#and the windows open and him smiling at me and singing along and laughing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neopuppy · 1 year ago

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Boys Like U (M)

pairing. jeno x female reader

genre. summer vacation AU, friends enemies who fuck, , love triangleish, M/F, smut, pwp, angst, fluff, one shot

warnings. profanity, alcohol mentioned, mean Jeno, explicit smut, mild slut-shaming, jealousy, possessive behavior, y/n is Mark’s cousin, side characters. smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.

wc. 19k

now playing. Boys Like You//Tanerélle

a/n. before you assume anything has been stolen and plagiarized please remember that I *am* @drunkhazed😑💚

smut warnings. dry humping/with an audience(a bit dubcon), rough and unprotected sex, dom/sub dynamics, under negotiated kinks, improper aftercare, choking, slapping, multiple orgasms, over-stimulation, manhandling(y/n can be lifted and thrown around), degradation, humiliation, etc

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Summertime and the livin’s easy

The same lyrics repeat over and over again. Jaemin’s been looping this same god damn song for the last hour, wailing along with the lyrics like a banshee.

“I love her so bad, but she treats me like shit!” He’s been singing along the entire time too. Sniffling tears away from his eyes, earning another round of groans from everyone trapped inside of the car with him.

“Enough dude!” Haechan shouts, reaching to switch the song. “I can’t fucking take it anymore. It’s summertime and the livin’s easy! Not fucking summertime and torture my fucking friends.”

“Jaemin- listen man, I know this break up has been hard on you, but you don’t have to make all of us suffer with you!” Renjun adds, reaching around the driver’s seat to massage his shoulders.

“Definitely not the best way to go about that..” Jisung mumbles, pinching the skin between his eyebrows.

“Screw her dude, we’re gonna find you so much pussy to lose yourself in the next couple of weeks.” Haechan cheers, reaching over to pat Jaemin’s stomach right as the tears he’s been trying to hold in burst free. “Aw man, gross. Don’t do that!”

Evil, I’ve come to tell you that she’s evil, most definitely

Falling in love must be horrible.

Jeno should probably say something, Jaemin’s his best friend after all.. but they’ve been talking about Jini nonstop for the past 30 days now! And they break up every other month! She said it was for good this time.. but he can’t help to think that’s a lie. Renjun’s not exactly wrong, they’ve been excited about this trip for days now. He’s half-way to throwing out a ‘suck it up!’ right before they exit the Pacific coast highway and he lets out a huge sigh.

“You know I’m right man, enough is enough.” Renjun leans in closer to his ear, whispering low enough for only Jisung and Jeno to catch.

“He’s still our friend..” Jisung mutters, pursing his lips into a thin line.

“I can already smell the coconut tanning lotion melting on fat juicy titties.” Haechan shoves his head out of the passenger seat window. Eyes shut, sucking down a long-winded inhale of the ocean breeze infiltrating the car. “Fuck, I love summer!!!” He shouts out happily, smacking the side of the jeep.

Jaemin breaks into a smile, shaking off the tears that managed to escape. “You guys are right, next time I bring her up—hit me upside my head or something. It’s one our our last summer’s out here, we need to have the best time.”

“That’s my boy!” Renjun yells, wrapping a playful chokehold around his throat. “We’re gonna have the best time!”

“We’re here!” Jaemin shouts out between laughs, slapping at Renjun’s arms still firmly wrapped around his neck.

“Fucking finally.”

Jeno stretches his limbs out, back cracking as he arches back and lets out the deepest and loudest yawn after sitting cramped up in the backseat of Jaemin’s jeep for the last five hours. A ride that could have been less cramped if everyone had stuck to only packing one bag for the next two weeks and Renjun hadn’t changed his plans last minute to tag along.

“You made it!” Mark’s cheerful boisterous giggle sounds out from the front door, throwing it open to run down the driveway in his flip flops that clap loudly against the pavement. Immediately breaking into a round of high-fives and hugs to greet all of them.

“Course we did Markie! Even though Jaemin made us stop five damn times to piss.” Haechan snickers, glaring toward the backseat of his car.

“I drank an entire large cold brew!” Jaemin says to defend himself, waving around the now empty large plastic cup. “Forgot how long this drive is.”

“See, this is what Hannah Montana meant when she said nodding my head like yeah! Moving my hips like yeah! You know I’m gonna be okay!” Haechan sings out terribly, adding a sway of his hips with his arms held up toward the sky. “It’s a party in the USA!”

“Ugh.” Jisung grimaces, dragging his bag past Renjun who joins him, bumping their hips into each other.

Jeno can’t stop the smile from forming on his face, rolling his eyes as he takes in the street. Not much has changed, palm trees full as ever, bright sunlight burning down on the concrete. Santa Barbara really has a charm that Santa Monica can’t compare to.

It is a long drive, especially to be stuck together with his friends all maintaining different levels of energy and patience, but it’s worth it every single time. Because for some reason Mark’s parents agreed to loaning out their beach house a couple of weeks out of the year during summer for their son and his friends to fuck around. The reason really being that he’s spoiled rotten and they cut a deal that as long as a few of his family members can tag along, the summer house is all his.

That’s where you enter.

The first summer Jeno was allowed to venture out to Santa Barbara with his friends was also the first summer he met you. It’s not his favorite memory, in fact, he fucking hates how clearly he remembers every detail from that day.

‘This is my cousin.’ Mark had introduced you with his usual cheerful smile, motioning to his friends that responded with their names one by one.

‘A girl.’ Jaemin mumbled, nudging Jeno’s side.

‘I didn’t think she’d actually want to come after I told her that all of you guys were joining me, but we always hang out during summer since she lives kind of far. You guys don’t mind right?’

‘As long as she doesn’t care, I don’t see anything wrong with having her around.’ Jisung said with his thumbs held up, nodding hard enough for his hair to bounce around.

Yeah. What’s the big deal? Sure, you’re pretty, maybe even one of the prettiest girls Jeno’s ever seen before. And yeah, you smell great, wafting your scent around each time you flip your hair away from your shoulders. Not to add on that he also noticed how you only seem to look away when you find him staring at you.

Jaemin easily started joking around with you, even including you in on some of their legendary inside jokes right away. Haechan, he’s always helpful and cool, cutting up fruit for you and checking to see if you need more snacks or something to drink. Even Renjun, who’s usually awkward around girls, got close to you after a night of a heated Monopoly game while the power went out.

Jeno should have asked if he could join too, desperately racking his brain for how he could break the ice and get to know you better. It shouldn’t be this hard, right? Except it is, because his mouth gets more dry when you’re around. His bottom lip grows raw from biting down on it, his nails get bitten down to nothing but skin, even bleeding at times. He’s a mess in your presence and can’t even figure out why. Surely it has nothing to do with how his chest pinches and pounds faster the second you enter his proximity.

The last time he felt this way was probably junior high when he had a crush— wait no, that wouldn’t make sense. He doesn’t have a crush or anything like that, no way.

Not that his dickhead friends would agree as they laughed and wiggled their eyebrows at him insisting they play spin the bottle.

‘Come on, we’ll make it interesting, the bottle lands on you and you have to choose truth or dare. We’re kind of an uneven number to be playing tonsil hockey right now anyways.’

Haechan smirked, dragging his tongue across his lips. ‘You got nothing to hide anyway, Jeno.’

Great. Fucking pricks. They wouldn’t ask him something about you if he chooses dare. That would be so fucked up, but also- that does not explain why Jaemin winked at him, and why Renjun kept nudging into his side. How the hell can they tell? Has he been too obvious?

‘Oh Jeno! It’s your lucky day!’

The tip of the emptied glass bottle unceremoniously comes to a halt directly pointed at his figure. He sighs, head dropping back as he shakes it back and forth to avoid your curious gaze from across the circle you’ve all ended up in.

It’s still as clear as if it happened just yesterday, and he fucking hates it. Hates that he can still remember the look of disgust forever ruining your pretty face. The loud obnoxious ‘eww!’ You shrieked as his friends bursted out laughing around him after he admitted to finding you cute.

It should have been harmless. He should have fucking gone for a dare, anything better than the rush of embarrassment that sped up to his cheeks and rapidly lit them up to a mortifying shade of red.

God, what was he thinking? Why the hell did he even answer Jaemin’s stupid question honestly!

‘No bullshit alright dude, you into her?’ He smirked, nodding your direction. A look of fear and worry scattered all over your face as he peered back and forth between the two of you.

‘I mean, yeah sure. She’s pretty cute.’

It was innocent, and maybe he had expected—hoped for a better reaction. What would it hurt to imagine you’d reciprocate his feelings? God, it was so dumb, his biggest regret for the last 7 years; even worse than the first time he got high and ran around in his boxers with his ass crack fully out. Albeit, the photos to remind him of his actions the next day didn’t help, he’s never been able to forget that look on your face. Your disgusted repulsed face that he’s only ever seen once, when he fucking called you cute.

Not to mention the way you avoided him after as if he had leprosy, too grossed out to even accept the dishes he set down in front of you for lunch the next day.

Flat out cruel and mean for no reason, making it very clear to him that you wanted nothing to do with him.

Fine.

If that’s the way you want to spend your summer vacation together, then he’d make sure to give you a real reason to hate him.

It started with smearing nutella on your swimsuits that were hanging out to dry. Then purposely aiming the ball at your head during the pool game of volleyball you had the next day, not even apologizing as he smiled and shrugged.

‘Not my fault this airhead can’t see for shit.’

That must have really hit a nerve, sporting a frown throughout the rest of the game until you gave up and refused to continue playing after he accidentally punted the ball right at your face.

Any time he had the chance to grill or cook, he always made sure to make your plate of food extra crispy, real charred.

‘I thought that’s how you liked it, burnt to a crisp.’ He’d smile proudly, scraping a knife down the blackened hotdog he set down for you.

Of course it was childish, he was fucking fifteen years old and you bruised his ego to hell and back as far as he was concerned. Had him pulling at his face in the mirror before bed, tussling his hair, double checking the scent of his body after showering, analyzing his clothes and lack of developed muscle.

You didn’t have to act like he was the most repulsive boy to ever walk the earth! And the reality is, it hurt.

It hurt so bad, he had to shake off the moisture forming behind his eyes after heading to his bedroom, unable to turn off the repeated cry of disgust you let out after all he said is that you’re cute. A harmless fucking compliment.

Really, as much as he hates to say it- you’re a real bitch.

Jeno’s mother would be appalled if she could hear his thoughts when it comes to you. He was raised to be polite, only to respect women. But you, something about you seriously pisses him the fuck off.

It’s not because he likes you. Even his friends were convinced after those first two weeks that you two hated each other, because of course you decided to retaliate. Cutting holes into his swim trunks, pouring itching powder all over his bed, filling his sunscreen bottle up with hair removal cream that left painful welts on his skin after rubbing it in like lotion and laying in the sun.

You. You’re seriously such a bitch, he can’t stand it. Can’t control how his rage rises to a boiling point the second he even catches a glimpse of you. You’re quite possibly the most fucking annoying girl he’s ever met, maybe the only girl that has ever annoyed him this much.

And yet his eyes still scan the room for your presence as he steps inside of the house he’s spent the last 7 summers at. The same room he gave you a kiss in against your will. Right in front of everyone, your cousin, his friends. The night he revisits in his memories time and time again that he can’t move on from.

It was all Jisung’s fault.

‘Fine.’ Jisung smirks mischievously, rubbing his hands together. ‘We’re too old for childish games.’

‘Finally, someone with sense.’ Jeno adds, still pouring salt on his wounds from the time he got stuck inside of a closet with you for seven minutes.

‘Not so fast Jeno. I said childish games, not games in general, and there is one we’ve yet to play.’

‘Here we go.’ Haechan grunts, motioning toward his friend and rolling his eyes. He’s been chatting up some of the girls they met at the beach earlier for the last couple of hours. Refilling their cups and flexing his thin bare arms to entice them. ‘Come on Ji, you always want to play these stupid games.’

’Well, are you too chicken?‘ Jisung’s grin grows larger, raising his eyebrows.

Are you too chicken? He repeated deviously, eyeing everyone around the room. They all refuted his suspicions, turning the question around on him until he agreed to go first and was dared to break Haechan’s cool demeanor

The room erupted with hoots and hollers as he plopped his ass down on the olders lap and Haechan stuttered, eyebrows furrowed together, teeth clenched to hold back a curse.

‘Ji, get the fuck off of me.’

‘Do you give up?’

‘Fuck off.’

Haechan choked on his spit, coughing and shoving the younger away once their lips grazed together. Sitting up without falter, Jisung raised his arms triumphantly. ‘And that is how you play chicken.’

Another stupid game, only now drinks are involved, sipping on tepid beer as he watches Jaemin and Haechan lock lips before both losing at the same time. Dramatically spitting and swiping at their mouths as they kick at each other.

‘YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO KISS ME BACK ASSHOLE!’

Embarrassment covered their faces as the girls surrounding giggled and cooed, letting them know they looked so cute kissing.

‘Fine fine! We start over from whoever hasn’t spun the bottle yet.’ Mark interrupts the ruckus, pointing toward Jeno. ‘Your turn.’

‘Not playing.’

‘And why is that?’ Jisung asks with an arched up eyebrow. ‘Scared?’

‘We know why..’ Renjun mumbles by his side, earning a round of snorts and hushed laughs from his friends.

They know exactly how to get under his skin, how to force his hand to grab onto the stupid bottle. Gripping the body of the emptied glass hard enough to feel the sticky residue left behind from the label that was peeled off. He gulps, refusing to glance around, not wanting to risk the chance of meeting your gaze.

There’s no way he can actually be so unlucky, not twice. The bottle will land on one of his friends, one of the girls they picked up. It won’t land on you, not again. The universe can’t be that cruel to him.

As he watches the bottle slow down, he swallows hard, eyes falling shut right as it comes to a stop. Confirming that some God out there must be an actual monster intent to ruin his life.

‘The two people who hate each other.’ Jaemin laughs out loud, clasping his hands together. ‘This should be good.’

‘Don’t forget the rules.’ Jisung coughs out nervously, nodding toward you. ‘If you don’t want to continue, you forfeit.’

‘Don’t kiss me.’ You murmured, trying to be quiet enough for only him to hear. ‘Please.’

Jeno contemplated ending this fast and doing just that, would you give up before his lips could even get a small taste of yours? Not as if he even wants to know what the lip gloss you’re constantly reapplying tastes like anymore..

‘Go.’ Renjun motions to the both of you, flapping his hands.

If you don’t want him to kiss you, he’ll have to come up with something else. Taking in a deep breath to raise his confidence, he reaches to push loose strands of hair behind your ear; gaining rounds of gasps and amused sounds from your audience.

Wide eyes full of uncertainty, or maybe even dread, stare back at him anticipating his next move. There’s no point in bothering to ask if you’re okay with this, obviously you aren’t. Given the way your nose wrinkles as he moves closer to you and cups your cheeks.

