingers knead your other breast, rolling and pinching your sensitive skin in just the right way, his touch deliberate, like he’s learning you, like he’s memorizing every reaction.

You arch into him, pressing closer, needing more, but he keeps the pace slow, like he’s savoring every second, like he wants to soak in every feel of your body against his. 

His tongue swirls over the sensitive bud, lips tugging gently before he soothes it with another slow flick, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. His other hand stays firm on your breast, rolling, kneading, fingers rough with callouses as he works you over with slow, steady intent. It’s almost too much, yet not enough, and you feel yourself tilting between the two sensations, every nerve in your body locked onto the way he’s touching you, kissing you, like he never wants to stop.

You’re barely aware of your own sounds, the quiet gasps, the soft moans, the way your hands dig into his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, needing him closer. His mouth moves lower, lips dragging down your stomach, his hands sliding along your sides, gripping your waist like he’s grounding himself.

Then, just when you think he’s going to keep going, he stops.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, chest rising and falling, lips slick and parted. His hands squeeze at your waist, thumbs brushing slow over your skin, and he swallows, throat bobbing as he exhales through his nose.

“Turn around,” he murmurs, voice wrecked, thick with something dark, something unfiltered.

Your breath catches.

You do as he says, shifting, dropping your feet to the floor and gripping the edge of the counter to steady yourself as you twist in his hold. The air feels even thicker now, hotter, your pulse hammering as his hands slide over your hips, guiding you exactly where he wants you.

His palms press firm against your lower back, tracing down to your waist before his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants. There’s no rush in the way he tugs them down, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every new inch of skin he reveals. The scrape of fabric against your thighs sends a shiver rolling through you, and when they finally pool at your ankles, his hands smooth back up, gripping, kneading, pulling you back into him.

A sharp inhale leaves your lips when you feel him press against you, his breath warm at the curve of your neck. His fingers flex at your hips, gripping tight, like he’s still trying to hold himself back, like he’s at war with the need running through him.

“Goddamn,” he mutters under his breath.

You don’t have time to respond before his lips are on your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin, hands gripping you tighter, pulling you flush against him. The heat of him seeps through you, burning into your skin, your body molding against his like you were always meant to fit there.

Then, slowly, his hand slides up.

You barely register the shift before the weight of his arm is curling around your neck, firm but careful, forearm bracing across your throat, holding you in place. The solid strength of his muscles—it’s everything you imagined, everything you tried so hard to ignore when the thought first crossed your mind.

A low, rough chuckle rumbles against your ear.

“This what you wanted, ain’t it?” His voice is gravel, wrecked, thick with something primal as his breath ghosts along your jaw. His hold tightens just slightly, just enough to make you shudder. “My arm around this pretty neck?”

His words send a shudder through you, pooling heat low in your stomach as your hands grip the counter harder. His arm is thick around your neck, a steady weight that makes you dizzy with want, and when he tightens it just slightly, enough to make you feel it, a whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“Yes,” you breathe, voice barely there.

Daryl stills for half a second like he wasn’t expecting you to admit it so easily. Then he makes a noise low in his throat, something rough, something wrecked, and his grip on you tightens.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice thick, warm, almost tender in contrast to how strong he feels behind you. His nose brushes against your jaw, his lips grazing over your pulse as his other hand trails lower, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your hip. “What a sweet thing you are”

The praise sends a jolt through you, your breath catching, fingers twitching against the counter as he shifts behind you. Then you hear it, a belt coming loose and buckle clattering to the floor with the jeans he was wearing and suddenly you feel him– heavy and thick as he nudges against you, the heat of it pressing right against your slick entrance.

Your whole body tenses, then melts, nails digging into his arm where it rests against your throat. 

Daryl lets out a slow, shuddering breath, nipping lightly at the edge of your ear before murmuring, “Christ, barely touched you and you’re all wet. This all for me?” His hips press forward again, slow, teasing, and you let out a quiet whimper, pushing back into him without thinking. His cock notches into you then, and you both let out a sudden gasp.

“That’s it,” he praises, lips pressing against the shell of your ear, his voice low and soothing and coaxing as his cock sinks deeper into you. “You’re so damn good. Feels good, don’t it?”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him talk like this before, soft and filthy all at once, like he’s pouring everything he has into the way he touches you, the way he holds you. You nod, swallowing hard. “So good, Daryl.”

His breath turns heavier, warmer against your skin as he pulls you back onto him, slow and steady, letting you feel every inch as he buries himself inside you. His grip tightens at your hip, steadying you, holding you exactly where he wants you, but the real weight—the one that sends a full-body shudder through you—is his arm, still firm around your neck. You back arches against him, leaning into the muscles of his forearm as he holds you into the crook of his elbow.

“There you go,” he rasps, his voice strained, wrecked. His hips rock forward again, sinking deeper, stretching you, and a ragged moan slips from your lips. His grip flexes, and he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, lips warm, tongue flicking against your pulse before he nips at it, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin. “Knew you’d take me so good.”

Your nails dig harder into his arm, fingers curling around his wrist where he holds you, your breath hitching as he starts to move. Slow at first, testing, drawing himself out before pushing back in, each roll of his hips deliberate, each thrust pressing deeper, setting a rhythm that already has you unraveling.

His arm around your neck tightens, just slightly, just enough to make your next breath stutter, to make the heat between your legs coil tighter.  His breath is hot against your ear, rough and ragged, the tension in his body coiled so tight you can feel it thrumming through his chest, through the arm braced around your throat.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans, his voice raw, nearly pained as he rocks into you. "You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me."

His hips move with slow precision at first, teasing, working you open, dragging out every sensation like he wants you to feel him, to know that he’s the one making you come apart like this. His fingers dig into your hip, pulling you back onto him, the blunt head of his cock pressing deep with every thrust.

"Been thinkin’ about this," he murmurs, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "Bout how tight you’d feel, how fuckin’ perfect you’d take me. You feel that, baby?" He drives into you harder then, pushing you flush against the counter, stealing your breath with the sheer force of it. "Feels better than I ever imagined."

Your nails claw at his arm, breath ragged as his grip tightens just slightly around your neck, just enough to hold you there, to keep you at his mercy. His hips snap into you then, harder and faster now that you’ve adjusted to the sheer stretch of his cock. 

"Shit," he groans, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your jaw, sucking at the delicate skin before biting down, his voice going strained. "You like this, don’t ya? Bein’ held like this? Wrapped up in me, nowhere to go."

You whimper, pushing back into him, chasing the heat, the pressure, the way he’s unraveling you piece by piece.

His free hand slides down, dipping between your legs, his fingers finding you slick and swollen, rubbing slow, purposeful circles that make your knees shake.

"Fuck, look at you," he mutters, pressing his forehead to the side of your head, his breath coming harder now. "Gettin’ all worked up, takin’ it so damn well." His fingers flick over your clit, pressing just right, and you let out a broken moan. "That’s it, baby. Let me hear you. Been dreamin’ ‘bout these sounds."

His thrusts grow rougher, deeper, and the tension in your belly coils tight, too tight, everything building.

Daryl feels it.

"Yeah," he breathes, his voice shaking now, wrecked with how good you feel around him. "I know, sweetheart. Feels like your body’s beggin’ for it, huh?" His lips drag over your jaw, his hips pounding into you now, chasing that high. "Wanna cum all over me, don’t ya?"

The coil snaps at his words, white-hot and blinding as his arm tightens, stealing the breath from you completely. Your entire body goes taut as pleasure crashes over you, so sharp and overwhelming as your lungs scream for air. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing tight, and Daryl groans deep in his chest, his rhythm going sloppy, erratic.

"Shit, you’re milkin’ me, baby," he groans, his fingers moving to grip your hips, "Goddamn, you feel like fuckin’ heaven." 

He holds you, hips pinning you against the counter as he buries himself deep, shuddering against you as he spills inside you.

His hold around your neck finally eases, his hand smoothing over your collarbone, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses against the side of your neck as both of you come down together.

"You alright?" His voice is quieter now, rough around the edges, but there’s something tender in it, something real.

You exhale shakily, your body still humming from the aftershocks, a slow, blissed-out smile creeping across your lips. "Yeah. That was… that was so hot."

Daryl huffs out a small, breathless laugh, pressing a lingering kiss against the side of your neck. His hands keep roaming, slow and absentminded, smoothing over your waist, tracing lazy circles along your hips, like he doesn’t want to let go just yet.

"Yeah?" He nuzzles into your shoulder, his lips grazing your damp skin. "Ain’t never tried it before." His voice is warm, a little smug, but softer than before, like he’s still coming down from it too.

You hum, stretching slightly against him, still pressed chest to back. "Me neither. Somethin’ about you, Dixon."

Daryl makes a sound deep in his throat, something pleased, something almost knowing. His fingers tighten just slightly at your hip, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw before he murmurs, "Ain’t gonna be the last time, neither."

“Promise?” you chuckle, turning in his arms to snake your hands around his neck.

Daryl smirks, slow and lazy, his breath warm against your skin as he tilts his head, letting your fingers slip into his hair. His hands slide lower, resting at the curve of your back, holding you against him like he has no intention of letting go.

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice rough but sure. "Promise."

His lips find yours again, softer this time, slower, like he’s savoring it, like he’s already thinking about the next time, about how he’ll take his time with you, about all the things he wants to do.

[strangersteddierthings]

Previous Part

Steve can be a jealous man. He can be.

Just not in the same way that Eddie seems to thrive on it. Steve doesn't have a right to jealousy outside a relationship, so even if he feels jealous, he'll never act on it.

He thought it was just one of the many ways Eddie and he were incompatible romantically.

It was the same song and dance when they'd go out. Eddie would drag someone onto the dance floor and spend most of the dance making eyes at Steve until his catch of the night got jealous enough to pull Eddie out of eyesight.

Steve is used to that. That's the routine.

Except.

Well, except Eddie's broken the routine now, hasn't he?

Flipped the entire script by saying the things Steve has wanted to hear for years. I wouldn’t have rejected you and Jesus, Steve, you’re the only one I’ve really wanted.

Steve knows Eddie well enough to know that Eddie believes he's telling the truth or believes he really does want what he's saying to be the truth.

And now, sitting in silence in the back of a taxi that Eddie's gotten them, Steve can't bring himself to hope about it. Eddie's not a liar, as far as Steve knows, but that doesn't mean he actually wants Steve. Not for real. Not in the long run.

Steve can't give Eddie all the things Eddie seems to enjoy most. He's heard enough about Eddie's sex life to know they aren't super compatible in that department. And as far as he knows, Eddie's never even had a relationship. Just one-night stands and friends with benefits situations, which, y'know, Steve's not judging him about because Steve had all that once, too.

And maybe it's shitty of him to think but because Eddie's never been in a long-term monogamous relationship, Steve's not sure that one between them will work.

Okay. It's a lot shitty for him to think.

There's no real basis for Steve to think this other than that everything Steve wants out of a relationship, Eddie's shown him he wants the exact opposite.

Maybe Steve's just thinking shitty thoughts because it's easier than hoping that this might work.

The ride to the apartment is awkward only for Steve. They can't exactly talk about liking each other romantically in the back of a taxi where a stranger can clearly hear them, so they don't. Instead, Eddie chats up the cabbie about everything and anything that comes to his mind and Steve sits with just his thoughts.

Which are not being kind.

God, he's kind of a shitty person, isn't he?

Steve lets them both into the apartment and it feels different now. It's not like Eddie's never been in Steve's apartment. Hell, he's been sleeping in his old room for this whole 'break from the LA stress' he's taken. Has been here three days already, so this isn't even the first time this week that Steve's let them both into the apartment.

It's just different now that Eddie knows. Steve's been living his life with the assumption that Eddie knew but now he knows and everything is different.

"You, uh, want a beer?" Steve asks as he toes off his shoes, stalling because he doesn't know how to start this conversation. Isn't even sure he wants to because having this conversation means there is no going back. He won't be able to unsay these things, Eddie won't be able to unhear them. It'll be out there. All his hurt and love and fear and hope.

"Steve," is all Eddie says, in a tone that says 'we need to talk'.

So, Steve swallows thickly, nods, and heads for the living room. It's so stupid but he suddenly feels exposed, so he picks up a throw pillow from the couch before he plops onto it. He turns completely sideways, back to the armrest of the couch and legs crossed, pillow in his lap to act as a barrier of some sort. Something to feel less exposed.

Eddie takes longer to join him because, unlike Steve, he'd gotten completely done up for the bar and that includes full lace up combat boots that he can't easily slip out of.

Eddie finally joins him in the living room, pausing when he sees Steve before he moves to sit on the couch, one leg folded under him and the other on the floor. He leaves a respectable foot of distance between them and Steve's not sure if he's disappointed by that or not.

There is a tense silence that falls on them, neither brave enough to really begin the conversation that could be the end of everything.

"Steve, I- I don't even know where to start, man," Eddie finally says, running a hand through his hair.

"Me either," Steve says, looking down and picking at the pillow. "You were the one who said we needed to talk."

"Because we do?" Eddie sounds confused. "I, fuck man, I basically accused you of being in love with me and you confirmed it. We gotta talk about that."

Steve frowns because he doesn't agree. They don't have to talk about it. As far as Steve was concerned, they've been successfully not talking about it for years. Nothing has really changed from Steve's perspective. "What's there to talk about?"

"That you love me! And that I was, am, in love with you, too! That feels like a big deal!" Eddie cries, voice not loud enough to bother the neighbors yet but he can easily get that way. "You- why don't you seem as happy about this as I am?"

"Because I'm not," Steve says, stern and biting as he finally looks up from the pillow. "How am I supposed to be happy about this? This is going to change everything between us. Everything! And I've been- I've made peace with how this wasn't- with how things were between us."

Eddie stares back at him, eyes wide and mouth agape in his shock. It takes him a moment to recover. "I don't... understand. Why, why aren't you happy? Of course this will change things between us, but you make it sound like it'll be for the worse? I thought-"

"What? You thought you'd tell me you love me too and I'd jump into your arms?"

"Well, kinda," Eddie starts, but Steve doesn't want to hear it.

"I can't! Eddie, I can't. I'm not- I-I get that you, that you've just realized I loved you, but I've been living with the assumption that you already knew. I thought you knew for years. And now you're sitting here, telling me that you've felt the same. What, this whole time?"

"Yes! For longer, probably!" Eddie argues back, anger and hurt mixing on his face. "I've never known you to not go after the person you want, so why did you say anything sooner?"

"Why didn't you!?" Steve shouts, feeling the heat of tears in his eyes. He throws the pillow at Eddie and jumps from the couch to pace the living room. "We lived together for years! And I watched as you brought home guy after guy after guy. I listened as you waxed poetry about the perfect man for you; a fellow metalhead who would want to go to concerts with you, someone who'd play DnD with you and enjoyed your other nerd things, and-and-and," Steve stutters over the word, fighting back making a sobbing sound because it's one thing to let Eddie see his tears; it's an entirely different thing to let him hear the whole sob-fest Steve's fight back. "And a laundry list of all the kinks they have to b-be into so you don't get bored. I- God, you'd laid out your incredibly long list of standards that I didn't fit before I'd even realized I liked men. That I liked you! Why would I even try when I already knew I'd never measure up?"

He's pacing still. Movement helps him push the urge to cry down and makes the tears dry up. It takes him a while to realize that there's been no answer from Eddie. So, Steve finally gets his emotions under control and turns to look at the couch, to see Eddie's response.

He's not expecting to see tears falling down Eddie's own cheeks and wearing a face of heartbreak and regret.

[reveriebae]

You Wrote That For Me, Didn't You?

pairing(s) : Idol!Yunho x Atiny!reader

word count : 1931

summary : After casually revealing your face on Tumblr, a well-known smut writer attend an ATEEZ fan meet, unaware of the consequences. When you sit in front of Yunho, something feels off—the way he looks at you, the way he lingers. Then, just before her time is up, he drops a bombshell. He follows your account. He’s read everything. And he’s not letting you go that easily.

genre : suggestive

warning(s) : Slight dub-con vibes (power imbalance), heavy tension, teasing, suggestive language, explicit themes, idol-reader dynamics, Yunho being way too confident and knowing, mild obsession undertones, reader’s worst (or best?) nightmare coming true. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N : this one got my toes curling SKSKKSKSKSK. Here's the part 2!

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐fic under the cut🪐

You never thought twice before posting your fics. Why would you? It was just writing—just words strung together for thirsty Atinys who craved something a little more. Some of your works had gone viral, and you had a loyal following of readers who loved every filthy thing you put out.

So when you finally did a face reveal on your Tumblr, you didn’t think much of it. A casual selfie, captioned with something dumb like “Since y’all keep asking… here, take it”. A few hundred likes, some teasing comments, and that was that.

No big deal.

At least, that’s what you thought.

The excitement of the fan meet buzzed in your veins as you finally sat down in front of Yunho. Seeing him this close was unreal—the warmth of his presence, the way his smile reached his eyes, the deep, smooth hum of his voice as he greeted you.

But something felt off.

You couldn’t quite place it at first. It was subtle—just the way his gaze lingered, a little longer than it should. The way he studied your face like he was placing you, as if you weren’t just another fan in his long line of meet-and-greet interactions.

Then came the compliment.

“You’re really pretty in person,” he murmured, and his voice had a weight to it, like there was something more behind the words.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Ah—thank you!”

The response felt automatic, but your brain was still trying to process the way he was looking at you. Not just with the usual idol-to-fan warmth, but with something… different. Like he knew you.

His fingers tapped lightly against the table, rhythmic and patient, as if he was waiting for something. Then, just as the staff was about to signal your turn was up, Yunho leaned in ever so slightly.

And then he said it.

“You should be more careful about what you post, Jagiya.”

Your body stiffened.

Your mind blanked.

Did he just—

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, eyes widening in pure, unfiltered panic. But Yunho? Yunho just smiled. A slow, knowing curve of his lips, dark amusement flickering in his gaze.

“I follow you on Tumblr,” he continued, voice dropping just enough that only you could hear. His tone was smooth, casual, like he was discussing the weather. Like he wasn’t completely wrecking your reality in real time.

Your stomach twisted. No, this had to be a joke. A coincidence. There was no way—

“Mm.” His fingers brushed against the table, casual and lazy. “I recognized you the moment I saw your selfie.”

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

You had so much smut on that account. And not just any smut—detailed, filthy scenarios that had Yunho doing things that could get you banned just for thinking about them too hard.

“I—” Your voice came out weak, shaky, and you were suddenly painfully aware of how warm your face was.

Yunho chuckled, the sound low and pleased. “You look flustered,” he mused. “Why? You weren’t shy when you wrote all those things about me.”

He was teasing you.

No—he was toying with you.

Your fingers clenched around the edge of the table as you swallowed hard, trying to force your brain to work. But you could barely breathe under his gaze, let alone form a response.

He leaned in just a little more, close enough that you could catch the faintest hint of his cologne. His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the edge behind it when he said—

“You wrote that for me, didn’t you?”

Your time was up.

The staff was gently urging you to move along, but you couldn’t move—wouldn’t—until Yunho tilted his head, gaze flickering to the line behind you.

Then, just before you stood up, he murmured one last thing—low, quiet, for your ears only.

“See you later, baby.”

You walked away from the table in a daze.

The voices of other fans, the bright lights, the excited chatter—everything blurred into a distant hum, like white noise. Your body moved on instinct, following the line toward the exit, but your mind was stuck. Frozen.

Yunho knew.

Yunho read your fics.

Yunho—Jeong Yunho—had been watching your blog, scrolling through your late-night thirst posts, reading every filthy thought you had ever put into words.

Your breath shuddered as you stepped outside the venue, the cool night air doing little to calm the heat burning under your skin. Your heart was pounding—too fast, too hard—like you had just run miles instead of sitting for a harmless fan meet.

Except it wasn’t harmless.

Because Yunho’s voice was still ringing in your ears.

"You wrote that for me, didn't you?"

A shiver ran down your spine, and you had to physically shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it. No. No, there was no way this was real. Maybe you had misheard him. Maybe he was just teasing.

Maybe—

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You nearly dropped it when you pulled it out, fingers trembling as you glanced at the screen. A notification from Tumblr. Someone had just liked one of your posts.

A post from two years ago.

Your stomach dropped.

Slowly, hesitantly, you opened the app. The notification led you straight to the post—a particularly filthy piece about Yunho, one that had gone semi-viral when you first wrote it. And sitting right there, at the top of the notes—

A new like.

From a user you didn’t recognize.

Your pulse hammered as you clicked on the profile. It was nearly empty—just a default avatar, no posts, no bio. But there was one thing.

The blog name.

"ateezyunho1999."

Your mouth went dry.

No. No, no, no, this had to be a joke.

Then another notification popped up.

A message.

Your vision blurred for a second as you forced yourself to tap on it, breath shallow as you read the words.

"Come outside."

A pause.

Then—

"I'll be waiting."

Your hands shook as you stared at the message.

You could feel your own pulse in your throat, hammering like a warning. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Yunho was an idol. A celebrity. There was no way he would actually—

Your phone buzzed again.

The third message.

"Don't make me wait, baby."

The air in your lungs turned heavy. Your brain screamed at you to walk away, to ignore it, to go home and pretend none of this ever happened.

But your body?

Your body was already moving.

Like you had no control over yourself, your feet carried you toward the back of the venue, slipping past groups of lingering fans, past the staff still bustling around. You shouldn’t be doing this. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this.

And yet—

As soon as you turned the corner, stepping into the dimly lit alley behind the building, you felt him before you even saw him.

Yunho.

He was leaning against the side of a sleek black car, one hand tucked into the pocket of his coat, the other holding his phone. The glow of the screen lit up his face, casting soft shadows along the sharp angles of his jawline. But it wasn’t the way he looked that sent a shiver down your spine.

It was the way he smirked when he saw you.

Slowly, he slipped his phone into his pocket, pushing off the car as he took a step toward you.

“You listen well,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk. “That’s good.”

You should have said something. Anything. But your tongue felt heavy, thoughts tangled into knots as you stood frozen in place.

Yunho tilted his head, eyes flickering over you in a slow, deliberate sweep. His gaze was too knowing, too intimate—like he had already stripped you down in his mind.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come,” he continued, his tone almost teasing. “But then again…”

A pause.

Then—

“I know what you want.”

Your breath caught.

Yunho chuckled, the sound deep and satisfied. He took another step forward, closing the distance between you inch by inch. He was so tall, so effortlessly imposing, and when he finally stopped in front of you, the heat of his body was enough to make your skin prickle.

“You didn’t think I’d notice you, did you?” His voice dipped lower, smooth like honey but edged with something darker. “You wrote all those filthy little things about me, and yet, when I look at you now…”

He reached out, fingers brushing along the side of your jaw, so lightly it almost wasn’t a touch at all.

“You look so shy.”

A slow smirk curled at his lips as he leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“Tell me, baby.” His voice was a whisper now, barely audible, but it wrapped around you like a vice.

“Do I match your imagination?”

Your breath came shallow, uneven.

The question sent a violent shiver through you.

You wanted to deny it. To shake your head, pretend you weren’t completely unraveling under his gaze. But the moment you tried to step back, his hand moved.

A firm grip on your chin.

Not rough, not forceful—just enough to keep you still. Enough to make your knees weaken.

He hummed, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. His thumb brushed along your lower lip, and his gaze darkened.

“You’re not answering,” he murmured. “That’s cute.”

Your heart pounded so hard it hurt.

This was dangerous. This was a situation you had only ever fantasized about—except now, reality was so much worse. Because in your fics, Yunho was just a character, a version of him built from your own desires.

But this Yunho?

This Yunho was real. And he had read everything.

His thumb pressed against your lip, just enough to make you part them. The smirk that followed was pure sin.

“Mm,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “I wonder…”

He let the word hang in the air as his fingers trailed down, a featherlight touch along the column of your throat. A tease. A warning.

“Does the way I touch you match your imagination, too?”

Heat pooled deep in your stomach, a slow, unbearable ache curling at your core. Your body betrayed you before you could even think—back arching just slightly, like you were reaching for more.

Yunho saw it.

And he liked it.

A quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest, deep and pleased. “Ah,” he sighed, thumb tapping against your chin. “So responsive.”

Then, just when you thought he might close the distance completely, he pulled back just enough. Enough to leave you breathless, desperate.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was deceptively gentle, like he wasn’t the same man who had just whispered filth into your ear moments ago.

Then, his lips curled again. That smirk.

“I should get going,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just ruined you with a few words and touches.

Your body screamed in protest, but before you could even think of stopping him, he was already turning toward the sleek black car parked nearby.

The door opened. He paused. Then—

He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes locking onto yours one last time.

“Don’t stop writing,” he murmured. “I like seeing what you come up with.”

A slow, teasing wink.

And then—

He was gone.

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

So this is 5k words. Didn't mean for that to happen. This is for BuckTommy Fluffebruary Day Sixteen: Didn't Know They Were Dating AU. This is the one fill that doesn't take place in the same timeline as my other fills and is set in some nebulous period between 405 and 409. So Buck knows about Daniel. Jes-Yun isn't born yet. You can also read this on AO3 here. Tagging @bucktommyfluffebruary

They meet one night when Maddie is asked to cover a shift at the last minute and Chimney begs Buck to step in for a karaoke trivia thing he'd been invited to. When he arrives at the bar, Chimney is sitting with two big guys at a table. One of the guys introduces himself as Sal, and he seems cool enough. The other guy is Tommy, and he's definitely really cool.

“My girlfriend's brother is stepping in for her,” Chimney explains.

“H-hey,” Buck says, waving awkwardly. “I'm Evan. Buck. Evan Buckley.”

It's the least smooth way he's ever introduced himself in his adult life, but he keeps wondering what the hell Tommy's diet and exercise routine is. The guy is massive. He's so warm, though, when he shakes Buck's hand. Literally, because his hands are radiating heat, but he also smiles with his whole face instead of just a polite tilt of his mouth. Buck finds himself smiling back and ducking his head when Tommy lets his hand go.

“Wasn't your girlfriend the secret karaoke weapon?” Sal asks.

“Yeah, but this guy's the secret trivia weapon,” Chimney says, clapping Buck on the shoulder. “You said science and history always gets you, right? Here's your solution.”

Buck flushes and shrugs when Tommy's eyes sweep over him. “I hope I can help.”

He settles in for a night of karaoke trivia, and he's not much help on the pop culture stuff. But there's an entire series of questions themed around popular animals at the LA Zoo, and Buck gets all of them. As he answers, Tommy's blue eyes stay on him, and Buck finds himself answering with more and more confidence. When Celestial Bodies turns out to be the next category, he's quick to answer everything he knows instead of waiting politely for everyone else in the group.

By the end, the Worst Responders (Sal’s idea) win the night, and they sit with a pitcher of beer, their pride, and a Visa gift card each. When Chimney goes to take a call from Maddie and Sal gets up to use the bathroom, Buck suddenly doesn't know what to say to Tommy.

“That was pretty amazing, Evan,” Timmy says, raising his glass.

Buck opens his mouth to correct him, but instead he clinks their glasses and says, “Not so bad yourself, Tommy.”

Tommy's eyes dip as they both take long drinks of their beer, and Buck hopes he doesn't have something on his chin. He wipes it with the back of his hand just to be on the safe side.

“Man, I can't believe you can fly,” Buck says, settling back into his chair. “That's so cool.”

“Well,” Tommy says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile, “I need the aircraft to fly.”

Buck makes a face at him. “Yeah, I know, but it's amazing. I always wanted to learn. When I was traveling, I'd end up on these tiny planes sometimes and always thought it would be fun.”

“I could maybe show you a few things,” Tommy says, resting his elbows on the table. “My rates are pretty competitive.”

Buck’s reply is cut off by Chimney plopping down next to him.

“Heard a girl talking about you,” Chimney says, nudging Buck and nodding back toward the bar.

He glances but doesn’t really see anyone specifically looking at him. He figures she’ll find him if she’s really interested. His focus goes back to Tommy, who is sliding a coaster around under his finger and smiling to himself a bit, but he doesn’t look all that happy. Instead, he’s just sort of…resigned.

“How competitive?” Buck asks, and Tommy blinks at him.

Tommy looks between Chimney, Buck, and something behind Buck before his eyes settle back on him. “We can figure something out. Honestly, I don’t usually charge friends. Except Sal.”

“For what?” Chimney asks, frowning at his phone screen.

“Thought I might take up flying,” Buck says, shrugging.

Chimney snorts. “Yeah. That’ll last. This kid’s got more hobbies than anyone I’ve ever met. Dude, I think someone stole my credit card number again. Hold up, I gotta call my bank.”

He disappears again, and Buck looks over his shoulder to see Sal is talking to a pretty girl at the bar, and she glances at Buck. When she sees him looking, she smiles shyly before looking back at Sal. If she’s the girl Chimney was talking about, she is pretty cute.

“I don’t have a lot of hobbies,” Buck says, turning his attention back to Tommy. “Well, kind of. I have a lot of interests, I guess. Which, yeah, is kinda weird, but I like the idea of flying. So I would absolutely be down to learn, and I’d be happy to pay for the fuel or your time or whatever. It’s like learning a superpower.”

Tommy smiles and slides his phone over. “Go ahead and put your number in.”

Buck does, noticing that the contact name is already filled in as ‘Evan,’ and he doesn’t bother correcting that either.

By the time they all leave, Buck has Tommy’s number in his own phone and realizes he forgot to get the girl’s number.

–

Flying is so cool, but Buck thinks Tommy might be a maniac. He’ll do maneuvers that don’t feel like they should be physically possible, and then he laughs over the headset. It’s terrifying and amazing, and Buck is flushed and breathless by the time they land on the tarmac at Harbor Station.

“That was awesome!” he says. “Okay, yeah, I owe you a beer. A dozen beers.”

Tommy takes off the headset and smiles. “How about dinner?”

Buck smiles back, though he feels like he’s still trying to catch his breath. “Yeah, okay. I could do dinner.”

–

Micelli’s is nice, and they’ve apparently got good beer and good food. Buck finds out that Tommy’s half Italian on his mom’s side, which explains a lot about his looks. His nose is so regal from the side, and Buck’s found his eyes tracing its shape more than once. His mom was first generation, so Tommy was practically raised by a bunch of older Italian women and his grandfather until he was in high school.

“So when you say the food here is good, you know what you’re talking about,” Buck concludes, and Tommy nods. “Alright, I believe you.”

“What about your family?” Tommy asks, and Buck shrugs. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“No, they’re…fine,” Buck says, shrugging again. He still feels raw when he thinks about his parents. “They’re, uh, back in Pennsylvania. Except Maddie. I think we’re British? Just sort of, uh, WASP-y? But I don’t really know a lot about my family.”

Hell, he knew even less than he ever realized.

“I don’t know a lot about my dad’s family,” Tommy says, and it feels like he understands based on the way he says it. It loosens some of the anxiety that had been building in Buck’s chest. “Scottish, Irish? Something like that. But I never looked too hard. Italians, though, you’d be hard-pressed to find a family that doesn’t want every generation to know every story and legend and the name of every town everyone was ever born in.”

“Family recipes?”

Tommy snorts. “I have a box of them. I’ve been trying to transcribe them just in case something ever happens to them, but there’s so many.”

Buck shrugs. “I could help.”

“Yeah?” Tommy looks surprised at his offer.

“Yeah, I’m kinda good at that kind of stuff,” he admits. “Plus, hey, I wouldn’t say no to learning some new recipes. I feel like I’m finally really getting the hang of cooking. Maybe I can even teach Bobby a thing or two.”

They start talking about the 118, and Buck is surprised at just how different it used to be. From the sound of it, Tommy was really different. Sal, too. And then Tommy felt like he was able to get a new start at Harbor.

“I just didn’t want to die in a closet, you know?” he says, and Buck tries to parse what that could mean. “I wasn’t out at the 118. Everyone thought I was straight until, I don’t know, my last month there? I finally told them right after my transfer went through.”

Buck blinks, realizing he’d somehow totally missed that Tommy’s gay. He realizes his silence could be taken for discomfort and panics. “Th-that’s great! I’m glad you were able to do that. It’s hard. It’s a hard thing to go through.”

“Yeah,” Tommy agrees, smiling softly. “Well, it’s actually just…freeing. Once you get past actually saying the words.”

“That sounds amazing,” Buck says, sighing. It does. The idea of feeling free has always felt like something he’s been looking for. Being at the 118 is the closest thing he’s ever found to that, but he wonders if it feels the same.

Tommy hesitates and starts to say something, but then their server arrives to take their food orders. Buck forgets to ask him what he was going to say, because he starts second-guessing what he was going to order and leans across to ask Tommy about one of the dishes. When Tommy leans in to look at where Buck’s pointing on the menu, his forearm presses against Buck’s and radiates heat the same way his hand did when they met, the same way his whole body did when he'd hugged Buck after their flight and when they met outside the restaurant. He wonders if it's a natural thing for him or if it's his muscle mass that does it.

“So you do like mushrooms?” Tommy asks, and Buck nods. “Yeah, you'll love that, then. But save room for dessert.”

“Okay,” Buck says, unable to keep himself from ducking his head and smiling as Tommy confirms with the server that Buck is getting whatever the hell it was Tommy had pointed to. He hadn't been paying attention.

–

He loves Tommy’s house. It’s got books and movies and records crammed into every available shelf in the living room, and there are cool old tiles in the kitchen and bathrooms that Tommy’s never going to touch even when he updates the rooms.

“Kitchen’s next, but I did a lot of the hard work with the electrical and plumbing already,” Tommy explains. He goes to a cabinet above his fridge and reaches in for an old cigar box. When he stretches for it, his shirt rides up and Buck blinks at the strip of skin that’s exposed. He suddenly feels guilty for staring and forces himself to look at the view of Tommy’s backyard from the window above the sink. “Here they are.”

Tommy sets the box on the counter and flips it open. Inside are old recipe cards, torn out recipes from magazines and ads, swooping writing on yellowed paper, and what looks to be more than one recipe torn out of cookbooks.

They’re killing time before a movie that’s playing at the theater by Tommy’s place, but Buck wants to dive into the recipes and figure out what it was that his family liked or what was important to them, what they held onto across generations, and which ones made little Tommy love desserts so much.

“Can you tell who wrote them?” he asks, carefully turning over a recipe card for some kind of soup made with lentils and sausage.

“Some of them,” Tommy says, leaning over and looking at the card he’s holding. “That was Prozia Camilla, I think. She always wrote her Bs really weird.”

“What’s that?” Buck asks, looking over at Tommy. He realizes he’s close, but it’s not making him uncomfortable. He feels a little warm, but it’s not from discomfort or embarrassment. The heat might be on in the house, or it's just Tommy being a human space heater. “Aunt?”