Soft, warm, so squishy beneath his palms that have been beat up from falling off his skateboard and landing hands first against pavement for years. You’re as pretty as ever up close, maybe even prettier. Churning his stomach as he looks over your lips, appearing to be pouting out enticingly on purpose if you ask him. And yet you don’t want a kiss, anything but that..

‘Don’t.’ You whisper again, hardly moving your mouth.

‘Don’t what.’ He repeats monotonously, thumbs slowly sliding down your cheeks. His curious gaze follows, eyeing the swimsuit cover up you have on. The damp one-piece hot pink suit underneath.

Jeno forgets momentarily that this is just a game, that you hate him, that his friends are all snorting and chuckling around you other than Mark who has his eyes covered. He forgets that he’s parting your thighs open to make space for himself against your will, smoothing his hands up your shivering soft inner thighs.

‘She’ll definitely crack..’ Jaemin’s sitting the closests to you, speaking to the others from behind his hand. ‘Jeno’s got this.’ He smirks, but his eyes widen within the next second. His full attention returning to his best friend's hands roaming up your body. To the way your stomach convulses and you squeeze your eyes shut to avoid looking at any of them.

‘No closing your eyes.’ Renjun speaks up, waving at Jaemin to do something.

Jeno slowly lifts his heavy gaze to his friend, practically threatening him with his blown out lust-ridden gaze to dare to try and touch you. This is his time, and the only one that should ever be lucky enough to lay his hands on you is him. The other seems to understand, silently nodding and shrugging Renjun’s command away.

‘You heard them.’ Jeno cups your chin, jerking your head to look at him. Lowering himself deep between your thighs, he grinds down as he lands. The heavy weight of the warm bulge inside of his shorts stealing a gasp from your throat, shooting your eyes fully open to land on his. ‘That’s it.’

Striking your core with another roll of his hips, he can hear the deep inhales around him. Everyone watching the tiny jolts your body gives, digging your back against the floor with each movement.

‘This is too much.’ Mark says from further back, having moved away from the circle to cover his ears and look in the opposite direction. ‘I can’t watch.’

‘Can’t believe she hasn’t tapped out..’ Haechan whispers, biting down on his lips when Jeno picks up his pace, slinking a hand between your bodies.

‘Jeno..’ you grit between clenched teeth, unable to move yourself out from under his weight.

‘Loser?’ He taunts, shifting his lower half down more for his hardened bulge to press against your clothed slit. The tips of his perverse fingers seeking their destination as he taps at your bundle of nerves and pulls your spine to bow up. ‘Give up.’ He mouths, thrusting his stiff hard-on forward roughly. Successfully manipulating the fabric of your swimsuit to close in, sink between your folds.

Panic runs all over your face as you shake your head and lower your gaze to where your hips meld into each other. Biting down on the backs of your teeth to quell down the moans beating at the inside of your throat. Jeno would shove his shorts and boxers off in one go given any other circumstance. Desperate to let his cock breathe the more he builds up his thrusts and slams his hips down.

‘Fuck this is..’ Jisung wipes the sweat collecting at his neck.

‘Hot.’ Jaemin finishes, cheeks flushed pink with big glossy eyes scanning you from your pleasured face to your curved up spine.

Jeno would agree with them, if only he wasn’t so painfully horny. Clutching onto one of your thighs, he throws it over his hip for better leverage to nestle his cock right between your cunt. The material of his swim trunks all sticky and wet from the pre-cum that won’t stop dripping out of his cock. He grunts, using his free hand to grab onto your neck before his next thrust can jerk you too far up the floor. A moan gets caught up in his throat, panicking that it may slip free, he lowers closer to your face. Lips hovering dangerously near by, only a few inches away; each fan of breath emitting from his lips more threatening than the last.

Flailing out your arms in a panic, you stare up at him wide tear-filled eyes, reaching for his wrist. ‘N-no!’

‘Shit.’ He bites down, clasping your throat tighter. ‘Tapping out?’

With your eyes squeezed shut you weakly throw out your free hand at his chest. ‘No m-more!’

‘Fuck.’ Renjun groans, rubbing over his face.

‘J-Jeno wins.’ Jisung says brokenly, stretching his shirt down to his folded in knees to hide the embarrassingly obvious bulge that's formed in his shorts.

Bending down, he hits you with one more firm thrust, lips pressed to your ear. The corners of his mouth twitch as he presses a kiss along your earlobe and nips at your jaw. ‘You lose.’

He watched your face crumble, squeezing your eyes shut as a whimper fled from your lips. Desperate for a taste he plastered his sweaty palm over your mouth. The way your eyes shot open and burned holes into him has never left his mind. Much like the way your thighs clenched around his hips, fear and arousal hitting you all at once.

‘I know you want a kiss.’ Pressing his lips to your forehead, he thrusted against your core pointedly one more time. Rolling off to the side with a proud grin as he sat up victoriously.

Ever since that night, he hasn’t been able to keep his hands off of you whenever you meet up for summer vacation again. Well, that’s not exactly true, since he can’t actually touch you in front of all of his friends. What would Mark think if he saw the way you drop to your knees for him so easily, how you spit on his cock and gobble him down better than any slut in grade A quality porn?

What would any of them think? And why does he still give a damn. If anything, his friends would be raging with jealousy if they could only hear the way you moan and cry on his cock..

“Jaemin!”

There you are- jumping up from the couch only to run right past him and leap into his best friend's open arms; wrapped up in a tight embrace straight out of some cheesy romcom. Even snaking your legs around his hips, straight up looking like a pair of long-distance lovers.

Jeno would be offended if not for the act you two have successfully kept up the last few summers now. Because why would you greet him first? You hate him.

He hates you.

At least that’s what everyone around the two of you believes.

“Ah, I’ve missed you so much.” His friend sighs, nose pressed against your hair with his eyes falling shut as he deeply inhales. It’s not unusual to see you this close with any of them, but his fingers still itch and jerk by his hips when you take a step back to cup Jaemin’s cheeks and squeeze them until his smooth lips pop forward and he brings out his signature big dolly eyes. Blinking those long eyelashes at you that he knows melts hundreds of girls' hearts.

“You’ve been crying.”

He nods and accentuates his plump pout, bitten over pink lips jutting forward much too close to yours. “It’s okay Jaemin, I’m here now. I’ve got you baby.”

Another hug, another sight that makes Jeno’s eyes shake as you rub up and down Jaemin’s spine, cooing and waving behind his back at Haechan and Renjun who enter next.

Jeno won’t so much as get a nod or ‘sup?’ And he knows it. Clenching his teeth as he looks away and rolls his eyes. It’s not a big deal, nothing to overreact about, not like he’s your boyfriend or anything..

“Boooo!! Break up the love fest!” Haechan shouts, dropping his bag to hold out a thumbs down and obnoxiously blow his tongue out. “Gross.”

“Heyy, my poor Jaemin’s heart is broken!” You scoff, smacking his hand down. “He needs me, unlike you emotionless brutes, I know how to comfort him.”

Oh? You know about Jaemin’s break-up? The one that just happened 2 days ago? That seems to make Jeno’s ears perk up, watching from the corner of his eye as you motion for his best friend to follow you down the hall. “Come on, let’s get you all settled in. I brought you something.”

That’s weird.

Surely Jaemin will tell him about it later, you two have always been closer than you are even with Mark. It’s probably nothing, friends catching up.. that’s all.

Jeno will sneak to your room later, after everyone falls asleep and then you can properly reunite. He can’t wait really, would have made his way to your room once everyone settled into their rooms if you weren’t so occupied with Jaemin..

“Man, she wastes no time.” Renjun laughs, interrupting his thoughts. “Dude’s dick probably still smells like Jini, but here she is ready to claim.”

“Jaemin said they’ve been talking a lot though, must really want him since she never gave up.” Mark mentions, reminding everyone of their usual assigned bedrooms.

“Who’s been talking?” Jeno asks abruptly, shifting to stand awkwardly when everyone’s attention lands on him. “What are you guys on about?”

“This is like the first summer Jaemin’s ever been single.” Jisung shrugs, pointing down the hallway. “I do not want to sleep in the rooms next to either one of them.”

“Jaemin and Jini break up all of the time.” Jeno says flatly, patience wearing thin. “They’ll get back together before we even head home.”

“Not if she has anything to do with it.” Haechan snorts, smiling lazily to one side. Nodding in the direction you’ve disappeared off to with Jaemin.. “I know you hate her, but we all know she’s been dying to fuck Jaemin.”

What?

Renjun rolls his eyes. “Should have been me.”

“Dude.”

“Sorry Mark, but it’s true!” Renjun’s tongue clicks, glaring down the hallway. “I’ve been flirting with her since we were kids!”

“Haven’t we all?” Haechan adds, turning toward Jeno. “I mean, the rest of us. Not you.” He corrects mostly to calm the anger radiating off of his friend.

“Can’t believe we’ve been here for longer than 10 minutes without the two of you exploding at each other yet.” Mark forces a smile, scratching his neck nervously. “Hope uhh.. we can skip that for the next couple of weeks.”

Jeno’s lips tighten together, sealing them shut to stop himself from screaming out something outlandish that he won’t be able to explain. There’s no fucking way you’re seriously trying to hook up with Jaemin? His best fucking friend? You’d never.

But you would, because you love to piss him off, whether it’s intentional or not.

‘I want to see you. Right now.’ Quickly turning around, he shoots you a text. Squinting when his ears pick up on the sound of buzzing clattering on the kitchen counter. Of course you left your phone behind, great.

Text Message From ‘the biggest asshole I know’ reads across the screen. Real mature. At least now he has an excuse to bother you.

“Uh, I’ll be in my usual room.” He nods toward Mark, hauling his bag up the stairs. “Need a shower and a quick nap.”

“Later bro.”

Dropping off his bag in the room across from yours, he tries to unlock your phone. Unable to access more than your lock screen when asked for the passcode, he grunts and walks over to your bedroom for the next couple of weeks. It already smells like you in here, all of your lotions and body sprays set up on one of the dressers, empty luggage on the floor. You must have gotten in early today.. didn’t even bother to text him and let him know.

You probably let Jaemin know, he thinks, eyes rolling off to one side annoyed.

“What are you doing here?”

Jeno’s head snaps to find you at the door, pulling your phone from his pocket. “Forget something?”

“Oh.. thanks.”

“That’s all you have to say to me? What happened to hello? How have you been?”

“When have I ever cared about your well-being?”

“Right.”

He hasn’t even had time to get a good look at you yet. Slowly dragging his eyes down your figure to the sandals you have on, your cutely painted toes. The same toes he’s stuffed inside of his mouth while 9 inches deep inside of you. “If I was Jaemin, you’d care.”

“Jaemin’s my friend.” You say snarkily, letting the door stay open behind you. “Is that a problem?”

“Seems like a lot more than a ‘friend’ to me.”

The questioning look in your eye screams something he can’t decipher, maybe something he doesn’t want to begin to figure out. “You shouldn’t use my best friend just to make me jealous.”

“God, you seriously think that my world revolves around you.” Rolling your eyes, you point behind yourself toward the door. “Get the hell out of my room.”

“Are you gonna make me?” Jeno’s head feels fuzzy already as his palm slams against your door to close it shut. He can’t deny he missed this, the way you stare at him with disgust written all over your pretty features, a little fear hidden in your gaze. Your tight-lipped frown, puffing your chest out to come off more intimidating than you could ever pull off. It makes his blood buzz, ears light up pink filled with fire, intoxicated by the hate that only you are capable of giving him.

“I said get out of my roo—!” A large palm around your throat cuts off your screaming before you can finish. Stealing your next breath with the heavy weight of his hand encased around your neck.

“Wanna repeat that for me?” He mocks, leaning in closer to hiss near your ear before your eyes roll up to find his. That lost empty headed look he’s become addicted to locks in on him, the same exact way it did in the coat closet downstairs near the entrance only a few years ago.

7 minutes in heaven never stood a chance between the bickering and insults you lashed out at each other alone in the middle of hung up jackets and stuffed away pillows. Somehow you two always ended up in these situations, whether it be your friends looking for a laugh or destiny sending you down the same path.

‘Let’s get this over with.’ You rolled your eyes like such a brat. He hated it, hated how easy one little stupid movement could make his skin crawl. No reason you should look that good showing off the whites of your eyes, acting like a little bitch.

‘I’m not fucking kissing you.’

‘You think I want this?! I’m so sick of always getting stuck with you! You’re probably the worst kisser—‘

He had cut you off back then too, the same exact way. Enraged by the lies you continued to hurl at him with intent to hurt. ‘You never shut the fuck up.’

The moan that slipped out of your lips caught the both of you off guard. Tightening his chokehold on your throat to earn another more desperate whiny sound. ‘You like that?’

You still like that, love it in fact. Pursing your lips together to shoot a wad of spit at his face, you gain a bit of momentum while he curses and shakes off the saliva dripping down his cheek. Using his moment of distraction to claw at his shoulders and slam your hips down onto the leg he trapped you against the door with.

“You fucking bitch.”

He knows you hate it when he calls you that, evident by the added pressure you dig into his shoulders with. Strong enough to tear tiny holes through the material of his worn down t-shirt. He hisses and shoves the back of your head against the door. “I’ve been great by the way, in case you’re curious. Thanks for the warm welcome.”

“Did you expect the red carpet rolled out sunshine?”

“It’s not everyday a girl moans out that I’m the best fuck of her life.” He teases meanly, raising an eyebrow. “Have you forgotten already?”

Averting your gaze, you curse under your breath. Blinking away the heat that’s rushed up to your cheeks and burned up to the rims of your eyes. “That’s not—“

“Not what?” He cuts you off, digging his fingers into your hips to roll your lower half up and down his thigh. “Not true?”

It was a moment of weakness, Jeno knows. Knew last summer when you whimpered and trembled on his cock inside of the small pool house he followed you into. Lost in the euphoria of your orgasm or not, nothing you cried out had been a lie and you both know it. Even if you refused to meet his gaze after and changed the subject when he brought it up again later.

“Fucking hate you.” You whisper, showing lack of resistance as he speeds up how fast you rock up and down his thigh.

“I’m the worst.” He cooes, licking his lip. Pressing in to nudge his nose against yours. “Say it, tell me I’m the worst.”

“Sick is what you are,” you spit out breathily. The taut skin between your eyebrows folding together. “So.. fucking annoying.” You pant, the loose summer dress you threw on riding up to your stomach. Underwear scratching against your clit maliciously. “St-stop.”

“Come on baby, tell me.” He huffs, thigh bouncing against your circling hips. “Who fucks you as good as me?”

No one. No one does.

Shaking your head, you look away, face scrunching up as your orgasm begins to unfold. “Bullshit.”

“Making a mess all over my thigh after only a few minutes?” He questions huskily, licking up your sweat damp cheek. The mocking tone unravels a frantic panic through your gut, flushed by the embarrassment. “And you expect me to believe anything you’re saying right now?”

“Ugh! Get off of me.” You grunt, pushing your weight against his chest. Beating your rolled up fists down on his pecs. “Asshole.”

“What’s your problem?”

“You. Always you.” You spit, moving around him to open one of the nightstands drawers. Thighs gripped together to stop yourself from making a mess down your thighs. “Only came in here to grab Jaemin’s gift.”

“Oh?” Jeno’s eyebrows raise all the way up high, tongue dragging across the upper row of his teeth. “Wasn’t aware of the Birthday party?”

“I don’t need celebratory excuses to buy my friends gifts.” You sneer, intentionally walking into him on your way to the door. “You wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“What’d you get him?” He asks curiously, attempting to grab the bag from your hands.

“None of your fucking business.” Taking a big leap toward the door, you yank it open. “And get out of my room.”

“Why? I can just wait in here for you.”

“I’m busy catching up with Jaemin, won’t be back soon. Don’t want you stinking up the place.” Blowing him a kiss, you finish with a raised middle finger. “Fuck outta here.”

Jeno watches you head down the hallway toward the room Jaemin typically shares with Jisung, confusion streaked across his face.

“This doesn’t make any sense..” he whispers, leaning against your door. You seriously just ditched him like that?!? When you’ve practically damn near mounted him and tackled him down for a quickie each time you reunited the past few summers?!

Shaking off his insecure thoughts, he trudges to his bedroom to finish off what you should be on your knees for. It’d be too weird to storm into Jaemin’s bedroom pitching a full tent to yell at you right now.. no way to explain that..

Whatever you’re up to, he doesn’t like it. Ruining his orgasm in the shower as he lightly bangs his head against the wet tile. Frustrated by all of the scenarios he keeps imagining you and Jaemin falling into, alone, in his room, on his bed, probably sucking face with his best friend.

“She wouldn’t.” He nods to himself, convinced that you may be dumb- but you can’t be that dumb.

Scrubbing at his wet hair with a towel, he catches the annoyed look on his face in the wet fogged up bathroom mirror. “She would.”

♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡

“Holy hell.” Haechan whistles as you step outside, gaining Jeno’s attention to follow his line of gaze.

What the fuck.

“Mama Mia.” Renjun fist bumps Haechan, both nodding proudly. “No more granny one piece swimsuits.”

“Always knew she had a nice ass on her.”

Jeno’s upper lip curls upwards, glaring at you setting down a towel on one of the pool chairs. Making a real show of it with all the unnecessary bending over and hair flips you do.

“If it walks like a whore and talks like a whore.” He mutters, scoffing. “Can only be a fucking whore.”

“Ehh, you’re just mad she’ll never let you hit.” Renjun jeers, pinching Jeno’s cheek. “Grow up!”

Slapping his hand away, he refocuses on setting off laser beams from his eyes into your backside. Your extremely exposed backside that he should have left marked up yesterday with his handprints and teeth marks. That would shut his friends up who have no chance with you, because you belong to him.

At least sometimes.

The huge smile that graces your pretty face as Jaemin approaches you tells him otherwise. Sucking in the insides of his cheeks to bite down on as he watches the two of you embrace and his best friend's hands float much too close to the perk of your ass.

“Luckiest motherfucker in the world I swear.” Haechan curses, sucking air between his teeth when Jaemin takes the chance and gently pats your hip. “I give it one more day before they’re hooking up.”

“You’re probably right.” Renjun hums and agrees. “The sooner the better so we can swoop in next.”

“Wanna tag team?”

“Let’s do it.”

“She doesn’t want any of you.” Jeno shuts them up, frustrated by their banter interrupting his thoughts. Rolling his eyes petulantly and scoffing loudly to announce how annoyed he is.

Who the fuck does Jaemin think he is?! Suddenly single and immediately ready to deep dive between the first pair of legs ready to spread for him?! And you! Who the hell do you think you are! Shamelessly flirting with his friend?!

“This guy.” Haechan rolls his eyes, straightening up and puffing his chest out as you approach them.

“What’s on the menu today boys?” You ask cheerfully, not sparing Jeno a look.

“How about a mimosa for the pretty lady?”

“Sounds great!” You say cheerfully, bouncing up and down much too eagerly for Jeno’s liking.

“What are you wearing?” He hisses as quietly as possible, not wanting to draw attention from Haechan and Renjun as they scour through the pool bar for champagne. “What the hell is this?”

“Huh?” You ask dumbly, making the same old disgusted face you always pull when he tries to speak to you. “What did you say to me?”

Jeno watches his friends squat down in search of orange juice, grabbing onto your elbow to draw you closer to him. “I said, what the hell are you wearing?!”

“Uhm, a bathing suit?” Attempting to shrug him off, you push at his bare chest. “Let go of me!”

“Quiet down..” his lip curls in, tugging you closer. “Where’d you buy this? A fucking Hustler store?”

“I’ll have you know this is Beach Bunny! And I paid a lot for it!”

“Yeah, with daddy’s money.”

“You shouldn’t talk, West LA trash.”

Ah, there it is. The same shit your spoiled little princess ass always has to say to him. Nothing new, the same fucking boring drag. “That’s all you got? Come on, you can do better than that.”

“Let go of me, Jeno.” You say sternly, with a serious tone. Failing to free yourself from his grip.

“Cover up slut.” He spits, nostrils flaring. “Prancing around showing everything off like that for free? Who fucking raised you?”

“What’s your fucking problem?!”

“Hey uhh,” Haechan clears his throat, taking light steps toward you with Renjun in tow. “Drink’s ready.”

The two peer back and forth between you and Jeno, worry etched across their faces. Repeatedly stealing looks at his hand cradled around your elbow.

“Thanks.”

Before you can reach the flute of champagne and orange juice, Jeno’s arm shoots out faster than he can think. Stealing the glass from Haechan’s hand to pour down your chest and stomach. A round of shocked gasps coming from his friends and the high-pitched scream you let out snaps him fully alert. Taking a step back with wide eyes as you shake off the sticky liquid and proceed to glare at him with balled up fists.

“What. The. Fuck!”

An apology nearly rolls off of his tongue before Renjun rushes to clean off your stomach, shifty-eyed as he takes extra time to dry off your chest. “My new bathing suit!”

Jeno acted abruptly off anger and worry, mostly worried of what his friends could be wondering about finding the two of you like that. Clenching his fists, he bites back the apology that tries to push through.

“Dude, that was not cool.” Haechan snickers at him, snatching the glass back with a look full of disappointment.

“Yeah Jeno, grow the fuck up man.”

Ugh! Great. Now he’s made a fool of himself all thanks to you once again. Shaking his head, he catches your piercing gaze before squatting down to hide behind the bar. You knew good and well what you were doing stepping outside in some skimpy little two piece, dental floss riding up your ass. It’s not his fault that you get off on making him angry or whatever the hell it is that motivates you to piss him off.

“Don’t worry, you still look sexy as fuck.” He hears Renjun mumble. Grinding his teeth together as he continues to pretend to look for something to drink.

“Yeah, here, take this one to Jaemin.” Haechan adds, handing you two champagne flutes. “Go get your boy.”

“You guysss,” you giggle playfully, shooting them both a wink before heading off.

“That was really low, even for you man.” Haechan leans over the bar just as Jeno stands up, distracting himself by reading the label on the bottle in his hold.

“Get over it.” He mutters, ignoring the judging looks his friends share.

“He’s too old to be going through a hormonal imbalance.” Renjun whispers, nudging Haechan’s side to look over in the direction you headed off to. “Kind of funny how Jaemin’s the prey instead of the predator.”

“He doesn’t stand a chance.” Haechan snorts, taking a sip of his beer. “Wish I was dead meat instead, would gladly lay my body out like a corpse to be picked over.”

“What’s that about?” Jeno glares toward the corner of the pool you’ve sidled up to with Jaemin much too close by your side. Floating there, occasionally leaning against the stairs. Smiling and laughing all too much for his liking. The champagne flutes sitting emptied along the edge of the pool along with other bottles his best friends already finished off.

“They’re probably gonna fuck.” Haechan shrugs, speaking casually. “We all saw that coming.”

What?!

Jeno’s mouth pops open, quickly picking up his jaw, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand to properly look at his friend. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

“Literally that.” Renjun adds, coating the glass in his hand with sugar along the rim before pouring in various shots of alcohol. “Good for her, she’s been trying to get inside of Jaemin’s pants for years. Wish it was me, but whatever.”

You have?! Since when!

Jeno quickly stands up straight, fists clenched at his sides. “Sh-she said that? She told you that?”

“Pftt, it’s obvious. She hardly even keeps in contact with any of us all year except Jaemin.”

WHAT?!

“Yeah, she’s helped him a lot through this break-up with Jini.” Renjun shrugs, mixing his drink. “But from what Jaemin showed me, they pretty much just flirt all of the time.”

“What?? Jaemin’s never mentioned her to me!”

“Probably because you hate her dude.” Haechan tips his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to get a look at him. Cocking an eyebrow up with intrigue. “Anytime we so much as say her name you get all pissy and blow a gasket.”

“You’re worse than a girl sometimes.” Renjun snorts, joining Haechan’s side on one of the pool chairs under a canopy.

Okay. Valid. Maybe Jaemin would avoid mentioning you if that's the case. He works hard to keep this act up around his friends. Not that it is an act, he really does hate you..

But why would you fail to say anything?! You’ve never once told him you’re into Jaemin! Not that you would.. whore.

“Dude, you okay? Why are you making that face?” Haechan laughs, pointing toward the frustrated wrinkles formed between Jeno’s eyebrows. “Look like you’re about to shit yourself.”

“Shut up.” Jeno waves him and Renjun off, stomping toward the house while sneaking a look back at you and Jaemin. There’s no fucking way you’re seriously trying to hook up with his best friend, right in front of his face! Even through the water he can see your hands groping over his thighs, lips only an inch away from each other.

Who the hell do you think you are! Probably want him to suffer and watch you flirt with some other guy right in front of him. Not just any other guy but his best god damn friend. The one person he holds above all and trusts with his life.

Haechan and Renjun think he’s too old to be acting like this?! If only they even knew what the hell you’re up to at your grown ass age.

Stomping inside of the house, he paces around the kitchen rubbing at his face. To think he had plans on taking the next step with you this summer. Of admitting something he’s not even sure he wants to be honest about anymore.

“Did the big pissy baby get overheated out there?”

Your voice shatters his stupor, twisting around to find you leaned over the kitchen island with a pleased shit-eating grin on your face. “What are you doing?” He asks flatly, charging to lean over the other side of the counter and meet you half-way. “Or, what do you think you’re doing, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re going on about.” You shrug, walking around him to get to the fridge. “Came in here to get Jaemin some ice, everything’s melted down in the cooler.”

“Bullshit.” Pressing against your back, he flattens you against the cool freezer door before you can get it open. “I’m not into this game you’re playing, so stop it.”

“Like I said,” you push back against him, groaning as he uses extra strength to keep you pressed. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“You don’t?” Curling a digit under the strap of your bottoms, he tugs until the material painfully stretches across your rim. Peering down and licking his lips at the way your hips jut back toward him. “This pretty flimsy poor excuse of a swimsuit wasn’t to impress me, was it?”

“Stop pulling at it!” Grabbing onto his wrist, you try to tug him off. Hissing at the friction caused against your core. “I’m serious Jeno! It’s expensive!”

“You know what else is?” Letting go of the strap to crack against your hip, he wraps around your waist and turns you fast. Manhandling you into a bent position over the kitchen counter. “What you owe me for that stupid little act out there.”

“Don’t! Jaemin’s waiting for me!” You wriggle, grabbing at the counter ledge to escape. Firm heavy hands settle against the end of your spine. Locking your lower half in place with his hips pressed securely against your backside.

“Being way too loud, you’re trying to get caught at this point.” Peering outside of the nearest window, his friends seem oblivious to anything taking place outside of drinking and splashing around. “What if Jaemin sees you like this? Acting like the filthy whore you are. Does he know that side of you yet?”

“Stop!” You writhe against him, squeezing your eyes shut as his nails trace down your back to the swell of your ass.

“Answer me.” The warmth of his palms cup under your butt, shoving up until the fleshy skin folds over on your lower back. “Does he know?”

“No..” you mewl, grip on the counter loosening. Struggling to stay balanced on your tiptoes with shaky knees.

“Why not?” Jeno tuts, rolling his hips in a circle against your lifted bottom. “Only for me?”

“…mhm..” you admit, full of shame, dropping your cheek to lay flat against the cool marble of the counter. “Only for you.”

“If I leave you marked up right now..” he mutters, sucking in air between his teeth. Pulling off of you an inch to admire how much smaller his hands look trying to knead and squeeze all of your plump backside. “How will you explain what happened to all of your admirers?”

“Please Jeno, come on..”

“What are you begging for?” He says mockingly, digging his blunt nails deep enough to hurt but not leave behind more than faded indentations. “For me to fuck you right here?” Bending over on top of you back, he grabs onto your jaw to make sure your eyes find the window. “Want them all to see, don’t you?”

“N-no..”

“Why? Afraid they’ll find out what a slut you really are? After playing this fake innocent act all these years?”

“Jeno—seriously, this isn’t funny!”

“We both know,” dragging the tip of his nose down your cheek, he bites down on your jawline. Pushing off to pull your bikini bottoms to one side and expose your core. “You love being watched.”

It’s reminiscent of that first time he broke you down in front of all of your friends. Laying here, letting him have his way with you again, excited by the idea of getting caught. “Left me hanging yesterday..”

Squatting down to his knees, he cups your ass, slowly pulling you apart to get an up close look between your thighs. Wet warmth painted between your slit eagerly greets him, sucking in a long-winded breath. “Don’t tell me you’re this wet because of someone else?”

A pathetic sound comes out muffled with half of your mouth pressed to the counter. Shivering as he purses his lips and blows out soft breaths of air along your middle.

“I asked you something.” Landing a hard smack down on your ass, he grips your hips to stay in place when they jump back.

“Only you.” You mumble quietly.

“Say that shit again, I want them to hear you.” Another rough hit jolts your backside. Bouncing against the counter, digging into your pelvis from the pressure you slam back down with.

“Jeno..”

The backyard door creaks open, snapping both of your necks straight and jumping up to stand. Fixing your bottoms into place as Jeno curses and stands awkwardly by your side, left with no time to dig inside of his swim trunks and adjust himself before he spots the intruder.

Jisung’s dark hair bounces through the corridor to the kitchen not a second later, surprised to see you standing together in the kitchen.

“What’s going on here? You two fighting again?” Jisung rolls his eyes, pausing to take in the disoriented state both of you are in. “That’s weird.”

“What?” Jeno asks shortly, jaw clenching annoyed by the interruption.

“Uhm,” blinking down toward the olders crotch, he quickly shakes his head and continues to walk to the bathroom. “Nothing.”

Waiting for Jisung to disappear from your line of sight, you let out a sigh. Nodding to the huge tent Jeno’s sporting in his trunks. “Might want to go take care of that before going back out there.”

“Aw man, fuck. Little fucker definitely saw that.” Jeno lets out a long-winded breath, banging the back of his head against one of the cabinets. “Come to my room later?”