“Great-aunt,” Tommy clarifies. “Aunt is zia, uncle is zio—pretty easy. Nonna, Nonno–grandma, grandpa. Cugina, cugino–cousin, female or male. You add pro for great-aunts and -uncles, bis for great-grandparents. There’s one that’s in a baggy from Bisnonna Valia, I think she wrote it down when Mussolini was in power.”

Buck carefully picks through the box until he finds it, and he doesn’t take it out. He does inspect it, though. The paper is translucent and faded, the ink a brown-ish color. “What’s it for?”

“Canestrelli. It’s kind of like a shortbread cookie.”

He likes how Tommy says the words in Italian, the way his mouth shapes the vowels and kind of rolls the Rs but not really, the syllables he emphasizes a little differently than the way Buck probably would if he read the word from a page. He’d asked Tommy if he spoke Italian, and he sort of did. He mostly just understood it, but he sounded like he knew it whenever he said any of the words.

“These are amazing,” Buck says softly, rubbing his thumb along the edge of the paper inside its protective plastic. “Is it weird that I wish I knew them? All the people who wrote these down.”

When he glances at Tommy, Tommy’s looking at him and not at the recipe anymore. “No,” Tommy replies softly. “I don’t think that’s weird at all. They would’ve loved you.”

Buck grins. “Really?”

“Definitely.”

He flushes happily at the thought, even if Tommy’s just being nice. When he sets the recipe back in the box, the alarm on Tommy’s phone goes off.

“I kind of want to just look at these,” Buck admits. “But you said the movie’s really good.”

“Evan, it’s Casablanca,” Tommy says dryly. “It’s literally one of the greatest movies ever made.”

“Well, then I guess we have to go,” Buck teases, closing the box and handing it over to him.

When Tommy puts the box back, Buck’s eyes dip to his ass this time. It’s really a work of art. He wonders what kind of squats he does.

–

Buck’s a mess.

“You didn’t tell me it would be sad,” he moans as he snacks on the last of his popcorn on the way to Tommy’s truck. He’d driven, because it was easier than trying to find parking for two cars near the theater.

“A lot of the best romance movies are,” Tommy says. “But I don’t think it’s that sad. He loves her, and he knows she’s going to be happy. It’s not like Ghost or Moulin Rouge or Brokeback Mountain or anything.”

“I’ve never seen those,” Buck admits. “How can it get any sadder?”

“I mean, one of them could’ve died.”

Buck sighs. “Yeah, I guess. But—can you imagine finding the person who makes you feel like that and having to watch them walk away with someone else? People don’t realize how awful it feels to just be left behind.”

He realizes he’s projecting a lot onto a movie that’s eighty years old, but it does suck. Buck would know.

“Sometimes you just want to be the one people will stick around for,” he mumbles.

Tommy bumps their shoulders together gently as they walk. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Buck smiles and bumps his shoulder back. “You say that now.”

“I can’t imagine wanting to leave you behind if I could help it, Evan.”

The way he says it makes Buck’s heart thud in his chest, and for a moment he’s worried about another blood clot. He looks over at Tommy, who’s looking at him, and he smiles.

“Thanks,” he says softly.

Tommy puts an arm around his shoulder and squeezes him close for a moment before they get to the truck. Buck gets into the passenger seat and considers the few kernels of popcorn left. He wonders what Tommy’s favorite happy romance movie is and what it’s like, what he likes about it and the characters, if he identifies more with one than the other.

“So that’s the best romance movie?” he asks instead.

“I mean, that’s subjective, right?” Tommy says, turning on the truck and pulling away from the curb. “I think it’s pretty close to being the most objectively perfect one, yeah.”

“Is it your favorite?”

Tommy considers the question for a moment. “It's up there. It changes, honestly. I really like Love, Actually, but Princess Bride and Moonstruck are amazing, too. Casablanca is pretty perfect, though.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Buck says, smiling. “I did like it. It just, y’know, made me a little sad. Also, I didn’t realize that whole ‘Here’s looking at you, kid’ thing was a reference. I’ve heard so many people say that and thought it was some idiom I never learned.”

Tommy snorts and shakes his head. “I swear, I will expand your knowledge of movies.”

Buck normally doesn’t really care. He doesn’t have the same attachment to movies that a lot of his friends have, but he likes Tommy showing him things. The flying, the restaurant, the recipe box, the movie—maybe Muay Thai? He knows Eddie does it. Buck’s never really had an interest in it, but Tommy had offered to teach him and Buck had twirled his pasta around his fork and said he’d be interested because nothing sounded cooler. Now that he’s seen the set-up in Tommy’s garage, it would be kind of awesome to have one-on-one lessons and then go inside to make old family recipes.

He looks over at Tommy as he drives, and he notes that Tommy seems as at ease behind a wheel as he is doing anything else. He had also seen the car lift in Tommy’s garage, currently empty but awaiting a Chevelle he’d had his eye on that needed work, and he wonders if he’s always liked cars.

As he watches, he also realizes that Tommy’s side profile is pretty perfect. It’s not just the nose, it’s his entire face. Tommy’s a really handsome guy.

“Evan?” Tommy asks, sounding amused.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

Buck slides down in his seat a little, feeling caught out for some reason. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Tommy slows to a stop at the light and looks over at Buck. He smiles and squeezes Buck’s wrist briefly, his huge hand almost engulfing it. He doesn’t understand how someone his height can be so big. With his free hand, he reaches over and picks up Tommy’s hand, manipulating the digits until they’re flat, and he presses their hands together to compare the size. Buck’s never met someone with bigger hands than his who wasn’t at least six and a half feet tall, but Tommy’s fingers stretch a little further, his palm is a little broader.

Then Tommy turns his palm just a little and curls his fingers until they’re between Buck’s, and Buck curls his fingers, too. He smiles and looks up at Tommy, who’s looking at him intently. It makes Buck’s heart pound again.

A car honks, and Tommy startles a little. He laughs to himself as he continues driving toward his house, both hands back on the wheel, and Buck feels his hand close around nothing, feeling empty.

–

Tommy is walking him to his car, even though it’s parked right in front of his house. They’re talking about the next series of movies the theater is showing—old noir stuff, some of which Tommy’s never even seen.

“That could be cool,” Buck says, putting his hands in his jacket pocket so he won’t reach for Tommy’s hand again. It would be weird. “We can see when our shifts line up.”

“They do them all in two month blocks,” Tommy explains wryly. “So that’s going to be a lot of calendar checking.”

“We can always share them to each other,” Buck points out. “Figure out other days we can do stuff.”

Tommy’s eyes look between Buck’s, down to his chin, and back at his eyes again. “Like what?”

Buck smiles and shrugs. “Anything. I mean, we’re kind of the perfect bar trivia partners. We can go around town and hustle all of them out of their gift cards and small cash prizes. But I really do want to help you with the recipe thing. You really think your family would’ve liked me?”

“Evan, do you have any idea how likeable you are?” Tommy asks, leaning his shoulder against Buck’s door.

“Hey, you’re pretty likeable yourself,” Buck says shyly. “You’re kind of the coolest person I’ve ever—”

He doesn’t get to finish, because there are two fingers under his chin and a pair of lips on his. For a moment, he freezes, because Tommy is kissing him. That should be weird. He’s never had a male friend kiss him on the lips unless it was during Spin the Bottle or under mistletoe, and those were always pecks or done with some reluctance on their part. But he can feel Tommy start to pull away and wants anything but that, so he brings his hand up to Tommy’s shoulder and keeps him there while Buck kisses back.

Tommy’s lips are soft, though his stubble is a little scratchy, but Buck doesn’t mind it. He really doesn’t mind it.

“Was that okay?” Tommy whispers when he does finally pull back.

Buck nods and his eyes drop to Tommy’s lips, which don’t look any different than they did a minute ago, but now he knows how they feel against his. He still has a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and brings his other one up to cup his jaw to keep him still when Buck goes in for another kiss.

It feels better than okay. It feels like a real first—well, second now—kiss. He feels like an alarm bell should be going off somewhere in his head, but all he’s getting is a need to feel more of him, to taste more of him.

They’re kind of making out against Buck’s Jeep, and Buck is definitely going to need to talk to Hen about this. If he likes kissing a guy just as much as he’s liked kissing a girl—hell, more than he’s liked kissing some girls—what does that mean?

Tommy pulls away again and presses their foreheads together. They’re both breathing hard, and Buck wonders if Tommy will ask him to come inside.

“I meant to take this a lot slower,” Tommy says. “You seemed…new. I know Howie doesn’t know, but does anyone?”

Buck wonders if he’d missed something in their conversation. “Know what?”

“That you’re—” he gestures between them. Then he pulls back more and searches Buck’s face. “You are, aren’t you?”

“What?” he asks again, feeling very slow. He doesn’t love the feeling, but he's also still really stuck on the feeling of Tommy's lips.

“Wait, are you?”

“Oh, my god, Tommy, am I what?” he asks, laughing.

“Into guys?”

Buck blinks. “I don’t—I’ve never really thought about it?”

Except for that one time in Texas, but he knew that he came off as flirty sometimes when he didn’t mean to. That hadn’t been TK’s fault. Hell, TK was gorgeous and a really good firefighter, and—oh.

“Oh,” Buck says, raising his eyebrows. “Huh.”

“Are you okay?” Tommy asks, searching Buck’s face for something. He’s not touching Buck anymore, which kind of sucks.

“Yeah.” He looks at Tommy and smiles. “Yeah, I’m great.”

He is. He really is. It’s a little bit of a shock, but he’s pretty sure he’ll be fine. Well, he might need to talk to Hen and Maddie and Bobby.

Then it hits him—Tommy walked him to his car. While the sun was up. In a good neighborhood. After the movies. He’d done the same thing after Micelli’s, after they’d flown, and he’d hugged Buck every time. It had felt good and warm and safe. But Tommy always walked him to his car.

“We were just on a date, weren’t we?” Buck says slowly, then counts. “Like, our third one. Wait, did you take me flying for our first date?”

“I thought I did,” Tommy says, his brows raised. “Did you really have no idea that I was asking you out?”

Okay, yeah, Tommy had said they should go out sometime before they’d left the bar the night they’d met, and Buck had agreed and Tommy had grinned. It had been really distracting.

“Huh,” he says again. “Wait, you waited until our third date to kiss me?”

“I thought you needed me to take it slow,” Tommy says, leaning his elbows on the hood and burying his face in his hands. “I thought you were new to this.”

“I mean, I am,” Buck points out. The way Tommy’s leaning makes his ass pop out a little, and his jeans are tight enough that they definitely qualify as date jeans. “Maybe not that new, actually. It’s normal to check out a hot guy’s ass, right?”

Tommy looks at him incredulously. “Evan, how would I know what straight guys do? I’m a Kinsey six.”

“Right,” Buck realizes, though he’s still not clear on the second part. “What’s a Kinsey six?”

“It’s a scale for sexuality. I’ve never actually been attracted to any women.”

Buck frowns. “Really?”

He’s found a lot of guys attractive, because that was just a thing Buck could see as a person with eyes. Hell, one of the first things he thought about Connor was that he had a killer smile. Then he had followed him to Los Angeles. From Peru.

“Oh,” he realizes, pulling out his phone and looking up ‘Kinsey.’ “Two? I don’t know, actually. I’ll have to think about it.”

Tommy huffs out a laugh. “You’re not, I don’t know, mad?”

Buck frowns and puts his phone back in his pocket. “Why would I be mad?”

“A lot of guys get mad when another guy kisses them if they weren’t really expecting it.”

“That doesn’t make sense. You can just tell someone you’re not interested.” His eyes flick down to Tommy’s mouth. “Or figure out that you are.”

“Are you sure—”

“You should come over so I can cook you dinner,” Buck says, suddenly wanting nothing more than to see Tommy in his loft and at his table. In his bed? Yeah, probably. “Saturday?”

Tommy smiles. “You mean tomorrow?”

Buck thinks about it. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

When Tommy kisses him again, Buck wraps his arm around his shoulders and spreads his hand over Tommy’s side. Tommy moans softly against his mouth, and Buck’s lips part further so he can tease his tongue against Tommy’s lips.

“Jesus, kid,” Tommy breathes when the kiss breaks, and it sends a bolt of heat through Buck’s belly. So, yeah, definitely guys. Guys are good. At least one is.

Buck’s phone goes off, and he reluctantly checks it. Maddie’s due pretty soon, so he can’t ignore his phone just in case it’s her.

It is, and Buck answers quickly.

“Maddie?” he says before mouthing an apology to Tommy. “Are you okay? Is the baby—”

“Buck,” she says. “Are you still coming over for dinner?”

Oh, right. The reason they’d done the matinee show for the movie. Buck’s supposed to be having a sibling dinner with his sister. He’s now late for it and feels like a dick.

“I am so sorry, I forgot. I’ll be there in twenty, twenty-five minutes? Do you need me to get anything on the way?”

“If you could get me enough garlic bread to fill your car, I’d be so happy.”

Buck snorts. “I can get some. Maybe not that much. But I’ll stop, just turn the oven on. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay!” she says brightly. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he says, hanging up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what time it was, and I did actually forget. I got, uh, distracted.”

Tommy smirks. “‘Distracted’?”

Buck swallows and nods, his eyes going to Tommy’s lips again. “Yeah.”

“God, you’re adorable.”

He’s never had a guy call him that before. He likes it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Tommy says. “When do you want me over?”

“S-six?” Buck says, feeling himself sway toward Tommy like they’ve got magnets in their mouths. “Five. You start early on Sunday, right?”

“So do you,” Tommy points out.

“Oh, yeah,” Buck says dumbly. He goes in for another kiss, but it’s quick. Tommy pushes him back gently with a hand to his chest and nudges their noses together briefly before stepping away. “Bye.”

“Bye, Evan,” Tommy says, smiling and going toward his house.

Buck fumbles with his keys before he finally unlocks the Jeep, and he watches Tommy until he goes inside. It’s a thing he’s always done on dates. When Tommy waves before heading inside, Buck waves for a long time until the door is closed.

“Fuck, okay, garlic bread,” he says, turning the Jeep on. He grins the entire way to the store.

While he walks through Ralph’s, he also looks for stuff to use for the dinner he’s going to make for Tommy. On their date. Their fourth date.

Buck knows he’s standing in the middle of the baking ingredients aisle and smiling at his phone like an idiot. He knows that he’s going to spend half of his Saturday trying to perfect some kind of dessert. He knows he can’t wait to see Tommy and that he’s felt that way every time he’s seen him since they met.

[sailorsoons]

Okay I am sitting down to dump my thoughts into this right now because if I never get it out it's just going to eat me alive. Also do not expect this to make any sense because this fic scrambled my brain in all of the best ways.

Maybe it's just me but I feel like making a reader super angry/blow up on someone tends to be really hard to write because it's this precarious balance of like making sure the audience sympathizes while also really leaning into how pissed they are and you DO IT SO WELL HERE. I was like dude. Fuck yeah I would be so angry and embarrassed I'd throw a ring at him to.

I'm also just so obsessed with the routine of it all? Like there is a pattern to everything they do, the stupid finding out about him in jail, the pick up, the Jeonghan banter, the come home and beg. It's like... this is kind of weird but it's cozy? I don't know - it just makes me feel like they're so !!!! in a way.

This Soonyoung in particular rewires my brain. The way he begs for forgiveness and is so determined to do what reader asks and the way he just melts realizing he's a father. I could yap about him for hours. I want to marry him.

Anyway. I loved this. I will be thinking of this in all of my nightmares thanks.

Beggin' On My Knees

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: fluff, smut, hint of angst, established relationship, biker! hoshi

warnings: pregnancy, impreg/breeding kink, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, unprotected sex, praise kink, body worship, spitting, praise kink

Length: ~8k

Note: inspired by the Please, Please, Please MV. this was originally an idea for taehyung but alas my top freak took over again. something about biker/mechanic hoshi really is beautiful thank u @tomodachiii @haologram and @gyuswhore for keeping me sane

summary: After another run in with the law, you come to terms with the fact your friends might be right about your fiancé.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Even at your age, it’s somehow more embarrassing to buy pregnancy tests than condoms. You wouldn’t know since you’ve never bought condoms. That particular responsibility falls exclusively on your fiance after the few times in college when you snagged handfuls from the bucket inside the campus clinic.

You’ve bought a pregnancy test before. Not for yourself but for friends too embarrassed to walk into the pharmacy and publicly declare how active their sex lives were. Now you understand why they wanted someone else to do it. Why are there twenty different brands? Why do they require some high school employee to unlock the case so you can pick the one you want? Why are they so damn expensive? The anxiety you feel rivals the first time you bought weed sophomore year of college from some sleazy frat boy.

You’ve got the box resting on the bathroom counter, a timer on your phone, and the test just out of sight while you pace back and forth in the small space. The door is shut for no other reason than to isolate away from Soonyoung in the event he gets off work early.

You should call Soonyoung. He’d want to know, fight the urge to say something stupid like “I’ll try harder next time” when the tests come back negative and instead offer to pee on one in solidarity if only to lighten the mood.

You never understood when people say a woman just knows until right now because with each passing second the reality that those tests are going to be positive sink in. Despite the fact you and Soonyoung almost always use a condom and the times without them end with him coming anywhere not inside you. You just know it.

Each second ticks down like a bomb waiting to detonate.

Positive. Positive. Positive.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your stomach twists.  Surprisingly, you don’t dread it as much as you would have a year ago. But a million things a baby entails rush over you. Cleaning out the spare room upstairs, doctors appointments, daycare, clothes, school. Do you even know how to actually take care of a kid? One that belongs to you, who you can’t give back to their person when they get fussy or hurt.

Soonyoung was born to be a dad. He never hid how badly he wanted a family of his own, a family with you. He’s good with kids too. You’ve seen him with his nieces and nephews, your friends’ kids. The middle schoolers in your neighborhood come to him with broken bikes and scooters to be fixed, knock on your front door to ask if he can help them get their ball down from some tree. Even if he doesn't know what he’s doing he’d be there by your side.

As the initial shock washes away, the knots in your chest slowly unfurl. You can do this. Even though you planned your life down to the last detail, Soonyoung has a way of sweeping you into his tide. Engagement, marriage, house, babies. In that order. You’ve already got the house before he asked you to marry him and your wedding is only a month away. 

After the worst of the panic settles into restless jitters, you leave the solitude of the bathroom. Soonyoung still isn’t home from work yet but it isn’t unusual. He’s been pulling more hours, shouldering more responsibilities since Mr. Lee, the owner, hinted at a promotion. Glancing at the clock, you guess he’ll walk through the door in two hours which gives you plenty of time to put together something to surprise him.

After a long shower, you burn time by cleaning up non-existent messes; you can’t sit still. The ‘surprise’ ends up being lackluster. Your weekly grocery shopping trip is tomorrow so the fridge is slim pickings for dinner and you make the executive decision to go out once Soonyoung is home. Some fancy restaurant neither of you can afford with tiny dishes designed to leave you hungry and stopping at the diner at the edge of town for a burger. 

While the noise from the TV hums in the background, you scroll through internet searches on what to do when expecting. Doctors appointments, blood tests, advice on budgeting. It’s information overload but you’re giddy even with the stress.. Then you see it. A screenshot from one of your friends. No words, just a photo. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The longer you stare the quicker the realization becomes a reality. Soonyoung, your Soonyoung, the Soonyoung you’ve been waiting to get home, the reason for three positive pregnancy tests still on the bathroom counter, stares back. Or his mugshot does. A proud stain on the town jail’s website for everyone to see.

Storming out of the house, you notice Jeonghan’s car is gone from his own driveway. Hopefully he’s given your fiance an earful at the station already. If not, you’ve got plenty to say.

Whatever giddy happiness possessed you earlier is long gone, rotten disgust taking its place. How stupid do you look waiting for him at home while he’s gone and gotten himself locked up?

That stupid bike.

It isn’t the first time. That was the initial appeal back when you were a doe eyed freshman, finally out from under your parents thumb with more freedom than you knew how to handle. Soonyoung was the stereotypical bad boy with a taste for fast cars, working in a garage to your good girl persona who set the curve in all her classes. A few drinks at a run down dive bar landed you on his bike in some back alley, a hand under your skirt while he whispered the nastiest things you’ve ever heard. Then you returned the favor back at his apartment, riding him with enough vigor the headboard slapping against the wall sent his neighbors into a fit.

Then came the routine of Soonyoung picking you up from your dorms late at night, staying out until sunrise doing who knows what. He showed you off at street races, called you his girl in front of friends, and would take you out to the lake after winning a race and make you feel like a winner too. 

It was fun. 

Until the calls he’d been out street racing again wore down your patience as your friends’ giddy curiosity turned to embarrassment and ‘I told you so’s. It wasn’t enough to break your heart, but it tore your ego to shreds. They called him a loser and you defended him time and time again because you loved him. Because he promised it wouldn’t happen again.

He promised the last time was the last time. The time before that was also the last time and the time before and so on. 

The parking lot of the police station is nearly empty this time of day; a few police cars and a handful of other vehicles. Otherwise, it sits deserted. 

Jeognhan is waiting for you at the front desk, pretending to type away at something on the computer but you know better. You’ve done this song and dance too many times. 

“What the fuck did he do this time?” 

He quirks an eyebrow, sliding a clipboard with the usual paperwork your way as he speaks. “What do you think?” 

You nearly rip through the paper from pressing the pen so hard as you sign. “You’re fucking kidding me.” 

“Ma’am, language,” a young officer warns.

You’ve never seen him before and the stern look on his face pisses you off even more. His eyes widen in what must be fear because he scrambles back to the filing cabinet at the back of the room without speaking. “I didn’t know you had a new bitch, Han.” 

Jeonghan takes his clipboard back before you can whack him with it. “Nope, that's still your fiancé. Chan, go get Soonyoung from the box.” 

“Tell him I’ve got a hammer in the car for his balls,” you call. 

“Please refrain from making threats inside the police station.”

Soonyoung has the sense to look afraid when he rounds the corner. He’s still in his work clothes, oil stained shirt and dirty coveralls, hair matted to his forehead. You can only imagine what he sees. Last time you picked up he’d still been drunk from a bar fight and you made him sleep on the porch with Jeonghan’s engine as an alarm clock. You’d been too tired to make threats, half asleep the entire time. This time, you feel on the verge of crying, throwing up, and exploding into a fiery rage.

You don’t wait for him while Jeonghan hands over the bag of Soonyoung’s belongings. Halfway to the car, he races to catch up without a word and goes as far as rushing ahead to open the driver's door for you. There’s a fraction of a second you contemplate speeding off before he can get into the passenger seat, let him walk home in the dark as punishment for being a dumbass. But you don’t. You want to yell at him for being a dumbass until your throat bleeds.

The car smells like motor oil and sweat with him so close in the passenger seat. You gag at the stench, rolling all the windows down to avoid vomiting. The last thing you want right now is to need him.

Under usual circumstances the silence hanging heavy in the air would be comfortable, familiar and warm with the golden hue of the sunset and the sound of cicadas not far off. The world holds its breath, but you don’t.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to find out you got arrested from someone sending me your mugshot?” you ask at the first red light. Soonyoung tries to answer but you cut him off. “No, you don’t. Because I’d never put you in that position.”

He grumbles out the window. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re better than me.”

“You think I’m pissed because I think I’m better than you? I’m pissed because you act like a fucking loser. I’m pissed because you’re a liar! You promised me you wouldn’t do this dumb shit anymore. YOU PROMISED ME. And I look like an idiot because I’m stupid enough to trust you.”

You wait for an excuse. Some honeyed platitude about how much he loves you and it being a mistake and how it’ll never happen again but Soonyoung offers nothing. 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks.

You scoff. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Clearly!” you shriek, the vein in your neck throbbing. “Do you know how it feels to have my friends send me your mugshot? I’m at home tearing my hair out and you’re street racing some kid for kicks.”

“He wasn’t a kid—” 

“I don’t give a fuck!” The edges of your vision scorch red, teeth gnashing. You’ve never been this angry with him. You’ve never been this angry, period. “Grow up!”

He’s lucky Jeonghan caught him and not one of the other officers hell bent on cleaning up the streets. He’s lucky you didn’t have to front bail money neither of you have, especially now. Instead of spending the weekend in jail, Soonyoung’s punishment is fixing whatever Jeonghan sends his way for the next month free of charge but it’s not enough, not even close.

The kill shot bubbles on the tip of your tongue but that last bit of self control keeps it under lock and key. This isn’t how you thought you’d tell him, nowhere close to the way the evening happened in your head before you saw that picture. You wanted to surprise him. Watch the way the news sunk in slowly then all at once. You remember the test you left on the kitchen counter for him to find when he got home before everything went to shit. The ember of rage flairs back to life.

“You wanna race so bad, go fetch!” You don’t think as you rip the keys to that cursed bike from his hands and chuck them out the window into the grassy median, gone in a flash. It’s only a temporary solution but it feels good. It’s the next best thing to taking a bat to his bike until there’s nothing salvageable.

Soonyoung sputters. “Are you crazy?” 

Maybe. You’re absolutely toeing the line of unhinged. The car skids to a stop, tires burning against the asphalt. Thankfully the road is clear of any traffic.

“Get out,” you demand.

“What?”

“Get out. Get out, get out, get out!” You repeat the words over and over until he does what you tell him to. You feel the suffocating tightness in your chest signaling tears are seconds away. 

“Baby, let's talk about this,” Soonyoung begs. He tries to reach through the window, he knows your weak spots too well. You snatch your hand away before he can take advantage.

“You can have this back!” You launch the diamond band right at his chest before taking off.

You get back home on autopilot. There are red lights and stop signs and other traffic laws you can’t remember if you followed but you’re in the driveway and barreling up the porch with shaky breaths. Guilt doesn’t cross your mind for a second. Soonyoung didn’t feel guilty for racing like a dumbass until he got caught, so why should you feel guilty for letting him deal with the consequences? 

The urge to do something mean, not just mean but hurtful with the intent of seeing Soonyoung sick to his stomach, rears its head. If that’s what you wanted then mission accomplished. He saved for a year to buy that ring and you threw it in his face like it was nothing but cheap plastic. The ire from earlier rushes out of you like a deflating balloon. Your fingers itch for a cigarette but unlike your now ex fiance, you have to cut out all your vices. There’s no relief in pacing back and forth. There won’t be any solace inside the house either. You’re so tired. All the highs and lows of the day have drained you of everything. You don’t want to be mad or sad or anything anymore. You just want to go to bed and sleep off the entire day. 

You want to leave but you don’t. You want to yell some more but Soonyoung will be at least another hour. There’s nothing to anxiously clean while waiting so you water the crispy plants on the porch while you wait.

Jeonghan’s cruiser pulls into his driveway across the street thirty minutes later. Still no sign of Soonyoung, not a missed call or text. You think to worry but he gets out of Jeonghan’s passenger seat and trudges your way.

He looks angry and tired. But your swollen eyes and splotchy face melts the furrow in his brows.

“I’m—”

You silence him with a blast from the water hose. Soonyoung takes his punishment like a man, standing completely still while you douse him from head to toe. 

“I deserve that. Please, just listen to me—” He’s silent with another stream aimed at his chest. You feel some validation seeing him embody the way you feel: pathetic. 

“Will you put the hose down so we can talk about this?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you huff, dropping the hose for him to clean up.

“Then I’ll talk and you listen.”

“No.” You head towards the door with no intention of letting Soonyoung inside. “Go sleep at Jeonghan’s, I don’t wanna be around you right now.”

“He already told me no.”

Jeonghan would take mercy on Soonyoung in this state; soaked to the bone with your engagement ring in his pocket.

You turn to face him. “I want you to get rid of your bike.”

Soonyoung stays at the foot of the stairs leading up the porch. He knows how you feel and he has the sense to look ashamed.

“You want me to sell Tammy?” he asks.

“I want Tammy to fall off a cliff into the abyss but that’s obviously not going to happen,” you seethe, blinking away more frustrated tears.

“I have a lot of good memories with Tammy.”

“What? The first time you got arrested? Or the time you fell off and broke your arm? Oh, I know! When you ended up in a ditch?”

“The time I asked you to be my girlfriend. And the time I won enough money to help put a down payment on the house. When—“

“It’s me or her.”

Does it feel juvenile giving your fiance an ultimatum between you and a godforsaken bike? Absolutely. But you’ve got a kid to think about now and the thought of Soonyoung missing their life because he’s too busy chasing the rush makes you sick.

“It’s you.” Soonyoung says it with finality but you don’t believe him.

“Then prove it.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Sell it. First thing tomorrow morning.”

He laughs bitterly. “I’m not selling my bike.”

“Then I’ll be sure to tell your kid their dad is a fucking loser.” 

He blinks like the words don’t fully set in but your back is already to him by the time they do. Locked inside the house, you lean back against the door. You don’t want him to hear the crack of breath in your throat breaking into hot, wet tears. 

“What do you mean my kid?” Soonyoung’s panicked voice comes through the door. “YN! Open the door!”

“Go away.”

His whispered curses slip through the door while he scrambles for the spare key hidden in the potted plant by the door. If you really wanted him locked out, you would’ve remembered to move it before he got home. Part of you does want him stuck as far away as possible. You don’t want to face him because you know he’ll kiss your tears away and that’s all you want right now. You want him to hold you, promise you everything will be okay.

The lock of the bedroom door clicks into place right as Soonyoung gets the front door open. You hear him downstairs, looking for where you’re hidden. You can plot his course in your head: straight through the living into the kitchen where one of the positive tests waits to greet him on the counter, then he comes racing up the stairs and outside the door.

He twists the doorknob with no success. “YN.”

“Go away,” you sniffle into the pillow. His pillow. You’re on his side of the bed, in one of his old shirts because even if you wish you hated him.  

A dull thud against the door and a sigh signals his departure. You hear him shuffling back downstairs, but the sound of the front door never comes. The fatigue of the day takes over swiftly. Surrounded by the comforting smell of Soonyoung, you fall asleep until the smell of food wafts up through the vents. Not burnt but if Soonyoung is in the kitchen then it’s only a matter of time.

You creep down the stairs, careful to stay quiet so you can sneak back up without getting caught. Soonyoung’s body blocks whatever he’s organizing on the counter but you tell it’s a bribe from the sight of take out bags piled in the trash.

“What’s that?”

“Dinner. Do you want some?”

He’s got an entire pizza with garlic knots and cinnamon twists laid out like a feast. You watch him pretend to be nonchalant but he’s glued to your every move as you approach the counter and shove an entire garlic knot into your mouth, chewing with enough force to warn you haven’t forgiven him yet even though you're close to it. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Then we won’t talk,” he sighs into the base of your skull, fingers edging beneath your shirt for the comforting warmth of skin on skin. 

“Don’t,” you say, but lean back into the warmth of his body despite yourself.

“I’m sorry.”

Sure he is. You know he means it. Soonyoung is always sorry but it doesn’t stop him from being a dumbass. But he’s your dumbass no matter how many fights you have.

He lets you eat, content to hide his face in your shoulder and his fingers warm against the waistband of your sweatpants. You hate crying and you hate crying in front of him – because of him – even more. The heavy silence of the kitchen and the love of your life clinging onto you like his life depends on it brings a fresh prick of tears. Once you start, you can’t stop. The tears keep coming as Soonyong maneuvers your face into his chest. His new, clean shirt turns into your tissue. You fall into him without hesitation.

“Are you really…” he asks quietly, dropping kiss after kiss against your hair while you wring out like a sponge. 

“Do you think I’d lie to make you feel bad?”

“No. I just—fuck. You’re pregnant.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“How do you feel?”

You blow your nose into his neck. “Like I wanna punch my kid’s dad in the nuts.”

“He probably deserves that.”

“He definitely does.”

“And he deserves to sleep outside.”

“Yep,” you nod.

“But you still love him?”

“Of course I do, you big idiot,” you sigh, leaning back to look at him. Mistake. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” His brow presses to yours, face rounded out, soft cheeks that make you want to scream. Brown eyes shine beneath his lashes. Soonyoung knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You don’t but things would be a lot easier if you did.

Soonyoung takes the silence as an admission, and when you don’t object he falls to his knees, pulls your shirt out of the way and presses his face into your stomach. “We should name it Donatello.”

“No.”

“Leonardo.”

“No,” you giggle despite yourself.

“Raphael.”

“You are not naming our baby after a Ninja Turtle.”

“Mojo Jojo Jojo.”

“No.”

“Thanos.”

“Stop!”

“You’re laughing?” Soonyoung gasps, rushing to his feet to pin your squirmy body between him and the counter’s edge. “I’m trying to have a very serious conversation and you’re laughing?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you love me.”

You nod, hiding back into his chest where it’s safe. “Yeah, I love you.”

The silence marinates between you. 

“I’ll sell the bike, promise.”

“You’re not the best at keeping promises.”

“This time is different.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want our kid to grow up thinking their dad doesn’t worship the ground their mom walks on. Because I know she’s way too good for me and I’m lucky to have her.”

“I’m not too good for you, I hate when you say that.”

“You called me a loser.”

“I said you acted like a loser and I won’t take that back.” 

He looks away. “That’s fair.”

The icy wall of hurt freezes back up but you’re too tired to drag on the fight any longer. “When I found out my reaction wasn’t ’oh he’s being stupid.’ It was ‘how would I tell our kid their dad missed their birthday because he got himself locked up.’ That’s all I could think about. Explaining to our kid over and over why you’re never there.”

The words rest like a wet blanket over his flame of excitement. He doesn’t want to be that kind of dad; the one who misses their child’s life for something as stupid as street racing. Who leaves you to pick up a broken heart time and time again, two broken hearts.

You’re at arms length, Soonyoung examining you like a puzzle he can’t figure out but wants to try anyway. You hate when he looks at you like that. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen and he can’t quite believe you’re real. “You’re gonna be a great mom.”

“Shut up.” You hide the blush staining across your cheeks with another slice of pizza. 

“You are.”

“Well,” you swallow. “I need you to be a good dad. And if you can’t then I’m not afraid to do it by myself.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“Can I talk to it?”

“If you want to.” You don’t tell him that the thing growing in your womb curiously of him is the size of a pea and doesn’t have a face, let alone ears. You want to hear what his first words as a dad are.

He rucks your shirt up higher until it’s bunched beneath your breast, stomach on full display for him to bury his face into. 

“Hi. I’m your dad,” he starts timidly. You bite back a smile at his earnestness. “I don’t usually make your mom this angry. Usually, she’s pretty happy with me.” His lips brush your stomach with each word, tickling them into your skin. “I hope you take after her. She’s smart, and she’s pretty. God, she’s so pretty. I remember the first time I saw your mom and I knew I wanted to marry her.”

You snort. “You did not.”