“Can’t.” You say stiffly, pretending to ignore the throb between your thighs. “Already told Jaemin we could watch a movie together. Anyway, try not to cum inside of your shorts.” Without giving him a chance to respond, you rush back outside to curl up close to his best friend's side under one of the sun umbrellas.

Jeno takes a few steps ready to chase after you, cursing out when his lower half brushes against the counter. “Fuck.”

He’d ignore how hard the veins lining his cock thrum, engorged and full of blood from the thought of finally getting some and wait a few more minutes until he goes soft, but you just look too damn good in that stupid flimsy bikini. Better than you should flaunting yourself for anyone other than him. This is the second time he’s had to jerk off thanks to you. How stupid of you to think this shit you’re pulling will pay off in the end, unless you’re looking to get fucked close to to death. Two can play hard ball, and he knows he can play much harder than what you’re able to handle.

“Whatever.”

♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡

“I’m always here for you Jaemin.”

A smile finally appears, ducking his face as he chuckles softly and reaches for your hand hanging by your hip. “You’ve been too good to me ever since the break-up. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for anything, I’m your friend. It’s my duty to make sure that smile never leaves your handsome face.”

He pauses for a minute, thumb rubbing the back of your hand as he zones out and nods. “You are my friend. She never really liked that, said I’d call this a boys trip just to come out here to flirt with Mark’s cousin..”

A swell of hope crashes through your chest when his eyes lift to yours and he smiles large enough for the top row of his teeth to fully show. One of your favorite things about Jaemin, his blinding smile that you really would do anything to bring out. “Friends aren’t supposed to flirt, right?”

“I wouldn’t even know how to begin flirting.” You pout, exaggerating your blinks. “How would I flirt? Can you show me?”

A clear tinge of red rises up his neck, dropping his head back to let out a howling laugh, inadvertently squeezing your hand tightly. “The idea of you- of all people, not knowing how to flirt is too funny. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“I don’t see what’s so funny about that.” You smirk, leaning in to sway closer to him for your face to only stand a couple of inches apart. “Can’t you teach me how to flirt? I bet you’re real good at it.”

Jaemin staggers for a moment, smile fading slowly as he takes in your curious gaze. The glint in his gaze darkens, slowly dragging across your lips. “You really want me to show you? Not just bullshitting me?”

“Mhmm.” You nod, biting down a grin.

Clearing his throat, he straightens, releasing your hand to rest his arm above your head against the door frame to your bedroom. “Say, we just wrapped up a first date..” He hums, painting a scenario out for you without breaking eye-contact. “I walk you home, thank you for gracing me with your presence.” He huffs, lip lifting to one side holding back an amused smirk. “And then I stop to look you up and down, just like this.”

Slowly, long thick dark eyelashes take their time to fan down over his pinkened cheeks, tucking his lower lip in beneath his teeth as he passes over your chest. Licking the plumpness filling his red juicy bottom lip. “And I lean in close enough to feel your breath quickening, to watch your chest rise faster. Making it obvious that I can’t stop staring at you, can’t get enough of your beauty. Really make every second feel like minutes as I admire how gorgeous and sexy you are.”

His voice deepens to a low rumble, re-enacting everything he says until your backs pressed flat against the door, breathing shallowly, gone silent with evident awe all over your face.

“I don’t have to say much..” he smirks slightly, the standard traditional cute cocky and charming smirk he always pulls when getting his way. His hands lift to move a loose strand of hair behind your ear, intentionally slowly grazing the shell of your ear. Pleased by the obvious shiver that passes down your body. “I just..”

Taking one more step forward he meets you at eye level, dragging his fingers down your jawline to your chin to pinch, focusing on your lips naturally parting open for him, so inviting.

“Lick my lips,” and he does, dragging his tongue from one side to the other, gaze more sultry and hooded now. “And whisper right here like this..” only a hair’s breadth away, he whispers less than an inch away from your mouth. “And when do I get to see you again?”

Fuck.

Ready to scream, you have to bite down on your tongue when he abruptly pulls away and shrugs, standing up straight. “Works every time.”

“Uhm,” sucking down a dry gulp, you nod rapidly, patting for the doorknob behind you. “I’ll definitely have to try that out sometime.”

Jaemin backs away, stepping backwards and shooting you a wink. “You’ll have to let me know if it works. Now get some rest, we have a long day by the pool tomorrow.”

You’d swear he hasn’t stopped flirting given the way he spins around and watches you from over his shoulder still stuck in place against your door as if you’ve been hot glued there. May as well be, clenching your thighs in a deathgrip out of fear that the sticky heat pooling your underwear could trickle free.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You whine once he’s disappeared to the other side of the house. Letting out a long exhausted sigh, you quickly make to enter your room, reaching for the light switch as the door shuts behind you, coating everything in darkness. That’s strang—

“You can’t be fucking serious.”

A roar full of anger charges at you, rasping deep before colliding with your chest, crashing your back against the opposite side of the door you were just fighting to free yourself from.

“Ah, fuck!” You hiss, reaching to rub the back of your head sure to have a walnut sized bump by morning. “Jeno?? Is that you?!?”

“Who the fuck else would it be Sherlock.” He rasps angrily directly in your face, lodging one of his thick forearms under your chin until you cough from lack of air.

“Wh-what the hell are you doing?!” You manage to squeak out, slapping his elbow. “Get off of me!”

“What the hell am I doing?!” He growls, nose digging against your forehead. “What the hell are you doing!!”

“Huh??”

“My best friend?!” Jeno’s screaming, crackling the louder he gets, jerking his arm against your neck to congest your air flow. “Please be fucking serious. I’ve had enough of this shit! You and whatever this is- it ends now.”

“Wh-what?!” You cough, clutching onto his muscular forearm with both hands, struggling to suck in large inhales of oxygen. “I said get off of me, you fucking dick!”

“God you won’t be satisfied until you fuck literally everyone.” Dropping his arm, he gives you no time to recover, manhandling you around to slam you chest first against the door. He scoots up behind you, slotting his covered lower half against yours. The familiar addictive warmth you’ve hungered for since last summer break throbs against your bottom, having to grind your teeth to control an onslaught of whimpers from giving away your arousal. It’s been hard enough to stop yourself from tapping at his door. Having to distract yourself with another cheesy Disney film to watch with Jaemin until you can’t fight sleep off any longer.

“You’re such a whore, fucking open up your legs for anyone.” Strong hands grip the backs of your thighs, slowly climbing up higher to cup the swell of your ass. “I don’t give a fuck who you fuck. Haechan, Renjun, you can even take Jisung’s virginity for all I fucking care. I’d expect no less from a whore like you.”

Pressing in, he flattens to your back, shoving his arm around your neck from behind, cupping your chin to turn your face to the side. “But you will not,” Jeno breathes heavily against your cheek, licking down to the corner of your mouth. “Fuck him.”

You know by now it’s better to stay silent judging by how riled up he already is after blue-balling him twice now. Rutting against your ass like some starved beast desperate to feed, fuck and kill.

But you both know the real reason you sneak around, fight in front of everyone else, taunt and torment each other. The real reason you glare at him from the corner of your eye and suck on his fingers in private. It’s a game for the two of you, and you’re just about ready to cross the finish line to wrap this up for good. Win or lose, you’re tired of playing.

“Oh yeah? And who’s going to stop me?”

Jeno’s mouth hangs open against your cheek, hot gaze burning down your face. “Why him. Why him out of everyone?”

“I like him.” You admit, reaching back to dig your nails into his sides. “And I think he likes me too.”

“Fuck you.” He emphasizes with a hard thrust rocking your hips roughly against the door. “You’re only doing this to piss me off.”

“This is going to shock you but my world does not revolve around you.” You huff, smacking at his sides. “So full of yourself.”

“Maybe I am.” He grunts, bicep curling around your throat tighter, dragging his lips up to your ear. “And you? Wanna be full of me?”

Wet thirsty eyes roll up to meet his, slowly tucking your juicy bottom lip in to suck on. “Mhm..”

“Don’t play fucking dumb.” He jerks, squeezing his arm around your throat harder. “You know exactly what you’re doing to me.”

“To you? What am I doing to you?” You ask in a cocky tone, jamming your bottom against his groin. “Besides making your dick grow a couple more inches?”

“Best cock you’ve ever taken.” He reminds you. Breaking you down round after round last summer until you were acting brainless, spilling out nonsensical thoughts worshipping him for fucking you so damn well.

Best mouth too, you refuse to add, sleek gaze thinning on him expectantly. “And me? What the fuck am I to you?”

“My whore.” Biting down on your cheek, he tightens the chokehold on your throat even more. Fully stealing your breath and pulling tight until you’re perched onto your tippy toes. “Only mine, got that?”

This is really the foreplay between you, learning early on how much you enjoy being roughed up and dragged around. It’s your thing, what really brings your true self out. And Jeno’s the only one that’s ever picked up on what you really want in bed. How you dream of being fucked, what makes your cunt slick up. Never even having to ask or confirm if what he’s doing to turn you on is enough.

All he has to do is remind you of how ashamed you should feel, how dirty you really are for giving it up to him so willingly. A little smack to your face, asphyxiating your lungs and spitting in your mouth, that’s all it took to have you groveling for more on your knees. Begging him to slap you with his long thick cock, literally drooling at the sight of it with your hands pressed together pleading for him to fuck your throat.

Each time you’ve hooked up repeats in his mind non-stop. No one else he fucks with back home matches up to how good you take it, how submissively you melt down at his voice. He can’t stop coming back for more, tingling at the thought of getting his mouth and hands back on your body. That’s why you always end up here together alone in a safe dark place only built for the two of you.

He’ll never admit how much this means to him, how much you mean to him. How much this turns him on, because part of him believes you have to know by now even if he doesn’t do a proper job of showing it. This, these intimate moments with you, bare naked shedding all your inhibitions away one by one, he wouldn��t trade this in for anything in the world.

“Y-yes,” you croak, snaking your fingers around his forearm to create an inch of space. “Yours.”

“Exactly.” He says proudly, licking across his upper lip. Forever and always his, because no one else will ever compare. Certainly not Jaemin, and no fucking bum that tries to earn your attention after him.

The fuzzy look in your eyes that drives him mad sets off a coil in his stomach. Heat invading his chest as he looks over your swollen bitten lips, hazy gaze hooded by lazed eyelids making you even more seductive and enticing. “Made me wait so long for this, you know that.”

It’s a warning for what’s to come, landing a weighted slap down on your ass before he strips off the shorts you have on. Even through the minimal light entering your room from the window, he sucks in a breath between his teeth and gropes over your hips and thighs, scooping your ass to bounce against his palms. “Think you deserve to get fucked after the way you’ve been acting?”

“Y-yes..” you whisper shamelessly, glancing over your shoulder at him. “I deserve it, don’t I puppy?” A hint of playfulness in your voice lifts the corner of his mouth up, fast to shake off his smirk. Jeno’s jaw falls open, blinking furiously to ward off his shock.

Nothing gets under his skin more than that bullshit cute nickname you use on him. Always at the worst times, sparking up annoyance and butterflies through his chest. “Don’t call me that.”

Dropping down to his knees, he wastes no more time to dig his face between your ass cheeks. Dragging the tip of his nose against your wrinkled rim, he breathes in deep knowing you hate when he does that. Or at least you pretend to by squealing and kicking your feet back at him. Mortified and having to look away when he spreads your ass apart to kiss up and down the crevice of your ass.

Tugging his shirt off, he gets back between your legs. Dragging his pouted lips between your slit, sucking small amounts of your arousal onto his tongue. He groans against your core, vibrating up to where you look over your shoulder at him waiting patiently for what he knows you want.

What you want and won’t get.

Pressing firm kisses to your clit and rim, he bites along the perk of your ass. Gently nipping at the fleshy skin, slapping your hips for your butt to ripple against his face. “Shaved your pussy all cute like that for Jaemin?”

A muffled sound of surprise gets lost in your palm, covering your mouth to hide your shock. “No..”

“Sure you didn't, baby.” Slowly standing back up he litters kisses up your back. Gathering your hair to one side to suck on your ear until you squirm and push against him. Kissing down your neck and biting at your shoulder blade before pulling off, he crosses your bedroom to sit on the edge of your bed. “Get your sexy ass over here and sit that pretty pussy on my cock.”

Outstretching his legs, he nods his chin for you to move quick. Walking on trembling legs to quickly obey him, you move to stand in front of him and grab onto his shoulders.

“Jeno..”

Bleary blown out dark irises peer up at you beneath a thick layer of eyelashes. Losing himself in the heat of the room and your aroused scents beginning to infiltrate the space. Tightening his lips, he adjusts to your hands snaking up his throat, jaw twitching as you dig your thumbs into his chin. “Are you still my puppy?”

Jeno wishes you’d let it go. One night a few summers back when you drank far beyond your limits and he found you in the backyard before you were able to cannonball into the pool. Dragging you back inside, he held your hair back as you emptied your guts and cried about ruining the night. It was a moment of weakness on his part, much like yours. Assuming you’d forget about everything that took place in that bathroom he soothingly rubbed down your spine and told you to stop whining.

‘You haven’t ruined anything.’ No, just his heart and ego that have never fully healed since you entered his life. Not that you’re allowed to know any of that, God forbid he be honest even if you looked so cute as he cleaned off your face.

‘You know,’ you mumbled, relaxed against the wall as he dabbed your cheeks free of tears and remnants of alcohol. ‘You’re such a puppy.’

Jeno squinted at you, snickering under his breath. ‘Whatever that means.’ Ignoring the ache in his chest, he dampened a cloth and wiped down your neck.

‘Means you’re so cute.’ You whined, weakly smacking his arm. ‘My cute puppy, making those sweet eyes at me.’

My cute puppy. His hand hing mid-air, wide eyes full of surprise. You’re never this nice to him, or this drunk..

‘How much did you drink?’ He scoffed, swallowing the tightness away from his throat. ‘Too much.’ He whispers.

‘Mmh.. you’re right. Way too much.’

And yet, the smile creeping onto your face right now makes his stomach ache. Grinding his teeth together as he steadily grabs you by the waist and you lowers onto his thighs to seek the fat tip of his cock, hissing as it snags along your wet pulsating entrance.

“Hurry the fuck up and quit pissing me off.” He growls, slapping your ass hard enough to echo through the room.

Taking a deep breath, you have to reach down to guide him in. Stomach sucking in as the familiar stretch begins to split you open. It’s been so long, too long since you’ve taken not only Jeno’s cock, but a cock this fucking thick in girth. Squeezing your eyes shut as a cry pushes out from your lips and the thick head of his size inches in, lighting a fire under your cheeks as creamy wet sounds gush their way up to your ears.

“I don’t have all fucking day.” He snaps, slapping your buttcheeks with both hands even harder than before. Forcing your posture to slump forward, other hand shaking on his shoulder as another inch pushes in. Already wasted enough of his time with whatever that was, probably just trying to manipulate him to get your way again.

“S’too big—“ you whine frustratedly, wrapping both of your arms around his shoulders.

“Never too big for you,” Jeno exhales deeply. “Sluts like you only know how to get fucked.”

Taking it upon himself, he wraps around your waist good and tight, bucking his hips up and pushing you down at the same time to fully take in each and every inch. Burying himself deep inside of you to the brim, coercing your wet arousal to drip down his length and pour down heavily onto his sack. He curses between the strangled scream you wail out, wedging each inch in as deep as possible. Dragging his wide length against your tight hot walls with smooth rolls of his hips grinding upward. “Fuck that’s it.”

“S’too much.” You repeat stupidly, already fucking babbling. Drooling onto your chin and rolling your eyes shut above him. Nails drag down his shoulders to his biceps, circling his arms for something to keep you grounded to earth, fearful you’ll float away as pleasure builds up higher and higher.

Winding his arms around your waist tightly, he sucks on your neck. Licking at the sweat pooling its way down to your collarbone. Grunting against your skin hot and heavy as you start to relax around him after minutes of grinding his cock between your thighs. “Take it.” He whispers along your throat, biting down hard enough to leave marks. Slamming his hips up harshly, colliding your ass down on his upper thighs and filling the room with the sound of your damp wet skin clapping against his.

Lack of response drives him to pummel inside of you even faster. Bracing his hands under your thighs to lift you up and down his size easier, he begins to hoist your limpened weight up and down. The stretch around his cock snapping with each pull out to the tip, dragging deliciously through your clenching heat. Wet pussy slickening up and drenching his cock making each glide inside of you easier than the last, clinging sticky arousal down to his balls. The skin between his own thighs sloppy with it, one of his favorite parts about fucking you, always amazed by how wet you get for him.

“Always so wet for me.” He pants already out of his mind, exerting more energy to mold your cunt to the shape of his cock. Providing noisy loud squelches with each penetrating hit of his length. It’s always so good with you, the best he’s ever had, as if he’d ever dare to admit out loud. Lost so deep in the heat of your eager tight pussy, he has to bite down on his lip hard enough to draw blood to not shout out something he could end up regretting later.

“Fuck you baby, so good for me aren’t you.” He opts to say instead, gaining speed as he moves back to your waist and pulls you down onto his cock faster. His length grazing against each nerve that shoots straight through your limbs, the clap of your ass hitting his thighs deafeningly loud throughout the room.

“Uh-huh,” you croon, panting wildly against his shoulder. “Deep, so deep.”

“Yeah,” Jeno grinds hot against your most shallow area, the tip of his size kissing your womb. “Greedy pussy wants me even deeper?”

“Y-yes,” it’s impossible to ask for more, drooling down to your chest. Jolting on his cock like a rag doll. The aggressive pace he’s fallen into bouncing your breasts against his chest, creating more heat and sweat all over your bodies. “Please!”

So perfect how much you cry and moan for him, always perfect and good for him. Rasping his own groans out as he possessively grasps your hips and squeezes onto your ass. Hitting you with another succession of slaps before slamming you down onto his complete length. “Fuckfuck!”

“Pleasepleaseplease!” The combination of your pleasured moans sets something off inside of him. Unleashing his need to feel every part of himself buried inside of you. Reaching to secure your thighs around his waist, he shoves off the bed. Knees bent as he uses all of his strength to stand up and haul your body up in the air with him. The arms around his neck scurrying to wrap around him tighter out of fear of being dropped.

Alarmed, frightened eyes shoot open to look at him, head shaking before his arms flex out using each and every muscle to impale you down onto his cock once again. Ripping an orgasm right out of you before you can even fully process that he’s standing up carrying all of your body as if you weigh nothing. Rushing a powerful orgasm out of you that spills down to his shins, splattering on the ground around his feet. “Fuck—yes!”

Letting out a deep guttural howling moan, he chases after release. Unbothered by the despaired cries you continuously let out as he fucks your sensitive pussy wide open. Bicep muscles flex large around your thighs and torso, dripping with a sheen of sweat the more he uses his lower half to push up and bury his length deep inside of you with each barreling thrust. Pliant like a good little doll as you get thrown up and down on him the exact way he likes. Aroused all the more by how your cunt still squeezes around him despite the sad broken little pained ‘ow’s’ you whimper between moans. Clumsily still trying to keep your hold on his shoulders through each sloppy wet stroke.

“Fuck!” All Jeno can do is let out strings of curses. The blunt tip of his cock hitting deep enough to prod the skin under your navel out in this position. Deep, hard, so tenderless, evoking rough brutality with each violent pounding collision of his thighs crashing against your ass.

“Puppy,” you squeak, unable to form a coherent sentence or thought anymore. Toes curled up around his lower back as your thighs weakly flex to keep a tight grip around his waist. “H-hurts!”

The complaint only fuels him to fuck you faster, blinking away the sweat rolling into his eyes, his hold on you tightens. Crashing your weight down on his length to take take and take. All your good for, to take his cock like the fucking whore you are. Merciless with each slap of his full balls landing against your ass. “Gonna fuck you full of cum,” he says with a tight-locked jaw. Spinning on his foot to fall onto the bed with you.

Without missing a beat he reaches for the backs of your knees. Changing the position to keep his cock buried all the way inside of you. Pushing your legs toward your chest and slapping the sides of your thighs in silent demand to hold them in place. “Exactly like that, good little slut.” He says gruffly, hips returning to full on hammer inside of you without anything to stop him. Not the way you cry and scream, letting your legs flop out weakly from your hold when he brings down his thumb to rub at your clit meanly. Scorching another orgasm to flood throughout your body.

“Jeno! P-please! Enough!”

The hot wrap of your pussy around his thick girth is too good to stop. He’d fuck you everyday, keep you sat on his cock even when he’s busy. Trained like his good slut to be ready anytime, anywhere, at any given moment. Drooling down your neck exactly like this, eyes fluttering open and shut as if you can’t believe this is really happening. Chest bouncing up and down so hard, hitting the underside of your chin. The arch in your spine is painful at this point. Struggling to not allow another orgasm to roll through your body as you lay there in defeat and let him have his way with you.

Curling a hand around your throat, he grabs onto one of your floppy legs, throwing your calve onto his shoulder. Drawing out to the tip of his length, he sucks in a wet saliva-coated breath at the sight of your beat up pussy. Ripe and dripping for the taking, only for him. He feeds the entirety of his cock back inside your velvety soft wet walls. Dropping your jaw open to let out a silent cry as he full on rails your cunt with abandon.

“Made to take my cock,” he groans huskily, throat burning from this workout of fucking you. Pushing his stamina to its limits. But he can’t stop, won’t stop his hips from slipping his cock in and out. Clutching onto your thigh to control your writhing hips that jump with every sharp thrust that shapes your insides to take only his cock. “Only mine.”

Still gaining momentum, he fucks into you with inhumane speed when you shout that you’re gonna cum again. Garbled by the sobs you won’t stop letting out, sounding more like chanted prayers worshipping the way he fucks you. Hips slap down against your thighs vigorously, fat cock making sure to permanently destroy your pussy, playing out the loudest wettest sounds with each penetrating hit.

“Oh God!” You helplessly cry out loud, back bowing upward. Shooting pain from your lower back up your spine as another orgasm rains down on you. This one nearly shoving his size out from the force of your release. Stuttering his movements enough for wetness to squirt out around his cock, splashing all over his groin and thighs.

“Fuck, so sexy.” He sighs, swiping down to where his cock disappears inside of you. “One more.”

“N-no! No more!” Overwhelmed by pleasure, you can’t even sob anymore. Too short of breath and dizzy, numb between your thighs as he pulls out completely and readjusts your legs to press down the fronts of your thighs to your chest. “Je-jeno..”

“Shhh, one more for me. Only me.” Bracing his hands on the backs of your knees, he shakes off the sweat dripping down his face. Shoving every inch of his length back inside of your swollen used up pussy. Grinding pointed and perfectly right against the spot deep inside of you, the special place only he’s ever been able to repeatedly reach.

In a blur he races to reach his release. Pretzeling your body in half with his knees lifted off the bed, fully mounted on top of you akin to a predator that’s successfully acquired its kill. Circling its prey with hungry ravenous eyes, licking at his canine teeth ready to dig in. He fucks you through each tear, each trickle of drool that slips from the corners of your lips, each pulsing painful grip your cunt gives his cock. Furiously digging his toes into the bed to bury his length to the hilt, his thrust grow sloppy. Grinding into you one last time as his hips stutter and the sudden mind-crushing weight of his orgasm slams into him like a car wreck.

“Fuck, every drop,” he whines, hitting you with one more weak thrust as hot sticky semen floods your pussy. “All of it for you.”

Gasping through his orgasm, you blink the glassy wet away from your eyes. Sent over the edge again by the visual of his jaw hung open above you, filling you full with cum, warming its way through your twitching stomach.

The weak orgasm that hits you still tightens your muscles around his length. Both of you hissing when he tries to pull his overly sensitive cock away from it, dropping your legs to rest on his hips. He collapses to your side, biting down on his teeth as he pulls out with a loud pop and cum follows after him, dribbling down to your ass and the bed.

“Puppy..” you whine desperately, continuing to tremble through the aftershocks of repeated orgasms. “Kiss me.”

His eyes widen upon your request, staring up at the dark ceiling, still trying to catch his breath. “What?”

“Kiss me, I want a kiss.” You whisper with less confidence, scratching at his shoulder. “Please..”

Jeno’s eyebrows furrow, eyeing you from his peripheral vision. “I should go to my room, clean off before I fall asleep..”

“What?”

Sitting up, he hops off the bed in search of his clothing. “Yeah uh, it’s getting late.” He mumbles out quickly, hopping one leg into his pants. “I’ll end up falling asleep in here if I don’t get up now.”

“Is that..” You sniffle, sitting up with your arms circling around your chest. “..a bad thing?”

“Well yeah.” Setting your dress onto the bed, he tugs back on his shirt. “What if someone sees me leaving your room in the morning?”

“Because that’s all you care about.” You nod, sucking in your lips to hold in a cry.

“We both care about that, pretty sure.”

“You don’t get it.” You snap, getting up to throw on an oversized t-shirt. “You don’t fucking get it. You never have and you never will!”

“Get what?” Jeno glances around one more time to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything. Oblivious to the tears that continue to roll down your face as you storm past him toward the door.

“Where are you going?!”

“Leave me alone!” You shout, attempting to slam your bedroom door shut before rushing out down the hallway. Using his chest to halt the wood from meeting the frame, he follows after you, eyes wide and full of panic.

“What the hell is your problem?!” He hisses, fully aware of everyone’s bedrooms that you’re passing by on the way toward the backyard. “Come back here! Let’s go inside!”

“I said leave me alone!” You scream deeply once stepping outside. Running past the pool toward the gate that leads out to the sand and beach. “Go away Jeno!”

“No! Come on! What the hell are you doing! It’s so late!”

“Then go away! Fuck off! God just fucking leave me alone!! You were going to anyways!”

“Stop!” Finally catching up to you, he latches onto your arm halfway through the sand. Toes burying into the now cooled off grains that scratch and soothe his skin at the same time. “Let’s go back inside, right now!”

“Why! You don’t fucking care.” You spit out, snatching your arm away. “Don’t fucking touch me, please! Leave me alone!”

Jeno’s jaw hangs loose, staring at you with a look full of confusion and disbelief. “We were having a good time—I don’t get it, what the hell—“

“You were having a good time.” You bark, shoving at his chest. “You.”

“Is this about him? Is this about Jaemin?”

“You’re un-fucking-believable, you know that?!? Ugh! I’m such an idiot! All of this time I’ve wasted on your ass!”

“What are you yelling about?!”

“Do you even know! Do you even have a damn fucking clue how many times your friends have tried to fuck me! And I still choose you!” Digging through your hair in a furious rage, you bellow out a scream between a sob. The sadness you’ve pushed aside consuming your anger as tears push out in rivlets. “You don’t get it! And I’m the dumb idiot that held onto hope that you would..”

“Why are you telling me this?! To piss me off even more!” Jeno’s fist clench, jaw locked tight at the mention of his friends. Who fucking cares if they all want to fuck you. They don’t get to! And that’s the point, you belong to him and only him.

“Oh God,” the sound of waves crashing against sand behind you only spins your head around faster. Trying to fully snap out of every thought and concern you’d locked up because you just liked him too damn much. “I’m gonna be sick. I can’t believe I—I did this to myself. That I let you do this to me!”

“Do what to you?!” Jeno wishes you’d spit it out already. Rubbing at his temples with his thumb and ring finger, he thinks about earlier. The way you were flirting up a damn hurricane with Jaemin. “If you want to be with him, fucking say that! Stop dragging me around—“

“Dragging you around?!” You cut him off, shouting nearly demonically. Grabbing your own throat out of shock at your gravelly tone. “You have the nerve! The fucking gull to corner me every chance you get and tell me I am dragging you around?! Oh my God.”

“Listen, you need to calm down.” Holding up his hands as a sign of peace, he startles and jumps back when you slap them out of your way.

“No!” The corners of your lips drag down more, sucking up the tears that won’t stop. Wet sobs mixing between your struggling breaths. “I’m so so stupid. All of this time, so stupid. Wish I hated you so fucking badly.”

“You do..” he should shut up at this point. But he can’t, much like vomit, speech continues to spew from his mouth despite his mind insisting he shut up. “You do hate me. You hate everything about me.”

“Yeah.” Scrubbing your closed up fists down your cheeks, you glare at him with the most pained expression he’s ever seen on your delicate face. Ripping right through his chest with the lack of hope left in your gaze. “I hate this. Hate how I fall for you so easily.”

Jeno’s mind seems to finally win, digging his hands into his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to grab you. He listens, sealing his mouth shut to finally listen.

“Hate when I feel your eyes on me when you think I don’t notice you. Hate how I have to pretend your stupid immature jokes aren’t funny. Hate when I do find you watching me, and you look away, even blush and try to play it off. How pretty your eyes look when they disappear when you smile. How stupid you look coming out of the pool with your messy hair sticking up every direction. How you sing along to all of my favorite songs and ruin them for me.” Letting out a long sigh, you cross your arms to hug your chest, shivering from the cool breeze that builds the longer you stand there.

“I hate how I smile when I see a new text from you. How nice you smell when you shouldn’t, how your clothes always feel softer than anyone else’s. Hate the way you play guitar, how you pretended to yawn during that sappy romance movie we watched last summer when you were actually trying not to cry. Hate how you always play with the beach dogs by barking back at them with your tongue hanging out.”

Jeno can feel the warmth gathering behind his eyes, desperate to pull a yawn right now for the same reason he did while watching Silver Linings Playbook last summer. He pulls at the inside lining in his pockets, biting down on his lip, blinking rapidly.

“But mostly, I hate myself, because I tried so hard.” You blink a fresh cascade of tears, bringing your hands up to hide your face. “I tried so hard to pretend to hate you, to avoid this, to not get hurt.”