“Yes, I did,” he corrects. “We were at this bar. You’re not allowed to go there. Ever. Maybe when you’re thirty or I’m dead. But I remember seeing her when she walked in and I thought ‘that is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and if she talks to me, I’ll throw up.’ I still feel like that sometimes. Even when she’s mad at me. And then when I got the courage to talk to her, I didn’t throw up because your old man is cool.”

Your heart swells too big for your chest. The night you met him wasn’t the stuff of fairytales. You saw him across the bar, all blonde hair and ruby cheeks as he screamed with his friends. He did throw up the first time you talked to him. After an hour of riding him until it hurt, you melted boneless in his lap and he snuck away to the bathroom to toss the used condom. You faked asleep as he emptied his guts into the toilet bowl before crawling back to bed and begging for cuddles. Pure romance.

“So cool,” you tease.

Soonyoung laces your fingers together, nipping at your fingertips in protest. “Your mom is mean to me but it’s okay because I love her. You’ll love her too. I just hope you’ll love me.”

You fight the urge to cry, only a single tear streaking down your cheek before stopping. “They’ll love you.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

“How?”

“Because I love you and I’m very smart. Remember?”

“I did say that, didn't I?”

You hum in agreement, pulling him up your body to nudge his nose along yours. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.” You let him shower you in gentle touches, his hands smoothing up your sides. Soonyoung traps you between his body and the counter, his lips sweeping over your chin, your jaw, your covered chest. That’s when you feel it. “What are you doing?”

“Apologizing.”

“Feels a lot like your penis to me.”

“That’s a part of the apology,” he whispers, the weight of his cocky heavy against your thigh, harder with each controlled grind. “Can’t believe I knocked you up and I never even came inside of you.”

“I can. You talk about kids so much I bet you manifested this.”

“You want it though, right?”

“Yeah.”

You’re lifted onto the countertop, legs spread around his hips. He’s got one hand wedge between your ass and panties to keep you close. “Do you think I’ll be a good dad?”

Not the conversation you thought would happen while you’re tugging his shirt off and working at the tie in his pajamas pants but you humor him.

“I think you’ll be a great dad.” You kiss him gently. His lips, his nose, his cheeks that round in your favorite smile. “If you stop getting arrested. How are you gonna ground Michaelangelo if you keep getting in trouble too?”

“She’s gonna be too smart for that. Just like her mom.”

“Oh, it’s a she now?”

“I’ve got a feeling.” He nips at your throat, a sweet flick of his tongue to soothe the sting. “Back to me coming inside you.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Gonna take it all for me?”

Your chin tips back to provide more skin for Soonyoung to mark up. “Want it.”

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he heaves. You’re trapped between a hand against the crotch of your panties and one pawing at your ass like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

“Take your pants off.”

An amused breath warms your throat. “Someone’s bossy”

“Yeah, and I’m telling you to take your pants off.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Shirt gone, sweats pooled around his ankles, Soonyoung stands in nothing but a pair of tenting briefs and the thin chain you gifted him a week after he placed that band on your ring finger.

“Wow, who knew you'd be such a DILF.”

His cheeks tinged pink from the complement. “I’ve been a dad for five minutes and you’re already trying to hit on me.”

“We’re engaged, doofus.”

“Speaking of.” He snatches his pants off the floor, digging through the pockets until a familiar ring appears. “Don’t take this off again.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He catches your chin between his fingers, pining you in his gaze. “I don’t care how angry you are with me. When I asked you to marry me, I meant forever.”

You can count on one hand the number of times he’s used that tone of voice with you. Soonyoung doesn't get angry often; at least, not with you. The last time he talked to you like this was when you wandered on the wrong side of town late at night, alone and drunk without a way home. You were pissed about a grade and wanted to do something reckless like every other kid at your university got to. Luckily, Soonyoung found you before trouble could. He used the same tone to chastise you for an hour about how stupid you’d been. 

But he isn’t just mad at your antics. He’s scared too. You look at him — really look at him for the first time since this morning when you kissed him goodbye before work. Red eyes, lip bruised, not from kisses but the way he chews it when he’s anxious.

“I’m sorry.” You pull him back, arms wrapped so tightly around his torso he probably can’t breathe and you both like the certainty of it. The tension in his shoulders softens like candle wax but he doesn’t let go. 

There’s still the matter of damp underwear and his boner. You want him, the gnawing aching way you always want him. Between your legs, stroking your sensitive spots to life over and over again until you beg for mercy he’s too eager to deny.

You nose against his cheek, adoring kiss after kiss against his skin until mouths meet. Soonyoung slips his tongue between the seam of your lips. You feel it the way down to your toes. On instinct, your hand trickles down his front, wedged tight between your bodies to paw at the fabric. A few dry jerks is all it takes for him to unravel.

“Wait,” Soonyoung gasps, hips rutting into the tight squeeze.

He keens with another tug, neck flushing a pretty shade of pink. The linoleum bites into your knees before you mouth over his underwear for a taste of what's to come. You suck the head through his underwear before leaning back to tease him with a kiss.

“Bedroom.”

“Didn’t think I’d see the day you’d refuse a kitchen blowjob,” you snicker.

Soonyoung doesn’t laugh. He pulls you back up into a bruising kiss, biting at your lip until you’re sure it’s bruised. His hand gropes down your ass, fingers tight to your entrance from behind. Whatever he wants like this you’ll agree to.

“Want you on my mouth.”

You’d kneel over his face right here on the kitchen floor if he wanted. But knowing your fiance, his sights are glued to whatever fantasies boil beneath that blond hair of his. 

You race up the stairs, Soonyoung hands heavy on your sides. His thumbs press into the bare curve of your hips. Your clothes fall until just your underwear remains. You want to turn around and mount him on the steps but the second floor landing is close enough you don’t get a chance. 

Soonyoung flicks all the bedroom lights on, eager to see every part of you as you crawl up the bed on all fours in nothing but your underwear. A few years ago you wouldn’t dream of sex with a lamp on let alone the overhead light but years of his utter devotion to your body and wanting to watch you get off like it’s his very own miracle gave you confidence. He looks ready to jump out of his own skin at the doorway. You glance over back and arch your spine a little more, ass higher in the air for his viewing. You might just finger yourself like this to see him suffer. You’ve done it before.

You stretch out, naked chest on display. “Are you coming?”

“Fuck yeah, I am.” Unconsciously, he palms his cock and approaches the side of the bed, pulling you into a kiss with a heavy lick of his tongue.

It doesn’t take much to drag him on top of you, dick hot to your thigh, perfect to rut against. There’s too much Soonyoung to think of anything else. His hands pinning you in place, his breath fanning across your chest as he suckles across the slope of your breast, thighs surging between yours in a dry hump you can’t help but beg for more of. His hips stutter when you do.

He follows the same playbook you did earlier; fingers trailing to the wet patch of your wants, mouth following closely. You’re in for a treat when he’s on his knees like this. He wants to tease you the way you did him but Soonyoung isn’t committed to denying you anything, he wants to rake you over hot coals by giving too much. 

Your hands eagerly hook beneath your knees, legs spread wide before him like a feast..

“Taste so good,” he rasps with a soft suck at your clit. “You’re so hot.”

Even with the barrier of your underwear each lick lights you on fire. Soonyoung moans a lewd melody, lost in his own paradise. Your thighs twitch with each gentle prod at your entrance, folded away by his shoulders so he can touch as much as he wants.

The promise from earlier lights up your brain. You twist a tight grip in his hair, pulling hard enough to detach him from your body. Lips wet, eyes blown, Soonyoung tries to dive back down until another twist of your nails makes him wince.

“Call Jeonghan.”

His mouth may be gone but his fingers circle your clit in the way that makes you whine. “What?”

“Call. Him,” you command. 

You snatch your phone from the end table, forcing it into Soonyoung’s grasp. He still doesn’t understand what you’ve asked.

“Sell him the bike right now.”

“Now?” He looks down at your pussy still on display, underwear soaked in spit and arousal.

You nod. Soonyoung knows better than to argue. He’s back in your good graces but only just, the promise of shipping that infernal bike off to someone else keeping him afloat. 

Your body throbs for release, for his mouth to go back to work instead of whispering into the phone when Jeonghan answers. 

“Two grand? Bullshit! There's at least…” he trails off.

You’re not going to stop just because he’s busy. You grab your breasts, taunt nipples visible between your fingers. Clad in a pair of sticky panties and nothing else, you’ve reduced him into a stuttering mess. Any other night he’d already be smothering himself in the wetness. You can see the urge in his gaze as he swallows loudly.

“Four,” Soonyoung counters. His face twists between wanting to argue with the neighbor, brows furrowed, lips in a heavy pout, and watch in awe as you suck on your own fingers before pinching at your chest again.

You’ve got him distracted with a hand between your legs, pushing your underwear out of the way to flash him exactly what he’s earning. Flushed and wet, the smell of sex hangs in the air.

“Thirty-five,” his voice cracks as you spread your legs wider, pulling his hand right where it belongs.

Soonyoung bats your hands away, fingers twisting through your heat. A gentle prod at your entrance like he hasn’t mastered your pussy enough to make you stupid and strung out with a few touches. There’s no way Jeonghan can’t hear every pleased sigh, the wet noise echoing from your pussy, the annoyance in Soonyoung’s voice as they barter back and forth. 

Soonyoung leans over and spits where his fingers disappear, making you jolt with the force as he does it again. You nearly ask him to spit in your mouth just to see his eyes bulge but the opportunity disappears with the sound of Jeonghan’s cackle through the line.

“Fine, three. I’ll give you the keys tomorrow.” He ends the call, forces your hand out of the way, and eagerly makes up for the minutes lost.

Both of your hands find the soft strands of his hair to hold him in place. Your feet plant on the bed beside his wide shoulders, allowing you to hump his face pathetically only to be welcomed with a grunt. The rip of fabric registers right before what was once your underwear is left stretched across the middle of your thigh. 

“S-shit, don’t stop.”

His fingers spread for his tongue to lick between. You punish him for such a dirty move with a harsh pull of his hair that he loves more than anything. Soonyoung does what he does best: groveling for your forgiveness. You’ll give it to him like always. But you both want him to work for it; it’s better when he does. 

He spreads your legs wider, gives a pleased grunt when you hold him in place and grind into his mouth. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant; vision blurry, body on fire.

Soonyoung moans into the sloppy mess of your pussy, sucking your clit between his lips, wedging another finger between the two already ruining you. 

“Oh god—there.”

Your thighs crush his head but he forces them up and open, pinned in place. The tender glow of the end escalates into a scalding burn as it rips through every muscle. You clench so tight around his fingers he can’t move them more than a tight curl. When you cry at the overstimulation he finally rests.

“Did you just—”

Pins and needles ripple through your muscles and all you can do is nod. Once the initial shock fades, there’s a smug twitch of his lips. He catches your foot and pins it before you can kick him.

“Shut up.”

“Have I told you how much I think about you being pregnant?” he asks, watching your every move.

You shake your head. His fingers keep working in gentle strokes, the wet noises quieter than before but loud in your ears. 

“It’s a lot,” he grunts. “Fuck, you’re gonna be so sexy.”

“I’m not already?” you half laugh, half gasp. The spark of arousal already demands more so you rock your hips down despite the sensitivity.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“But I’m not sexy?”

“Don’t pick an argument with me right now, please,” Soonyoung begs. 

“Why?”

“Because I’m thinking about coming in you until you can’t take anymore.”

“Then I’ll be sexy?” you goad.

“You’ve always been sexy.” He punctuates the compliment with a kiss to your left hip bone. “Beautiful.” Another on your right. “Gorgeous.” One on the plush of your thigh. “I love you.”

He folds you in half, knees to chest like you possess the flexibility to stay there, ankles cuffed in his hand, lips hot on the back of your thigh. 

“We should fuck on the bike one more time,” you tease. 

“You want me to defile the mother of my child on a motorcycle?”

You moan at his words. You want him to come wherever he wants, as many times as he can. Until he can’t anymore. To feel nasty and used however he sees fit. You want him on top of you, behind you, bending you over every surface he can until you’re shaking.

“You’re about to defile me right here. W-what’s the difference?”

Soonyoung curls the fingers inside you tight, eyes glued to the way you heave before answering. He fucks into that spot that makes you his puppet and all you want is to ruin him the same way he ruins you with the slightest touch. “You said I should stop doing things that’ll get me arrested.”

You choke on another tease as he sucks on your clit, tongue coaxing pathetic sighs right out of your lungs. He could do this all night. He’d be happy to. Soonyoung grips you tighter as you squirm away. It’s too much. He knows it and that’s why he loves it so much, knowing he can make you cum hard enough to scream.

“Are the cameras still broken at the garage?”

“Yeah,” he grunts, already knowing exactly what you’re thinking.

“Then you can defile me at your place of business, over the bike. Just like old times.”

“No condoms.”

“How else are you gonna stuff me full of cum?”

Soonyoung groans, pushing your legs wider as his hips rut into the mattress. “Wanna come inside you.”

“Then get up here and do it.”

You’re soaked between the legs, sensitive and swollen. Soonyoung settles into the warm cradle of your thighs easily, pressing his cock into the wet mess of spit and arousal. Your body acts of instinct, hips tilting until he slips between your walls.

“Oh my god.” He laps at the swell of your breast. “‘S okay?”

“Yeah, they don’t hurt yet.”

The sharp edge of his teeth leaves lines across your skin while he sucks at your chest until your spine breaks in half. His fingers keep firm pressure against your clit. Sloppy but enough to keep you pulled taunt. You’ll come a second time if he keeps it up.

“Oh my god,” you echo. 

Soonyoung likes to fuck hard. Hard enough you feel like all your seams are splitting, just shy of shattering your limit. Now’s no different but there's a new edge of caution. Even with his hips flat, inside you until nothing is left to give, he tangles your fingers together and pins them over head in the pillows.

You push your body against his, needy and pliant. Blind want acting as a guide, your ankles lock around his waist. It feels so much better than all the other times he’s fucked you like this; knowing the risk of him coming inside no longer counts and he can do it as many times as you ask. 

The slap of your skin against his fills the room, grunts and pathetic whines passing between mouths with narrowed vision. Nails biting into his shoulders, you flutter tight, trying to pull Soonyoung deeper even if he’s snug to the hilt. Stretched full beyond belief.

“More,” you beg. Frantic. Needy. All those feelings Soonyoung can incite with the barest of touches and a look.

He rises back on his hands, lighting up with each pathetic whimper of his name. “More what?”

If you had the brain power you’d knock the stupid smirk off his face. “Fuck me.”

“I am,” Soonyoung taunts.

“Breed me.”

“Already h-have.” Soonyoung looks like he wants to laugh but he sinks as much weight as he can into his hips, rhythm clumsy but it’s so good you don’t care. “Fuck, such a good girl. Aren’t you?”

You clench around him. He isn’t the most inspired with dirty talk but he knows your buttons, loves to press on your praise kink when you least expect it. 

“Say it.”

“I-I’m,” you stutter from his fingers finding your raw clit. “I’m your good girl.”

“My pretty little wife,” Soonyoung gasps. “Perfect.”

Every bit of praise adds a drop in the bucket, chest tightening until it explodes without permission; shredding through your veins. Your teeth sink into his shoulder. Hard enough to bruise as you cry, “Soonyoung.”

He doesn’t stop for your orgasm, not for a second. You asked him to breed you and it’s his sole purpose until you’re both satisfied. “G-gonna come.”

“Want it, want you to come in me,” you sob.

Soonyoung grabs for your hair, a gentle tug with enough force your eyes open to find his.

“Want it?” he pants, tilting your hips to fuck deeper. You nod with limited room thanks to his grip. “Then take it.”

The sticky heat you’re accustomed to on your skin stains your insides for the first time. There’s no way you can go back. Not after knowing how right it feels to have him fill you. You shiver beneath his weight, nerves twitching from the idea of him doing it again. Immediately.

“Love you, love you, love you…” Soonyoung chants into your skin, lips slipping over your throat with each breathless gasp.

You roll down into the nasty feel of cum and cock, the minor relief not nearly enough. Not with the idea of sucking the combined taste off him rearing its head. But Soonyoung collapses with a point flex of his thighs to stop your motions.

“Holy fuck,” he shudders. “If you let me do that sooner, we’d have ten kids by now.”

You’re flustered at the idea. “Do you think my vagina is a baby rocket launcher?”

“It’s definitely something.”

“How romantic,” you snort. “Give it a few months and I’ll be so hormonal you won’t touch me with a ten foot pole.”

“Is that what you think?” he hums, face still hidden in your neck like he’s too exhausted to move except to lap at the dip in your throat. A subtle grind reminds you of his cock still wedge in your guts, stiff like he didn’t come hard enough to see stars.

It’s hard to think that after so many years together, this is the biggest love rush you’ve ever experienced. The urge to keep him wrapped in your arms for as long as possible brings tears to your eyes. 

Soonyoung pops over your face after the first sniffle, terrified. “Are you crying?”

“No.” You swipe at the tears. “Shut up.”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, failing to hide his amusement.  

“I’m carrying your child, sorry my hormones are all over the place.” You bat his hand away unsuccessfully, leaning your cheek into the comforting warmth of his palm.  “We’re ready for this?”

“I mean, I was planning to knock you up on our honeymoon anyway,” he shrugs, lips soft on your hairline. “Do you have any more of those tests?”

“Why?”

“I wanna see what’d happen if I pee on one.”

“Nothing.” You push him off, rolling onto hands and knees with your ass in the air, face buried in the pillows. “Now, fuck me again.”

Soonyoung pushes the head of his cock through the mess of cum leaking out before sinking back inside with a grunt. “Yes, ma’am.”

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[crimsoncandy04]

Have u ever thought of Scara w tentacles😳 like he was an experiment and we are the one in charged of cater for him, then one day he escape and take us with him to breed cause' he really likes us... Idk if it's possible but might lay eggs for him. Please try writing it one day!! Tysm for those fics u feed uso(≧▽≦)o

I should really check my inbox more often than I do. This is literally such a hot idea.

(also just a heads up, I'm absolutely blasted right now while writing this so if it's not perfect I'm so sorry. Cannabis gummies are a double edged sword for me. On one hand I get the BEST ideas to write but then on the other I forget how words work)

Hope you like it;)

You had seen some weird stuff in your 25 years. It was expected though. You WERE working for the fatui and under one of the more deranged harbingers known for fucked up experimentation too.

However, being put in charge of one of the less important projects involving the sixth harbinger had proven to be more than you were prepared to handle.

A LOT more.

You had no idea why he allowed this to happen or if it was just a bizarre side effect of another failed experiment. But one thing was for certain, the sixth harbinger had been altered physical and now needed to be restrained at all costs. He had actual tentacles growing from his back. Like REAL ones. And for some reason they seemed to have minds of their own at times.

Thrashing around and hitting the thick glass of the containment room as if trying to break out while the young man at their base sat on the cold concrete ground and refused to look at you each time you went over to slide him food through a small opening in the wall that your hand could barely fit through.

You weren't important enough to know the details of what went on in your boss's lab but you had to admit that the sentient tendrils were a bit pretty to look at.

They were a deep indigo. Almost black with small barely discernable silver accents along the sides.

They appeared almost metallic in the right lighting and you had to make yourself look away and stop staring sometimes because you didn't want to be rude.

You were here to complete a job and that was all.

Until the night everything went to shit of course.

You were summoned sometime after midnight along with two other subordinates to check the lab for accidents after a security alarm was triggered for unknown reasons.

You rushed in and immediately you felt your blood go cold at the sight before you.

He had escaped.

Shattered glass lay at your feet as well as blood presumably from the guard who was now nowhere to be seen and most certainly dead.

You heard a yell from the room next to you.

"Stay here!" The other man with you insisted as he drew his gun and took off after the source of the cry.

You didn't need to be told twice.

Because right now you were confused but also rightfully scared.

What happened to the sixth harbinger? He never once gave you reason to believe he was distressed or restless before. He never even spoke to you when you fed him and checked the condition of his holding room.

Did you perhaps miss something?

What caused him to suddenly lash out and attack the guard?

And most importantly what happened to-

*PLOP*

You hear something hit the ground next to you and slowly turn your head to look.

You shriek.

On the ground next to you was the decapitated head of the subordinate who had just left to search for the other man.

You immediately tried to run but were stopped in your tracks as something wrapped around your waist and hoisted you into the air.

You tremble and go silent. Preparing for the worst when you look down and meet eyes with the sixth harbinger.

One of his many new appendages coiled around your middle and rendering you helpless as you silently prayed to every archon you could remember that if you were to die here it would be quick and painless.

He narrows his eyes up at you.

"You. You didn't want to try killing me as well?"

You struggle to answer as you shake violently.

"No sir. I see you nearly every day. I assumed something was wrong and that you were seeking help. I didn't feel like it was right to murder you."

"Are you scared?"

You felt your heart race.

Something about his tone seemed off. Different.

Did he...enjoy the fact that you were clearly terrified?

You closed your eyes and sighed.

Alright.

Every life had its end. This was surely yours.

Don't think about it. Go to your safe place Y/N.

You suddenly feel more tentacles slither around your arms and legs.

You immediately open your eyes as you feel them spread your knees apart.

What the FUCK!?

There's a chuckle from underneath you.

"I must admit... I am enjoying your terror immensely."

Obviously.

You feel an indigo tendril slowly slide up your shirt and wiggle underneath your bra. coiling around one of your breasts and squeezing it roughly as you feel your cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. It was cold and slimy but thanks to what you assumed was the natural power of the young man before you, the tentacles emitted a gentle electro current throughout their entire lengths and the sensation caused the muscles in your limbs and stomach to relax unwillingly as you were fondled.

The entire stimulation was now sending jolts of unwilling arousal through you. Scaramouche's eyes darken as he feels your nipple stiffen against one of his slick, muscular coils which had wrapped itself tightly around one of your tits and was now rubbing its head against your delicate peak. Making you struggle to stay quiet.

"Your body is betraying you. How does it feel existing in such a delicate and worthless form? I'm not even trying yet-."

Another tendril snakes up your thigh, sliding beneath your skirt, the cool slickness a shock against your bare skin as you didn't expect this so quickly. It inches higher, brushing against your clothed sex.

Scaramouche chuckles darkly at your soft whimpers then, his voice a sinful caress in your aroused mind as you're made to enjoy this against your will.

"I can still feel you with these. You're so wet already. Does it feel good being teased in such a disgraceful manner? Or were you always this much of a slut?"

He grins wickedly, a predatory gleam in his indigo eyes. The tendrils tighten their grip, squeezing and kneading your most sensitive places, stoking the fire within your core. The air crackles with his power and reeks of your excitement.

A small tentacle hooks into the waistband of your panties and suddenly rips them off completely, baring your glistening sex to the cool air. Another one quickly begins to rub against your slick folds, teasing your wet entrance.

"What a cute little hole~ hmm. I wonder what would happen if I-"

The thick tentacle at your entrance instantly rams itself inside in one painful push, stretching your tight pussy and curling in to rub against your sweet spot as it began to thrust quickly. You could only gasp and cry out as you felt another tentacle slither up your thigh and rub your clit at the same time.

Your eyes widened.

It hurt yet it felt like you had ascended to Celestia all at once.

You force yourself to cry out before you went insane.

"S-Scara! Please! It's too big! You're... stretching me!"

Scaramouche smirks up at your quivering body as he feels your tight walls clenching desperately around his invading tendril. He grinds it deeper, relishing your breathy moans and gasps, the electric current making your body shudder with every caress and thrust.

"Too big? Ha. Your greedy little cunt is taking every inch like it was made for it. Like it was made for me."

He pulls back slightly, then slams the tentacle in deeper. The wet squelching sounds of the violation fill the room, mingling with your increasingly wanton moans and whimpers.

"Listen to yourself, enjoying the feeling of being so ruthlessly defiled. You can't deny your true nature Y/N. You're a weak and disposable creature. I've seen how you go out of your way to try and care about me. How you act so..."selfless" and "considerate" when forced to tend to me knowing damn well it was all only to delude yourself into believing you were making a difference. Tell me, was it tiring?"

Tendrils squeeze your breasts harder, the electric shocks making your nipples stiffen into aching peaks. Another then pushes into your mouth, silencing your cries and leaving you gasping around the slick intrusion.

"It must have been exhausting. Pretending like you actually cared so much. Did you enjoy your little charade? Was it nice pretending like you weren't worth less than the dirt on my shoes because you were "helping "?"

Scaramouche's voice is a dark, lustful growl as he crosses his arms and continues to watch as his tentacles ruin you. The tendril pistoning into your cunt speeds up, the electric shocks growing stronger, pushing you closer and closer to a reluctant release.

"Come for me, Y/N. Come on my tentacles like the wanton slut you are. You wanted something like this right? To be seen and "loved"? Well let go then."

As Scara speaks, another tentacle snakes down to your puckered rear entrance. It teases the tight ring of muscle, the electric current making it relax. Slowly it pushes inside, stretching your virgin hole around the slick invader.

"Such a tight little asshole... I will enjoy breaking this in as well. You'll be my perfect little fuck toy, ready and eager for me at all times. How does that sound?"

The tentacle in your mouth begins fucking deeper into your throat, making you gag and choke a little. The one in your ass pushes deeper, stretching you impossibly further now as everything borders on pleasure and pain now in an overwhelming way.

"That's it, just like that. Take it all. Take every inch, every inch of my desire. You'll learn to crave this, to need this, to be nothing but a set of holes for me to fill and use. I'll give you a purpose. A reason to exist. Just like you always wanted."

Scaramouche's eyes blaze with sadistic lust as he watches you try to writhe and struggle, your body shaking with unwanted pleasure, your mind clouding with shame and need. He knows he has you now, knows that he can shape you, mold you, ruin you for all others.

And it's driving him insane.

You had caught his attention long ago but of course you were too stupid to notice. You always thought his tentacles were just being "aggressive". No. He had been trying to get you to say something to him. But every time you just stared at him, gave him a stupid little tray of food that he didn't even need. And then just left.

You couldn't blame him for getting a little frustrated and impatient. You had practically forced him to make the first move here.

A couple of minutes went by and suddenly you feel something else being stuffed into your stretched cunt alongside the enormous tentacle already buried inside.

Two smaller and practically microscopic sized tentacles wiggle in and begin to tease your cervix opening. Slowly coaxing their way into your womb as you feel yourself climaxing from the intrusion.

The tentacles writhe and squirm in your womb, painting your inner walls with their slick, tingling essence.

You suddenly feel a deep pressure as something is pumped directly into your womb. You wince and cum again as Scara begins to forcibly impregnates you with his offspring yet instead of your earlier nervousness or shame, you now feel oddly at ease. As if your new reality finally set in for you.

It was kinda enjoyable.

Scaramouche chuckles darkly as he feels your womb trying instinctively to reject his eggs. But the tendrils hold fast, forcing the small yet soft jelly-like lavender eggs deeper, stretching your most intimate space to its limits.

You had finally accepted your place it seemed. Utilizing your body's full potential from here would be far more easy with you now more willing to endure the process and transformation.

The tendrils continue their relentless assault, pumping more and more of the eggs into you, each one a cruel mockery of a seed, a promise of the countless times he will fill you after this as well. You had one purpose now. To be used, bred like a bitch in heat. All for the singular goal of birthing a new army for Scaramouche and his future plans.

You were important for this reason alone.

"Welcome to your new life, mortal. Welcome to eternity as my personal fuck toy, my breeding bitch, my eternal plaything. And you will love every moment of it. I promise."

A few hours pass and your belly swells quickly. During this short incubation period Scara manages to stretch your holes even further almost to the point of beyond recognition. Three tentacles now thrusted in and out of your ruined asshole and Scara had decided to reposition you both to keep an eye on you and to jam another thick tentacle deep into your pussy and continue to ravage it while he silently marveled at your swollen belly from where he now stood over you.

His hands roam possessively over the stretched skin of your stomach. He can feel the eggs he's planted inside you, each one a testament to his dark triumph, a promise of the future that he envisioned where he was untouchable by absolutely anyone. God or human alike.

"Look at you, already so round and full. And this is only the beginning, my dear. I will fill you again and again, until you know nothing but the feeling of carrying my offspring."

He leans down, his lips brushing against the taut skin of your stomach, his voice a dark, mocking murmur.

"Such an easy bitch to breed, so quick to take my eggs, to let them take root inside you. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were meant to be my incubator, my vessel. And now, here you are, already looking like a proper mother~"

The tentacles continue their relentless assault, stretching you impossibly further, The one now sucking on your clit pulses in time with your racing heartbeat, pushing you to yet another orgasm.

More tendrils move to your heavy, aching breasts again, squeezing and kneading the swollen flesh. They latch onto your nipples, suckling greedily, the electric currents making milk drip faster as it's quickly consumed.

More time goes by. You aren't sure how much exactly but then.

You feel movement in your belly and an uncomfortable shift as the eggs begin to hatch within you. The tentacles in your pussy immediately slide free and smaller ones seize your battered lips before rudely pulling on them to reveal your now loose and sloppy canal in its entirety.

Within seconds a small writhing indigo tentacle pushes its way out of your cervix and begins its descent.

Scaramouche's eyes widen with a fevered, manic light as he watches the first of his offspring emerge and fall to the floor with a small thud. He leans in closer, his breath coming faster as he watches the next little and writhing indigo tentacle push its way out, covered in fluids and its own natural secretions, a grotesque parody of a newborn.

"Look at that... your womb was actually able to grow these things without issue, your body has given life to my creation. I knew I made no mistake when I chose you for this."

The tentacles in your ass begins to writhe and pulse at that moment, easily pulling free from your body to make room for more of the "children " to emerge. Within seconds they start slipping out of your abused holes like nightmarish serpents and forming a horrific pile beneath your deflated body. Their movements are jerky and erratic, their beautiful flesh glistening in the dim light as they slowly start to slither up your legs in search of the warmth they once knew moments ago.

"Such a good mother, so efficient in your purpose. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were meant for this. And now, look at you... a true incubator, an ideal vessel for what is to come."

Scaramouche reaches down, his fingers brushing against the writhing mass of tentacles, stroking them like a proud parent would a newborn. They pulse and twitch at his touch, as if recognizing their creator, their master.

"They will be the first of many, the vanguard of a new age, a new era of power and dominance."

Your belly continues to churn from inside, more of the eggs hatching, more of the small tentacle creatures slipping out to join their brethren. The floor quickly fills with their jerking, twisting forms, a nightmarish scene.

Scaramouche's maniacal laughter then rings out, echoing off the walls, a sound of pure, unhinged joy at his dark triumph. He knows that he has won. Because with this plan now in action, no one would be able to oppose him for long.

And the world would be his for the taking.

[rcvcgers]

Rotten Apples, pt. 3

masterlist , part one , part two

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: you go out with caleb but things turn south.

word count: 8.1k words

warnings: extreme loathing, kinda funny, sad at the end, a good mix of everything! a hint of foreplay! mentions of death! not proofread!

author's note: hi all! this is a bit on the longer side so i apologize! part four is most definitely in the works, though! i hope you enjoy the chapter! i hope i got everyone who asked to be tagged! please yell at me if i forgot you!

taglist <3 : @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexizia , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @jexizia

Seven o’clock is approaching fast and you have yet to find anything to wear. Your closet has been emptied, clothes scattered across the vinyl flooring of your apartment. Dresses, pants, and blouses fill in the blank spaces of the floor. You tip toe around the messily laid out outfits, sending pictures to your closest friend for her opinion,

It doesn’t really surprise you when she video calls you, laughing at how seriously you’re taking this dinner.

“Are you trying to impress him?” Your friend snorts. You prop your phone against a book on the counter. “I thought you didn’t like him?”

“I don’t,” your response is immediate and snappy, “I would like to have a nice dinner, though.”

“How do you know you’re actually going out to dinner? What if he’s there to kill you, you know, like some serial killer type shit.”

“He is our beloved Colonel, after all. I can’t pass up the opportunity he’s handing to me.”

“An opportunity to what? Find another military sugar daddy that wants you on his arm? Bitch, please,” Your friend rolls her eyes and shakes her head when you hold a red dress to your body. “I don’t think you should go. My expertise tells me that this is a bad idea.”

“Your expertise?” You throw your head back and laugh. “Your expertise from what? All of the true crime documentaries you’ve watched?”

“Yes, actually,” she proudly states, a ‘fuck you’ smile spreading across her face.

“I’m going,” a fake smile spreads across your face when you glance at yourself in the mirror. “It’s a free meal. I’m not going to pass it up!”

“You’re making a major mistake! You should go in sweatpants. Put in no effort whatsoever. He’s the guy you’ve been trying to forget, right?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, glancing at her face on the phone screen, “he’s kind of hard to forget, though. He’s—”

“A dreamboat? Got you a single butterfly toy when you were kids? Has the prettiest eyes? This is going to end up horribly and you know it. I’m not going to stop you…just don’t come crying to me when he breaks your heart.” Your friend hangs up after that.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, eyes focused on the dress that you hold up in front of yourself. It slips out of your sight and your eyes drop down to the baggy sweatpants you have on.

They haven’t been washed in a couple days and there’s a stain from the takeout you ordered the other day when your favorite show had its season premiere.

Sweatpants, you roll your eyes with a chuckle, he’d hate that.

A slow smile spreads across your face. Maybe you will be in sweatpants and the shirt you sleep in when he shows up. You never agreed to the dinner, after all. What could Caleb possibly be expecting from you?

It’s not like this dinner is going to solve all of your problems. It’s not going to wash away the sins he’s committed against you nor will it bring you much solace even if things go well.

A black dress catches your attention from the corner of your eye. The hanger finds itself between your fingers. you slowly lift it into the air, silently examining it, before holding the dress against your body. Your steps are slow and meticulous. They’re almost hesitant to see what it looks like on you.

Your hands trail across the soft fabric of the dress. It has a box neckline, cutting low on your chest, with long sleeves, and a skirt that stops just halfway down your thigh. You squint at the dress, familiarity tingling in the back of your mind.

It couldn’t be…no…right?

The dress falls to the floor. It pools at your feet, your body shuddering. You grasp the spot over your heart, feeling the beats speed up. A faint ringing buzzes in your ears. You didn’t expect to see the black garment in your closet.

Did your mother pack it without you knowing? She was horrendously overbearing while you packed your room up. The move from Linkon to Skyhaven was brutal on her. She had almost convinced your father to follow you so she can have the peace of mind knowing that you know somebody there. Thankfully, he talked her down, but it didn’t make her maternal instincts go away.

Out of all the things she helped pack for you: did she have to pack that dress?

Grumbling obscenities under your breath, you cleaned your apartment, wasting time.