His mouth opens to speak, throat locked tight by invisible chains that squeeze around his vocal chords. “I—“

“You don’t care.” Shrugging, you wipe at your face and step around him.

“Wait! No—“ scrambling to stop you, he wraps around your elbow. Practically losing his balance in the sand to stop you as his feet dig in for a better hold.

“Leave me alone!” You plead, ripping your hands free of his hold. “Please. Please do this one thing for me, for once.”

As much as it aches and pinches between his chest, he drops his hands, fingers twitching by his hips to stop you.

Dropping your head back, you aggressively wipe at your eyes, turning away from him without another look.

Standing there with his feet surrounded by cooled sand, he watches your figure grow smaller and smaller until you disappear back inside of the house. You don’t want to be around him right now.. he needs to understand that.

Tomorrow. You can talk about this tomorrow when you’re both feeling more level-headed and have had time to cool down. Sinking down to his knees, he pats over the footprints you left behind. Squeezing his eyes shut as the tears he held in finally find an escape and burn down his cheeks.

This feels wrong, in his heart all of this feels so wrong. But for once he’ll do as you say and leave you alone..

Tomorrow, he’ll fix this.

♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡

Sleep never comes.

Not even counting sheep or chewing down melatonin gummies made a difference. Jeno couldn’t stop thinking about the way you cried and screamed, threw him off and ran away.

You just needed to cool off. The two of you always fight, it’s what you do, and then you fuck and everythings fine again. This fight was different, more intense and left him feeling guilty. With bloodshot eyes he stared at the ceiling for hours thinking of all the different ways he could explain himself to you.

He had fully intended to confess his real feelings to you this summer. Even if it led to getting egg smeared all over his face, embarrassment and rejection. Not as if it’d be anything new, you love to humiliate him..

It’s still early, but he can’t take it anymore. The sound of pots clinking and dishes clattering from the kitchen gets him on his feet. If the guys are already awake and being noisy, you’ll follow in no time. He has to talk to you even if you haven’t cooled off by now..

Pacing in front of your door, he chews at his fingernails. Biting them down to the skin until a few feel raw and sore. He’s psyching himself out, building up the fear of what will happen after he knocks on your door.

“What’re you doing?” Jaemin groans, draping himself against the wall in only his boxers. Eyes puffy and hair sticking up in every direction. “Why are you walking back and forth out here?”

“I’m uh,” Jeno runs a hand through his hair. “Gonna make some coffee, wanted to ask if she wants any.” Coming up with a fast excuse, he points toward your bedroom with his thumb.

“Didn’t she leave already?” Jaemin yawns, rubbing and slapping his face to wake up.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I woke up to pee a few hours ago,” Jaemin yawns again, shaking the sleep away with wide wet eyes. “She said bye, had her luggage.” He shrugs. “Something about having to head home early.”

“What??” Jeno freezes, quickly turning to your door to shove it open. Everything’s gone, the beds made, the closet open and emptied. All of your belongings are gone, as if you hadn’t just occupied the room mere hours ago. “Why would she..”

“I don’t know,” tapping his head against the wall, Jaemin raises an eyebrow at him. “Can I ask you something?”

“What??” Jeno’s still in a panic, pulling at a chunk of his hair with a distressed appearance. Why the fuck would you leave?! Without even telling him??

“You know, like, years ago? That one time we were all playing chicken.” Jaemin asks quietly, morning voice still thick and raspy from lack of use. “I thought..” he laughs softly, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I thought—but you know, when it was your turn..”

“What about it??”

“Obviously all of us thought it was uh—you know,” he coughs awkwardly, rubbing over his bare chest self consciously. “Hot. I’ve been with Jini all these years, but I guess I’ve sort of had a small crush I’ve been ignoring ever since that night..”

Jeno stops pacing in front of your door to glare at his friend. A befuddled expression skewing his face. “What are you trying to say right now?”

“You see, you’re my best friend.” Jaemin straightens up, standing up straight, blinking his eyes open. “Even so, I know to mind my own business but..”

“Spit it out Jaemin.”

“Do you like her?” He squints, lip trembling as if he’s too nervous to even ask. “It’s just..”

“I do.” Jeno says between gritted teeth, holding in his breath to calm down. “I do, and I messed up everything. I fucking—fucked everything up.”

Jaemin nods, patting him on the arm. “Maybe you did, but Laguna isn’t that far of a drive from here.” Adding a nod of encouragement, he squeezes Jeno’s shoulder.

“But..”

“Don’t bring my car back with an empty tank.” Jaemin smiles, motioning for his friend to head out. “Keys are on the kitchen counter.”

Jeno stares at him for a moment, wondering how Jaemin figured everything out. Mildly guilted by the fact that he’s never shared his feelings for you with him.

“Go.” Jaemin smiles, nudging him further down the hall. “The bus to Orange County doesn’t take that long.”

“I’ll explain everything later.” Jeno assures, throwing an arm around Jaemin before running off toward the kitchen. He hasn’t even had time to shower, eat, drink any caffeine. The anxiety rising in his chest lifts his feet off the ground, quickly waving off his friends that yell at him to slow down as he races past them and snatches up the keys to Jaemin’s jeep.

There’s no time to waste, assuming that you’re on your way home, he runs to start the car's engine up. Pure adrenaline sets his foot on the gas before the jeeps even had enough time to warm up, rushing out of the streets to get on the freeway.

He hasn’t thought this through at all. Never even been to your house or visited your city once before. What if you don’t want to see him? This will all be a waste of time.

But he has time to waste on you, he wants to fix this, needs to talk to you. Needs you to know how he really feels about you. Last night was more overwhelming than he had anticipated.

He tries and tries so hard to read you, figure out what’s going on in your head. To know if you even see him as more than a quick and easy way to get off..

What if you tell him to fuck off? Leave you alone like you screamed at him not even more than 10 hours ago..

It’s all he can think about on this quiet long drive. Fighting off his emotions and guilt-ridden conscience that continues to replay your tearful eyes. Alone with his thoughts again, his heart that screams out your name.

“This has to be it.”

‘The big house in the middle of the street with a dusty pink roof, you can’t miss it.’

That’s how Mark described it over the phone when he pulled out of the driveway and realized he had no idea where exactly you live other than knowing you’re somewhere out in Laguna.

‘And the mailbox, you can’t miss the mailbox. My aunt’s like a hippie, she built it herself to resemble a birdhouse.’

Yup. There’s the cute dusty rose mailbox your mom must have made. He nods, messing with his messy head of bed hair that he had no time to even bother fixing before rushing out of the summer house. The drive took nearly 4 hours without traffic. Maybe your bus beat his time, he should ring the doorbell..

God, what if your mom answers?! Or worse, your father?! He really didn’t think this through. He could call you, but what are the chances you’ll even answer him right now.

“I’m such an idiot.” He sighs, sitting down on the steps in front of your house.

Maybe this was a mistake, choosing to impulsively run after you. He fucked up badly, and there’s no way to prove that to you now. Jaemin would treat you way better than he has, he can’t even be upset about it either. He knows his best friend well enough to know he’d worship at your feet probably even worse than he did with Jini. You deserve to be adored and loved.. all he’s ever done is shown you hatred.

“Jeno?”

The sound of a car driving off follows, lifting his gaze to find your confused expression looking back at him as your driver pulls off. He did make it here before you..

“What are you doing here.” And you don’t sound happy about it. Speaking with a stiff tone and lack of curiosity, voice laced with anger. Why would you be happy to see him? He couldn’t have really expected that, even if he hoped for it.

“I, uh,” hopping to stand up, he pats off his jeans. Clearing his throat to ward off the tremble that passes through his vocal chords. “You left.”

Looking over Jaemin’s jeep, you squint, glaring back and forth between the car and back at him. “Did you drive here all the way from Santa Barbara?!”

“Yes.” He says clearly, hands fidgeting by his hips.

“Why.” The stern tone you speak with fails to waver, only emphasized by your stressed features. “Why are you here, why would you do that. And by yourself?! You barely leave the West side! All you ever do is talk crap on the OC. Why would you make this long drive here all by yourself—“

“Because!” He interrupts abruptly, chest tightening up the more you rant at him. “You left!”

“So?!? Why the hell do you care!”

“You—you didn’t give me a chance—“

“Give you a chance??” You repeat in disbelief, eyes blown fully wide. “A chance? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I wanted to let you cool off! So we could start over and talk and I could tell you,” he chokes up, staggering back from foot to foot. Air becomes harder to swallow, shrinking in on himself when you interrupt him again, shouting to the high heavens.

“Talk about what! You said enough last night! Made it pretty fucking clear to me that this is a waste of my damn time! You can’t stand me, think I’m disgusting, clearly just fucking used me!”

“That’s—that’s not true.” He swallows, reaching for his throat. “You, you ran away!”

“And you let me.” With flared nostrils, you shoot daggers straight through his chest. “You think.. you can just show up here, at my fucking house? And what? What do you even still want from me? Came here to get your one last fuck in? Kick me one more time straight through my chest to make sure I never breathe again?”

“I let you say your piece yesterday.” He whispers, unable to meet your gaze. “And you don’t hate me.”

Letting out a short tired laugh, you slump into yourself. Shaking your head in pure disbelief. “Is that it? You won alright. I don’t fucking hate you.”

“Then I did win.” He nods, forcing himself to meet your rage filled gaze. “Because I’ve never hated you.”

“What? You’re going to tell me you’ve liked me all of this time? That you’re just an immature asshole with zero communication skills?” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest angrily.

“I think I liked you before you ever even noticed me..” he admits feebly, lifting the balls of his feet off the ground to stand on his heels. The same anxious habit he’s had for years. “I should have told you, I know. I should have ended this thing we had going on and been honest with you. I have no excuse for my behavior..”

“You really expect me to believe you now? When you could have done something about this last night? When I poured my heart out for you?” As dramatic as you sound, he can’t fault you for it. You have every right to be as angry as you are. He’s only surprised that you haven’t reached out to slap him across the face yet.

“I’m a coward.” Taking a long deep breath, he instinctively clutches at his chest to calm his speeding heart rate. “After all this time, I never thought that you’d be the first one to confess. I always thought it’d be me, and I was ready to this summer. I know it’s selfish of me, but with you moving away for university next year, I thought..”

“Thought what?”

“That we could—“ Jeno can feel the burn behind his eyes, blinking rapidly at the moisture that’s coated his iris. Gnawing at his trembling lower lip to keep as much of a confident facade as he can. He stares ahead, time standing still as he takes in your face. The furrow between your eyebrows softening, the tension at the corners of your mouth dissipating. Even now he’s afraid of losing you, but hasn’t he already? Does he have a choice besides to let you go now?

“Jeno.”

“We could try hanging out, beyond summer vacation. That I could take you out finally, and maybe even ask you to be my girlfriend.” His eyes blink shut on that last word, digging a hand into his pocket to wrap around the small velvet bag crushed inside there. “Only if you’d want that..”

Opening his eyes, he can’t stop the few tears that trickle out. Slowly blinking at the wetness clumping his eyelashes together. “Only if you want to be mine.”

It was never supposed to be this way. Standing here before you lacking the right words to say, failing to his own fear of rejection. “I’ve never hated you.” He nods, patting his upper thigh nervously. “And I’m sorry for pushing you away when I should have been the one on my knees for you.”

Redness paints the whites of your eyes, shaking where you stand with your arms circling around your waist. He’d reach out to replace them if you’d let him.. wrap you in the tightest hug, chest to chest, pulse to pulse. “And I’m sorry that I came here to do this but..” dropping the velvet baggy from between his fingers, he steps closer to you. Dragged closer by the imaginary weight of the light object that holds all his deepest secrets and fears. “I’m not really sorry that I did.”

“Jeno..”

“You deserve to know that I love everything about you.” Wiping at his cheeks, he lets out a pitiful laugh. There’s nothing he can feel ashamed of anymore, and it took this moment to realize that. He had to steal Jaemin’s jeep, had to drive 20 miles above the limit, had to rush here for this. Because this wasn’t how he had planned for this summer to go.

You were supposed to have the biggest smile on your face thanks to him, but now here you are, crying again. Tracks of tears staining your cheeks, swelling up your eyes that haven’t had time to fully recover from all of the crying you did last night. He doesn’t deserve to hold pride or carry on a false sense of strength anymore.

“I really fucked up, I think..” tugging the velvet pouch out of his pocket, he holds it out for you. “I think that uh, I wanted to be what I thought you wanted. And I was wrong, I was so wrong. I lost myself a little there when I heard you talking to Jaemin, I got jealous.”

“Jeno,” taking a hold of one of his hands, you only seem to cry harder. Drawing him to stand even closer to you. “I wanted you to be jealous, I wanted you to care about me.”

“Might be useless to say this now, but I care about you a lot.” Letting out a sigh of relief, he sets the pouch in your hand. “Even if we end things for good, I want you to know that this always meant something to me. That I’ve always liked you and hoped for more. That I am your puppy.”

“You’re not fucking with me?” You ask, pouting sadly and testing the weight of the pouch in your hand. “What is this?”

“Open it.”

“I’m scared.” You sniffle, hands shaking as you reach for the pouches opening.

“I know you’re going to university up North after summer..” Jeno sighs, anxiously scratching the back of his neck. “And like I said, I had plans to change things between us this summer..”

“Jeno? What is this?” You break into a smile, a new round of tears trail down to gather in drops at your chin. “You didn’t..”

“Because, I really like you.” Clearing his throat, he spreads out the necklace chain that you’ve taken out onto your palm. Swiping the tip of his finger across the engraved writing on the back of the dog paw charm. “I don’t know, you might forget about me after this summer. It’s fine.” He shrugs to seem calm. Not actually fine with the idea of you erasing the memory of him. “But I wanted to give you something to remember me.”

“You got this for me?”

“I don’t know if you remember that night..” he nods, tight-lipped. “You drank too much,” picking up the charm, he lifts the piece of shining jewelry closer to your eyes. “Anyway, it’s just uhm...”

“I do, I remember.” You struggle to hide a smile, tracing over the words that read back ��if lost, return to owner’.

Jeno frowns, itching to clean the tears off of your chin before they fall and land on your chest. Aching to find the right words that could ease your pain.

“It’s not much, I know..”

“I love it.”

“Do you?” He sighs nervously, unclasping the necklace to chain it around your neck.

“Am I your owner?”

“..I want you to be.” His throat bobs up and down, gulping to soothe the dryness scratching through his throat. “I want to be yours.”

“So you’ve always liked me?” Losing the battle to hide your smile, you bite down on your lip. Sweeping away the mess of tears continuing to run down your face. “When you say you’ve always liked me..”

“Ever since the first summer at the beach house when I called you cute.”

“Even after I was grossed out?”

“Even after you were grossed out.” Laughing it off, he takes a hold of your hand with a raised eyebrow.

“Jeno, I hate you, you know that right?”

“You know that I love that, right?” He asks in return, taking the chance to cup your cheeks and clean off the residue of tears. “It’s our thing.”

“It is our thing..”