You simply weren’t going to go. Your friend was right, all this is going to do is bring back bad memories and ruin your night. With the floors now cleared and free from your disastrous attempt at fashion, you flop onto the couch, kicking your feet up onto the coffee table. The television switches on, the laughs from Skyhaven’s news anchors filling the silence of your apartment. You roll your eyes and click to the next channel. A reality show pops up with older white woman screaming at each other.

It’s trash but it works.

You grab your phone and the screen lights up. Just as fate has it, a notification pings, the banner floating at the top of the screen. You don’t recognize the number and shrug it off, swiping it away. You move to a familiar app and begin to play the game.

It only feels like a few minutes, when in actuality it’s been an hour, when there’s a knock at the door. The sound floats in the air before it comes again, much more demanding this time. You turn around, looking over the edge of the couch you have sunken into, and raise an eyebrow.

An uncomfortable silence fills the air. The knocks don’t continue nor can you hear anyone, like your landlord, calling your name. There are no alarms and no sound of chaos from the hallway.

Huh. Weird.

 You turn back to your game, groaning when your tiny character falls off the platform and into the lasers below. You chuck your phone into the other side of the couch, head rolling back and over the arm rest. You stare at the door, laughing to yourself.

That would be so fucking crazy if that were Caleb at the door. How would he even know where to find you? You definitely didn’t tell him where you live nor did you confirm this dinner he invited you on.

Life is weird though. Dead men come back to life and they suddenly pay attention to you. What’s even crazier is that the dead man wants to see you tonight.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Your body jumps from the couch, the sudden sound scaring you back to life. You land on your feet, sharp pain shooting through your ankles. You gasp and collapse back onto the couch, loudly whining.

You hear your name through the door followed by continuous knocking. Quickly making your way to the door, you swing up open and quickly dodge a balled fist that misses the door.

“Woah!” Caleb’s voice causes you to groan. “I almost got you there! Sorry about that!”

Your eyes narrow at him and that damn charming smile of his. You lean against the doorframe, pulling the door to your side to block the view of your messy apartment. Caleb’s a head taller than you, though, so your efforts are in vain as he cranes his chin up, looking inside.

“How did you find my apartment? How the fuck do you know where I live?” You ask, completely baffled by his presence.

“I may or may not have abused my power when you didn’t answer my texts,” he says it so casually that even you think that what he did was okay. You blink for a couple seconds, comprehending what he just said, when your eyes get caught on his outfit.

He wears black dress pants matched with a white dress shirt. He sports a black jacket over his arms and shoulders with no tie hanging around his neck. unconsciously, your eyes drift to the collar of his shirt. You expect to see a certain silver necklace around his neck, one that you’ve seen in countless social media photos.

It isn’t around his neck.

Hope strikes your heart, causing it to skip a beat. Your cheeks heat up.

You hate how easy it is for you to like him again. Is the bar that low that him opting not to wear a necklace has you wanting to go to dinner with him?

Fortify your mental walls, dammit! Do not give in to the temptation that is Caleb!

“I love the sweatpants look. Very classy. But you should probably change, our reservation is in thirty minutes,” his purple eyes scan the small sliver of your apartment.

It’s actually a lot different than from what he initially imagined. The couch is in the middle of the room with the television pushed up against the wall. Behind the couch is a small table with two chairs. He assumes that the kitchen is to the right of it because your bedroom is to the left. The walls are somewhat bare. Only a few pictures and decor hang from them.

At least your place feels alive and lived in compared to his.

You raise an eyebrow. He mimics you with a chuckle. You purse your lips and Caleb has to mentally tell himself to not close the distance and kiss you.

“A reservation?” He nods in response to your question. “I can’t. My heater broke I’m…waiting for maintenance to come by and fix it.”

“I can fix it,” his reply is immediate.

“No, it’s fine, really—”

“It’ll take me five minutes! You can get dressed while I fix it,” he speaks over you so casually as if this were everyday banter between you two.

It’s like that with his pipsqueak, but never you.

Caleb pushes some of his weight onto the door but you push back. He stops and looks down at down, brows furrowed.

Why won’t you let me help you? He thinks to himself.

Caleb rests a hand on the door, palm flat and fingers stretched out. He leans down and inspects your face.

You wear a large frown which is matched with a deadly glare, one that he isn’t particularly fond of since your years together in high school. Your eyes keep moving away from his, looking everywhere but at him, and he frowns.

“You’re lying to me,” Caleb states. His posture straightens, arms crossed over his chest. You match his posture, throwing him a dirty look.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes. Yes you are,” he leans down to your eye level. You get a closer look at his eyes, noticing that the gold you saw before is actually more of a bronze. Perhaps he’s never been a golden boy this whole time. Your hardened expression falters. “Go get changed. I’ll wait inside for you.”

Caleb takes a step towards you, the door creaking open. Your hand smacks against his chest, right on top of his heart. His heart thumps inside his chest. Your fingers involuntary curl into his chest, pushing him back. Your eyes remain trained on the top button of his shirt.

“No,” you say, finally looking up into his big eyes. “Stay…right here.” You swipe your foot in a line in front of your apartment door. He watches then looks back up at you. “Don’t cross this line. I’ll be right back.”

You slam the door in his face and quickly lock it. Caleb stands out in the hallway. He blinks at the door, unsure of what just happened, and turns around to face the hallway.

Progress. That’s what this is. It’s progress. Progress towards you two reigniting the spark of friendship. The Colonel hopes it turns into something more. He needs it to be more than slammed doors and tense moments in interrogation rooms and apartment hallways.

Caleb watches as people pass by in the hallway. He can’t hear you inside, most likely deep inside your bedroom getting changed.

Getting ready for him.

The thought of you getting all dolled up for him gets Caleb excited. His smile grows with every passing second. A few men walk by and Caleb makes for sure to glare at them, arms crossed, chest puffed out, asserting dominance over them.

He sighed when the last one disappeared into the elevator. The faint click of the door’s lock catches his attention and he takes a single step back, watching as you slowly open the door.

His heart pounds in his chest, ears and cheeks growing warm from the sight of you.

You look absolutely stunning in the black dress you wear. He likes how the sleeves cover your arms yet it leaves your upper chest exposed. It’s like you’re teasing him, luring him in for more. Your hair is pulled back and out of your face. Your face isn’t beaten, instead opting for a more natural and casual look, and you shrug your long purse strap over your shoulder. You’re much taller, too, and his eyes fall onto a simple pair of heels. Looking back up, Caleb smiles.

You are the image of perfection.

His eyes barely skim over the top of your head now. Maybe his neck won’t hurt as much looking down at you.

“You look…amazing.” Caleb can barely get his compliment out, fumbling over his words and growing feelings towards you. His heart swells at your small smile and nod. You turn, keys jingling in your hand. You take a second to breathe. The warmth in your cheeks irritates you.

You hate how your body constantly betrays you when he’s around. It’s a curse, not a blessing.

“Ready?” His voice quips once you turn around from locking your apartment door. You hesitantly nod, forcing a smile onto your face, but it falls once he extends his hand to you.

You stare at his fingers, which have a few scars wrapped around his skin, before looking back up at him. Caleb’s smile is so hopeful. The corners of his eyes slightly crinkle. You sigh, stepping around him, his fingers brushing against your arm.

Caleb watches as you walk down the hallway, your jacket draped over your arm, purse bouncing against your side. He releases a disappointed sigh, fingers curling back into his palm. He forces his feet to chase after you, watching as you press the elevator button.

The Colonel attaches himself to your side, making sure to keep a respectable yet close distance. It’s silent. The faint dings from the elevator grow louder. The doors slide open and you step inside, Caleb following suit.

The metal box slowly lowers. Caleb’s eyes remain on you, utterly captivated by the sight. You look forward, opting for the buffed metal door.

Caleb would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of the door.

“Where are you taking us?” You break the awkward silence of the elevator. You glance at him and your eyes meet. You slowly bat your eyelashes at him, sighing.

Please prove me wrong, you internally plead, inner voice desperate, please prove that you aren’t the same boy I knew in high school.

Before he can respond, the elevator slide open. An obnoxiously large group stands on the other side. They wear bright pink cowboy hats and sashes, their eyes half-lidded.

Oh shit. It’s a bachelorette party. That’ll be fun to listen to tonight.

They wave hi, which you and Caleb return. As they slowly pile into the elevator, their voices grow loud, causing your ears to ring.

Caleb slides in front of you, gently pushing you against the back wall. His forearm rests against your head, the man trapping you in your spot. You look around him.

The elevator is completely packed. The inhabitants push together, morphing into one big blob. Your eyes dart to Caleb’s torso, noticing that there’s a few inches of space between you.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You look up, his face hovering in front of yours.

Your lips barely graze over each other. He’s slightly hunched over, face slightly grimacing from the bachelorette party bumping into him, stepping on his feet.

You hold back a laugh, covering your mouth. Caleb turns his attention back to you, a half-amused grin tugging the corner of his lips up.

“You’re laughing? At a time like this?” Caleb whispers into your ear, leaning in. The strands of his hair tickle your forehead. He leans in closer, lips grazing against your ear. “C’mon now…cut me some slack. I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

His breath is hot on your ear. Shivers run down your spine, the tingles making themselves at home in your stomach. Frozen in place, your eyes move to his shoulder.

A small speck catches your eye. Inside the small elevator, you push your arm against the pressure from the other people. Caleb’s gaze follows your hand. You breathe in sync with him, both watching as you pluck a single eyelash from his cheek, right below his eye.

Your fingertips graze against his skin, leaving electric shocks in their wake, and scoop the small eyelash from his skin. You inspect the eyelash with close eyes. Your gaze flits to his, his purple eyes staring not at your eyes but your lips.

“Make a wish,” your whisper fills the tension between your bodies. His bottom lip quivers. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek, feeling them heat up.

Caleb tilts his head down. He slowly slows at the eyelash on your finger, the hair disappearing, your eyes meeting once again.

My wish is you.

His breath is cool against your skin. It brings you no relief. Instead, your body inches closer to him, burning under his gaze of desire.

The two of you don’t even realize that the elevator is now empty. There is no bachelorette party cornering you. There is no reason for you two to be so close.

You hate to admit it but you don’t want to move. Caleb doesn’t either. He can’t get enough of your perfume, the way your touch was so light and careful against his face, almost as if you were scared to get even closer to him.

Do you feel it?

Do you feel the center of gravity that is pulling us together?

You clear your throat and dip under his arm. The further you get from him, the easier it is to breathe. You don’t even look at him from over your shoulder, scurrying out of the small enclosure.

Caleb hangs behind. His fingers curl against the elevator wall, eyes closed. He grimaces, harshly biting down on his lower lip. Your perfume lingers in the air. The warmth of your affection tickling his skin. He lets out a haggard breath, his back slowly straightening. He fixes his jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt, and exits the elevator, finding you outside.

You stand alone and off to the side, just hidden enough for people not to notice you but visible enough for Caleb to immediately find you. Just as the purse strap slips off your shoulder, Caleb collects it in his hand. He slips the jacket from your arms as well and eases your hand through the first sleeve, helping aim your next arm through the second.

“Thank you,” you breathe out, your breath visible in the cold night air. He nods, clearing his throat. “I think you were interrupted before.”

“Was I?” Caleb’s eyes flutter, looking down at you. You chuckle and raise an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah, I was, wasn’t I?” You nod. “A colleague recommended the restaurant to me. I thought you may like it.”

“Oh?” His intention takes you by surprise.

He actually…thought of you? Wow. You didn’t know he could do that.

You don’t give it much thought, though. It’s probably due to her not being here.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

The outside of the restaurant takes you by surprise. The outside is made up of dark metal with grooves in it that imitates wood, which is a stark contrast to the rest of the Skyhaven’s white metallic look. A long window surrounds the perimeter. It’s a thin line and doesn’t take up much of the wall space. A faint, golden glow seeps into the glass.

Caleb’s long strides keep with your pace. He walks close to you, your purse acting as a boundary between your hips. You glance inside the restaurant’s window, seeing couples and semi-large parties inside the main dining room.

The Colonel opens up the business’ door, smiling down at you as you step inside, quietly thanking him.

The atmosphere is warm, the chilled air tingling away from your skin. You feel a pair of hands on your shoulders, shrugging your jacket off of your body. You watch him with an intense gaze.

His shoulders are so broad. You swear you can watch as his muscles tense then relax under the fabric as she hands over your jackets to an employee. Caleb turns to you, nodding as the hostess walks away. You swallow whatever spit you have in your mouth. You tell your feet to move, goosebumps forming across your skin when you feel his touch on the low of your back.

Caleb sticks close behind you, fingers grazing up and down your body. His eyes stare at the exposed skin of your neck, eyes drifting up to the side of your face. He smirks, watching as your lips part with a gasp, his fingers inching their way around your side. He’s unable to get a full grip of your side, though, when the hostess places menus on the table before you.

You step to your chair but Caleb is too quick for you, dragging it out. You roll your eyes at him and sit, the man pushing the chair in to meet your body. He sits at the spot in front of you, the table circular and on the smaller side, with a lit candle in the center of the table.

Taking a glance around the restaurant, you notice that you and Caleb are more towards the back. It’s like you’re hidden away so nobody can see you. Couples at other tables lean in, smiles adorned on their faces over the candle light, the dim lighting of the restaurant casting shadows over their faces.

The scenery and atmosphere is…strangely romantic.

“You look great in that dress,” Caleb’s voice brings your eyes back onto his. They drop to his arms, where his white sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Your breath gets caught in your throat. You tear your gaze away and settle back onto his eyes.

“Thanks. I haven’t worn it for a year,” you respond with a shrug.

“Yeah?” He leans forward, his smile growing, “when was the last time you wore it?”

“Your funeral.”

Oh. Well. You know…I don’t know how to respond to that, Caleb thinks to himself. He purses his lips, brows knitted together, eyes narrowed from unease.

You stare at him with your arms crossed over your chest. You raise an eyebrow at his sour reaction. He was the one who died and magically came back to life with no explanation.

He sits up in his chair, resting his hands in his lap as his piercing violet eyes tear into yours. You shift in your seat, crossing one leg over the other as he comes up with the proper words to respond.

A waiter approaches the table, their face just barely illuminated from the light. He wears all black clothing and his smile is a little too friendly, his eyes dragging across your bare chest. You suck in a breath and glance at Caleb, who glares at the waiter.

“Good evening. May I start you two off with a bottle of wine or an appetizer?” The waiter asks, looking at you, not even a second to stare at Caleb. You simper at his gaze, only feeling slightly uncomfortable, as you take the wine list from his hands.

“He’s paying, so we’ll make it an expensive bottle,” you muse with a quiet chuckle. Caleb’s eyes break from the waiter and land on you. Goosebumps litter your skin as you pretend not to notice the intensity radiating from his body. “We’ll do this one,” you point out a name on the list to the waiter.

He dips down and his putrid cologne tinges your nostrils. You lean away, wincing from how his scent burns the inside of your nose. His lips curl into a toothy grin.

“Great choice. I’ll have it out for you in a few moments.” He walks away and you watch him. You relax into your seat when he vanishes from your eye line, turning back to Caleb. 

“Could you get even closer to him?” Caleb’s raspy voice cuts through the low lighting. You raise an eyebrow, confused by his sudden possessiveness towards you.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Caleb,” you roll your eyes and lean forward, dress grazing against the table, “you’ve only been in my life for twenty four hours. You don’t get to have a say on who gets close to me.”

“Don’t I?” He matches your lean, his purple eyes glowing from the candlelight. “I was in your life for a good amount—”

“Emphasis on was,” you interrupt him. He swipes his tongue over his teeth, shaking his head ever so slightly at you.

You know you’re teetering on a very, very line and fragile line with Caleb. A small amount of payback won’t kill the man. He did lead you on for that good amount of time he was in your life for so if it’s any consolation for you, it’s deserved.

“Let’s have a nice dinner,” you sigh. His darkened expression softens, his eyebrows relaxing. Catching a glimpse of his fists, you see them relax as well, his knuckles no longer white. “However, I do think you owe me an explanation about your so-called ‘death.’” You pause, looking to the side, before rushing to get the words out, “and I don’t want to talk about her either. I…I don’t particularly have fond memories of the three of us since things ended badly. I hope you can understand that.”

Caleb’s eyes slightly widen. A part of him knew that this was coming. He had been distracted all day, sitting at his desk, ignoring all of his duties as Colonel. He went through every memory that he could remember, ones that weren’t influenced by the chip in his body, and came to realization that towards the end, you weren’t there.

In the memories that you were in, you were in the background while she took center stage. It made Caleb feel like a fool, truly. He agonized over it. Just to know that he could have caused you so much pain and emotional turmoil ripped his heart apart. He plans on repaying and making up for it until his final breath.

Even in death, Caleb will find ways to make you feel important, that you matter.

“I promise,” he breathes out, eyes never leaving yours, “to not bring her up. Consider her banished from our relationship.”

You lean into the back of the chair, putting your full weight into it. You stare at him, wondering if what he said can be trusted. You sigh and nod, forcing a small smile onto your face. He beams at you and nods, sighing from relief.

The side of your heel glides against his leg. He sucks in a breath and you bat your eyelashes at him. You take your bottom lip between your two teeth, knowing that it will drive him absolutely crazy. The Colonel shifts in his seat, his eyes taking all the liberties he wants.

His demeanor has shifted so many times within the last minute. He went from happy, to sorrowful, then his anger took over, and now the look on his face tells you that he’s feeling some form of lust. Adrenaline runs through your veins because you simply don’t know what Caleb you’re going to get next.

He licks his lips when you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You turn your attention to the dining room, looking upon the other couples and groups that mingle inside. A soft chuckle shakes your body.

The waiter comes back with a bottle of white wine and two glasses in hand. He sets the glasses in front of the two of you, but neither dare to break their gaze.

Caleb’s eyebrow slightly perks up and you tilt your head to the side, a sly smirk forming on your face.

The wine is poured, the pale yellow alcohol sitting pretty inside the glass. You make the first move. The glass is cool in your hand and you swirl the wine around, bringing the glass to your glossy lips.

The first sip of the Pinot Blanc has an exceptional fresh taste to it, complimenting the dryness to the wine. The aroma is fruity with hints of apple, Caleb’s favorite, and a side taste of citrus.

You glance at the waiter, who hovers at the small table. Caleb clears his throat, glaring at the man. The waiter doesn’t pay attention to Caleb, his eyes staying on you.

“The wine is delicious, thank you,” you set the glass down, fingers resting on the base of the glass. He nods but stays in his spot. Caleb’s fists ball on top of the white cloth. He opens his mouth to speak but you’re quick to tap his knee with the tip of your high heel. You roll your eyes and take a deep breath, leaning towards the waiter. “As you can see, I’m here with him and not you. So, if you could please give us some privacy, that would be nice.”

Caleb watches you in awe. Your dominance is refreshing and is something he hasn’t experienced with her in a long time. She typically gave up after five minutes but you? You are fiery. You know what you want and you also know how to tell people to fuck off in ways he never knew how.

Has he finally met his match? Can you be the one to meet his fiery passion and loyalty?

“You can leave this here,” you reach out to the waiter, tapping the label on the wine bottle.

The waiter obeys, scrambling away. Caleb watches it as if he’s at a magic show, completely enthralled with the display you’re putting on for him.

This is a completely different side of you, one that he’s never seen before but desperately wants to get to know. If Caleb didn’t know any better, he would think that you also want to indulge in the sweetness of your blossoming love.

“Try the wine,” you grab your glass, emptying the contents into your mouth before refilling it. Caleb watches with an amused smile, tasting the wine as you said to do, and pauses. It’s…it’s delectable. It hits all of the flavor notes he’s been dying to taste in a good wine.

And you were the one who managed to find it.

“Hey,” he leans forward, capturing your attention. “Can we…start over? You know…a fresh start for us?”

Your eyes read humor and your smile is divine. You think about his proposal for a moment, tearing your gaze away, opting to look at the menu.

You know that he’s eagerly waiting for a response. Knowing Caleb, he’s impatient to know the result of your calculations. He watches you, focused on the way your foot taps against his shin and how your eyes scan the menu as if there’s anything remotely interesting on there.

Caleb is right there and he knows that he is way more interesting than the variety of food options the restaurant has to offer.

“What do you say?” He pesters. Your eyes shoot to his. Chills run down his spine.

“New life, new you, right?” You muse. Caleb can’t help but laugh, turning his head away from you.

Have you always been this funny? Your humor knows no bounds, truly. While some people would have groaned at your words, Caleb couldn’t help but see the lightheartedness behind them.

He knows that his death must have taken a large, emotional toll on you. It’s never easy losing someone you were once close to. Perhaps your humor is your way of dealing with uncomfortable and awkward situations. He can’t fault you for it. He too has been known to make light of many uncomfortable scenarios, such as failing his psych evaluation at the DAA. 

“Thank you,” he releases a sigh he didn’t even know he was holding in. You shake your head, his interest piqued.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” you bring the glass to your lips, licking them, “consider this dinner as your trial run.”

“Noted,” Caleb responds, eyes trained on your lips, wondering when he’s get a chance to taste the flavor of your lip gloss.

The dinner runs smooth, smoother than you or him could have ever anticipated. Your glasses never went empty and after a bottle or two, you could feel your tipsy giggles taking over your body as Caleb watched you with the biggest smile on his face.

Whenever you covered your face from embarrassment, he always made sure to peel them off so he can look upon your gorgeous face. He loves the way your cheeks turn a light pink color, an effect the alcohol has on you, and how your entire demeanor changes. You become light, airy.

Caleb basks in your delightful chuckles and you can’t help but feel closer to him every time he told you one of his stories from inside the Deepspace Tunnel.

The best part of it is that whenever you shared stories from your translator job, he didn’t make you feel insignificant or insufficient compared to him. Sure, you weren’t in a direct line of danger like he is. You don’t fight Wanderers nor do you patrol the Deepspace Tunnel like it’s nothing.

Your average Tuesday consists of translating, and sometimes even decrypting, secret messages and speeches that the Farspace Fleet intercept. To you, it’s a boring old desk job. To Caleb, you are one of the most integral parts of his job. Without you, his job would be much more difficult and he would be in shambles.

He always knew you were smart but your skills as a translator and linguist are truly impressive. He may be able to able to fly some of the most difficult planes and spaceships, but he’ll never be able to fully understand how to comprehend a different language.

It feels like there were no walls between you two. No angst for you to cling to and a time for Caleb to finally, and quite regrettably, get to know who you are after all these years.

To him, you’ve changed so much. You’ve broken free from your shell, one that him and her put you in, and have grown into a woman who is utterly captivating, someone who can control the room with a simple look and a voice that he never wants to stop listening to.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you breathe between quiet chuckles. You lean forward, a genuine smile on your face. “You’re telling me that you and your squad were scared of a creaking noise?”

“Yes,” Caleb leans in, slowly reaching out for your hand. His large hand lays on top of your tiny one and he is surprised that you don’t immediately pull away from him. The tips of his fingers trace the top of your hand, leaving random swirls and letters into your soft skin. His sight lowered to your hands.

It feels domestic to him, something that he never thought or imagined he would have with you. But here you are, allowing it to happen as you breathlessly laugh at his moment of stupidity while on patrol.

He loves it. He loves—

“Caleb?! Where have you been?! I’ve been worried sick!”

His fingers stop, eyes shooting up to you. Your posture shifts. Your back is as straight as a board, eyes dissociated from the world.

You have become an entirely different person when her voice shrilled form behind you.

You can’t bring yourself to turn and look at her. You listen for her footsteps, hearing them approach before stopping behind you.

“You forgot your necklace at home! I was worried that something happened to you. Who are you with?” She circles the table settling the space to the side of the table. Your hand retracts from his and Caleb can’t help but stare at the tears that brim in your eyes. You look to the spot around his neck, one where the necklace that dangles from her hand should be hanging. 

“I left a note for you—” Caleb begins.

“Is that who I think it is?” She says in a hushed tone to him, staring you with a look that says back off. 

Your eyes stagger to meet his. His lips part, staring at you like he’s just been caught red handed.

Of course. It was so easy to see what this is.

You tilt your chin up, finally looking up at her. She’s all dolled up, makeup absolutely flawless, elevating her natural beauty. She wears a simple blue bow in her dark hair, which travels just below her shoulders. Her outfit is pretty too, nothing that you can pull off anyways, and she radiates I’m better than you energy.

Your stomach turns on itself. You stare at the wine glasses, ears ringing, wondering why the fuck you had to drink so much. It’s because you felt comfortable with him, yes, but you should have known something like this would happen.

You’re nine years old. She feels left out so you give her a present to open. You hate sharing your birthday.

You’re twelve and sitting alone while they get ice cream together. You’re filled with disappointment when they forgot to get you something.

You’re fifteen years old again. The sting of rejection and embarrassment cuts into your skin at the sight of her when he says he can’t go to the dance.

You’re sixteen years old and watching as they leave your game, hand in hand, not even bothering to say goodbye.

You feel your inner child die. Caleb the Knight has finally slain the monstrous and rotten dragon that has done nothing but ask for love.

“How have you been? It’s been forever since I’ve seen you!” She beams at you.

“I’ve been fine,” you fake a smile but are unable to keep a cheery charade as your smile immediately falters, the corner of your lip twitching. Your nostrils tingle. Your throat throbs from holding back tears.

“You should have waited for me back at the apartment,” Caleb’s face never turns away from yours. A quiet gasp falls from your lips.

At the apartment? Are you sleeping with her? Are you two dating? Have I been made a fool again?

Questions flood into your mind. You’re unable to stop them, not that you want to anyways, as the realization of what’s happening weighs down on your shoulders.

This is the unmistakable feeling of dread.

You stare at him, tears threatening to fall from your eyes, as your hands grip onto the skirt of your dress for dear life. Your nails dig into the palms of your hand through the fabric, stinging your skin.

“I’ve been waiting! I didn’t know you were meeting up with someone,” she turns to you and looks at the plate in front of you. “Is that salmon? I love salmon!”

Suddenly, you hate salmon.

Thinking rashly and acting off of pure instinct, you stand from your chair. The table clatters, silverware clanging into each other, when the top of your thighs hit the table.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, glass of wine tipping over, splashing onto her. It shatters on impact when it falls to the ground. Embarrassment crashes through your body like a tsunami, ears turning a bright red color from the heat you feel in your head.

“Are you okay?” Caleb jumps to your side, grabbing your arm with kindness and sincerity. You rip your lib away from him, shaking your head.

“I’m fine,” your voice shakes. You look at her, who watches with a dropped jaw. “It was…so nice seeing you again.” You push the painful words out, your throat tightening around itself. Nausea sweeps your body and you grab your purse from the back of your chair, throwing the skinny strap over your shoulder. Without thinking, you turn away from the duo, who are so clearly made for each other, and rush through the restaurant.

You accidentally bump into a hostess who leads a couple to their table. You gasp and drop to the floor, helping her up, choking out apologies to her. You hear Caleb call your name from behind, trying to keep up with you, but refuse to turn around.

You simply can’t! You can’t see the look on his face, the one every man has when he realizes that he was caught being a two timing scumbag. 

This is just like high school. This is just like the failed homecoming dance when you cried yourself to sleep. This is just like the time Caleb ditched your game because she wanted to go home and watch a movie instead.

Hot tears streak down your face. You wipe your eyes, the fabric around your hands soon becoming soaked from the salty tears. You rush to the door, everyone’s eyes on you. The employee in the coat closet stares at you with bewildered eyes. You ignore him, leaving your jacket behind, as you burst into the ice cold night air.

There’s no rain but you really hoped there would be. You’d be able to escape into the night, going unnoticed as you ran to your apartment. It’s be cinematic, yes, but in all the worst ways possible. It would have been your punishment for being so fucking stupid.

How could you have thought that this would have gone well? Did you really think that Caleb, out of all people, could actually fucking care about you? He’s a man! He could care less about your feelings! As long as he ends the night in bed next to her, he’d be fine.

It wouldn’t matter if you cried yourself to sleep that night. It wouldn’t matter if you deleted and blocked his number. It wouldn’t matter if you ended up getting hit by a car, falling into a deep coma that you’d never wake from.

The only thing that matters is that Caleb is in love with her. Not you.

Your vision is blurred. Your mascara streaks down your cheeks. The street is busy, filled with cars from the night traffic. They whizz by at top notch speeds, your dress skirt getting caught in the air. You hold your hand out, trying to hail a taxi.

“Taxi!” You yell in a pained cry. Your legs wobble. Your arms ache. Your body feels as if it’s shutting down on itself from the grief you’ve just gone through.

Caleb breaks through the restaurant door. He scans the area, chest rapidly rising and falling, and his eyes land on you, who sways back and forth right next to the curb. His heart sinks into his stomach and he leaps towards you, hand outstretched.

You feel your body tense, going still. A tear stops halfway down your cheek. Your eyes dart around, looking for someone to help you. Your name shoots from Caleb’s mouth and you let out a cry, closing your eyes.

“Leave me alone!” You sob. His evol releases you but you’re immediately pulled into his chest. His arms trap you against him, body trembling from sadness and anger, his palms flattening against your hips. “Let me go, Caleb.”

“No. Let’s talk about this,” his chin rests on your shoulder, hunched over. He presses his nose into the side of your neck, his breath only making your body hotter than it needs to be. “Let me explain, please!”

“No! You don’t — Caleb!” You throw your shoulders backward. He stumbles back but takes you with him. His arms remain frigid. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“Caleb, I swear on my life that if you don’t let me go, you’ll never see me again.” Your words push through gritted teeth. Caleb stares at you, knowing that’s not true, that wherever you go, he’ll follow like a lost dog. He humors the sentiment, though, and slowly relaxes his grip.

You turn around and shove him away from you. Red eyes, ruined makeup, and a heart that has officially rotted, you stare at him. He tries to come close to you but you shove him away, using every bit of strength you can muster. He takes a step back, a sigh escaping his lips.

“I swear, it’s not what it—”

“What it what? Looks like?!” You yell at him.

People turn their heads and watch. They whisper amongst themselves, pointing and bringing their cameras out to record incase the encounter goes south. Cars honk and sirens blare in the distance.

“Please,” his voice cracks, a hand extending towards you, “this is all one big misunderstanding!”

“What could be misunderstood, Caleb? The fact that she came looking for you? Or the fact you brought me to a place that men take their mistresses to?” You turn away but he uses his evol to turn you back around. You let out a frustrated yell. He holds his hands up, shaking his head.

“Hey, hey, let’s try to calm down—”

“Calm down?!” Your screech interrupts him. You point to the restaurant behind you two. “Caleb! You made me your mistress! She literally showed up looking for you! She brought that stupid fucking necklace and asked why you weren’t home!”

“Please—”

“Shut up! Shut up!” You turn around, holding your face in your hands. Your breaths are deep, heavy, as your lungs burn from the inside, the lack of oxygen causing your body to ache. You hunch over, hand over your chest, fingers digging into your chest.

Maybe it’s the wine clouding your judgement, maybe it’s the walls you built from the constant years of betrayal and lackluster friendships, but you just want to disappear.

Anywhere but here would be better. Hell, even a date with George would have been better than this.

Caleb is quick to circle you. He drops to his knee in front of you, trying to get a look at your face, to try and have a conversation. He brushes hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“I’m so stupid,” your words are just above a whisper. Caleb shakes his head, fighting back tears of his own.

“No. No you aren’t. Don’t say that,” the words tumble from his mouth.

“Yes, I am. I thought I could trust you. I thought that things changed—”

“They did change! She’s just here on a mission and needed a place to stay, that’s all—”

“I don’t care. I don’t care,” you shake your head, lifting your head up. You take a deep breath.

You look at the chaotic street. Cars drive by and honk at each other. They don’t stop for anyone. All of the anger and sadness you once felt slips from your body. Your mind and body go numb.

“I don’t want to see you again.”

Your words shake Caleb to his core. He stands, looking down at you.

“No! No, please don’t do this to me—”

“I can’t trust you. You’ve made me look like an idiot.”

“Let me make it up top you!”

“I want nothing to do with you. Or her. I deserve better than this. Than you.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“You haven’t changed. She’s always going to come between us.”

“That’s not true! I have changed!”

“You’ve broken my heart, Caleb.”

Caleb grabs hold of your shoulders. He cranes his head down so he’s at eye level with you. You stare into nothing, unable to stop the tears that roll down your cheeks. He stares into your eyes, his devotion and his everything.

That’s you. But you can’t see it.

“Caleb?” Her voice carries to the two of you. “Where are you? Let’s go home!”

You can’t help but laugh. Hysteria takes over your body. You finally come out from your dissociation, looking into Caleb’s violent and bronze eyes.

“You better hurry up or she’ll leave you too.” You shrug his hands off of your shoulders, stepping around him. You whistle and a taxi immediately pulls to the curb. You get in, the last part of your beating heart turning into outright decay, your core nothing but rotten scraps of the girl you’ve left behind.

[keeryhours]

please be gentle (when you’re tearing me apart)

Eddie Munson x female! reader, Steve Harrington x reader

Main Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Steve Harrington Masterlist

Summary:

You’re in love with Eddie, Eddie’s in love with someone else. Somehow, he accidentally ends up in a relationship with you anyway.

Warnings:

(18+), SERIOUS angst, there is only pain here, hurt/no comfort or hurt/a little comfort, cheating, pregnancy, pregnancy complications, birth/c section, Eddie is really out of character and is a total dick, Chrissy is out of character and she also sucks (sorry guys), smut, fingering, protected p in v, virgin!eddie, virgin!reader, really awkward first time!

Word Count: 14.6k

A/N:

WOW okay this was totally unexpected to write. The length especially. This is just something depressing for the anti-Valentine’s Day mood. I’ve been nervous to post so I hope you enjoy! Big giant thanks to @punkrockmlchael (who made my beautiful banner again and also beta read), @the-witty-pen-name , @fizzing-imagines, @losingmygrasponreality, @writhingg , and @lesservillain for bouncing ideas and beta reading! I couldn’t have written this without you. Also ignore that there’s only dividers for half the fic, apparently you can only add 10 images to a post 🙃

dividers by @/strangergraphics

Best friends.

That’s what you and Eddie were, and always had been. Growing up as neighbors in Forest Hills, you met when you were 8 and Eddie was 10, after he moved in with his uncle.

To be honest with yourself, you had had a crush on Eddie Munson since the first time you laid eyes on him. A silly childhood crush at first, he was so cute with his curls, short at the time, and it made your heart beat fast whenever you walked to the store together for snacks and he held your hand.

He would play you all kinds of music you’d never heard before, heavy stuff that was totally new to you. You weren’t sure about it at first, but you grew to love it. When he got into D&D, he would talk your ear off about his campaign plans for hours. You didn’t mind. You liked listening to him talk. When he started Hellfire, you were the first member to join. You didn’t know how to play an instrument, but you were Corroded Coffin’s biggest fan.

Eddie was everything to you. He was the first person you went to with any news, the only one you were excited to tell anything and everything to. He took you to see every new slasher movie, bought you your first dice set. He was the first thing you thought about in the morning and the last you thought of at night. At some point, it turned into more than a crush.

At some point, you fell in love.

Eddie was oblivious. He never dated in high school, but that didn’t seem to bother him. You didn’t, either, but it was mostly because you were so preoccupied with loving Eddie. You tried dropping hints, but he never seemed to figure it out. You were too scared to just get it over with and tell him outright.

So, you remained best friends. Just friends.

—

“Are you going to prom this year?” Wayne asked, sipping his beer as he sat relaxed in his recliner. Eddie nursed his own beer, feet up on the coffee table.

“Nah,” Eddie said. “You know that’s…not my thing.”

“You should go at least once,” Wayne said. “Might regret it.”

“I doubt it.”

“I had a great time at my senior prom,” Wayne reminisced, smiling at the memory. “You should give it a shot, Ed. Why don’t you take your little friend from next door?”

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t feel that way about her.”

“You can go as friends,” he pointed out. “I’m sure she’d like that. Girl adores you.”

“I’m pretty sure she has a crush on me,” Eddie winced, sipping his beer. “I don’t want to give her the wrong idea.”

“You don’t have to marry her, Ed. Just show her a good time. You two have been so close for so long, I’m sure she would understand.”

Eddie thought about it. He didn’t want to go to prom, like at all, but he wanted to make his uncle happy. And if he had to go with someone, it might as well be you, his only female friend, right?

So, he approached you at your locker the next day at school. “Hey.”

You turned to him, your face immediately lighting up with a huge smile. “Hey, Eds.”

“I, uh,” Eddie looked around awkwardly. “I just wanted to ask if you’d want to go to…prom with me?”

Your eyes went wide, but inside your heart was thundering out of your chest. Had Eddie really just asked you out? “Prom? Really? I thought you hated prom?”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s my last senior year. Hopefully, at least. I figured I might as well give it a shot. We can pre game and sneak in some alcohol. And if it’s lame, we can ditch.”

You couldn’t wipe the huge smile off your face. You were almost a little concerned at how hard your heart was beating in that moment, like it would give out. “I’d love to go with you.”

Eddie gave you a soft smile. “Cool. I’ll pick you up at 6 that night.”

You watched as Eddie left, heading in the direction of his next class of the day. You waited until he was out of sight before you went sprinting in the direction of Robin’s locker.

You found her there, taking her books out. She startled when you ran up on her, placing her hand over her chest. “Jesus. What’s up with you?”

“Eddie just asked me to prom,” you blurted out. Robin’s jaw dropped open.

“No way!” She exclaimed, her look of shock turning to one of pure excitement. “This is huge. I always knew he was into you.”

You blushed. “I don’t know. I had given up hope of him liking me back. This was so out of the blue. I didn’t even think he wanted to go to prom at all.”

“Maybe he’s just better at hiding his feelings,” Robin offered. “Either way, we’re going dress shopping. Prom is only two weeks away!”

That weekend, Robin convinced her mom to drive the two of you to Indianapolis to go shopping in the big city. You were both giddy with excitement - Robin wasn’t much of a dress girl, and she didn’t have a date. The only person she wanted to take, she couldn’t ask. You were pretty sure Vickie was into girls and Robin in particular, but Robin was still too scared to make the move. You didn’t blame her. It wasn’t like typical rejection if things went wrong. So, instead, Robin was going with a group of girls from the marching band as friends.

Her mom took you to the huge mall, which was much more impressive than Starcourt. It was huge, with a ton of different stores. You made a stop at Camelot Music first, where Robin got a new Blondie tape and you grabbed the new The Smiths record and a Metallica Master of Puppets tape for Eddie, since his had recently broken.

Next was the formal wear store. You were both immediately overwhelmed when you walked in, the racks and racks of fancy dresses as far as the eye could see. All different colors, lengths, and styles. It was…a lot.

“Well…I guess let’s get started,” Robin said, her voice unsure.

You probably tried on 50 dresses each. You and Robin giggled as you tried on the dresses her mom picked for you, big floofy pink and blue monstrosities.

“You look like a marshmallow. Like a big pink marshmallow,” Robin had commented.

“Yeah?” You laughed, gesturing towards her powder blue gown. “Well, you look like a wedding cake.”

An hour and a half into dress shopping, you were both getting tired and totally over it. You had the last gown you’d picked out in your hand, and you told yourself if you hated this one, too, you’d just say fuck it and go to prom in your ripped jeans.

You pulled the dress over your head, smoothing it down your body. When you turned and looked into the mirror, you gasped. You actually looked…beautiful.

The dark purple dress hugged your curves, pushing your breasts up and making them look much sexier (and perkier) than they really were. The skirt fell above your knees, showing off your legs. You did a little twirl, the skirt swishing around your thighs. You loved it, it was by far the best one you’d tried on.

“Are you alive in there?” Robin called from outside the dressing room, and you smiled to yourself.

“I think we have a winner,” you called back.

“Ooh!” Robin said just as you moved the curtain and walked out. You saw Robin standing in a dark blue dress that looked beautiful on her, the skirt long but flattering.

“Oh my god,” she said. “You look stunning! Eddie is going to lose his mind.”

You blushed at the mention of Eddie. “You do too!” And she did. Finally, you had both found something.

After you left the dress shop with your bags in hand, you were both feeling much happier. You made a stop at Afterthoughts, where you found some earrings and a necklace to match your dress.

You couldn’t believe you were going to prom, and with Eddie. It was a dream come true.

You couldn’t wait.

—

Prom night, you were shaking as you got ready. The dress was just as beautiful as you remembered. The jewelry you had picked out matched your dress even better than you’d hoped.

Eddie picked you up right on time. He smiled at you awkwardly when he picked you up, holding a corsage in his hand. “Hey.”

You beamed at him. “Hi. Is…that for me?”

“Oh, yeah.” He looked at it like he had forgotten he had it. “You look pretty,” he told you as he slipped the corsage onto your wrist. You blushed as you pinned the boutonnière to his black suit jacket.

“You look handsome yourself,” you told him shyly.

Eddie drove the two of you to the school. The parking lot was packed with students’ cars and even a few rented limousines. Just as you were about to get out of the van, Eddie stopped you. He reached into his glove compartment and pulled out two black flasks, handing one to you.

“This should make this night a lot more fun, yeah?” He smirked. You smiled back, before making a face as you took a sip of the burning liquid. Eddie laughed, which made you start giggling, too.

You took a photo together at the booth near the gym doors, which Eddie wasn’t super excited about. The next thing he did was head for the food, piling a tiny plate full of appetizers. You followed him, grabbing a cup of punch to help wash down the liquor in your purse.

Eddie wouldn’t dance with you until after he’d finished his flask, claiming it was stupid and he wouldn’t be caught dead dancing at prom. But by the time he finished it, he had enough of a buzz that he didn’t care. You were tipsy, too, and absolutely elated when he stood and took your hand, leading you to the floor just as a slow song came on.

Eddie playfully groaned, rolling his eyes, but he pulled you close to his body anyway. Butterflies took flight in your stomach as he placed his hands on your hips and you wrapped yours around his neck. The two of you swayed together in time to the music. You could not stop smiling. You laid your head on Eddie’s chest, tuning out the music as you listened to his heartbeat.

After prom, you headed back to the van. You’d had the best night of your life, one you would never forget. Yeah, you were both a little bit intoxicated, but you were floating on the clouds for a whole different reason.

“D’you want to come back to my place?” Eddie asked as he started the engine. “We could drink a little more, smoke a joint. Wayne’s working.”

You wanted nothing more. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

At the trailer, Eddie rolled up a thick joint as you gathered the bottles of liquor and shot glasses from the cabinet. Eddie was back in normal clothes, and you’d changed into one of Eddie’s shirts and a pair of his sweatpants that were too big on you.

Eddie sparked up the joint as you poured each of you two shots of tequila. You clinked your glasses together before downing them both. Eddie took the first drag on the joint, his eyes falling closed as he inhaled the thick smoke. He looked gorgeous like this, curls still tamed and framing his face. The smoke escaped through his perfect lips, trailing up and throughout the bedroom. He handed the joint to you, and you gratefully took it, bringing it to your painted lips. Some of your lipstick had rubbed off on the shot glasses, leaving a stain.

As the night went on, the two of you got progressively more drunk and high. By the time it was 2am, the two of you were giggling messes, listening to music over the stereo and talking about the latest campaign. Suddenly, in your drunkenly stoned haze, you remembered the gift stashed in your purse.

“Oh!” You exclaimed, jumping up to grab your small bag. “I forgot. I got you something.”

“You got me something?” Eddie asked, confused, his words slightly slurring together.

You reached into the purse and pulled out the bag from Camelot. You hoped he loved it, because now that it was in your hands, you were suddenly nervous. You turned, smiling softly as you handed Eddie the bag. “I just saw it while I was at the mall with Robin and I thought of you.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows at you as he took the bag. He reached inside and pulled out the Metallica tape, a huge grin spreading across his face immediately. “Shit! You didn’t have to do this. But it’s fuckin’ awesome you did.”

You giggled, flopping back onto the bed next to him. You laid with your head on his pillow, smiling up at Eddie from where he sat next to you. “I’m glad you like it. I know yours broke. Probably because you play it all the time.”

Eddie poked you in the side, making you laugh harder. “Shut up, Freak. You love Master of Puppets just as much as I do.”

“That’s true,” you conceded. You looked up at him, his chocolate brown eyes gazing down at you. They sparkled, like his personality was shining its way through. He had a strong nose, kissable lips. God, you wanted to kiss those lips.

Eddie had never realized how pretty you were. He always just saw you as his long time best friend, the girl who definitely crushed on him but he never saw that way. He still didn’t think he had feelings for you, but…you were pretty.

“Have you ever kissed a guy before?” He asked, pushing a section of hair off your shoulder.

You blushed at the question. You didn’t have much experience, your love life was nonexistent. But you had kissed someone, at least. “Yeah. Tommy Hagan in 7th grade.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Tommy Hagan? That dickhead? You never told me that.”

You shrugged, your cheeks red and hot. “It didn’t mean anything. I got invited to Heather Holloway’s birthday party and he was there. We all played spin the bottle. It only lasted two seconds and we never really talked again.” Eddie hummed. “What about you?”

It was Eddie’s turn to look sheepish. “Uh, yeah. A girl at school, Chrissy, in 8th grade. We didn’t date or anything.”

Now it was your turn to be shocked. “Chrissy Cunningham? You didn’t tell me that, either!” He had never mentioned her. You knew it was stupid, but you were struck with jealousy at his words.

“It was nothing,” he said, brushing it off.

“Look at us,” you laughed. “18 and almost 20, and we’re still a couple of virgins.”

Eddie looked down at you, something unfamiliar swimming behind his eyes. He had never wanted to kiss you before this moment, but now... “I mean, we can change that.”

Your heart stopped in your chest. “What do you mean?”

Eddie thought about it for a moment. This could be a point of no return, a step in a direction he didn’t want to take. But in his drunk and high mind…he wanted it. He wanted you.

He leaned forward slowly, so slowly. Your breath hitched in your throat right before his lips pressed against yours. They were just as soft as you always dreamed they were, and your mind went even more hazy from his kisses.

Neither of you were experienced at all and you were both pretty intoxicated, so the kiss was a little awkward and desperate. All tongues and teeth clashing together, hungry for one another. Eddie’s hand slid beneath your t-shirt - his Hellfire shirt - trailing up your smooth skin until he reached your breasts. You hadn’t worn a bra with your dress, so you were bare chested beneath the thin shirt. His calloused fingers delicately grazed your nipples, making you shiver. You’d never been touched there before, never felt anything like this. Being touched by Eddie was so much different than being touched by your own hand.

“I love your tits,” Eddie mumbled against your lips between kisses. You hummed, arching your back into his touch.

“Feels good, Ed,” you moaned quietly, body turning into pure electricity under his wandering touch. Your own hand tangled in the curls at the back of his neck, loving the way your bodies molded together, the feeling of his body finally pressed up against your own.

“Yeah?” He squeezed your breast one more time before his hand moved to your back, sliding down your body until he grabbed your ass, pulling you into him. You gasped, feeling how hard he was through his own sweatpants. “You feel how hard I am?”

“Yeah,” you whispered back. You moved your hand to his chest, sliding it down his body until you reached the tent in his pants. He groaned as you felt him, squeezing his cock through the material.

Eddie sat up, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere on the floor. You eyed his bare chest, the tattoos adorning his pale skin. You traced a finger over the design on the left side of his chest. God, he was so hot.

His hands slid up your shirt, pulling it up and off. His gaze dropped straight to your tits, he was practically drooling. He reached for the waistband of your sweatpants next, pulling them down your body slowly, leaving you in nothing but your panties. You were grateful you picked something pretty, red and lace.

“So sexy,” Eddie moaned. He leaned forward and kissed your stomach, which startled you a little. He trailed kisses up your body until he reached your breasts, where he ran his tongue over one of your nipples before wrapping his lips around it. You moaned as you arched into his touch, his mouth, whatever he would give you.

His hand slid down your body slowly, slowly, until it reached your panties. He slipped beneath them, fingers dipping between your folds. He could feel how insanely wet you were, and it only made his cock harder.

“So wet for me,” he said. “Bet you can’t wait for my cock.”

You whimpered as he pressed a finger against your entrance. Slowly, carefully he pushed it inside, stretching you for the first time. You gasped at the intrusion, but the pain faded quickly. Eddie slowly pumped his long finger in and out of your pussy, pressing against something deep inside that felt incredible as he curled his finger against it. He added a second finger shortly after, and the stretch was more intense, but from the feeling of the size of his cock in your hand, you knew it wouldn’t even be comparable.

Eddie fingered you a little longer, getting you nice and wet and ready for him, before he removed his hand and slipped your panties off. Now bare before him, he drank you in with his hungry eyes. His cock twitched in his pants.

You helped him push them down his hips, and he kicked them off onto the floor. He didn’t have boxers on underneath, and his dick was so much more impressive once fully revealed. It was big enough that it made you feel scared even through your mind haze.

“You can take it,” he assured you, his words still slightly slurred. “I know you can.”

He reached over you into the bedside table and pulled out an unopened box of condoms. “Finally get to use these,” he laughed, taking one out of the box and ripping it open. You watched as he slid the rubber over his hard cock, tip red and glistening. You wished you could have had a taste.

Eddie got in between your legs, kissing all over your neck before meeting your lips again. His tongue pressed into your mouth immediately, attempting to distract you from the pain where he was lining himself up and slowly beginning to push inside.

You whined as he began to fill you, inch by thick inch. When he was fully seated inside he pulled back and snapped his hips back into you, making you gasp. He set a quick pace, desperately rutting into you as he chased his pleasure, his drunken rhythm sloppy and uneven.

You held onto him tightly as he fucked into you, and he groaned into your neck where he had his face buried. “Feels so good,” he moaned, not exactly caring how you felt, only worried about his own quickly impending orgasm. It was his first time and he was not going to last.

“Eddie,” you whined, “you’re so big.”

He groaned at that. “Yeah, baby? You like it?”

“Mmhmm,” you moaned, and it did feel good, but he was also splitting you in half.

“Fuck,” he hissed, “I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fucking cum.”

He pumped into you just a couple more times before he was stilling, buried to the hilt inside you as he filled the condom. He moaned loudly, body trembling on top of you as he rode out his orgasm. You didn’t get to cum, but you were too drunk to care.

Eddie pulled out, removing the condom and tying it off before tossing it into the trash can. He collapsed onto the bed next to you, his naked body sweaty, chest heaving.

“That was…good,” you said, not knowing if it was or not. You were happy to have lost your virginity to Eddie, and the whole night had been a dream. But he hadn’t exactly cared about your pleasure. You waited for Eddie to reply, to say anything, but nothing came.

He was already snoring.

—

The unbearably bright light shining through the window around his curtains is the first thing Eddie experienced the next morning. It woke him up, but he only squeezed his eyes shut tighter, groaning as the light made his pounding headache infinitely worse. Fuck, he drank way too much last night.

He barely even remembered it. He remembered the prom, he remembered drinking a lot, doing shots, and smoking a joint. He remembered you, but his memory was hazy. How did you get home anyway? He didn’t remember driving you home after prom.

Eddie stretched, his muscles stiff. He was naked beneath his blanket, which wasn’t entirely unusual. He probably just didn’t feel like changing once he got his suit off.

Eventually he figured he should get out of bed. He rolled over and stood with another old man groan. Fuck, he had to cut back on the drinking, because he definitely felt a lot older than 19 right now.

He pulled on some boxers and a pair of sweatpants he found on the floor, remaining shirtless. Wayne would be passed out in his own bedroom after a long night of work at the plant. But Eddie was starving, and he needed something for that headache.

When he stepped out of the room, the first thing he noticed was the smell. Something delicious was wafting from the kitchen, the smell of bacon overpowering some other food scents. That was weird. Wayne didn’t cook breakfast, not the morning after a work night. He walked down the hall cautiously, brows furrowed as he neared the end of the hallway. He turned the corner, and froze.

You were there in the kitchen, expertly flipping a pancake in a pan. A plate sat on the counter next to you filled with bacon, and another pan on the next burner was cooking scrambled eggs. Oh, and you were dressed in nothing but Eddie’s oversized t-shirt and your underwear.

Oh shit, Eddie thought. What the fuck did I do?

The floor creaked as he stepped into the kitchen, and you turned around, a smile spreading across your lips at the sight of him. “Hey, sleepyhead. I made us some breakfast. Thought you could use something on your stomach.”

Eddie didn’t know what to say or do. Did he sleep with you? Oh god. He was going to be sick. “Uh, good morning. You, uh, didn’t have to do all this.”

He watched as you plated the finished pancakes and eggs. “I thought we could both use a big breakfast after last night,” you said, giving him a smirk. Oh, shit. He did sleep with you last night. He drunkenly lost his virginity after prom, to you.

Fuck. He was a fucking idiot.

You started making plates for the both of you. “I set out a water bottle and some Tylenol for you over there,” you said, nodding to the corner of the counter. Eddie took the medicine immediately, desperate for some relief from his unbearable headache. Now he wasn’t sure what was making it worse, the hangover or the knowledge of what he’d done.

He sat down across from you at the small table. He didn’t know what to say. Your friendship would never be the same after this. He knew you liked him, he didn’t like you, then he slept with you. Now he had to crush your heart. He really felt like he was going to be sick.

“Did you sleep okay?” You finally asked as the two of you ate, breaking the silence.

“Huh?” Eddie snapped back to reality. “Oh. Yeah.”

You smiled softly at him. You figured he was just still cloudy from the weed. “I had a good time last night.”

“Yeah…” Eddie said. “Me too.”

Your face lit up at that, and he could have slapped himself. He didn’t mean that. He didn’t even remember the sex. He was not doing a good job of not leading you on. “Listen,” he said, “about that-“

“It was really good,” you said. Eddie’s watched as your cheeks turned red and you looked down at your plate. “Sorry. I just meant…I enjoyed it. Being with you.”

Eddie had suspected, known even, that you had a crush on him, but this was the first time you’d ever admitted it out loud. Eddie was really going to have to stomp on your heart to put an end to those thoughts, and it was all his fault. He never should have brought you home after prom. “Look, I-“

“I didn’t think you liked me back,” you continued, rambling nervously, excitedly. “I…to be honest with you I’ve had a crush on you for years, but I was always too scared to tell you. But you never seemed like you were into me…until last night.” You giggled, covering your mouth. “I can’t believe we’re together now.”

Together?

Oh, fuck. He couldn’t do this. He could not do this. He couldn’t crush your spirit, wipe that elated smile off your face. He’d never seen you look so happy. He felt like the biggest asshole.

“Oh, yeah,” he said instead. “Um, me either.”

“I can’t wait to tell Robin,” you continued. “She’s going to freak.”

—

Eddie couldn’t believe he had gotten himself into this situation.

Sure, you were his best friend so he liked your personality, and it’s not like you weren’t cute, but he just didn’t have feelings for you in the way you did for him. But now he had slept with you and you thought he liked you back. He had somehow, some way, become your actual boyfriend.

“I thought you didn’t like her like that?” Gareth asked the next school day after prom at lunch. You were sitting with Robin today. You often bounced between the marching band table and the Hellfire table.

“I don’t,” Eddie said simply.

Gareth, Jeff, and Grant looked at him like he was crazy. “Then how…why…?”

Eddie slammed his hand on the table. “Stop grilling me, okay?”

“Someone’s cranky,” Jeff muttered, turning back to his lunch tray in front of him.

“Yeah, you’re in a pretty shitty mood to be the only one of us to lose his virginity and get a girlfriend,” Grant commented. Gareth and Jeff agreed, nodding along.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie muttered. “Would be nice if it was with someone I’m actually into.”

“Harsh,” Gareth tsked. “You should be honest with her. You’re just leading her on.”

“I can’t.” Eddie buried his face in his hands, exasperated and stressed. “It’s gone too far. She thinks I’m her boyfriend. She thinks I like her back. I can’t crush her like that.”

The other three boys exchanged a look. “So…you’re just gonna marry her?” Grant asked.

Eddie froze. That is where this would eventually lead if he didn’t turn it around. But he was scared. He couldn’t bring himself to burst your bubble. “I’ll figure something out.”

As lunch was ending, Eddie jolted when you came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, babe,” you giggled. “How was lunch?”

“Good,” Eddie said, giving each Hellfire boy a look that said don’t say or do a damn thing.

“You guys are so cute,” Robin said, holding her hands over her chest as she tilted her head to the side with a smile. “I’m so happy you’re finally together.”

Eddie felt sick. Just like he had all weekend, since the morning after prom. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m a lucky guy.”

Your whole face lit up with a smile. “I was thinking maybe we could hang out after school. Do our homework and work on the Curse of Vecna.”

Eddie groaned internally. This was such a disaster. “Sure.”

That day after school Eddie drove you back to his place. He reluctantly did his homework with you, mostly copying your answers rather than actually learning anything. Then the two of you laid on his bed and made out.

Hey, if he was going to be stuck in this relationship with someone he didn’t actually care for, the least he could do was take advantage of the benefits.

—

You spent four years with Eddie before you started noticing something was off.

It was the scent you started noticing on his clothes at first, like flowers and vanilla. You lifted his shirt from the laundry, the unexpected smell hitting you. You didn’t own anything that smelled like this, and Eddie certainly didn’t. You knew the smell of his cheap cologne better than anything, the amount of times you’d laid your head on his chest and smelled that distinctly Eddie scent. Something was wrong.

When you confronted him about it, he brushed it off. “It’s this new girl at work. Her perfume is so strong, everyone smells like it.”

You accepted the answer for the time being. But then there were other things you began to notice. A scrunchie that definitely didn’t belong to you on the floor of the passenger side of his van. A condom wrapper in the bathroom trash after you’d been out of town for the weekend. And finally, a pair of pink panties stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans that were so clearly not yours it was nearly comical if it hadn’t made you want to die.

When you confronted him about it the next time, it was with tears in your eyes and a lump in your throat. “Eddie,” you said, your voice cracking as you tossed the panties onto the floor in front of where he sat on the couch. “What are these?”

Eddie knew he had been caught. There was no getting out of it this time. You didn’t own any underwear like that, and it was the wrong size. How could he have been so stupid to have kept the panties? “I…”

“Really?” You sobbed. “You have nothing to say?”

“I’m not sure what you want me to say.” Eddie looked down at his hands. “Yeah, I’ve been sleeping with someone else.”

Even though you already knew his words were true, they still hit you right in the heart. You could feel it cracking, could feel the fault lines forming, the blood and life seeping out of it. “With who?” You asked, barely audible. You weren’t sure if you wanted the answer, but you needed it.

“That’s not important-“

“It is important,” you said. “It’s important to me.”

Eddie didn’t respond at first. He didn’t want to respond. “Chrissy Cunningham,” he answered reluctantly at last. “But don’t pull her into this, she doesn’t deserve to be-“

“Chrissy Cunningham?” You scoffed. “Eddie, we’ve been together for four years. Chrissy knows we’re together. So she was just fine sleeping with a guy she knew was taken?” You laughed humorlessly through the tears. “Wow. You guys are perfect for each other, then.”

Eddie shook his head. “Don’t do that, man, she-“

“‘Man’?” You couldn’t believe the conversation you were having. “Wow, I sure got demoted from baby fast, huh?”

He rubbed his hands over his face. “Please. I don’t wanna do this. I don’t feel like doing this.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have cheated!” You yelled back. “Why would you do this? How could you do this to me? I thought you loved me.”

Eddie mumbled something under his breath, something you couldn’t catch.

“What?” You asked. “I can’t hear you. Just fucking tell me. Why would you do this to me?”

When Eddie looked up at you, his eyes were full of anger, flames flickering behind his normally sweet doe eyes. The ones you had gazed into, taken comfort in so many times. When he opened his mouth, nothing but poison seeped out.

“Because I never loved you!” Eddie yelled, hands running through his hair to the point he was practically pulling it out. You had never seen him so upset. “Fuck! I went out with you because we were friends and I felt bad, and by the time we’d been together for months it was too late. I never liked you back like that. That’s the truth, finally.”

His words hit you like a shot to the chest. You stared at him with your lips parted, staggering gasps being dragged into your lungs. You shook uncontrollably as if it were suddenly freezing. But the tears didn’t yet fall. You felt like you might be in shock. “How…”

“How did I pretend to be in love with you?” He scoffed. “I didn’t do a very good job of it, but it doesn’t seem like you ever noticed. You were so blinded by who you wanted me to be, you couldn’t see what was right in front of you. Hey, as long as I came home and fucked you before passing out next to you, you just took it.” He laughed, a cruel, sinister laugh. “You just let me treat you like shit. Like you have no respect for yourself, or were just that obsessed with me.”

You didn’t even know who this was in front of you right now. This person who looked like Eddie, sounded like Eddie, but was spewing such horrible, hurtful words that Eddie never would. You didn’t recognize him at all. You wanted to blame his words on his heightened emotions, but you could tell everything he said was true. Especially with the cheating to back it up.

That’s not how you treated someone you cared about.

“So you just led me on for four years instead of telling me?” You asked. There was no fight behind your voice like there was in his. Only hurt and defeat. “Eddie…even before all this, you were my best friend. How could you do this to me?”

He didn’t have an answer for that. Because he was a selfish idiot coward? That was the truth. “Look, me and Chrissy- it just happened. It wasn’t supposed to, but it did. She came in to the Hideout, we got to talking-“

“And you fucked her?” You finished for him.

He just looked at you. “Yeah.”

The truth was, Eddie felt bad. He knew he had fucked up astronomically bad. He had led you on, used your body, betrayed you. Wasted four years of your life. He knew you thought he was the one, he knew you were waiting for a proposal that was never going to come. It was his fault things had gotten this far.

Maybe he thought he could fake it ‘til he made it. Maybe he thought if he pretended to be into you, eventually he would be. But that never happened.

And now you were crying, hard. His chest ached for some reason, even though he had no right to hurt for what he had done to you. He deserved to feel like shit.

He wasn’t prepared for the next words that came out of your mouth.

“I’m pregnant, Eddie,” you said, eyes squeezed shut as if that would stop the torrent of tears currently streaming down your face. There was no response. You had to force yourself to open your eyes and look, wondering if he was even still there.

He was. He stared at you, brown eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open. “You’re- no.”

“I am,” you said, voice hoarse from crying. “I…”

Eddie shook his head. “No. No, no, no. This is not happening. It’s not fucking happening.”

You only cried harder. The pregnancy hormones had nothing to do with this; this was pure devastation, pure heartbreak. Your heart felt like it had crumbled in your chest and there was nothing left to repair even if you could.

“Let me see the test,” he said, holding a hand out.

“Why would I lie?” You asked, voice weak. You were so emotionally worn out, you felt like you could sleep for weeks. Months. Years. You wanted to.

“Because you want me to stay with you?” He scoffed. “Look, I’m not saying you’re lying, but I want to see to be sure.”

You just stared at him. Finally, you said “Fine,” going into your shared bedroom and coming out with a piece of paper with your office visit report. “I went to the doctor. Here.”

Eddie took the paper from your hands, examining it carefully. Sure enough, under “Reason for Visit/Diagnosis”, it said “Pregnancy - 8 weeks”.

“Christ,” Eddie said. He rubbed his hands over his face, like he was trying to erase the information from his brain. He was panicked. He couldn’t be a dad. Not right now, maybe not ever. He didn’t even know if he wanted kids. And with you? His soon to be ex girlfriend who he had treated like shit and didn’t love? “I mean fuck, man. What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” you said. Your voice was small, like all the fight had left you.

Eddie felt like he had ruined his life. For one thing, you were both still so young. That was without even mentioning the mess of a ‘relationship’ he had gotten himself involved in, the fact that it would never work out even if he wanted it to because he didn’t have feelings for you, and now he was standing here crushing his pregnant girlfriend’s heart. Like an asshole.

He was an asshole, and he knew it.

“Look,” he said finally. “If there’s really a kid-“

“There is.”

Eddie continued. “I’m not gonna abandon it. I’ll…be here. I’ll pay child support, I want to share custody, I want to be involved.”

You nodded. At least there was that, you supposed. As heart broken as you were, as much as you felt like going to sleep and never waking up again, you couldn’t bear the thought of Eddie leaving both of you. This baby deserved better.

“Look, I…I need some time. I’m gonna go stay with Wayne for a little while. Until I can get my own place.” Eddie looked at you with pity now, the news of the pregnancy dousing the fire of his earlier cruelty. “You can keep the apartment. We’ve got the guest room for the baby, unless you decide to move out.”

You just nodded again. “Okay, Eddie.”

The two of you looked at each other. This wasn’t just the end of your apparent farce of a relationship, but also of your nearly lifelong friendship. Things between you and Eddie would never be the same again. He had taken your heart you gave to him and stomped on it, spit on it.

That was the thing you couldn’t get past. He hadn’t just rejected you, he had destroyed you. The cheating, the lying. Playing you like a fucking game. Like you meant nothing not just to him, but at all. You didn’t know how you’d ever learn to trust again, or if you even wanted to. Eddie slept on the couch that night, too late at night to drive to Wayne’s.

When you woke up the next morning, he was gone.

—

Your pregnancy was difficult. You had severe morning sickness in the beginning - hyperemesis gravidarum, your doctor called it. You struggled to keep any food down, and ended up hospitalized for fluids multiple times. Your doctor was concerned and considered you a high risk pregnancy. You went from monthly doctor visits to weekly. You felt pretty sure your emotional devastation wasn’t helping your physical health whatsoever.

Eddie was helpful, at least. He called you every couple of days to see how you were doing and if you needed anything. He remembered your appointment days and called to ask what the doctor said. He shopped for your groceries for you and dropped them off at the house. It would have felt nice, if you didn’t know he was only doing it for the baby and not you, and if you didn’t know he was still sleeping with Chrissy.

You went through most of the pregnancy alone. At 16 weeks, you noticed a bump for the first time, standing in front of your full length mirror as you got ready for work. It took you by surprise, this little baby bump that seemed to have popped up overnight. You ran your hand over the skin there, surprised by how firm it felt. There was really a little baby in there.

You had an ultrasound that afternoon. You were thrilled to see the baby, one of the only things you looked forward to anymore. The technician showed you your baby, thriving and wiggling around in there. It made your heart swell. She measured the heartbeat and played it out loud, the little whoosh whoosh whoosh comforting.

Eddie came to the apartment that evening to bring you the baby swing he had bought. You were in the kitchen cooking yourself chicken alfredo for dinner, wearing a thin tank top and your short sleep shorts. Eddie let himself in, since he still had a key in case of emergencies. You weren’t surprised to hear him coming in since he’d told you he’d be over.

You heard his footsteps heading into the kitchen, then - “Woah.”

You turned from where you’d been stirring the sauce, raising an eyebrow at him. “What?”

He gestured towards your stomach. “You, uh…your…”

You laughed lightly. “The bump? Yeah, that’s new.”

Eddie walked over towards you, leaning against the counter next to the stove. He didn’t know how to feel about it. It was strange to see, and it made him feel weird in his chest. Something he’d never felt before. “It’s…it’s cute. You look cute.”

You laughed again. “I’m about to get a lot bigger.”

The two of you stood in silence for a minute. Then, finally, Eddie worked up the courage to ask - “Can I…can I feel?”

You were surprised by the question. Sure, Eddie had been pretty devoted to this baby during the pregnancy, but it still caught you off guard. “Oh. Sure.”

You turned and he walked up to you cautiously. He raised his hands, slowly moving them towards you as he looked up at you for confirmation it was still okay. Finally he placed his hands on your belly, feeling the firm bump beneath his hands. It was real. He knew it was real, but now it was real.

“Wow,” he said after a minute. “That’s…wow.” He gently rubbed the bump, in shock that that was his child beneath his hand.

“I got an ultrasound today,” you said. “Want to see?”

“Of course,” he answered immediately. He watched as you headed into the living room, already developing the slightest little waddle. He couldn’t help but smile.

You pulled the printed photos from your purse, bringing them over. Eddie gently took them from your hands. “Holy shit!” He said, laughing as he closely examined the photos. “It really looks like a little baby now instead of a blob.”

“Yeah,” you agreed with a smile. “They said we’d find out if it’s a boy or a girl at the next one. At 20 weeks.”

Eddie’s eyes darted up to you. “Really? Can I…go?”

You raised your eyebrows. “Really? You want to come with me to the appointment?”

“Yeah, of course. I want to know what we’re having. I want to be there myself.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, thinking about it. “How will Chrissy feel about that?”

Eddie’s expression hardened for the first time since he’d come over. “I can do whatever I want. And we’re not talking about her right now.”

You rolled your eyes, heading back into the kitchen to tend to your dinner. “I guess you can come, Eddie. It’s your baby too. But don’t bring her.”

“I’m not,” he assured you. You thought he’d have to be a fucking idiot to bring her, anyway. “I just want to be there.”

You felt like you couldn’t take that from him. If he wanted to be an involved father, he could. You encouraged that, in fact. This baby didn’t deserve to be born into the mess that was your relationship, or what used to be your relationship. Your issues with Eddie needed to be put aside for the sake of your child.

So, four weeks later, you waddled your 20 week pregnant self down the stairs of your apartment complex and into Eddie’s van where he sat idling, waiting to pick you up. He helped you climb in, and you waved him off when he tried to buckle you up. “I’ve got it, Eddie. I’m not totally helpless.”