“So, what do you think?” Biting at the insides of his cheeks, his smooths his free hand down the side of your neck. Eyebrows raised with wrinkles set between, hopeful that the smile forming on your face is a good sign.

“I think.. you drove all of this way to get here.. and my parents aren’t home.” Shyly smiling, you bury into his hold. Cheeks flamed with heat, demurely lowering your head to look at your feet.

“They aren’t?” His eyes go wide full of excitement, softly caressing the skin lining your throat.

“Do you want to come inside?”

“Am I about to see your room for the first time?”

“If you want to, do you?”

“Of course!” Jeno smiles wide, clearing his throat and quickly reeling it in to appear cool. “I mean.. yes.”

“Of course you do,” you tease, nodding for him to follow you inside. “You likeeeeee me.”

Jeno waits for you to unlock the front door, bouncing back and forth on the heels of his feet. Normally this deep into a conversation with you, his throat would be hoarse from screaming by now. Instead he feels clammy, short of breath; nervously chewing on his lips when you turn to look at him and lean against the door frame.

Relief rushes through him when you pucker your lips together and motion for him to come inside. Somehow this feels like a new start, what he should have made happen sooner than this. Stepping forward, he grabs onto your waist, palms damp as his nerves continue to short circuit.

“I do, I really like you.”

“You know.. I like you a lot.” You reassure, wrapping around his shoulders. “I waited for you even after all of my friends told me to give up and move on.”

“You told your friends about me?”

“Don’t act so surprised.” You snicker, tugging at a tuft of hair above his nape. “You’re kind of a big deal to me, but just so you know.. they all actually do hate you.”

Jeno blinks slowly, slightly offended and flattered. Admiring how much softer your eyes feel on him, lighting up at the inner turmoil appearing on his face.

“You’ve got a lot of ass kissing to do.”

“Good thing I’m a pro at that already.” He winks, sinking into the way your fingers dance along the back of his neck. This really is different, even the way his heart races and his body reacts to you. But one thing that certainly hasn’t changed is his desires and incessant craving to be all over you.

“Kiss me.”

♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡︶♡

Patreon exclusive—> read here

#lee jeno smut #jeno smut #lee jeno fanfiction #jeno fanfiction #neopuppy fics #kpop smut #kpop fanfiction #nct dream smut #nct dream fanfiction #lee jeno x reader #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #nct au #nct dream au #nct imagines

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miiyas · 1 month ago

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“i’m alright, mom. i’m still unpacking, but things are comfortable … yes, i’m eating well.” suguru shifts his weight, leaning back as one arm props him up and the other holds the phone close to his ear. the honey smooth voice of his worried mother cracks a smile on his lips, eyes drifting to the stacked boxes in front of him.

his mother is rambling on and on about something suguru isn’t too sure about. his mind drifts to the moment he’s in now and with a gentle caress of his finger to the cardboard boxes, he hears his mother make a conclusion to her own worrisome mind.

then, there was a sudden mention of your name from her. sugurus eyes widen slightly as he turns his head towards his shoji doors, as if you were there waiting for him on the other side, waiting for him to open it.

his mother seems far more concerned with you then she is with him and it makes him chuckle. despite moving in far earlier than the average first year, you had followed him. you’re like a shadow, always beside him and always going along with his plan of things.

“.. she’s doing fine,” suguru sighs, his face wrinkling slightly as he tries to surpass the smile tugging further up his lips. “she’s getting comfortable, yes. yes, mom, she still has the hairpin you gave her, she’s wearing it now, don’t worry.” he sighs and lets out a soft chuckle, ears picking up the quiet slide of the shoji doors from next door. he can hear your silent footsteps making way in the halls, echoing against the wooden floors.

“suguru,” you sing out, footsteps getting closer and closer before you haphazardly slid open the thin doors, heading popping in. “i finished decorating ! you wanna see ?” your face spread with an infectious grin before noticing the phone pressed against his ear, making your eyes widen and your smile drop by an inch, wincing slightly.

“bad timing ?”

suguru blinks and laughs, leaning against his arms more. “nah, my mother is just calling.” he can see the smile on your face regrow and if not wider. you rush in and sit beside him, creeping your face closer to his ear, cheeks tinting red at the excitement of things.

”geto san ! this place is amazing !” you laugh near the speaker of the phone and suguru casually hands you his phone, expression softening impossibly more as you gush on about how big the school is and how excited you are to meet the other first years.

the hairpin tucked neatly behind your ear shines in the soft rays of the sun making its way into the room and gosh, you were glowing. maybe it’s because of the casual wear that both you and him are wearing and the fact that you were in his room talking with his mother on his phone, but everything seemed so … domestic.

“we’ll get you lots of omiyage. yes, for both of you,” you laugh and extend your legs, laying them atop of sugurus thighs without much thought. you lean back with one arm propping you up, head throwing back slightly as you let out another laugh, denying something suguru has no clue about.

“we’ll get situated just fine, geto san,” you hum, lips thinning into a soft smile before you hand the phone back to suguru, head tilting to the side gently.

suguru is silent for a moment, listening to what his mother has to say for him before he sighs. his eyes dart to you for a moment, smiling with his eyes before he looks up his window.

“… i’m not gonna be doing that. we’re still kids. it’s too early to think about stuff like that,” he chuckles out, only to be scolded slightly from the other side of the line. he only sighs and shakes his head, watching you lay on his floor, arms spread like a star and legs still on top of his.

“hmm … she wants to show me her room. i’ll call you back later.” from his peripheral vision, he could see your eyes shine and head tilt up to see him.

“mhm, take care. tell dad i said hi,” he watches you crunch your stomach and sit up, shoulders brushing his as you smile and say your goodbyes. the other line rings and it sounds like his mother is crying, but she hangs up soon after.

“hey, let’s go check out my room ! then, i can help you decorate yours.” you tug on the sleeve of sugurus t-shirt, a hand gripping onto his shoulders to pry you up and on your feet. a breathless chuckle escapes his lips as he gets up himself, sliding his phone and hands into his pockets, following sluggishly behind you as you patter to the room next to him. it reminds him of the time when you were his neighbor back at home, telling him to come over to play and hangout, still a child at heart.

despite it all, new environment and new people, suguru thinks nothing much has changed. he can get used to this.

oh, suguru. i miss you so much

#jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #suguru geto #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #suguru x reader #suguru x you #geto x reader #geto x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #atlas writes !

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wholoveseggs · 1 year ago

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Small Victories

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Reader} After a tourney in which Daemon places second, he seeks solace from his loss and finds it in his little northern maid.

♡♡ Hello darlings! I'm branching out slightly and writing about a new character {Don't worry, I'm still writing Elijah} xoxo ♡♡

5.3k words - Warnings: smutt, size!kink, rough sex, dom!daemon, slight choking, virgin!reader, northern!reader, servant!reader, pre-dance Daemon, huge power imbalance...

♡♡ Hey! I didn't tag anyone because I'm unsure if you want to read Daemon content. If you wish to be tagged in future Daemon let me know ♡♡

You didn't like the Red Keep, it was too grand for your liking. Even with all of the people in it you still felt alone. At night, you could hear voices echoing throughout the halls, sometimes they were singing or laughing and other times they were screaming or moaning.

You could never tell where the sounds were coming from, it gave the place an odd feeling of being haunted. Ghosts weren't something you put your faith in, but that didn't stop the hair from standing up on the back of your neck whenever you heard a strange sound.

If it was up to you, you wouldn't live here. You would be back in the little cottage you grew up in, far into the north and as far away from King's landing as you could possibly be. It was a funny contradiction, that such a grand place in a warm environment could feel so cold, while a small house in the cold north could feel so full of warmth.

The last thing your mother said to you, was that you should be grateful. That your place in the Red Keep was the highest honor your family could ever hope to receive, and that you should do anything to stay here. To be a lady's maid to the queen, was the highest achievement a low born could achieve.

You tried to be, even though your heart yearned for the snowy landscape of your childhood. You wanted to be happy, you were thankful, but you couldn't help the way you missed the north.

So to try and capture just a bit of personal freedom, you would walk the halls at night. It was the only time you could pretend to be somewhere else, even if it was only for a moment. You would close your eyes and imagine yourself somewhere new and exciting, and when you opened them you would be reminded of where you really were.

Tonight you were in a particularly adventurous mood, there was a tourney the next day for Prince Viserys and his wife Aemma to celebrate their wedding. The Red Keep would be full of guests and it would be loud and full of life, you were sure to be very busy, and so you decided to stay up late and postpone sleep for a few more hours.

There was a room in the library that had a view of the city, one you liked to frequent often. It had a large window and a balcony that was rarely used. It was a nice place to go to clear your mind and think about home.

When you entered, nobody was around except for a cat that was perched on the windowsill. She was a lovely thing with black fur and bright green eyes, the perfect color of a dark forest at night.

"Hello, beautiful." You greeted her with a smile and a light stroke along her back. You looked out the window with her at your side, watching the moon reflect off the ocean and the waves crashing against the shore.

The sound of footsteps behind you made you look over your shoulder, your eyes landing on a man with a face that made you stand up straight and bow your head.

"Prince Daemon." You greeted him, not looking up from the floor.

"Young maidens like yourself shouldn't be out so late." He said, stepping closer to you. You didn't dare move or even breathe, his presence made you feel like you were caught doing something wrong.

"I couldn't sleep, my lord," You answered, not meeting his eyes. This was your first real meeting with the prince, but you knew the rumors that surrounded him.

He didn't respond to your answer, instead, he turned his attention towards the view. Leaning against the window, his posture was dismissive, as though you weren't there. He gave you a side glance that read, 'leave,' and so you did, not wanting to get in his way.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to intrude." You said, walking past him, heading towards the doorway.

"You are from the north," he spoke, still looking out into the water.

"Yes, my lord," You answered, stopping when he started speaking.

"How did you find yourself as a maid in the south?" He asked, looking at you, his eyes piercing through you.

The truth of the matter made you feel shameful, even though it was beyond your control. So you decided to tell him what you've been telling everyone.

"I was given as a gift for our new queen," You said, looking down at the floor.

"Is that what they call it?" Daemon laughed, his laugh was as harsh as his voice, the kind of laugh that could cut you open if you let it. "I heard you were given away as payment for a debt."

Your cheeks reddened and you looked at the ground, your throat closing up at the mention of your family's failure. Pride wasn't something you could afford anymore, but you couldn't stop the words that came out of your mouth.

"I didn't realize that princes were so fond of gossip." You said, meeting his eyes, your words were meant to cut, and they did.

He stood up straight, his expression unreadable as he closed the distance between the two of you, towering over you.

"Ahh, so they did sell you." He smirked, looking down at you. "Whoring can make you better coin… recover a debt quicker."

Your hands balled up into fists and you took a step closer, a defiant glare on your face.

He chuckled and tilted his head, he reached out and touched your chin, his hand was soft but firm as he turned your face to look at him.

"With a pretty face like yours, I'm sure you would make quite a bit of coin," His voice was a purr, a seductive growl that made your insides feel tight. "I could show you a better use for those lips."

His words were shockingly vulgar, his voice was rough and commanding and his eyes were hungry, but you didn't move away, you stayed still. You knew the dragon prince was a scandalous man, but you didn't think he would ever be so bold.

"There is no honor in a whore's coin." You answered, pushing his hand away from your face.

"Is there honor in emptying the queen's chamber pot?" He retorted, grinning slightly at how red your cheeks had become.

"Not all of us have the opportunity to choose what sort of honor we can acquire,” You said, standing your ground as best as you could.

He towered over you, his tall frame casting a shadow that almost completely covered you. He wasn't like the king or queen, who were kind and generous. There was something dark and malicious about him, as though the great beasts of his house lurked just below his skin, waiting to come out.

"You have a smart mouth, little northerner." He mused, his eyes drifting down to your lips. "It's a wonder that the queen has not put a gag in it."

"It's a poor quality I have yet to overcome." You responded, pulling away from him and putting some distance between the two of you.

He watched you move away, his eyes following your movements and the shape of your body, making you feel hot.

"I will think of you when I win the tourney tomorrow." He said, his tone smug and confident. "A sweet northern flower to bring back with me."

"You will be bringing back nothing, prince Daemon." You said, your voice a warning.

He laughed and looked at you, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"We'll see about that."

And with those final words, he left the room. You felt flustered and annoyed, a strange mixture of feelings that confused and angered you. You didn't like the prince, but he made your heart race, his voice and his eyes made you feel a strange sense of heat.

You wanted to be disgusted, and yet all you could think about was seeing him again.

It was a hectic morning, with all the knights and guests arriving, and you were late. Your tardiness had earned you a sharp reprimand from your head maid, but you were too distracted by the upcoming event to care.

The prospect of seeing the prince again was something you weren't sure you wanted, but couldn't stop thinking about.

You didn't like the way his eyes lingered on you, or how he made you feel things that shouldn't be felt. The rogue prince was indeed a fitting title, he was a scoundrel and a liar, a man of dishonor.

You thought that maybe he was the sort of person that the south created, perhaps they took people like you and turned them into someone like him. But then again, he wasn't really a southerner, no, he was a dragon.

The sound of cheers and laughter outside made your ears perk up. The queen was already seated with the other royals in their viewing box, and you were in a nearby tent, preparing more wine and food.

The tourney had just begun, and so far the knights had all performed well. You had only been paying a bit of attention, trying to do your job and keep out of the way.

The head maid was a cruel, vindictive woman, and she had been taking out her frustration on you all day. Her temper was short and her hands were rough, she was the kind of woman that would slap your hands or pull your hair if she was upset. But today she decided to simply make your life miserable with her words.

She gave you the worst jobs and the heaviest items to carry, and when she did allow you to stand and rest, she would hit your feet with her broom and tell you to get back to work.

"Once you are finished pouring wine, I want you to go to the prince's tent and serve him." She ordered, her eyes were sharp and her words were harsh.

"The prince has a squire to serve him." You protested, the idea of facing Daemon again made your cheeks turn red.

"The prince requested a woman's company,” She smiled, her eyes looking at you with an almost wicked satisfaction.

"I believe what the prince is looking for can be found on the street of silk, not among the ladies maids." You countered, hoping to change her mind.

"It's an honor to serve the prince, and he has specifically asked for a northern girl." The head maid was adamant, not willing to let this go.

You clenched your jaw and took a deep breath, biting your tongue as you looked at the floor.

"Very well, madam."

You held back tears as you climbed the stairs to the viewing box, pouring wine into the cups. Keeping your eyes low and only lifting them when absolutely necessary as you made your way down the line of royals.

Everyone began to stir and chat as the final round was announced. You turned to face the arena, watching as the prince mounted his horse, the sight of him made your heart flutter.

He was a handsome man, there was no denying that, his long blonde hair was braided and tied back, and his purple eyes were focused and determined.

His horse was a massive stallion, black as night, and he rode him as though they were one. He moved with a grace and confidence that was captivating.

The final round began, the two men charging at each other. You were nervous and excited, not knowing what to expect.