“I know,” he said, “I just want to help.”

You rode to the doctor’s office without speaking, the only sounds being the heavy music playing over the stereo. You couldn’t stand it. Since the break up, you couldn’t listen to Eddie’s music anymore. Too many memories, too many associations.

When he pulled up at the office, he hopped out quickly to run around and offer you a hand as you carefully climbed down. The bump was significantly bigger already, it was in the way and threw off your center of balance. And Eddie was not about to let you fall and hurt yourself and the baby.

You had grown to know the staff at the office since you were there so often. They greeted you by name the second you walked in, looking pleased to see you. In the exam room, Eddie sat in the visitor’s chair, looking as awkward as he felt.

When the tech walked in, she barely managed to contain the surprise on her face to see Eddie with you. You had been to every appointment alone, and they knew you weren’t together with the father. But she quickly plastered a smile to her face, walking over to you.

“Are you excited?” She asked you. “It’s a big day!”

“So excited,” you giggled. “I’m ready to know.”

You laid back and lifted your shirt up and she squirted the cold gel onto your belly, your least favorite part. She placed the wand on your stomach and began moving it around. There was a screen only she could see, and a bigger screen facing you and Eddie that showed the baby.

The little wiggling baby popped up on the screen, moving all around. You smiled, relieved to see the little guy or girl was doing well. You always worried between ultrasounds that something would happen.

The two of you watched as the tech examined and measured the various body parts, making notes in your chart as she performed the exam. Then, finally, it was time.

“Okay,” she said. “Everything looks great! Do you want to know what you’re having?”

“Yes,” you and Eddie answered immediately at the same exact time. You glanced at each other, laughing lightly.

You were nervous. You weren’t sure why. You really didn’t have a preference for the baby’s sex, but this was a huge deal. This made it real, really real. The baby was about to go from “the baby” to your son or daughter. They would have a name, you would be able to shop more. This was a huge moment, and your heart thumped hard in your chest.

She moved the wand a little, looking where she needed to look. She smiled - “It’s a healthy baby girl.”

You choked out a light sob, hands moving up to cover your mouth. You couldn’t believe it. A baby girl, a daughter. Your daughter. Thoughts flashed through your mind of pink little dresses, playing dolls, dance recitals and late night dance parties. Or maybe she would be more of a tomboy, playing sports and getting dirty. You would love her no matter who she turned out to be.

Eddie stared at the screen in awe. A daughter. He was having a daughter. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t have a preference for the gender either, but hearing it was a girl, it just felt right. Like this was the child he was meant to have, this was the perfect outcome. His body overflowed with the love he felt for this tiny person already. He nearly reached over and grabbed your hand, but thought better of it. It wasn’t his hand to hold anymore.

You left the appointment in high spirits with a stack of ultrasound photos in your hand. You kept looking them over, amazed at how much the baby looked like a baby. Just as you were about to get back in the van, you felt something move that made you gasp and nearly drop your bag.

“What??” Eddie asked, immediately by your side. “Are you okay? Is it the baby?”

You looked up at him wide eyed. “I…” You were about to say something else when you felt the movement again. You quickly grabbed Eddie’s hand and placed it on your stomach, right where you felt it.

He looked at you strangely, but kept his hand there. Then, a second later - another kick, right where Eddie’s hand lay.

“Holy shit!” He exclaimed, jerking his hand back out of instinct before putting it back. “Did she just kick?”

“I think so,” you said, an incredulous giggle in your voice.

“She’s strong,” Eddie commented with a smile. He gently rubbed his hand over the bump. “My girl. Gonna be a soccer player or something. Or just kick some serious ass.”

You laughed, your hand resting next to Eddie’s. “This has been the best day I’ve had in months.”

Eddie felt a pang of guilt at that. He knew he was the reason for your sadness, for your pain. And now here you were, giving him the greatest gift he could dream of, even if it’s one he didn’t expect. He couldn’t wait for this baby to be here.

Robin threw you a baby shower when you were 33 weeks pregnant. You were huge and uncomfortable, and still mentally a disaster. But Robin had put in so much work you were at least going to make an attempt to enjoy yourself.

She had taken you shopping for a dress, and you’d landed on a long, light pink one with a hem right beneath your breasts, the rest of the dress draped over your belly. It made you feel pretty, even if gigantic.

When you and Robin walked in, the party was already underway, your friends, family, and acquaintances mingling around, eating from the buffet table. There was a table surrounded and piled high with gifts, a rocking chair with a bow on it sitting next to it.

“Oh my god, Robs,” you said, tears springing to your eyes. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Of course I did,” she said, nudging your arm. “You deserve it, babes. You and her both.” She placed a hand over your belly, making you smile. “You’ve been put through hell this pregnancy, the least I can do is give you a good party.”

Robin led you over to the buffet table, where Steve Harrington was standing. You furrowed your brows at your best friend as you walked, and she gave you a sheepish smile and shrug.

“He’s different now,” she said. You couldn’t believe your ears. “He’s not King Steve anymore. And he helped me out a ton with this party. He’s kind of a dingus, but he’s cool.”

Steve gave you a kind smile as you approached. “Hey,” he said once you’d both reached him, standing up straight. “Congratulations. You look beautiful.”

You blushed, because you certainly didn’t expect him to say that. “I’m huge,” you said.

Steve chuckled. “Well, you’re growing a whole human. Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s hard work.”

You were completely shocked that Steve was being so nice to you. He had never been mean to you, but he definitely saw you and Eddie as Freaks in high school, and never gave you or Robin the time of day. He really did seem different.

“Come on,” Robin said, pulling gently on your arm. “Let’s get you and that baby something to eat. It’s gonna be a great party.”

And it was a good party. You were having a good time talking with your guests, everyone wanting to feel the baby and asking you questions. The food was good, too, you thought as you filled your third plate in 30 minutes. You were having a good time.

That is, until the door opened and two guests walked in late.

Eddie walked in, looking awkward, a gift bag in hand. He knew a good number of the people in attendance hated him, and for good reason. The fact that Eddie showed up to your party wasn’t the bad part. You were on okay terms. It was the fact that he walked in, hand in hand with Chrissy Cunningham.

Your heart stopped in your chest. You hated that you still weren’t over Eddie, but it was the truth. You felt like you would throw up at the sight.

“Oh, fuck no,” Robin muttered under her breath from next to you, before she stood tall and started walking over to them with purpose.

“Robs, wait!” You called, following after her, but Robin’s long strides were much faster than your 8 month pregnant waddle. Robin was already there when you reached the three, her finger pointed in Eddie’s face.

“And what do you think gives you the right to come marching into her party with your little girlfriend?” She was yelling, fury in her eyes like you’d never seen. “What the fuck is wrong with you??”

“Robin-“ you started, but she wasn’t even hearing you.

“You are the scum of the fucking earth,” she said to Eddie. “You don’t belong here. You don’t belong outside enjoying the day. You belong in a cave.”

Eddie was looking at her with an irritated expression on his face. Chrissy stood next to him, her big eyes wide as she held onto his arm. It made you feel so much worse.

“This is my daughter’s baby shower,” he said. “I have a right to be here.”

“No, this is her shower.” Robin gestured towards where you stood slightly behind her without even turning around. “This is for her. She has been through hell, and it’s entirely your fault. The only thing you did besides ruin her life is put the damn baby in her. Good job, Eddie!”

Eddie scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Down, guard dog, this has nothing to do with you. Get out of my face. I’m here to celebrate my daughter. Not yours.”

“And you had to bring your skank with you?”

Both you and Chrissy gasped. You had never heard her speak that way before. Eddie’s eyes darkened. “Don’t talk about her like that. She has nothing to do with this.”

“She slept with you multiple times while knowing you were in a relationship. So yeah, she’s a skank, and you’re a slut too. I guess you guys are made for each other.”

“Babe, why don’t we just go-“ Chrissy said softly.

“Babe,” Robin mocked. “How cute.”

“I’m not leaving,” Eddie said, looking from Chrissy to Robin, and finally to you. “I deserve to be here. So get over yourself.”

“I think you should leave, Eddie.”

You turned as you all looked behind you, where Steve had walked up. His expression was serious, and Eddie narrowed his eyes at him.

“This doesn’t concern you, Harrington.”

“Well, it kind of does,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “These are my friends. I helped organize the party. No one would have cared if you wanted to be here, but you had to go and bring your girlfriend to rub in her face?”

Eddie was taken aback. He couldn’t believe Steve Harrington was here and had the nerve to talk to him and his girlfriend this way. He was about to say something rude back when you spoke up.

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice timid. “They can stay.”

Steve and Robin looked at you with concern etched on both of their faces. “Are you sure?” Steve asked quietly. “Robin told me your pregnancy has been complicated. You don’t need any extra stress.”

“It’s okay,” you repeated. You weren’t entirely sure if you were really okay with it, but you didn’t want drama at your baby shower. At least, not any more drama than what had already been caused.

Steve looked at you, giving you any chance to change your mind, but you didn’t say anything else. Steve looked at Eddie and Chrissy. “She says you can stay, you can stay.”

The rest of the party was admittedly very awkward. Eddie kind of felt like shit - he knew he shouldn’t have brought Chrissy here. It was the wrong move. He thought maybe it would be alright, but the second he walked in the door he knew what a mistake it had been.

When it was time for gifts, you felt a little uncomfortable. Even as a child you had never enjoyed the whole “opening gifts in front of the whole guest list” part of parties, but you knew your older relatives would find it rude if you didn’t.

You got a lot of lovely gifts - lots of girly clothes and tiny dresses, bottles, burp cloths, a baby monitor, baby soap and towels, health stuff, toys, all kinds of things. You even got some bigger items, like a high chair, a car seat, and a stroller. You were so grateful you teared up multiple times. As a single mom, you had been worried sick about how you’d afford a lot of this stuff.

When you opened Eddie’s gift, it was just a piece of paper inside the bag. You were confused, until you took the paper out and saw the photo of the crib you had been eyeing on it, and a note that he had ordered it for you. Cue the waterworks.

Chrissy’s gift was probably the ugliest baby clothes you’d ever seen in size 24m and a toy she wouldn’t be able to play with for years. You wanted to throw the gift back in her face. She did that shit on purpose.

The rest of the party went well. You managed to avoid Chrissy, or maybe she was avoiding you. You gave each of your friends and family hugs as they left when the party was over, thanking them for coming and for their gifts.

Eddie gave you a nod as he and Chrissy left. He was always so much more pleasant when he wasn’t with her. You could always tell when she was in his ear, too, because he would start stupid arguments and stress you out. You were tired of Chrissy in your business. You never wanted to see her for the rest of your life.

But that was Eddie’s girlfriend, the girl he actually liked, and Eddie was this baby’s father. So you supposed you’d have to live with her.

At 33 weeks, days after the shower, you noticed horrible swelling in your hands and feet. More than the normal pregnancy swelling. You brought it up at your doctor’s appointment, and she was immediately concerned.

Your blood pressure was through the roof. You were diagnosed with pre eclampsia and told to head straight to the hospital to be admitted.

You cried on the way to the car. This whole pregnancy had been hell, and as excited as you were to meet the baby, you were miserable. And it wasn’t time for her to come yet. You were terrified.

You drove around the corner to the hospital’s main entrance, walking inside and giving the receptionist the paper from your doctor. They had you upstairs and set up in bed in no time, hooked up to monitors and put on strict bed rest.

The first thing you did once you were settled was grab the bedside phone. You dialed Robin’s number first, filling her in through tears. She promised to be over right after work with movies to watch, wanting to make you as comfortable as possible while you had to be in the hospital.

Next, you called Eddie.

“Hello?” He answered, a laugh in his voice, and you could hear Chrissy giggling in the background. It made you feel infinitely worse.

“Eddie. It’s me.” It was obvious in your voice that you’d been crying.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, suddenly serious. “Is it the baby? Is she coming? It’s too early!”

You sniffled. “Not yet. But I have pre eclampsia. They hospitalized me and put me on bed rest until the baby is born.”

“Shit,” Eddie hissed. “Do you, uh…do you need me?”

“Can you run by the apartment and grab my bag I packed?” You asked. “Maybe throw some extra stuff in there since I’m going to be here for a while?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The next week in the hospital was a long one. You were bored to death, even with Robin and Steve coming by every day after work and on their days off. They would bring different movies from Family Video every day, and they had bought you a collection of board games to play together.

At 34 weeks, things took a turn for the worse.

Your water broke and labor began far too early. You were in a panic. Robin had been visiting at the time, and next thing you knew, doctors and nurses were rushing in, checking your vitals and fussing over you. The contractions started immediately, coming strong and fast.

“Call Eddie!” You called to a shocked Robin, who froze for only a few seconds before dashing for the phone.

By the time Eddie sprinted through the door, breathless and mercilessly alone, things were well underway. Labor had set in fast, and the baby’s vitals were dropping. They had to get her out as soon as possible.

“We’re going to be taking you back for a C section, okay?” The doctor told you kindly, but you could hear the seriousness of the situation in his tone. “We need to get this baby out right now.”

You had never been more terrified in your life. You could not lose this baby. You didn’t care much about your own well-being, but losing this baby would kill you.

“Can I come?” Eddie asked, his voice shaking. He was equally terrified. This baby, his daughter, meant the world to him already and she wasn’t even here yet. He needed both of you to be okay.

“Yes, you’ll just have to change into a pair of scrubs,” the doctor said. “One of the nurses will bring you some then bring you to the OR. We just need to get her in there and prepped immediately.”

Eddie watched as they wheeled you from the room quickly, disappearing down the hall with an urgency that made him sick to his stomach. Just as he’d been told, a nurse walked up with a pair of surgical scrubs and a hair cap, snapping him out of his internal panic.

He went into the bathroom and changed into the scrubs, pulling his hair up into a bun and putting the cap on. He slipped the shoe covers on last. He felt like he looked ridiculous, but he really didn’t have time to think about that right now.

Inside the operating room, you laid on a table with your arms strapped down out to the side. You also wore a cap over your hair, and a large drape curtained off everything below your chest.

“Hey,” you said, sounding nice and calm and a little out of it. “You came.”

“Of course I came,” Eddie said. He stood next to you as the doctor got to work. He did not want to think about what was going on behind that curtain.

It wasn’t long before the doctor said “Here she is!” and the next thing Eddie knew, he heard a shrill cry. It made his heart stutter in his chest, he lost his breath. Moments later one of the nurses came around with the tiniest baby Eddie had ever seen, wrapped in a hospital blanket. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His child.

You gazed at the tiny bundle in the nurse’s arms. You were so drugged up you couldn’t really comprehend the moment, but you knew that tiny bundle was your daughter. Here at last. And alive, healthy. Pink skin and a head full of brown hair.

“Would you like to hold her?” The nurse asked as the doctor went to work on stitching you up. “We have to get her to the NICU, so only for a moment. I’m sorry.”

The NICU. Eddie didn’t want to think too hard about that. “Yes, I want to hold her.” Eddie held out his arms and the nurse gently placed the tiny baby in them.

She was so small. She felt like glass, like the most fragile thing in the world. He took in every aspect of her appearance, from her hair that matched his, to her tiny button nose, her little pink lips. Her eyes were closed, so he didn’t get to see her eye color.

He moved over to you and held the baby down for you to see. “Here she is,” he whispered to you. “Our baby girl.”

You smiled a loopy smile, but you could feel the love practically bursting out of your chest. “Hi, Lottie,” you said, tears welling in your eyes. “Charlotte Mae.”

Charlotte did great, and had none of the problems common in premature babies. It was a miracle, and you were so grateful.

There was a knock at your door before it opened. Robin walked in, Steve trailing behind her. They both had smiles on their faces and held gift bags. Steve held a bouquet of beautiful flowers. He wore a yellow sweater and jeans, his long hair styled. You couldn’t help but notice how cute he was.

“Hey, mama, how are you feeling?” Robin greeted, coming over and giving you a kiss on the cheek. She looked down at the sleeping baby in your arms. “Hi, Lottie!”

“We’re doing good,” you said, a tired smile on your face. Eddie had been over earlier, but had to leave when Chrissy called the hospital phone, demanding he come home. It had made your chest ache, especially when he obeyed.

“Hey,” Steve said, moving to your other side. He held up the flowers. “I, uh, brought these for you.”

“Had the idea, picked them out, and bought them himself,” Robin said, wiggling her eyebrows.

The way Steve was looking at you did something to you, something felt deep in your chest. “Thank you,” you smiled at him. “They’re beautiful.”

“We also brought you these,” Robin said, placing both gift bags on your lap. One was purple with pink tissue paper, and the other was blue with yellow paper. “Can Auntie Robs hold her now?”

“Of course,” you replied, gently passing the tiny bundle into Robin’s waiting arms. She held the baby like a natural, gently rocking her.

You reached for the purple bag first. You pulled the paper out and found a comfy pair of pajamas for yourself, and a matching set for Charlotte. There was a card inside that read, I’m so proud of you. You’re going to be the best mom ever! Love, Auntie Robs.

You almost teared up, looking at Robin. “Thank you,” you said. “This means so much.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “Now open Steve’s!”

You laughed as you grabbed the blue bag and removed the paper. Inside you found an assortment of candy, and a small teddy bear. A card inside read Motherhood looks beautiful on you. You’re going to rock it. I’m glad we’ve become friends. Love, Steve.

“How did you know I have a sweet tooth?” You asked Steve with a laugh. You couldn’t focus on his note right now unless you really wanted to cry.

“Robin,” he laughed. “She filled me in.”

Robin and Steve visited for as long as they could, taking turns holding Charlotte and helping to take care of both her and you. You were so grateful to have such support, such amazing friends.

Custody was a whole other ordeal. You and Eddie had agreed that he would get Charlotte every other weekend, starting when she was 5 months old and could take a bottle when she was with Eddie since you were breastfeeding.

It worked out, Eddie didn’t argue with you much unless Chrissy started convincing him to, as she sometimes did. He started missing his scheduled weekends, claiming plans with Chrissy. The thing is that Chrissy knew what weekends Eddie had Charlotte, and she would do this on purpose. And he just let her.

It made you so mad. Lottie deserved better than this. She deserved a father who was excited to see her any chance he got. You began to resent Eddie more and more.

It was Saturday night, and Eddie had bailed for the weekend again. He was taking Chrissy to Indianapolis to spend the weekend and go shopping. Honestly, you were in the mood for a good cry.

Not only was Eddie bailing on his visitation, but he was also pushing for more. You didn’t understand it, but you knew who was behind it. Chrissy just liked stirring up shit between you and Eddie. You were convinced she got a kick out of it.

You figured the best way to get a good cry was to go rent a sappy movie. You were sure a good romance would have you sobbing within the hour. You packed Lottie’s diaper bag, strapped her in her car seat, and drove to Family Video.

You smiled when you saw Steve behind the counter through the glass doors. He was on the phone as you walked in, but he gave you a big smile and held up a finger to tell you to hold on a second. You started browsing the movies, seeing what was available.

Steve got off the phone as quickly as possible, rushing over to your side. “Hey, Lottie,” he greeted the baby on your hip, making her giggle and reach for him. You handed her off as Steve happily took her. “So, what brings you in today? Not that I’m not excited to see you.”

You couldn’t help but smile at Steve. “Rough weekend. I need a good cry.”

He frowned. “Why?”

You sighed. “Just Eddie and Chrissy stuff. The usual.”

Steve nodded in understanding, but it pissed him off. He hated the hell Eddie and his girlfriend put you through on a constant basis. He wished he could make it better. “So you need a sad movie?”

“Yeah. Any recommendations?”

He thought for a minute. He browsed the shelves as Lottie played with his name tag. “Hmm…oh!” He reached forward and plucked a VHS off the shelf. “This one will get you for sure.”

You took it from his hands. “Steel Magnolias. I haven’t seen it.”

“Oh, it’ll definitely make you cry,” Steve laughed as you examined the tape, reading the back synopsis.

“Do you know that because it made you cry?” You teased, a playful smile on your lips as you looked at him again.

Steve blushed bright red. “Maybe.”

You laughed, poking him in the side. “Who knew you were such a sap, Steve Harrington.”

“Hey,” he said, holding up his free hand in surrender. “Chicks dig a guy who’s in tune with his emotions.”

“Is that so?”

“It is so,” Steve confirmed with a grin. You could never wipe the smile off your face when Steve was around. He was just so fun, and kind, and funny. He was a great friend, and cute, too, if you let yourself admit it.

You exchanged the tape for Lottie then followed Steve back to the counter where he checked you out. “Just one movie tonight?”

“Yeah. I pass out too early now to watch more than one.”

Steve chuckled as he scanned the tape and pulled up your account. He clicked on his computer for a few seconds before a receipt began to print. “Alright, you’re all set.”

“Thanks,” you smiled as you took the tape and receipt from him. “I’ll see you around, Steve!” You turned and began walking to the front door, ready to get home, get Lottie comfy in bed, then watch your movie.

“Hey,” Steve said, stopping you. You turned around, confused.

“What’s up?”

“Um…” Steve cleared his throat. “Would you…want to go out sometime?” His voice was nervous, like you’d never heard it before.

His words caught you off guard. You raised your eyebrows, switching the baby to the other arm. “What?”

“Go out? Like, on a date?”

You blinked at him. “You want to go on a date…with me?”

“Yeah,” he smiled nervously at you. “I’ve…been wanting to ask you out for a while. But you just had so much going on, I didn’t want to add more stress to your plate…”

“Steve, you could never do anything but make my life better. I love spending time with you.”

He beamed at that. “Yeah? Well…would you want to go on a date with me?”

“Sure,” you smiled. “I would love that.”

You finished packing up Charlotte’s bag, making sure it was stocked with plenty of clothes and her favorite toys, including the teddy bear Steve had given her, which was her absolute favorite. Eddie had plenty of diapers and wipes at his house so you didn’t have to worry about that.

You had your date with Steve tonight. He was going to be picking you up shortly after Lottie left, so you had already gotten ready. You wore a short little dress that you’d been waiting for an excuse to wear forever, your hair hung perfectly, and you had done some light makeup. You hadn’t dressed up like this and gone on a date in…ever.

There was a knock at the door right on time. “There’s daddy!” You told Charlotte, who smiled big and clapped her little hands together. You scooped her up and headed for the front door, opening it to reveal Eddie.

Eddie smiled at Charlotte, but immediately took notice of your look. “Where are you going all dolled up? Got a hot date?” He asked, a sneer in his voice.

Your smile dropped. So he was going to be like this today. “Yeah. I do, actually.”

Eddie didn’t like that. The thought of it struck an unusual and unwelcome jealousy into his chest. “With who?”

“That’s none of your business,” you said. You handed over Charlotte’s bag. “I can do whatever I want. You cheated on me, remember?”

He didn’t acknowledge your second comment. “It is my business if you’re bringing my daughter around some guy.”

You stared him down. “Well, you bring your mistress around our daughter, so I don’t think you have the right to say anything.”

Eddie’s eyes darkened. “Chrissy is my girlfriend.”

“Sure.” You turned to Charlotte, smiling at her. “I’ll see you Sunday, baby girl. I love you so much.” You gave her a lingering kiss on the cheek before handing her off to Eddie. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

Eddie left, and you sighed. You took some deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. You would not let Eddie ruin this night. This was your first time being asked on a date, and you were going to have a good time.

It was about 15 minutes later that Steve picked you up. He looked handsome, wearing a button up shirt and jeans. He held a beautiful bouquet of flowers that he handed you as you opened the door.

“You look gorgeous,” he said, and you could tell from his voice that he truly meant it. You blushed deeply as you took the flowers.

“Thank you,” you smiled. Steve followed you into the apartment, stepping over toys as you walked into the kitchen. You grabbed a vase and filled it with water, placing the flowers inside.

“Where are we going?” You asked as you walked with Steve to his car. He held the passenger side door open for you, and you smiled at him as you slid in. He was such a gentleman.

“I was thinking, dinner and a movie is too lame, too cliche. We watch movies all the time. So,” he gestured into the backseat, “I packed us a picnic, and got us tickets to see David Bowie in the city tonight.”

You stared at him, blinking. “I…no you didn’t.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, I did. I know you’re a big fan, and he was performing nearby, so…”

“Oh my god!” Your heart was beating out of your chest, you felt like it would explode. “Steve. Oh my god.”

Steve was very proud of himself for this one. He knew you’d freak out, but your reaction was even better than he hoped. “That’s why I asked you out tonight specifically. I, uh…already had the tickets.”

You quickly swiped a falling tear off your cheek before it could mess up your makeup. “Steve Harrington, I think I’m in love with you.”

That made Steve’s heart swell. Because he felt the same way about you.

Steve drove the two of you to the park, where you found a spot next to a large tree. He laid out the blanket and sat down the picnic basket he’d packed full of all kinds of foods. You ate together, laughing and joking and having the best time. But you couldn’t shake the buzzing excitement in your belly from the news of the concert.

It was a couple hour’s drive to the city, but it was worth it. The show was incredible, everything you dreamed seeing David Bowie would be. Steve held your hand, which sent electricity through both of your bodies.

When Steve brought you home, he walked you to your apartment door. Butterflies were flying in your stomach, still ecstatic from the most incredible date you ever could have imagined.

“I had a great time,” Steve said.

“Me too,” you agreed. “Truly. Do you…want to come in? The night doesn’t have to be over yet.”

A smile spread across Steve’s lips. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Steve followed you in. As you turned to him, you saw something behind his eyes. Like he was thinking, considering something. He lifted a hand and caressed the side of your face with the back of his hand, thinking he had never seen someone as beautiful in his life. “Can I kiss you?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “I…yes.”

Steve smiled lightly. Then he was leaning in, closer and closer, until his lips pressed to yours.

Sparks flew. You kissed him back eagerly, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush to his own. The kiss turned heated, Steve pressing your back up against the wall as he kissed you passionately. His hands began sliding up the skirt of your dress.

“Steve,” you said, breathless against his lips. “Take me to my room.”

The next morning, you woke up next to Steve. He had his arm around your waist, cuddling you close. You were both naked. As you awoke, Steve did, too, pulling you closer to him and nuzzling his face into your neck. “Don’t go,” he mumbled.

“I’m not,” you giggled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve asked you to be his girlfriend that morning. It may have been a little soon, but you happily said yes. You knew Steve well, he was one of your best friends. You knew you wanted to be with him.

Robin was ecstatic when you told her the news. “About time!” She exclaimed, throwing her arms up. “Took you long enough, dingus.”

You knew you had to tell Eddie. As much as you dreaded it, he deserved to know as the father of your daughter. You waited a couple of weeks into the relationship, wanting to be sure things were going to work out before you brought it up. But your relationship with Steve was incredible, a kind of joy you never thought you could experience in a relationship.

Eddie came to the door to drop off Charlotte one Sunday evening. He was a little early, and Steve was over.

“Shit,” you hissed as he knocked at the door. “I guess it’s now or never.”

You answered the door, loving how Lottie’s face lit up at the sight of you. “Hi baby!”

“Mama!” She called, reaching for you. You took her from Eddie’s arms, sitting her on your hip. “Dada!” She exclaimed next, only she wasn’t looking at Eddie.

Steve had come up behind you, and Lottie was pointing at him. Your mouth dropped as Eddie’s face turned to one of pure anger. “What the fuck?” He said.

“I swear, I don’t know what that’s about. She’s never called him that before,” you explained quickly. Honestly Eddie deserved to have his feelings hurt, but you knew how destroyed you would be if Lottie called Chrissy Mama.

“What is he doing here anyway?” Eddie asked, gesturing towards Steve. “I don’t see Robin here. Do you have a life of your own, Harrington?”

You looked between Steve and Eddie. “Ed…me and Steve are…together.”

The words hit Eddie like a punch to the gut. He figured you would date eventually, but maybe he just got spoiled by you being single. He didn’t expect the pain of finding out you had moved on. And with Harrington? “What?”

You pursed your lips, knowing this had the potential to go badly. “We’re together. Steve is my boyfriend.”

Eddie just stared between the two of you. Then, he laughed, a sinister sounding chuckle. He knew he had no right to be pissed, but he was pissed. “Well, isn’t that just great.”

“Eddie-“

“No,” he said, holding a hand up. “You don’t owe me an explanation. You do whatever you want. Enjoy your life with Steve.”

And with that, he left. He didn’t even tell Charlotte goodbye.

Things with Steve were incredible. He was the best boyfriend you could ask for, and he was amazing with Lottie. She loved playing with him, and he could sit on the floor and play with her for hours without getting bored.

You had been together for a year and a half when he surprised you with a trip to the beach. You spent the weekend laying out in the sun, playing in the ocean, making love until the early morning in your suite.

On the last day there, you were walking down the beach hand in hand. As you were looking down at the sand for seashells, you noticed some writing in the sand. You let go of Steve’s hand to walk over and read it.

Will you marry me?

“Steve!” You exclaimed. “Look, someone proposed! How cute-“

You froze when you turned around to see Steve on one knee, holding a beautiful ring in a black velvet box. You gasped, tears immediately falling. You always were emotional.

“Will you make me the luckiest guy in the world and marry me?”

Eddie came home a little early from work one evening, and immediately knew something was wrong. He could feel it in the atmosphere before he even heard the noises. Those unmistakable noises.

He crept down the hallway, careful not to make any noise. Not that he thought he’d be noticed, anyway. Not with what he deeply suspected was going on.

He made it to the bedroom he shared with Chrissy. The door was slightly ajar, and he took a deep breath before pushing it open all the way.

Chrissy and her ex, Jason Carver, were in his bed, absolutely going at it. Eddie knew this was what was going on from the moment he walked into the apartment, but seeing it, he still felt like he’d be sick. Chrissy turned at the sound of the door opening and screamed, covering herself and Jason, who didn’t really seem to give a fuck at all.

After Jason left and Eddie was left alone with his girlfriend, he demanded the truth. She admitted she had been sleeping with Jason again for months.

Naturally, Eddie kicked her out. Then, he was alone.

Alone with only his thoughts, he had too much quiet time to think. And what he found himself thinking about was you. Far too often. He thought about your relationship, how he fucked everything up, including your lifelong friendship. Sure, he got his beautiful daughter out of it, but he could have treated you better. He should have treated you better.

He also thought about the way you’d treated him. The way you had loved him. How you were the only woman who had ever loved him, besides his mom all those years ago. How he had taken you for granted. He thought about how he would feel if some asshole treated Lottie the way he treated you. The thought itself made him furious.

Because now that Chrissy was gone and he was no longer blinded by his lifelong crush, he was realizing something:

Eddie loved you.

Not just as the mother of his child, or as a platonic friend, but love love. The kind he had been too blind to see back in high school, back during the days of your relationship.

He hated himself now. He had fucked up more than was even fathomable. He had thrown you away, for Chrissy. You were so much better than Chrissy in every way. Prettier, smarter, funnier, kinder. And you had treated him well.

Eddie dwelled on it for months. He grabbed his mail from the mailbox as he headed into his trailer one day, flipping through the various bills and junk mail - until he stopped at one with your name on it.

He dropped the other pieces of mail in his rush to open that one. He nearly ripped it in half getting it open, and as he pulled out the card inside, his blood ran cold.

You are cordially invited to the wedding of Mr. and Mrs Harrington.

It was too late.

tags

@ali-r3n @crispystarfishhottub

[arbitrarykiwi]

HI SO LIKE CAN YOU PLEASE WRITE A SMUT OF NAMGYU🙏🙏 like hes your deadbeat baby daddy boyfriend who just stays out and away doing drugs and drinking and comes home at ungodly hours while youre taking care of the baby and one night he notices the little weight you put on after giving birth and how it made your breasts swell and got curvier and shit, n like yall are arguing because he came home really late and youre sick of his shit and its kinda a hate/angry fuck kinda thing?? THANK YOU I LOBE UR FICS

Reckless Temptation

I’m so sorry this took so long!! This was such a fun ask! Admittedly, I’m not the best with topics that involve angst (I love when the reader gets a happy ending and I’m such a ween when it comes to angst endings) so i struggled a bit…BUT I tried my best!!!! It was such a fun challenge for me, I really hope you like it 😩🫶

Warnings: smut (18+) , toxic themes (nothin crazy, he just a bum babydaddy) , toxic relationship , relationship issues , drug / alcohol mention , oral (f receiving) , p in v sex , choking, dirty talk , hate fucking (relatively tame) , rough sex , nam-gyu is a warning himself in this one , creampie , breeding kink , read at your own risk

You don’t know why you stayed or why you continued to let him fuck you over.

Well… you did know…

Every time you looked at the infant in your arms, the one that has her dad’s smile and eyes, you literally couldn’t bring yourself to leave.

You swear sometimes when she laughs, it sounds like his laugh and you want to call him over and show him how precious the sight is- but he’s hardly ever there. He’s never in your shared apartment. He’s never there to help out with your child.

He’s always late coming home- sure you know the club promoting gig he’s got has weird hours but even on the days you know he’s off, he’s not retuning until 3am. He’s also always high, on what, you could never figure it out it changes week by week it seemed. Sometimes he’d smell like a walking ounce of weed when he’s stumbling through the door, other nights his pupils are just blown and he’s jittery.

Admittedly, neither of you planned to have a child. It was a surprise that had you floored. Nam-gyu was the last person you ever thought of who would be a parent, and when it happened, you were sure he was going to leave you when you told him the news. But he didn’t. That had to mean something.

You took care of your daughter, only you. He would show up whenever he pleased to your shared apartment- even though he hardly ever stayed the night he was still on the lease- to drop off his share of rent money (it was never enough), grocery money (maybe $10 if you were lucky), or the occasional thing you had to beg him to pick up the store. He would bitch and complain about how you always bothered him at the worst times, how he has to do everything for you; That’s hardly the case, but he likes to tell you it is.

To say the least, he was garbage, a deadbeat, no good for you. But, there was some days when you would come out of the shower and see him looking over the crib cooing at your daughter- playing with her with a goofy smile on his face. Those moments make all the bad times fade to the background.

Only to be pulled back to the foreground when he stands quickly, stepping away from the crib. He grabs his jacket, turns around, and walks out the bedroom door- shoulder brushing against yours as he pushes past you- muttering a “don’t wait up tonight”.

You know the drill you never do.

Tonight was no different, you had stayed up late dealing with the baby. She was about 4 months at this point so you got into a decent routine even if it did nothing for your sleep schedule. You say sprawled out on the couch, legs up on the cushion and your baby in your arms. Your shirt was up over your shoulder, your baby drinking away happily at the milk that your breast gave. You couldn’t help the way your head nodded every so often as your eyes fought to stay open. At least she wasn’t crying, you thought. You looked down at her with a soft smile, fingers brushing over her cheek gently.

The sound of a car pulling into your driveway makes your head snap up. You rubbed your tired eyes with one hand, groaning, you knew that sound and that meant he was home. Looking to the clock on the TV stand, it blares a vibrant red hue that makes your eyes strain to see the time. 2:57 am.

You groan to yourself, preparing for the drugged out man that was about to stumble through the door. And when he does he’s wearing the usual pissed off scowl he has- like coming home to you and your child was the bane of his existence. You’ve had enough.

He was going to open his mouth to spew some bullshit excuse for being home late, one he’s used thousands of times before, but you stop him by raising your hand. You’re clenching your jaw, eyes wide and threatening as you hiss out a low “Don’t even fucking start.” You adjust the infant in your arms who was starting to slow down on breastfeeding and begin to grow tired.

Nam-gyu scoffs, his scowl deepening, his mouth flops open once again to speak. You cut him off once more- sitting up off the couch and returning his glare with one of your own. “I said…” You seethed through clenched teeth, “Don’t fucking start.” You growl lowly, taking a step towards him, infant still latched onto one of your breasts. “She’s about to fall asleep. I will put her to bed. And then, only fucking then, can you grace me with whatever lousy excuse you have tonight..”

Your tone is one that throws him off, sure he knew he was not a great boyfriend or father, you had every right to be pissed. Normally, you weren’t this confrontational- normally you would sit there sulking when he would come in the door, an adorable pout on your face that he knew wasn’t a cute expression but one of genuine upset and disappointment. He would brush you off telling you he was hungry and wanted you to cook him something.

You finish getting off the couch, it’s an awkward movement as you’re trying not to jostle the baby that had fallen asleep in your arms. Nam-gyu watches, the room is spinning and he’s trying to act like he’s sober because he doesn’t want to get into that argument again tonight- he is far too blitzed to have a coherent argument where he can manipulate it in his favor.

He watches intently, his eyes tracing over your body. You were wearing a large t-shirt and some shorts, nothing new there….but you were fuller. He felt his mouth go dry as you turn and walk down the hallway to the nursery. Your hips were wider and he swore your ass was bigger. The soft, plush flesh of your hips dug into the waistband of the shorts you wore, some of the flesh above the waist band spilling over the slightest bit- perfect to dig his hands into.

You turn into the room, disappearing, presumably putting the baby down in the crib. When you’re no longer in his sight, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It’s been a long while since you two had been intimate, the already rough relationship was not helped by a newborn, and he was pent up. As shitty as he was, not helping with the baby, not being home, partying and doing drugs- he never cheated. He can’t remember the last time you two had fucked, probably when he got you pregnant, but fuck- seeing your curves, how much fuller you were- he realized how much he missed it. How much he missed fucking you.

You return out the room you put your daughter in, thankful she was a decent sleeper because she was sleeping perfectly in the nursery as soon as you placed her down. He catches you fixing your shirt, getting a glimpse of your tits before the fabric falls back over the swollen flesh. You return back in front of him, standing in the entryway where he was still frozen. “It is two…no, three in the fucking morning.” You hiss out in a hushed voice.

“I got caught up at work.” He scoffs trying to walk past you and head to your shared bedroom. “Bullshit!” You laugh sardonically, “You were out partying with Thanos again weren’t you??” You accuse, taking a step closer to him.

You were partially right, he was out partying- but he was also working. With Thanos rap career taking off and Thanos needing VIP privileges at Club Pentagon, if he was there he was getting paid extra. Sure he did more than his fair share of drugs and came home plastered hours after he stopped working and getting paid- but he was still making money! “I was with Thanos but I wasn’t partying. I get paid double when he’s booked.” Nam-gyu growls lowly, lying through his teeth.

“Fucking hell!” You catch yourself raising your voice and quickly lower it to not wake your baby. “..do you think I’m fucking stupid?!” You’re seething out in a tone laced with venom. “You were fumbling with the damn keys, your words are slurred and your fucking pupils are blown!!” You gawk, he really had the audacity to try you?!

He seemed taken aback, surprised you could even see his eyes and how his pupils were dilated heavily in the low light of the living room. He had to remind himself, you were once like him, partying and down for whatever- that’s how you two met, he did coke off your thighs- you could tell the signs a mile away.

He envied you for that, quitting all the drugs you once did with him a year or so before you even got pregnant. You were stronger than him in that sense, had more willpower than him. You never got sucked back into the scene, even when your child was born you kept stead fast in your ways and weren’t tempted. It was like you thought you were better than him, and you were, but that just pissed him off more.

“God forbid I try and have some fun.” He says as he glares down at you. You go to speak, fuming at this point, “That’s not what-“ you almost want to scream, your words cut off when you see him roll his eyes, “roll your fucking eyes at me again and I will rip them out of your fucking skull.”

Your voice drops, you’re speaking through your teeth and getting up in his face. It would be threatening, he knows you would be the one to do it- but all he can think about is how thick your thighs look against the shorts you wore. He remembers those shorts, they used to fit looser, but now they dig into the plush flesh so deliciously has his mind is going blank. But the way you’re in his face- scolding him like some child, finger waving inches from his nose- is pissing him the fuck off.

His hand darts up in a quick motion that you have no way of intercepting. His hand wraps around your wrist, ringed fingers digging into your skin. “All you do is fucking run your mouth.” Nam-Gyu growls, he knows you have every right to yell at him, to be pissed, but he wouldn’t tell you that. Your eyebrows furrow, even more than they already were. Jaw clenched and chest heaving, you’re staring up at him oh so defiantly even if he was much larger than you.

“And all you know how to do is be a fucking deadbeat.” You counter, getting closer to his face by standing on your tippy toes. “You get to go out and party, probably rail some whores, while I have to stay here with your child and take care of her by myself.” You add. It’s an abrupt shift, he becomes even angrier, pulling you forward into him by your wrist he still holds.

To say he’s enraged would put it lightly- was he a deadbeat? Yes. But, he still tries to give you what he can, club pentagon only paid so much and he had a drug habit he didn’t care to address. Did he stay out and party and leave you at home to take care of the baby? Absolutely, he can’t argue with you on that one. But he never cheated. As fucked up as he was, as shitty as a father and boyfriend he was- one thing he would never do was cheat on you. To him that’s a type of low he always told himself he would never reach.

You fall into him, a gasp coming out of your lips when you meet his chest. When he feels your tits press against him, the enlarged flesh squishing against him- you watch as his eyes flutter shut, he bites his lip and breathes out a large breath, like he’s trying to ground himself.

He is.

He drops your wrist from his grip, hands coming to rest on your hips in a vice like grasp, caging you into him. “Watch your fucking mouth.” He seethes, eyes fluttering back open to glare down at you. “Say whatever the fuck else you want…I have never cheated.” He growls lowly, fingers tightening even harder around your plush hips. He wanted to continue to be mad at you, but the way his finger sunk into your flesh made the blood rush to his cock.

“You’re out late all the time and I can’t even remember the last time you touched me…” You say lowly, all your senses focus on the hold he has on your hips. His hands are cold, the rings on his fingers dig into the flesh and bite at your skin. He’s holding you in place like he’s sure you’re going to run away. “So excuse me for thinking you’re cheating. You also dont exactly hang around the best crowd.” You reason even further, now trying to fight against him and pull away.

He grimaces, he doesn’t even know how it’s possible that you manage to piss him off even further than normal. “You have my location. I’m always at work.” He scoffs dismissively. He wasn’t wrong but when he’s at work, he’s hardly working- he’s taking drugs, drinking, and doing god knows what else- you’ve seen the pictures he’s in the background posted on Thanos timeline.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” You seethe, trying to yank your hand out of his grasp yet again. It’s a futile attempt. “Okay! So you’re at work!? Where’s the fucking rent, huh?!” You say, voice raising, he’s a day late. He looks at you like you’re crazy and reaches into his back pocket and tosses a wad of cash over onto the coffee table- all while keeping you trapped in his grip. “Still late-“ your works are instantly cut off, “Wrong.” He mocks, reaching back into his pants pocket to pull out his phone and show you the date on his phone.

He was right. But it wasn’t your fault, your days had mixed together because you get no sleep with the baby and your child’s father comes home at 3am every day! God forbid you mix up your days. He also was no stranger to paying you late. You normally wouldn’t care about the mix up, maybe even own up to it- but today it just adds validity to his manipulative argument. “You’re still home at 3 in the fucking morning, you reek of booze and your pupils are blown!” You growl, not even caring that the day was wrong. You simply don’t care anymore. “And you’re doing all of this while I’m home taking care of our child!”

You’re leaning into him, getting up in his face with knitted eyebrows and barred teeth. He’s far too fucked up to deal with this, with you- because he knows you’re right. He never wants to face his issues, he never has wanted to, and every day you attempt to make him confront how shitty he was little by little, most of the times without even knowing it. You had always been too good for him, he knew that. He was lucky that you stayed and gave him a thousand chances instead of walking out on him. Maybe tomorrow he would address it and make a change for once in his life. But, right now, his head is pounding, the room is spinning and your hissing growl of a tone is only making his headache worsen.

His grip on your hips tightens, and he lowers his face so very closer to yours. His eyes are dark, angry, but there’s an odd glint of hunger in them that you haven’t seen in ages, it makes your body heat up in ways that due to not having felt it in so long, if now feels foreign. “You seriously don’t know when to stop fucking talking.” He growls lowly, like an animal about to feast on its caught prey. When he speaks his lips nearly brush against yours, the feather light contact tickles and sends electricity straight to your lower stomach. His voice has a hiss to it, like a viper, it should scare you but it doesn’t; it makes you hotter.

You two stand like that for a moment, the only sound you could hear was the sounds of your breath mixing with his. Every time the both of you heaved an angry breath, the hot air would mix between the two of you. Neither of you broke the other’s gaze, trying to win the silent stare off that started.

Nam-gyu breaks first, his eyes dropping to your chest, watching the rise and fall of your enlarged breasts from under the shirt- his resolve is out the window. He’s on your lips in an instant. You’re letting out a muffled sound of protest into his mouth, fighting against him and trying to pull away. But with the grip he still has on your wrist and the frantic movement of his lips keeps you still. You find yourself melting into it- you missed his kisses. Missed him.

As much as you want to pull back and continue to fight with him-you can’t. You relax into him, lips moving with his- almost rivaling his eagerness. When he feels you give in, his hands drop to your waist, nails biting into your plush flesh over the fabric of your shirt. You’re panting helplessly into his mouth, so desperate for the attention you’ve been deprived of for months. He’s pushing you backwards, guiding you further into the living room.

In a mess of lips and spit, you’re falling back first onto the couch and he’s following you, coming to straddle your thighs- hovering over you. His hands are back on you in an instant, running up your thighs and squeezing. His lips are back on yours, it’s a messy kiss that reminds you of how you two were when you first met. It’s sloppy, full of spit, and oh so Devine. You’re arching up into his touch, his cold hands running up your sides and then back down to your shorts. He wastes no time in gripping the waistband and tugging the fabric down your hips.

He’s pulling your shorts off you hastily and you help kick them off, whining into the kiss. Your lips don’t part once, he’s sucking your tongue into his mouth expertly, he knows exactly what to do to get your mind to go blank. He’s rough, hands gripping and kneading at your flesh like he can’t get enough.

He pulls away from the kiss to lift your shirt over your head. He wastes no time in pulling the fabric over your head and tossing it to an unknown corner of the living room. When the cool air hits your bare skin you’re overtly aware of your bare form. You two haven’t been intimate since you got pregnant. Your body has changed in ways that admittedly you weren’t fond of. A wave of self conscious that rolls through you when you see Nam-Gyu above you, eyes flitting down your naked from like he’s trying to memorize you.

It makes you want to cover yourself- so you do. Your arms fall over yourself to cover your breasts and stomach, shielding yourself from his gaze. His brows furrow and a growl resounds from his throat. You cant even fight him when he grabs your wrists and pulls your arms away from your body, pinning them to the couch. “Don’t you dare fucking hide from me.” His voice is low, almost threatening, and does nothing to help the wetness that grows between your legs.

“Yeah…that’s it, ma.” He rasps, nodding his head slowly, eyes trained on your body. His hands let go of your wrists, you know better than to move your arms back over your body- he would get up and leave you hot and bothered if you disobeyed- he lets out an accepting hum when you keep your arms by your sides.

“Mmm…beautiful fuckin tits…” he coos in a low, gravely tone, his hands reaching up to grasp at the doughy mounds of flesh. He’s kneading your breasts, you can feel the way his cock is straining against his pants, twitching and growing against your thigh with each movement of his hands. “So swollen now, huh?” He says as he leans down, his mouth latching onto one of your nipples.

You’re so sensitive, it’s almost like an electric jolt that runs up your spine. He hums into your skin when he feels your body shake against him. The breast that isn’t being attacked by his mouth is being kneaded in his hand. He’s pinching your nipple, rolling it between his fingers to bring the bud to a stiff peak. You’re helpless underneath him and his mouth is relentless. He can’t get enough of your enlarged tits, he’s switching his mouth to the breast that once was in his hand- wanting to give the same amount of attention to both of the picturesque tits before him.

He pulls off your nipple with an obscene ‘pop’, the sound only adding to the overwhelming feeling you’re experiencing. All this attention after going months without it, it felt surreal. You knew you should push him off and scold him, kick him out, but it feels so good- you just can’t bring yourself to push him away- it feels too fucking good.

“Mmm,” he hums against your skin, you can feel him begin to grind the forming erection in his pants into your leg as he continues his relentless onslaught of bites and kisses, leaving blue and purple patches that blossom across your skin in his wake. His hands are moving across your body, groping at the doughy flesh like a cat kneading a fluffy pillow. “Gotten so curvy, pretty thing….” He mumbles, biting down particularly hard right under your breast. “Such a good mama…” his lips tickle your skin when he speaks.

You can hear how his words are slurred, his hands are jittery, he’s definitely on something and you know you should stop this and not let him swoon you like every other time he’s stumbled in the door fucked up late at night. He’s doing this to soothe your anger, to get you off his case. At least that’s what you thought.

That wasn’t his motive, although that reasoning could apply- he was really doing it to get your guard to lower. You accused him of cheating, scolded him like a child in his own home, you were gonna feel his anger. And he was strategic, manipulative even, you should be aware of it you’ve been with him long enough…but for some reason you’re not. He looks down at you and he sees you softened, you’re panting under him, pupils dilated like his now, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt like you’re trying to ground yourself.

He makes an insanely quick, rough, combination of movements- shifting one of his legs between your legs, pressing up into your cunt, and one of his hands darts down to grip your neck right under your chin, awkwardly forcing your face upwards to meet his gaze more directly. “….but you don’t know when to shut the fuck up.” He has a sadistic, mocking grin twisted across his lips.

You let out a pathetic, surprised squeak that falls into a moan. The rough fabric of his pants pressing into your throbbing pussy has your eyes crossing and fluttering shut. You reach a hand up to grip at his wrist, opening your eyes to glare up at him with some measly attempt of a scowl, trying not to let him win so easily, trying to not give him the satisfaction of your docility.

“Yeahhh…” he mocks, a wide grin on his face, his hand that grips your neck and jaw wiggles your head around to further his mocking, like he’s rubbing something in, “keep that smartass scowl on your face. So fuckin’ sexy when you’re angry.” He hisses, his free hand comes down and roughly slaps your breast, his eyes watch the flesh recoil and ripple under the impact, and when you arch into the touch and let out a pretty whimper his hand is groping at the plump flesh harshly. Of course your defiant scowl has faltered.

He lets out a low laugh and trails his hand down your stomach, his grip on your neck tightening ever so slightly, “see…can’t even keep it up…ya ain’t mad…” he coos in an annoying, sardonic tone. His hand releases your breast and runs down your stomach, nails dragging into your skin just the slightest bit. His hand grips at the flesh of your stomach- like he’s admiring it, basking in the feeling of your softness in his hand. “No~ you’re not mad…” he continues, hand running over your pubic bone, thumb catching the top of your pussy, just above your clit- pulling up the slightest bit.

His view of your cunt is shrouded by your thighs clenching around his leg that is between them. You’re heaving against his touch squirming your hips into his hand, silently begging for more. “Not mad at all…just needy. Need me to play with your pussy, hm?” He says in a low growl, his thumb inching the slightest bit closer to your clit- still not where you needed it most. You’re ashamed of the little resolve you have left, you’re still trying to twist your face into an angry scowl while writhing under his hand. It’s like your hips have a mind of their own, desperately rolling into his touch even though the rest of your body is telling you to stop this and have some resilience to his ways….but you simply can’t stop.

“You’re acting all mad like ya hate me…...” He says, leaning down closer to you, his hand that was still pinning you to the couch by your neck squeezing more. He shifts his knee, pressing it deeper into your cunt. You let out a wanton sigh in response, your eyes screwing shut as your hips grind mindlessly into his leg. His other hand moves off your pubic bone and runs up your leg. When he gets to your knee he’s shoving your legs apart and parting your other leg open with his knee that was grinding up into your cunt.

It’s such a fast motion that you have no option to fight him. Your glistening pussy is now on full display for him to see. It’s shameful, your folds stick together with your own syrupy arousal, thick streams of wetness seep out of your entrance and begin to drip on the leather couch under you. Nam-gyu’s eyes are captivated by your cunt, he’s biting his lip and breathing heavy like a lion about to eat a bountiful feast of meat- animalistic, primal. “Ohoo~” he says with a mocking tilt of his head, “yeah, you can act mad all you want…but, she’s not mad at me.” He says, his fingers sliding inwards and down your spread leg, pulling your folds to the side to see you fully.

“Ohhhhh….” He drawls out, licking his lips at the sight. His hand on your neck loosens its grip and trails down your body to mirror his other hand, spreading you completely. You’re on full display, there’s no hiding the effect he had on you, there’s no denying that your anger has long since been overrun by lust and need, and he’s staring so hard- it’s so embarrassing. He can see how your cunt clenches around nothing, quivering as if to further show your bashfulness. “Already fucking soaked, what a slut. Barely even have to touch you and your needy pussy’s already crying f’me.”

Your eyebrows turn upwards, you’re biting your lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to keep your noises suppressed. With your lips pulled apart by his thumbs, your puffy clit is on full display. Nam-gyu is cursing to himself, pulling away one hand to hastily undo the button of his pants and unzip the zipper. He’s pushing his boxers and his pants down his thigh to free his aching cock from its confines. He’s thick, veiny, and has a mean upward curve that no matter how hard you try, you can never forget how good it makes your pussy feel.

He pumps his dick a few times, groaning at the sensation. He stops to return his hand back to your inner thigh, thumb brushing up and down in quick motions over your clit. Your hips are immediately canting upwards off the couch, a gasp is pulled from your throat and your nails bite into the couch- threatening to tear the fabric. He would normally bask in that reaction, relish in it, thumb your clit over and over until you’re singing like a song bird for him. But, that was normally; it wasn’t now.

“You better keep your hips still, brat. This isn’t a reward for you.” He barks, looking up at you with dark, narrowed eyes. “I’m jus’ takin whats mine, ‘s not for you.” He scolds, you know he’s still set on punishing you. And for some reason, you let him. You’re looking down at him desperately and panting, eyebrows furrowed together in concentration as you try so hard to keep your hips still so you can get the attention you so desperately need. It’s a downright sinful, completely and utterly desperate expression, your flushed cheeks just the most perfect accessory.

His scowl turns into a wicked grin when he sees the last bit of resilience you have crumble completely and you turn into a pathetic heap on the couch. “Mhmm…” he nods slowly, “S’ what I thought. Just a lil needy thing ain’t ya?” You whine at his words. He’s speaking in a mean, sardonic tone that makes your mine spin. You don’t even think about it, but you find yourself nodding, letting out a muffled ‘mhm’ in hopes of getting on his good side.

He seems to accept your meek response because he’s settling down onto the couch, lowering his face until it’s level with your cunt. You’re gripping the couch and biting your lip until it’s bleeding, trying to keep your hips still. His breath fans over your folds causing a soft mewl to fall from your lips. Your head falls back onto the armrest of the couch as he licks a wide strip up the entirety of your cunt.

He’s groaning into your pussy when he gets his first taste of you. It’s been too long since he’s been buried tongue deep in your sweet cunt, he doesn’t know how he’s gone without it for so long. He doesn’t ease you into it, he doesn’t slowly coax soft whines from your throat- no, he’s delving in and eating you like a man starved. His tongue is vicious, licking through your folds, teasing your entrance, only to trace back up and twirl in mind-numbing figure eights against your clit.

“O-oh my god…” you breathlessly moan, thighs closing around his head. His eyes roll back and flutter closed when he feels the soft, thick flesh of your thighs tighten against his head. He wraps his arms around your thighs, dragging you up and down his flat tongue, slurping down every drop of arousal that seeps from your pussy. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking it into his mouth. The sensation makes you jump and moan out a broken call of his name, your hips grinding down on his tongue in a pathetic attempt to seek even more pleasure.

When he feels your hips cant upwards, chasing his tongue he’s growling into your pussy. Hands splaying across your lower stomach to push your hips down- a warning. “Keep fuckin’ still.” He hisses, his words vibrating against your clit. Nam-gyu makes a show of eating your cunt. He’s messy, making obscene slurping sounds as he coaxes more and more sticky arousal from your spasming walls. This wasn’t for you, this was for him. He was going to enjoy the heavenly flavor of your cunt his way. You want to grind against his tongue, become impossibly closer to him and sink his tongue deep within your walls- you know if you do, you’ll be going against his orders. He’s deliberately making this a challenge for you. He wants you to disobey him. Wants you to give him even more of a reason to fuck you into complete submission.

When you feel his tongue begin to prod its way into your entrance, you’re keening and bringing a hand up to cover your mouth. You muffle your wrecked moans as he tongue fucks you. It’s such a devine feeling for him, your cunt clenching around his tongue, the flavor of you covering his tastebuds, thick thighs clenching around his head, pussy wetting his chin, and nose breathing in your scent as he grinds it into your clit. All of it reminds him of why even after all the horrible shit he’s put you through, he’s never cheated and he always returns home to you. He wants to savor it, draw it out. Maybe you’ve learned your lesson and he can be nice- give you both what you want.

But he can’t, because you’re sobbing out muffled pleas from behind the hand that covers your mouth and jerking your hips up, swiveling them down on his tongue to try and drive him even deeper into your walls. You don’t even mean to do it but when you realize you were going against his orders it’s too late.

His dark eyes peer up at you through thick lashes, you can feel the sadistic grin that twists across his lips against your sopping folds, you know you fucked up. You pull your hand away from your mouth, “N-no, no, ‘m s-sorry. Can’t help it! Y-you’re not making it easy!” You’re pleading with him as he’s pulling away from your cunt. “P-please! I n-need it.” You try to beg more, trying to get back on his good side and get his tongue back against your clit but he doesn’t accept your offer

Nam-Gyu sits back up on his knees, his hands moving up to your waist and squeezing, “I gave you more than enough chances…” he coos, eerily sweet, “was eating your sweet cunt good, wasn’t I?” He scoffs with a raise of his eyebrow. You nod frantically, your hands reaching down to cover his, running up his arms, trying to sweeten him up, “Mhm! S-so good! ‘S why I couldn’t keep still!” You praise, batting your eyelashes up at him.

You think for a split second that you managed to win him back over, a relief washes over you when you think you’re going to be granted the salvation of his tongue on your throbbing pussy once again. But his grin widens and his hand slide down, grasping at your hips with a primal grip.

“Well, since you want to act like a bitch in heat…” he says, the low timbre of his voice sends shivers violently jolting through your whole body. You’re suddenly picked up off the couch by your hips and flipped over. You inwardly scold yourself at how you almost instantly fall into a position on all fours with your back deeply arched. You hear him scoff at your eagerness, “…then you’re gonna be fucked like a bitch in heat.”

When his sentence finishes you can feel him drag the bulbous tip of his cock between your folds, mixing your arousal and his pre-cum into a stick mess that coats your pussy. You let out a shaky breath, you can feel your heartbeat in your throat. Pushing your hips back, you whine, trying to sink him into your heat. But you weren’t the one in charge here…he was.

He was going to make sure you felt every, single inch of his cock sink into your tight cunt. And he was going to savor you desperately trying to fuck yourself back onto his cock like you have no other thought on your mind other than to be fucked.

“Already makin’ such a mess on my cock. You were so mouthy earlier…” he begins to slowly sink into your cunt only to pull all the way back, “…so bold, all up in my face…” he pushes back in to the tight ring of your pussy ever so slightly, “…so feisty.” And with that, his cockhead finally slips into your cunt. It makes a sickening, wet sucking sound as your pussy greedily sucks him in. “Now look at you.”

A moan is ripped from your throat, the extensive period of time that you have gone without fucked and the devilishly slow entrance of just his tip into your sopping walls already has your toes curling. A moan is ripped from your lips as you drop your chest fully onto the couch, your back arched sinfully deep for him, pressing him deeper into you.

“‘S just the tip and you’re already creamin’ around me like a slut…” He muses, leaning forward a bit to grab both of your arms and cross them behind your back. Both your wrists are restrained by one of his hands. You gasp as your pulled upwards, your face pulled off the leather of the couch. “Heh…. I’m gonna break ya sweetheart…”

His hips become flush with yours in a split second, his cock is balls deep within your cunt. The sudden intrusion has you letting out a silent sob. Instantly, you’re so very full. Nam-gyu is stretching you around him, molding your pussy to the shape of him, removing the thought of leaving him from your mind completely. How could you when he filled you up oh so perfectly.

He stays balls deep inside you for a moment, bringing his hips to a slow grind. “Yeahhh….that’s it… ya feel how deep I am?” He asks, his voice rough and breathy, “Only I can give this pussy what she needs…” he growls, pulling his cock all the way out and then immediately slamming right back in. You’re crying out, eyes crossing and your vision goes hazy. “I’m the only one who can cum in your greedy cunt….” He says, repeating the same motion. When he’s back to being balls deep inside you, he’s leaving over your back and bringing his lips ring next to your ear, “you carried my child.”

He’s emphasizing the word “my” by rolling his hips against your ass, grinding the tip of his cock against your cervix. You hated it, but he was right, the moment you carried and gave birth to his child- you were his. From the moment you two met- you were his.

You’re moaning helplessly, gasping an incoherent mix of his name and curses, you’re becoming boneless in his grasp. It feels so fucking good. He gives you no time to adjust before he’s sitting back up and pumping his cock in and out of your tight cunt. The thrusts are vicious, mean even, his thick girth is stretching you impossibly wide and your pussy welcomes him openly, greedily sucking him in.

“Mhm…there you go…she missed me didn’t she?” Nam-gyu rasps, using his grip on your wrists to drag you back to meet every single one of his hard thrusts. His eyes are focused downwards, he’s entranced by the ripple of your ass everytime it comes back to meet his hips. You’re much thicker, curvier, softer than before. Pregnancy had changed your body in ways that sparked a primal hunger inside of him.

You helplessly sob out, the overwhelming pleasure completely taking over your body. Your hips are pushing back to meet his thrusts, trying to sink his cock impossibly deeper into your tight heat. He laughs from above you, realizing your desperation for more. “Greedy fuckin’ thing…” he growls, it’s a dark, gravely tone that sends goosebumps down your arms, “what, ‘s not enough for you?” He chides like you’re giving him a challenge, you can hear the sadistic grin that is spread across his lips.

You’re gasping, shaking your head frantically “n-no ‘s e-enough! ‘S so good!” You try to plead with him by praising his efforts, fearing the impending overstimulation that is about to be thrown on you. He’s drawing his hips back until just the tip of his cock is inside you, he’s humming like he’s thinking to himself. “Hmm…” he lets out, just trusting his cockhead inside your sopping pussy, “you can still talk…so I don’t think it’s enough.” You can hear the mocking pout in his voice, teasing you further.

Nam-gyu lets go of your wrists he was holding behind your back, hands finding their spot on your hips, squeezing the doughy flush in his fists. He’s pile driving his hips flush against your ass in one thrust, sinking balls deep into your gushing cunt. Instantly, he’s stretching you deliciously, pushing into your spasming walls until the tip of his cock is flush against your cervix. A wrecked sob rips through your throat and you’re falling forward onto the leather couch.

He leaves you no time to gather yourself, his hips draw back until just the tip is inside you and then thrusting balls deep inside your warm cunt in rapid, devious strokes. As much as you wish it wasn’t true, he knows your body like the back of his own hand, he knows every little thing that makes you tick, he knows just how to make you cream around his cock- and he wants to make you a mess. He’s driving his thrust upwards at a mean angle, making sure every thrust is hitting that sweet spot deep inside you. All you can do is moan out pathetic babbles of his name and praises.

“Yeahhhh, that’s it…” he coos mockingly, his hips slamming into you at a brutal pace, “‘s all you needed huh? A good fucking to calm you down.” His tone is hushed, his hands are leaving a bruising grip on your hips. He can’t keep his eyes off the way your ass jiggles with every thrust, the way his cock disappears between the soft flesh and reappears covered in your syrupy arousal.

Admittedly, he was right, you did need this. It had been months since you two fucked and the way his cock was stretching you out, hammering against the deepest spot within you, had your body so overwhelmed. Your hand is clasped helplessly over your mouth, muffling the moans that spill from your lips. His grip on the globes of your ass is nearly painful, using it as leverage to pull you back onto him.

“Missed this fucking pussy..” he growls from behind you, “reminds me of why I got you fucking pregnant…” he rambles on, “gripping me so tight, s’impossible to pull out.”

His words make your eyes roll into the back of your head. Every thrust of his hips bullies his cock up against your cervix in a way that has you gasping for air. You’re sobbing incoherently against your hand, every drag of his thick cock reminded you of how you even got to this point in the relationship- the dick was insanely good.

He releases one of your hips to slap your ass, it’s a resounding smack that stings and has the flesh recoiling under the contact, “fucking hell….” He muses, one of his hands coming up and brushing his hair back out of his face, his eyes never straying from the view of your ass slamming against his hips. “Fuck yourself back against me..c’mon, wanna see it.” He rasps out.

He slows his thrusts, nearly stopping completely. Chasing a high you haven’t felt in ages, your body complies. You immediately begin thrusting back, impaling yourself on his thick cock. It’s a delicious, devine stretch that has you biting the palm of your hand. You repeat the motion, speeding up with every wet slap of your hips against his. “Good fuckin’ girl.” Nam-Gyu is praising.

You can feel yourself getting closer to the delicious release of your orgasm, it’s quick, embarrassingly so, but you’re stretched so full and every time you sink him balls deep into your tight heat- a mind numbing wave of pleasure is sent up your spine. It’s an addictive feeling that you keep chasing desperately without even realizing it. You’re speeding up the backwards thrust of your hips, every time you meet his thighs with your ass a wet ‘clap’ resounds through the room.

“O-h fuck, that’s it… j-just like that. D-don’t you dare fucking stop.” Nam-gyu hisses out, a hand coming to thread itself in your hair and form a fist. He cranks your head back, a silent scream falls from your lips as you keep up the motion of your hips, sinking your cunt down onto him. You couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. “Look at that fucking ass…” He muses, praising the body you were worried he didn’t even like.

He’s leaning forward a bit, his head hooking over your shoulder so his lips were right by your ear. His new position causes the movement of your hips to still, he picks up the slack by rolling his hips into a slow grind. “Gonna cum so f-fucking deep in your cunt.” He growls into your ear. You can hear that he has his teeth clenched, he’s speaking through his teeth like you and your pussy would be the death of him. “O-ohhhhhh, you like that… can feel you squeezing me..y-you want me to cum inside?” He pants, the hand in your hair turns your head to the side so he can leave harsh bites along the column of your neck as he grinds his cock impossibly deeper into you.

“C’mon answer me.. wan’ me to cum in you? Get you pregnant again…” He mocks, “…keep ya like this.” He growls lowly, his hand releasing your hair to grip at the fat of your hips and lower stomach, he’s even punctuating his words with a devious roll of his hips that grinds his cock into your g-spot. A wanton whine falls from your lips. Your back arches even more, deepening into a sinful curve that has Nam-Gyu spinning.

You should say no, call him some name and tell him to go fuck himself. “Nnghh… f-fuck y-yes!” You cry out in a hushed plea, you can’t help it. You need it. trying to thrust back onto his cock. You can feel how wet you were, making a mess of the backs of your thighs and the couch below you. “I-inside please!” You sob, eyebrows knitted together in a pleasured expression. You need so badly to once again experience the feeling of his thick cum filling you.

With both hands holding your hips he’s drawing your body back violently, impaling you on his girth. Every thrust is echoed by a lewd, sticky, ‘schlick’ sound that only proves how much of an influence he has on you. His cock has a mean curve that reaches so deep within you it has you seeing stars. The warmth of your orgasm beginning to blossom over your body and tingle deep within your cunt.

Every time he draws back his hips he’s dragging his cock out of your sopping walls until just the tip rests in your fluttering entrance then driving his hips forward to sink balls deep into you. You know you’re about to cum, embarrassingly fast. Moan after moan falls from your lips as your eyes cross and roll back in pure bliss. “T-that’s it, make a mess on my cock f’me.” Nam-gyu growls through clenched teeth, one hand reaching around to rub quick circles on your clit. The feather light touches that glide across your throbbing bundle of nerves is enough to send you over the edge.

“Ohmygodholyfuck.” You babble out incoherently, fingers digging into the fabric of the couch as you fall head first into a violent orgasm. Your pussy flutters around his cock, squeezing him like a vice. “Mhmm…f-fuck yeah that’s it…” He hisses, his thrusts becoming sloppy, his other hand on your hips drops under you to grab at your swollen tits in frantic motions, the feeling of the doughy flesh in his hands jiggling with each of his thrusts is all it takes to drive him over the edge.

He’s working you through your orgasm with skilled fingers, your body shaking against his as he cums deep inside your cunt. You can feel it, it’s so much. It fills you even more than his cock already did, coating your gummy walls in its milky white color.

He thrusts lazily a few more times, making sure he properly fucks his cum into your spasming cunt. Your body is shaking and jolting violently against the couch, you can hear the obscene, wet, ‘plap’ of the mixture of your cum and his falling out of your cunt and hitting the sofa below you. The room is filled with alternating heavy breaths and the smell of sex. He slides his hands up and down your sides before resting back on your hips and slowly grinding his cock into you. He can barely bring himself to pull out, the warmth of your cunt is literally sucking him in. He can hear your overstimulated whines of protest with each slow roll of his hips and it drives him wild.

Eventually, he too gets overstimulated- your cunt is simply too good, his personal drug he’s addicted to, his own vice (but he’s never tell you that)- he’s pulling out his softening cock with a hiss, sitting back on his heels to watch his cum slowly seep out of your pussy that still is gaped with the shape of his cock. He groans, eyes rolling back into his skull as he tries to imprint the visual in his brain.

He collapses back onto the couch, one hand on your hip to make you follow suit, gently landing back first on his chest. You try to catch your breath, limply turning yourself over to fall back onto him. When you tuck yourself into his side his arm drapes over your waist. He places a kiss on the top of your head that’s so quick and gentle that you almost can’t feel it. You nuzzle his head onto his chest, you can hear the rapid thrum of his heartbeat. You can’t form words. All you can do is let out a shaky sigh. It’s quiet in the room, only sound you can hear is your heaving breaths that eventually fall into sync with each other.

“You have got to change.” You say, the edge in your voice just emphasizes that you’re hanging on by the thinnest thread possible. You want this to work out- you do- you love him and you adore your child. You want to be a regular family.

“I know.” He says, his voice breathless. His arm tightens around the curve of your waist, pulling you into him like you might suddenly get up and run away-because you might- he can tell with your voice it’s different this time, you’re serious. And he wants to change, he does…he just doesn’t know if he has it in him.

I hope you guys enjoyed this one 😙😙😙 I really appreciate all of y’all’s support it means so much!! I’m working through the requests I have and whipping up some noice fics! Yall have fantastic minds 😩 all the requests are so scrumptious

Im trying to gather all my marbles after being sick so the queue I had goin is a little wonky. im working through it and will update yall on said queue of requests next post! Love yew guys !! - kiwi

[43luv]

Summary: Luke Hughes learns how to love

Word Count: 1.1k Warnings: lots of fluff!! A/n: guys idk how to feel about this but pls enjoy :)

Luke Hughes wasn’t known for being good at expressing his feelings. He was the youngest of three, and growing up saying how you felt got you a fist to the face. It wasn't his brothers fault, they all loved one another dearly but, it was engraved in their brains that feelings were a sign of weakness. 

Their mom, however, always said that expressing your feelings was the way to a woman's heart. Things like “i love you” and untimely kisses on a cheek. 

Quinn was the best at it. Being the eldest and the biggest mama's boy definitely helped. He would say when he disliked something, had no problem correcting things or telling someone off. Everything was always in a calm tone, his posture always light and inviting. He was a gentleman really, opening doors, giving out compliments and praise. Knowing every right from wrong, probably why he was named captain.

Jack was maybe a little too good at it. He loved the attention, so it only made sense he loved giving it as well. He would compliment you, and stand there, waiting patiently for one in return. He gave the greatest hugs, always having a compliment for whoever he was meeting. Jack was good at saying the things on his mind as well. Had no problem with telling someone when they were annoying him, no problem saying I love you.

And Luke… well Luke was still figuring it out. He had no problem with saying when he didn't like something, and had no problem giving out compliments. His problem however, no matter how hard he tried, was the romantic side of it. It sounds bad, but to him love was always such a heavy subject. One reserved for family and very close friends. He was tentative, never knowing when something should be classified as “love” or not. Never knew when to show it, either. 

So yes, dating Luke might be a little hard. A challenge, some may say. But you love a good challenge.

When the two of you first met, he instantly fell in love. Tripped over his own feet and rushed through his words as he asked you out on a date. 

He called Quinn when he got home, his palms sweaty and breathing rushed.

“How do you go on a date?”

A weird question, an even weirder opening line. But that didn't stop the eldest Hughes brother from sitting straight up, his eyebrows furrowed as he wiped the sleep away from his eyes. “Huh?”

“I asked the prettiest girl in Jersey out on a date, and i don't know what to do now!”

His words were rushed, breathless. His one hand gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. 

“Take her to a restaurant?”

So he did. He picked the fanciest restaurant, with the fanciest food and drinks. He picked you up, he was trembling as he handed you flowers at your front door. He loved the dress you were wearing, a dark navy one, it complimented you, he thought. And he wanted to tell you but alarms blared in his mind. 

The date went amazingly well. He was a gentleman but all night you longed for a compliment. But you could tell he found you endearing. His eyes told you that. They followed you throughout the night. Sparkling when you talked and crinkled when you laughed. 

Eventually, he asked you to be his girlfriend. He had no idea how he did it, still doesn’t. It was probably the adrenaline talking, or maybe the way you smiled at him like he hung the moon. Either way, you said yes, and for the first time in a long time, Luke felt like he did something right.

At first, being with Luke meant reading between the lines. He wasn’t the guy who flooded your phone with sweet texts or showered you with constant affection. But he showed he cared in other ways. He always remembered the little things—your coffee order, how you hated the sound of silverware scraping against plates, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were nervous. And he always walked on the outside of the sidewalk, like a silent promise to protect you.

Still, you wanted him to know that words mattered too. So, you started small.

“I love when you do that,” you’d say, squeezing his hand when he opened doors for you.

“I love your laugh,” you told him once, after he cracked a joke that wasn’t even that funny, just because you liked the sound.

And every time you used the word “love,” you saw something shift in him. His shoulders would relax a little. The crease in his brow would fade. And little by little, he started saying it back—in his own way.

It wasn’t grand speeches or endless declarations. It was the soft, quiet moments. The way his thumb brushed circles on your skin when you held hands. The way he mumbled, “Missed you,” against your hair after road trips. The way he leaned in to kiss you like he had all the time in the world.

And eventually, the words came easier.

One night, after a long day, you found him sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone. You plopped down beside him, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Long day?” you asked softly.

He sighed, dropping his phone on the coffee table. “Yeah. Felt off on the ice.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, squeezing him gently. “You’re too hard on yourself, Luke.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well…I don’t wanna let anyone down.”

Without thinking, you kissed his shoulder. “You won’t. Never will.”

And that was the thing about you. You never asked him to change. You just gave him the space to be himself, rough edges and all. Slowly, that wall he had built around his heart started to crumble.

One night, he blurted it out without warning.

“I love you,” he said, voice soft but sure, like he’d known it for a while but didn’t know how to say it.

You smiled, heart swelling in your chest as you brushed a curl away from his forehead. “I love you too.”

And just like that, the words didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

He still wasn’t perfect at it. He’d stumble over his words sometimes, or fumble through compliments like he wasn’t sure they were good enough. But you never minded. Because love wasn’t about perfection. It was about effort.

And Luke? He was always willing to try for you.

Main Masterlist || Luke Hughes Masterlist

lots of love, Kenzie

[sinmartini]

"feels so right but it's just so wrong." // red!clark kent

notes: MDNI 18+ summary: clark kent is usually such a nice guy. what's gotten into him? wc: 1714 warnings: red!clark, face fucking with fingers, implications of oral (m receiving), clark being arrogant, pet names, fem!reader, not proofread.

“You are being so annoying,” Red!Clark told you, rolling his eyes as he tucked himself further into the couch settled in the loft. He had been acting so strange all day, completely unlike the best friend you knew and loved. There was a slight attitude in his tone, irritation radiating off of him, and pelting you with nearly everything that had come out of his mouth. It was almost like you were a human punching bag today; if an unkind thought passed through his head, he was more than willing to say it to you.

“What?” You snapped at him, finally nearing the breaking point. Your eyes pointed up at him, shifting your head in his lap to get a better look at you. It wasn’t uncommon to lay your head on his lap, the rest of your body taking up the other end of the couch. Actually, Clark typically liked it when you two did this together. Even though you were just best friends, there was an intrinsic need for you two to be in touch all the time. Hand holding, platonic cuddling, hugs that lasted a minute too long. Today, though… Today he looked frustrated by the way you were clinging to him, the physical touch he had once loved from you be damned. 

Not only had you just experienced something completely terrible, with Clark swooping in to save you at the last minute yet again, but he was being such a jerk.

“I just never realized how needy and clingy you are. What you did back there was dangerous too. Don’t you have any inkling for self preservation?” Clark’s words were one thing, but his actions were indicative of another as he gently stroked his fingers through your hair. 

Was he wrong? Not really. You were needy and clingy when it came to him, but that’s how it’s always been with the two of you. Hell, he was just as clingy most of the time. That’s what came along with knowing his secret; being one of the only people who actually knew the real Clark Kent. 

“Clark, you know I’d do anything for a story. The Daily Planet isn’t going to promote me if I only write boring headlines. I thought that’s why we work so well together? I can bust a crime ring and you’re always there to swoop in.” You were trying to reason with him now, get to the bottom of what was really going on inside of his head. Ever since this morning, it was like Clark had been stripped from all his inhibitions, most of the qualities that made Clark… Well, Clark, had somehow disappeared.

“Good writers can make a story out of anything,” Clark noted, his fingers still stroking through your hair. “They don’t have to put themselves in constant danger and despair to write a think piece.”

“You don’t think I’m a good writer?” You asked him, trying to lift your head from his thigh, needing to create some space between you and your best friend before he could say something that might kill your spirits all together.

“You could be better,” Clark shrugged, his shoulders lifting and collapsing in one cohesive motion as disinterest flickered across his face. You could tell he was done with the conversation now, dishing out that he didn’t think you were that great at what you do, then ready to move on like you weren’t going to have more questions for him.

It wasn’t often that you cried in front of Clark. On the off chance that you did cry in front of him, it was for good reason, and Clark had never made you cry. Until now. The tears that threatened the corner of your waterline were mortifying, and the more you tried to blink them away, the quicker they began formulating. 

Once more, you tried to move yourself off of his lap, but Clark held you in place. Finally, he looked down at you, his facial expression shifting from disinterest to amusement when he saw the tears spilling down your cheeks. There was no way you could have missed the way his lips curled up, just enough to show he enjoyed the sight of you messy on his lap. And there was absolutely no way to miss the way his eyes shimmered with delight, darkening at the sight of your bottom lip quivering.

“You’re crying? C’mon, it wasn’t that mean,” Clark scoffed as his hand found its way from your hair to your chin, holding your face between his thumb and his forefinger. Vulnerability flooded through you as Clark examined every aspect of your face with such intensity, you wanted to shrink under his gaze.

As you opened your mouth, trying to find the words to let Clark know he had been hurting your feelings all day, it wasn’t just this offhand comment that was contributing to your tears, a small sob released from your chest. The words didn’t come out, only heavier breathing and more tears.

“So fussy,” Clark said, his voice sultry and thick as he gently stroked his pointer finger from your chin to your mouth, placing it between your lips and forcing you to open up. You didn’t know why you were being so compliant with it, but Clark pushed his forefinger and middle finger into your mouth, pressing harshly on the middle of  your tongue and you couldn’t help the moan that stirred. “Let me pacify you.”

Your moans were vibrating off of his fingers as he worked them in and out of your mouth, his gaze fixated on you in a way you had never seen before. It wasn’t just lust that filled it eyes; it was carnal desire, like in this moment he needed you as much as you needed him. At least, that is likely what he wanted you to think.

There was something intrinsically hot about the situation as a whole— you laying there, crying on his lap as he hushed you with his fingers in a way that could be written in an erotica book. Nothing about it felt right, but it didn’t feel wrong either, and you could tell Clark felt the same way by the tent growing underneath his jeans, the length of him pressing against the seat of his pants.

Your mouth salivated at the thought of it, creating more lubricant to slide his fingers in and out of your mouth. His eyes traveled to where you were looking, curious as to what had stopped your tears in their tracks and distracted you. A chuckle, deep from his chest sounded, as he realized how desperate you were for it. Part of him had to know, this whole time, that you wanted him in a way that was less than platonic, right?

“Feels so right but it’s just so wrong,” Clark said, reading your mind as he pushed his fingers in deeper. The tip of his finger hit your gag reflex, causing your head to lurch, but he pushed you back down in his lap. The disinterest that flooded his features less than five minutes ago had completely evaporated, now replaced with sheer and utter amusement.

You were so wet, it was uncomfortable. Your core was dripping with desire, soaking into your cotton panties and clinging to you just enough to overwhelm you. With furrowed brows, you tried to talk around Clark’s fingers, and that prior expression of annoyance had returned once more.

“You’re not supposed to be talking, bunny, that’s the point of this. I want you to shut up.” Clark moved his fingers against your tongue once more, pressing and pushing on the insides of your cheeks, carefully grazing the gag reflex every so often in a teasing gesture. He couldn’t help but taunt you, just a bit.

You made a muffled noise, a whine mixed with a moan. Even with his fingers in your mouth, you were still being fussy.

“What?” Clark asked, his tone full of mockery as he offered a sympathetic expression that you knew to be just another one of his taunts. If you weren’t so turned on, you would be trying to figure out what the hell was going on with him, but right now you were too blinded by desire to care— even if that meant Clark was going to mock you the entire time. “You want my cock in your mouth instead? Can’t promise I’ll be nice.”

Your eyes widened and you frantically nodded around his fingers. He didn’t need to see more before he was unbuttoning his pants as you gently lifted your head to allow him to kick them off.

But as soon as Clark’s pants were off, his expression had shifted completely. The mocking expression was now laced with confusion, the evidence of what you were about to get into pressed against the hem of his boxers. 

It was hard for him to look you in the eyes, and you weren’t sure why the sudden shift in demeanor until he asked you, “can you empty out the pockets of my jeans?”

You moved off the couch, picking up his jeans and shuffling through the pockets, feeling silly with the dried tears on your face and Clark’s seeming lack of interest in you now. In the very bottom of his right pocket, there was one ruby earring. You placed it in your palm, showing it to him and that’s when it hit you both.

“Red kryptonite,” Clark said definitively and you thought you could melt right there. His behavior had a reason behind it, yours was driven by pure desire. “I thought it was a ruby earring. I found it at the Talon and was going to turn it into their lost and found.”

“Oh god,” you said, dropping the earring on the floor of the loft. Your feet were moving down the stairs, bolting for the exit before your brain could catch up with you.

Clark stood at the top of the stairs, his half hard dick still swinging in his boxers, “Wait! Let’s talk about this. Please.”

Slowly, with one hand on the door, you turned around to look at him, avoiding looking below the waist. Maybe you two could work things out. In more ways than one.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (50/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Reunited.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of fingering and cunnilingus), alcohol consumption, fluff and angst and everything in between

Word Count: 4.7k

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A/N: this is part one of the dream I had over two years ago. I'm so proud of what the story has turned into. I love you so much. feedback is appreciated!

Charles: I can’t wait to have you back in my arms tomorrow evening. 

You smile at your phone, fuzzy blanket tucked underneath your chin and feet resting comfortably in Kikas lap. 

You: Next time you go to training camp, I’ll come with you. Take some professional pictures for your Instagram like my job description says. 

Charles: And here I thought you liked the picture I sent you. It‘s not really professional, but I gave my absolute best. 

He gave his absolute best, indeed. Even though the both of you didn’t text that much in the last few days, he made sure to send you a picture of him in case you miss his face. Even though his face wasn’t visible at all in the photo that showed his abs, boxer briefs and thighs.  

Not that you’d ever complain about that. 

You: I loved the photo. 

Charles: Next time I’ll let you take those pictures of me. But maybe with you in them as well. 

You: Is that an offer to sit in your lap again?

You press the send button and put your phone back next to you on the couch, gaze now fixed on the TV. It’s a re-run from Vampire Daries, the episode where it shows that Damon met Elena first. It’s one of your best friends favorites. 

When your phone lights up again, you take a look at the message that popped up on your lockscreen. 

Charles: As long as you’re naked.

You raise your eyebrows at the blunt text, blood rushing to your ears as you stare at your phone. The last few days consisted of quick good mornings, tired good nights and longing I miss yous but this – this makes you hot and bothered. 

A promise of what he’ll do to you once the both of you are back home. 

Charles: I really can’t wait to start the new year with you by my side. 

How can he go from a text that makes you wet to one that makes your heart skip a beat? You purse your lips and smile at your phone. 

„What are you smiling at?“, the Portugese woman asks, hand in a bowl of popcorn. With one inelegant move she grabs as much popcorn as possible and shoves it into her waiting mouth. 

„I’m not smiling“, you lie, grabbing your wine glass from the coffee table and taking a sip. You’re hit with a few popcorn pieces. „Hey! What –„

„Don’t lie to me, querida“, Kika grins. „I may have already had three glasses of wine, but I’m not stupid.“ She raises her eyebrow, waiting for you to answer, even though she already knows the answer to her question. 

You toss her your phone and, like the best friend she is, she unlocks your phone with your pin. Your chat with Charles pops up immediately. “The last message,” you say, and Kika reads the chat carefully. When you remind her that you only want her to see the last message, she sighs. 

“You two are even worse than Pierre and I when we're apart,” she jokes, slowly scrolling up. "It almost hurts how sappy it is." At one message, she throws her head back and laughs before looking at you with a pout. “'I miss you so much it hurts,'” she reads Charles' message from last night. 

You roll your eyes in mock annoyance. ‘I know what it says.’ You lean forward and try to get your phone back, but Kika is faster than you and turns away. 

“'Just one more sleepless night and then I'll finally have you back again.' My goodness.” Kika breathes out heavily. "I should show your chat to Pierre. He could definitely learn something from your sentimental messages.”

“Kika,’ you warn her, putting your glass back on the table and watching her scroll on.

“'The bed is so empty without you,'“ the brunette continues. ‘’When I'm with you again, I'll keep you in bed and taste your body until –”'”

“Okay, that's enough.” You grab your phone in a flash and sit on it so Kika doesn't get the temptation to take it from you. Blood rushes to your cheeks – and the warmth in your face is definitely not coming from the alcohol. 

“Spicy texts,” she grins, raising her wine glass in a toast to you. "I wouldn't have thought of you as the kind of people who sext each other."

You take the bowl of popcorn and pop a piece into your mouth. ”We don't sext.”

Kika purses her lips into a narrow line and raises her eyebrows. “That didn't sound at all like it. I was scared I was going to come across a nude photo of one of you two.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at her. "There are no nudes, Kika." At least none where either of you is really naked. 

“Phew. Thank God,” she grins and takes a sip of wine. She draws it through her teeth once before swallowing. Her gaze is curious when you look at her. ”I thought you two hadn't had sex yet. At least that was the case a few days ago. Did I miss something?”

You shake your head. “We haven't had sex.”

“But you've already kissed.” When your gaze wanders from her to the TV, she sits up a little straighter. She puts her glass down with a cool expression on her face to place her hands on your ankles. Her eyebrows raised, she looks at you in surprise. “Don't tell me –”

“We haven't kissed yet,” you quietly confirm her thought, as if you didn't dare to say the fact that you both have done a lot together, but haven't kissed yet. 

Somehow the sentence leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

Kika reaches for the remote and pauses the episode before turning back to you. “Why not, if I may ask? I mean...” She pauses to think about how to phrase her sentence without offending you. “Your texts are not exactly G-rated.”

You roll a piece of popcorn between your thumb and index finger. “If I knew, I would tell you,” you reply, examining the snack in your fingers as if it contained all the answers you need to define your relationship – or whatever it is between Charles and you. 

The Portuguese woman purses her lips. “But – you want to kiss him, don't you? Or don't you want tiramisu anymore?”

You shrug. "Nothing has changed." You exhale quietly. "Absolutely nothing.”

Kika tilts her head and looks at you. "That's the problem, isn't it?”

You sit up straight, too, placing the bowl of popcorn between your crossed legs. “It's weird. It is weird, isn't it? We – after the party, when Charles practically dragged me out of the club, he –” You take a deep breath and try to sort out your thoughts so as not to jump from topic to topic. You run your fingers through your hair. “We didn't kiss. He fingered and ate me out, but when I tried to get close to him and touch him, he blocked me. Which is fine in itself – but I –”

Kika, noticing your frustration, grabs your hand and squeezes it gently. “You don't know exactly where you stand,” she finishes your sentence. 

You breathe out and nod slightly. “I mean – isn't it strange that he wants my body but doesn't kiss me? Or doesn't let me touch him? Kissing is actually something you normally do before – before all the other things.”

Your best friend licks her lips. ”Actually, yes.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I didn't sleep with Raphael back then because I didn't feel safe in the relationship – and my gut feeling definitely didn't deceive me.” You shake your head slightly. “And now, with Charles, I feel safe. But he –”

Annoyed by the situation, you close your eyes and lean back against the armrest, putting your forearm over your face. You feel bad that you want to rip Charles' clothes off and kiss him until you can't breathe anymore when he obviously doesn't want it. 

Or rather – wants something else. Unfortunately, you don't know what exactly. 

“Hey.” Kika's voice is gentle as she strokes the back of your hand with her thumb. ”You two have only known each other for – what – two weeks? You were forced to be roommates before you were even friends. It's only natural that your dynamic would change.” She slides a little closer to you on the couch. “From the beginning, you were destined to be more than just people sharing an apartment. I saw that the very first night we met.”

You remember the dinner very clearly. When Charles was so rude to you because he had spoken to Annika, but you two had made up again. When you shared the tiramisu – the tiramisu that became synonymous with the attraction between you and the Monegasque between you and Kika. When you touched for the first time – only through your clothes, but you could still feel the warmth of his skin. 

She purses her lips into a narrow line. “It was obvious from the start that there was more between you. Even if you couldn't admit it to each other back then.” She tilts her head. “Why do you think Charles wasn't so thrilled that you got along so well with Lando right away?”

You mumble through your arm. “When he came back from Maranello, he explained that he was jealous of our friendship and worried that we – Lando and I – might become a couple and we – Charles and I – would no longer be friends.”

“Bullshit.” Kika's voice sounds cutting. 

Confused, you sit up and look at her, your arm falling into your lap. “Excuse me?”

“Bullshit,” the Portuguese woman repeats. “You're right that Charles was jealous, definitely. Even the people on the other side of the table could see that. But not about your friendship with Lando. But because you got along so fabulously within a few hours that Lando knew exactly what you definitely wouldn't eat off the menu.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “We talked about it when we ran into each other at the supermarket and he helped me find the groceries,” you explain to her, as if you had to justify yourself. 

Kika gently pats your hand. “It doesn't matter where or when you talked about it,” she says at some point. “Someone you only knew for a few hours knew something about you that your roommate should have known. And you'd only known Charles for a few days, had argued twice, and then there was someone else who got along with you so well from the start and made you laugh?” She shakes her head slightly. "Charles was never jealous of your relationship with Lando and the possibility that he might lose you as a friend because of it.”

You're at a loss. "Then what?”

Your best friend takes a deep breath. “He was jealous that Lando took his chance before he did. His chance to be closer to you than mere friendship would allow.” She squeezes your hand again. “Charles definitely feels more for you than friendship, querida. And everyone except you can see it.”

You look at her, raising your eyebrow. “Did he tell you that? Or Pierre?”

Kika presses her tongue into her cheek. “No, but –”

“You see?” you reply and pull your hand away from her, propping your elbows on your knees. “I don't know what's going on in his head. And he's not telling me either. Which is perfectly fine. But how am I supposed to feel when he – when he apparently only wants my body but not me?”

She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it again. 

“I know that the breakup with Annika really affected him,” you continue. "And that's totally understandable. I mean, who wants to catch their girlfriend in bed with another man?" You run your fingers through your hair in frustration. ”I can understand it, really. But – I don't know – if you're really right, then I don't understand why he only wants my body and not me. He would kiss me otherwise, wouldn't he?”

You have the feeling that your thoughts definitely made more sense in your head. But now they are spilling out of you like a shaken bottle of coke. 

“I – I don't know if I can take this. Raphael – when he didn't get my body, he looked for another one, or rather several others. He didn't want me, just my body. I'm afraid it's the same now.” You look away. "I don't think I can get over something like that again. It was already difficult with Raphael, but Charles – Charles means so much more to me than Raphael ever did. Charles is my home. My one and only.”

“Maybe he's also worried that you don't feel the same way about him,” she interjects. "Have you told him?”

“That I love him? No, I haven't.”

Kika blinks at you silently. ’You — you love him?”

You stare at her as if pink elephants were floating around her head. It's the first time you've said it out loud. And contrary to your expectations, your worries and fears, which you brought with you as a legacy from your relationship with Raphael, it feels right. 

Tears well up in your eyes. “I love him.”

Kika can't stop the smile that spreads across her beautiful face. Like a little girl, she throws herself in your direction and wraps her arms around you, pressing herself against you. “I'm so proud of you, querida.” She kisses your cheeks. “So unbelievably proud.” She pulls away from you and wipes the tears from your cheeks with her thumb. 

You look at her, confused. “Proud?” Your voice trembles with excitement. You actually said it. You can hardly believe it. 

“Incredibly proud. You let your walls come down even though you were hurt so badly.” Now tears are welling up in her eyes as well. ”You let love into your heart. Passion. You're ready to be loved, sweetheart. The greatest adventure in the world. I'm so incredibly proud of you.”

The two of you embrace for another moment before your friend pulls away from you and jumps up from the couch. She grabs her laptop and googles shops that sell dresses suitable for tomorrow's occasion. 

“We'll go shopping tomorrow morning and get you a dress that will take Charles's breath away,” she grins, cuddling up next to you under the covers. "We'll buy you a dress that he can't wait to rip off you." She smiles at you. ”And he'll kiss you. I'd bet money on that, too.” Before she clicks through the internet any further, she grabs the remote and presses play. 

You wipe a tear from your eye before leaning your cheek on her shoulder to watch her browse. In the background, you hear Damon speaking in the series:

“You want a love that consumes you. You want passion and adventure and even a little danger.”

It's as if he's speaking from your soul. 

-

You carefully get out of the cab, trying not to wrinkle your dress. With your purse on your shoulder, you walk up the few steps to the house where Kika's New Year's party is taking place. Your dress is baby blue, with a slit that reaches to the middle of your thigh and a back neckline that definitely doesn't allow for a bra. 

Kika did an amazing job dragging you through the various shops this morning, forcing you to try on countless dresses. 

And indeed, you found the perfect dress. 

“You look fabulous,” she smiles as she opens the door for you. There are already a lot of people in the background and music can be heard outside on the street. She kisses you on both cheeks. ”That dress was definitely the right decision. If Charles doesn't give you at least a New Year's kiss on the lips, I'll be happy to do it for him.”

Your girlfriend is wearing a black, sparkly dress with a cutout at the waist that accentuates her figure beautifully. She grabs your arm and pulls you through the crowd of people, all of whom are also wearing chic evening wear. 

You look her up and down and whistle. “You look hot, Kika,” you compliment her as she stops in the kitchen. “Maybe I'll take you up on that offer. Where's Pierre?”

“I have no idea. He's probably lurking around somewhere.”

While she mixes you a drink, you look around before taking your cell phone out of your handbag to see if Charles has sent you a text. 

But there is nothing. Since this afternoon, when he texted you that he was on his way back to Monaco. 

Kika notices your searching look. “He's not here yet.” She waits until you have put your cell phone back in its case before she hands you the almost full glass. “But don't worry. He'll definitely come. After all, he promised you.” She points to the large clock hanging next to the double-door refrigerator. “And he still has two hours before the new year begins.”

The next hour and a half feels like an eternity – no, two eternities. 

You chat with Kika and her friends, even Elena is there, and you win a round of beer pong with her, which looks pretty funny considering that all the guests are dressed as if they could go to the prom in a minute. 

The music is loudest in the huge living room, and the bass vibrates right through to your bones as the three of you dance and drink and enjoy the evening as if it were the last day. Which, in theory, it is. 

But no matter what you do, your thoughts are always with Charles. Is he already in Monaco? Or even on his way here to you? 

You have to actively stop yourself from checking your phone every five minutes in the hope that he has sent you his location or a message. These last few days you have missed him so much that you would like to call him to ask him where he is. 

And the more minutes pass, the closer midnight and the new year come – the more your stomach becomes queasy. 

With your jaw clenched, you stand in the bathroom and wash your hands, holding your wrists under cool water to get rid of the heat, but somehow it doesn't quite work. Your thoughts revolve around Charles. 

Charles, who you haven't seen in days. Charles, who you miss terribly. Charles, who you love. 

Charles, who apparently isn't going to show up at this party. 

When there's a knock at the door, you turn off the tap. “Occupied!”

The door opens and just as you're about to complain, Kika and Elena poke their heads into the bathroom. Their cheeks are red from alcohol as they join you and close the door again. 

Kika puts her arm around your shoulder while Elena leans against the wall. “He'll be here,” the Portuguese woman tries to cheer you up, as if she can read your mind. Apparently, it's written all over your forehead. 

You look at her, raising your eyebrows. “And what if he doesn't? There are only twenty minutes left until New Year.” You try to sound as neutral as possible, but you can still hear the tension in your voice.

“Who'll be here?” Elena asks, looking at both of you and taking a paper towel to moisten it a little at the sink. 

“Charles,“ Kika answers for you. When you give her a dirty look, she just shrugs. 

“Don't worry,” Elena smiles, stepping in front of you and taking your chin in your hand to wipe away the mascara under your eyes. “He's probably already outside looking for you.”

Kika nods eagerly. “Elena's right,” the model agrees. "Come on. You've been in here for far too long. We're going out there now and celebrating the New Year together," she says, leaving no room for discussion. She grabs your hands and pulls you both outside, where Pierre is leaning against the wall. The music is quieter here, more subdued, so you can even have a proper conversation.

“Where the heck have you been?” Kika pouts at him and puts her arms around his neck. "I haven't seen you in ages." She gently pulls him down to her and kisses him briefly before nestling against his side. "Doesn't she look great in that dress?" she asks, pointing at you and your gown.

Pierre smiles at you and kisses you on the cheek in greeting. “You look beautiful,” he says before kissing his girlfriend on the forehead. “But I still have the hottest date tonight.”

“And I don't think that's true,” you hear someone say behind you. The voice is warm and gentle and oh so familiar. When you turn around, he's standing there in dress pants and a shirt and absolutely perfect. ”Good evening, mon amour.”

You don't even try to hide your joy at seeing him again, which is why you immediately throw yourself at him. His muscular arms wrap around you and he lifts you up, before spinning you around briefly. 

When he sets you down, his warm hands remain on your hips, while yours rest on his cheeks. “Hi,“ you smile at him, trying to blink away the tears of joy gathering in the corners of your eyes. 

“Well, did you miss me?” he grins, his fingers spreading apart and now resting on your lower back, on your bare skin. 

Goosebumps spread out at the place where he touches you. As if it is the first time. As if you can't get enough of him. You smile. “Well,” you try to play down your emotions. “I finally had a whole bed to myself,” you joke. 

The Monegasque rolls his eyes playfully before pressing you closer to him. “In your messages, it sounded like you couldn't wait for me to lie next to you again,” he whispers, his warm breath caressing your face. 

You look up at him. “Maybe I was lying.”

“I doubt that very much,” he smiles at you. "I'm so glad to be with you again." He leans down to you and gently kisses your cheek as your hands slide down to his chest. ”Next time I'll really take you back to camp. I never want to be separated from you for so long again.”

You purse your lips. “It wasn't that bad.” Cheeky lie. 

He raises his hand and places his curved index finger under your chin to lift it up so that you look at him. His eyes sparkle in that beautiful green that you love so much. 

“It was absolute hell.”

“Maybe you two should just get married,” Kika interjects. You both turn your heads in her direction and stare at her in puzzlement. Pierre nudges her in the side. ”What? Sooner or later it'll happen anyway.”

“Okay, my darling. How much have you had to drink?” Pierre asks her, as he throws you an apologetic smile and then wraps his arm around his girlfriend's waist to lead her away from you both. Elena gives you a quick wink and follows the couple. 

Charles leans against the wall, but pulls you with him so that his hands are back on your hips and you are standing between his legs. “You look beautiful in that dress,” he smiles, letting his fingers slowly travel over the fabric on your butt before sliding up over your bare back. “Did you know that it's my favorite color?”

The smile on your face grows wider. “Maybe.” Your arms wrap around his middle. “I missed you so much,” you answer his question from earlier. 

His hand gently caresses your shoulder blades before his fingers carefully find their way to the back of your neck, holding you there. “Never again without each other,” he whispers, as if it were a promise meant only for your ears. 

You nod slightly. “Never again without each other.”

In the background, you can hear the other party guests beginning to count down the minutes to midnight. You both glance towards the door. 

“We should get back to the party,” you say, pushing away from him, just a little, because you can't get any further with his hand on the back of your neck. “So we can start the new year together with the others.”

“I'm not interested in the others,” he says, but follows you back to the party. ”As long as I have you, I don't care about the others.”

His words make your blood rush to your cheeks. 

It’s like his presence makes you see everything more vibrant. The air in the apartment seems to shimmer in golden light, a haze of champagne bubbles and glow of string lights wrapped around the ceiling beams. Things you haven’t noticed before, because you were so focused on Charles‘ absence. The both of you come to a halt next to Kika and Pierre, the first one handing the both of you champagne glasses. 

„You ready?“, she smiles at you, raising one eyebrow. 

Now is the time. The breaking point. The start of it all - or the end before it even really started.

You nod slightly. „I’m ready.“

You stand beside Charles, his free hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you so close against him that not even a sheet of paper would fit between the both of you. But even though his hand is on your bare skin, he doesn’t seem close enough. You can smell his cologne – something crisp and familiar, laced with memories of late-night drives and inside jokes and pillow talks. You steal a glance at him, your heart stumbling over itself. 

He laughs about something Pierre shouts at him, dimples flashing, his green eyes catching the chandelier light in a way that makes your breath hitch. You’ve known him for two weeks – two fucking weeks – but it seems like you’ve known him since forever. The way his voice sounds all raspy and deep when he wakes up. The way his eyes light up when he talks about something he’s passionate about. The way he makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room who truly matters to him. 

And yet, he has no idea. 

All around you, the energy shifted. The crowd tightened, turning towards the big TV screen mounted on the wall, where the countdown was shown. 

Ten. Nine. Eight. 

Your pulse quickens. Your heart beats so fast, that you fear it’ll break through your ribcage. You inch even closer, pressing yourself against his side. You can feel his body heat through your dress, something you missed the last few days. It’s been two weeks of skirting around the truth, of stolen glances and unsaid words and hesitant touches, and you don’t know if you can bear another second o fit. 

Charles shifts beside you. You can feel it – the way his body stiffens, the way his breath falters. 

Seven. Six. Five. 

Then, just as you lift your head, he leans down. It would take nothing to close the space between your lips. Just an inch. Maybe less. You can feel his breath on your face. 

He says your name, whispers it in a room full of people who shout numbers, but all you can hear is him. His voice is raw. A plea. A warning somehow. 

Four. Three. Two. 

He closes his eyes, his forehead brushes against yours and the closeness makes your pulse stutter. Every little detail of him is magnified – the different shades of green, the tension in his jaw, the fingers tightening around your hip, curling into your flesh like he’s afraid of letting you go. Like you’d slip out of his reach if he loosens his grip.  

One.

His eyes snap open, dark and conflicted. 

You push yourself up, not even an inch, and Charles – 

Charles pulls away. 

Happy. Fucking. New Year.