The clash of steel was the only sound in the air, it echoed throughout the entire arena. The crowd was silent, their eyes locked on the scene before them.

The two men passed each other, once, twice, three times. The tension building with each near miss, until finally the two knights clashed again.

Daemon's opponent had a slight edge over him, being bigger and stronger, but Daemon was quicker. But on the fourth pass, his opponent managed to catch him off guard, sending him flying into the dirt.

The crowd gasped, their hands covering their mouths as the prince's horse bucked and ran, leaving him in the dust.

You winced at the sight, it wasn't a good fall. He landed on his back, hard, and he lay still for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut as he caught his breath.

Only when the head maid cleared her throat did you realize you had been holding your breath.

"You are needed in the prince's tent, girl." she commanded, grabbing the jug from your hands and giving you a stern look.

You nodded, taking the tray of food and wine from the table and heading out of the box. Your heart was racing and your palms were sweaty, the thought of seeing Daemon after such a public humiliation was not something you were looking forward to.

The air was alive with the roar of the people, and the thumping of their feet sounded like thunder. They were chanting for the champion, something that would surely upset Daemon even more.

When you got to his tent, you hesitated, taking a moment to calm your nerves. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, letting the noise of the crowd fade away.

You stepped inside, finding him sitting in a chair, his shirt was off and his squire was cleaning a nasty gash on his arm.

"I'm sorry for intruding, Prince Daemon." You said, placing the tray of food on the table and pouring a cup of wine.

"Leave," he barked at his squire, his voice was gruff and his jaw was clenched.

"But my prince-" his squire protested, looking up from the wound he was treating.

"Now."

The boy left quickly, leaving you alone with the brooding prince.

"Would you like some wine, my lord?" You asked, your voice soft and timid, the last thing you wanted was to make him even more upset.

"No," he hissed, his voice sharp as a knife. "Bring me a new shirt."

You did as he asked, walking over to the large chest in the corner. It was full of clothes, the colors and fabrics were fine and beautiful. You selected a clean white shirt and brought it over to him, your eyes focused on the ground.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice was quiet, but it was a demand, not a request.

You lifted your eyes, meeting his gaze. His eyes were cold, the same shade of violet that had captivated you was now a glare.

You did very well, my lord," You tried to reassure him, your voice soft and comforting.

"Is that meant to be comforting?" He asked, his tone was harsh and his expression was a scowl.

"Fine. I have never seen a worse display than the one you put on today," you said, the words slipping from your mouth before you could stop them.

He smiled, then laughed, his shoulders shaking as his amusement grew. Only his brother the king would ever talk to him this way, and here you were, a young low born northerner, mocking him. He didn't know why he enjoyed it coming from you, perhaps it was because your words meant nothing. You were no one, and he was the prince, and yet he found himself intrigued.

"That was quite a show, wasn't it?" He chuckled, the sound was hollow, not at all humorous.

"It was humiliating," you answered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

"Careful," he warned, his eyes narrowing. "You're lucky I find your insolence amusing."

"I thought it was why you had asked for me," you retorted, setting the shirt on the table and taking a step back.

He stood up from the chair, closing the space between the two of you. The air was thick with tension, his eyes boring into yours, his face was inches from yours.

"I didn't lose the tourney," he stated, his voice a low growl.

"You didn't win either," you countered, your cheeks flushed red, your heart racing in your chest.

He smiled, the gesture was almost predatory, he reached out and grabbed your face, his hands were rough and his grip was tight.

"You are quite the mouthy little wench," his words were a harsh whisper, his breath hot against your skin.

You didn't answer, afraid of what he would do if you spoke. He seemed to be enjoying himself, his eyes dancing with amusement as he stared at you.

"On your knees," he ordered, his tone demanding.

"My lord, I-" you protested, trying to pull away.

"Kneel," his voice was louder this time, and you knew that he was not going to repeat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, but he was the prince, and you couldn't disobey him. So you lowered yourself onto your knees, looking up at him, waiting for him to tell you what to do next.

"Is it true that northern girls can take a cock better than southern ones?" He asked, his hand still holding onto your chin.

You didn't know how to respond, his words making your cheeks burn. You could only stare at him, your mind reeling as you tried to figure out what he wanted.

He smiled, and the look in his eyes made your heart race. "Open your mouth, little northerner."

You did as he commanded, your eyes never leaving his. He pushed his thumb past your lips and slowly pressed down onto your tongue, rubbing it in circles before slowly dragging it out.

Your lips parted and your breathing became heavier as he traced his wet thumb across your bottom lip, his eyes fixated on the movement.

"Beautiful." He whispered before sliding his thumb back into your mouth, pushing it all the way into your throat, causing you to gag.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth and wiped the spit off on your cheek before grabbing you by the arms and lifting you up, turning you around and pushing you face first into the table.

"My lord," you gasped, struggling against his strong grip.

Daemon laughed at the look of shock on your face, his cock growing harder at the sight. "See? I knew you would make a great whore," he smirked, his words bringing a flush to your face.

He pulled your dress up, exposing your ass and legs. His hands were rough as he groped you, squeezing your thighs and your cheeks.

You pushed against him, trying to free yourself, but his grip was too strong. He pushed your thighs apart, his hand trailing up to your cunt, his fingers stroking your entrance, teasing you.

He softened at your defiance, a smirk crossing his lips. "I enjoy you, little northerner. Perhaps I should keep you," he mused.

He slid his finger into your cunt, his touch gentle and slow. You whimpered, pushing against him again.

"You would be my little northern flower," he murmured, his finger moving in and out of your cunt, the pace becoming quicker. "A blue rose in my garden."

You were ashamed of how aroused you were, the prince's touch was intoxicating, and you couldn't stop yourself from grinding your hips against his hand. You had never been with a man before and the pleasure he was giving you was beyond anything you had ever felt.

He slid another finger inside of you, his movements quick and rough. You moaned, biting your lip as you felt yourself getting closer to release.

He suddenly pulled away, the sudden absence of his touch made you whimper. He spun you around, knocking objects off the table and pinning you against it. Your hands went to his chest, pushing him back, but his grip was too strong, his eyes filled with lust.

"You're a feisty one," he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands gripping your ass, lifting you up and pressing you against his hips. "I guess it's true that the fires always burn hotter in the north,"

You shivered as he sucked and bit at the skin on your neck, his teeth scraping across your sensitive flesh, leaving red marks behind. You couldn't help but moan, the feeling was so intense, and the sounds were so sinful.

"My prince... I..." You stuttered, trying to find the words, but he cut you off with a kiss.

The feel of his hands on your body, his lips on yours, his cock hard against you, was intoxicating. You had never felt this way before, this desire, this want. He made you feel like you were drowning in the fire of his touch. He was a dragon, and he would take what he wanted.

You couldn't resist, you gave in, kissing him back, letting his tongue explore your mouth. He smelled of blood, dirt and sweat, a combination that shouldn't have been appealing, but was.

You could taste his lust on your lips, and it made you hungry for more. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing yourself closer to him, and he moaned, the sound rumbling in his chest. He was so much larger than you, so much stronger, and you felt so small in his arms.

His hand trailed down your chest, slowly untying the strings that held up your dress, his fingers tracing over the fabric, teasing you.

"Sweet little northern girl," he teased, his voice a low growl. "Are you going to give yourself to me?"

"Yes," you whispered, your cheeks flushed pink.

He kissed you again, his lips rough and demanding, his hand pushing your dress down, exposing your breasts. "You've never touched yourself before, have you?”

"No, my Prince," you whispered, your little hands curled into his chest, your nails digging into his skin.

"That's alright, I'll show you how it's done."

His hands slid down to your thighs, his fingers trailing up, his touch light and teasing. You let out a gasp as his fingers brushed over your cunt, touching a spot that made your body tremble.

"This little spot right here," he said, rubbing his thumb against it, "is the most sensitive part of your body. The more pressure, the better."

You nodded, gasping and moaning as he pressed his thumb against it, circling it. You could feel the heat rising within you, the pleasure building.

"Feels good doesn't it?" He whispered, his voice husky, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Y-yes," you stuttered, your hips moving, grinding against his hand.

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

"Do you like being my little whore, hmm?" He asked, his lips trailing down your neck, his kisses hot and wet.

"N-no," you moaned, pushing him back, trying to fight against him.

He laughed, his teeth nipping at your collarbone. "Liar," he whispered, his tongue licking over the marks he'd made.

His hands reaching down to his waist, undoing his breeches and pulling them off, his cock springing free. You gasped, your eyes wide as you took in the size of him.

He took your hand and placed it on his cock, his eyes burning into yours. "Go on, feel it," he whispered.

Your fingers curled around his cock, your small hand barely able to fit around him. You moved your hand, sliding it down the length of his shaft, his cock thick and pulsing in your hand. His skin was so warm and smooth, his breathing deepening as you began to move your hand up and down, stroking him slowly.

You could see the scars from battle stretched across his chest and torso. Small claw-like marks around his pectoral and a deep line that stretched down the left side of his rib cage. He was a hardened warrior, and you could tell by his scars, he had been through much to get where he was now.

You squeezed his cock, moving your hand up and down, his breathing deepening and his eyes growing hazy. He watched you, his gaze following every movement you made. You were starting to get more comfortable, taking pleasure in watching him, in making him feel good. You found the nerve to press the pad of your thumb against the tip, feeling the moisture leaking from him.

"Good girl," he praised, his voice low and husky.

You felt a wave of pride, knowing that you were pleasing him, that he liked the way you were touching him. You continued to stroke him, squeezing and pulling at his cock, watching his face, seeing the pleasure on his features.

He groaned, his eyes closing and his head tilting back, his breath catching. You could feel his cock throbbing in your hand, and you knew that he was getting close.

He let out a low growl and grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. "If you keep that up, I'm going to spill my seed all over this pretty little dress of yours," he said, his eyes full of heat.

"Is that so, my lord?" You asked, unable to hide the hint of amusement in your voice.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you under him, his body caging you, trapping you beneath him. He was breathing hard, his face flushed, his cock hard and resting on your stomach. His eyes burned into yours, his gaze intense, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady.

You weren't talking back anymore, he could see the fear in your eyes, the hesitance, and that only made him want you more. His hand went to your throat, applying gentle pressure, a silent warning.

He could feel you trembling beneath him, and he tightened his grip, a primal, possessive urge rising within him. Your small hands pushing into his chest, clutching at his heated flesh.

"Open for me," he growled, his eyes fixed on yours.

You parted your thighs, allowing him to press closer to you. He growled, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist, his cock brushing against your cunt. He felt you tighten, your eyes widening with trepidation.

He chuckled, loving how terrified and eager you were at the same time. He gave you a moment, and then he slowly pushed into you. You whimpered, your nails digging into his back, your eyes closed, your face twisted in pain.

"Breathe," he said, rubbing his thumb against your cheek, "it will hurt for a just moment and then I will make you feel good,"

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you felt his cock hit your maidenhead.

"Are you ready, little northerner?" He whispered.

You gripped his forearms and nodded.

He pushed in slowly, breaking through your barrier. You cried out, the pain was intense and immediate. He groaned, the feel of your tight cunt was intoxicating.

He stayed still, giving you time to adjust. Your nails dug into his arms, leaving deep scratches in his flesh.

"Such a pretty, tight little cunt," he growled, nipping at your neck.

You kept your eyes closed, trying to focus on his words and not the pain. He began to move with slow, deep strokes, his cock stretching you, filling you. He was bigger than he felt in your hands, and you swore you could feel him everywhere.

He moaned, his hips rocking into you, his hand still on your throat, making you feel lightheaded. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed. You felt so full of him, stretched open, the pain and pleasure mixing into one.

He watched your reaction with a smirk, amused by your shocked, satisfied expression. He was moving slowly, enjoying your warmth and the feel of your cunt clenching around him. He knew you were enjoying it, too, your eyes half-closed, a soft moan escaping your lip. Your small frame was arched to his body, your hands holding on to his neck.

You were surprised at his gentleness. You'd heard that the dragon prince liked to rough up women, but he was being as careful as if you were made of spun sugar. You felt so small and helpless underneath him, his large body nearly engulfing yours, and yet he wasn't hurting you. His touch was delicate, reverent. The way he spoke to you, calling you pet names, made your heart skip a beat.

You arched against him, a soft cry leaving your lips as his strokes got faster, deeper, hitting a place inside you that sent a sharp, hot pleasure through you.

"Does my little northerner like her prince's cock?" He said, a laugh in his voice, he began to pick up the pace, pounding into you.

You squeaked and pushed on his chest, the sensations becoming too much. He grabbed your hips and held you still, fucking you hard and fast, his eyes full of fire.

You felt your release rising up inside you, the tension in your body winding tighter and tighter. You could feel yourself clamping down on his cock, the pleasure almost too much, the sweet pain sending you over the edge.

He groaned at the sight of you coming undone, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you shattered around him. He could feel the tension in your muscles as your climax tore through you. He slowed his movements, easing out the last waves of pleasure, drawing it out until you were a shuddering, moaning mess.

He was close behind, his thrusts erratic, his breathing harsh. He pulled out and spilled his seed across your stomach, his hips bucking. He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a contented sigh leaving his lips. At least he had one victory today.

Your face was hot with shame, your mind unable to comprehend what just happened. The prince's seed was cooling on your stomach and chest, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. Your hands went to your face, covering it as tears came to your eyes, you had never felt so good and so embarrassed at once.

He moved off of you, his eyes locked on yours, a smirk crossing his lips. He looked satisfied, his gaze wandering over your body, lingering on the wetness between your legs, the mess he'd made of you. He tossed you a cloth to clean yourself with. You wiped his seed off your skin, watching him dress, his blonde hair still braided back, his purple eyes full of lust and desire. He was a warrior, a dragon, he was beauty and strength, power and masculinity. He was everything you wanted and feared, a beast who could destroy you.

He gave you a side glance, his eyes full of amusement. "You may go," he said, shooing you away with a hand.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, as you took a shaky breath. You stood up, gathering the pieces of your dress and your underclothes. Your legs were wobbly, and you felt weak, sore, and full of shame.

"Yes, my prince," you said quietly, looking at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, the sound of his voice making you shiver. "Don't be so timid, little northerner. This is the beginning, not the end," he said, his words sending a jolt of fear and excitement through you.

He was right, this was only the beginning. You were his servant, and he could do with you as he pleased. He would have you come to him whenever he chose, on the warmest summer nights and the coldest winter days. He would take what he wanted, when he wanted.

He was a dragon, and his will was as strong as his blood.

And deep down, you knew you would enjoy it. He was the perfect thing to distract you from the mundanity of your life, the endless monotony of serving others.

Perhaps the Red Keep wouldn't be so terrible, not if it meant serving him.

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cutiecusp · 5 months ago

Text

Cuffed.

Police Officer Keegan Russ x Reader.

TW. Couple are married. handcuffs, smut, kissing, temp play, light spanking, public play, Officer Russ pulls over wifey late at night... MDNI

based on this thought.

.........................................................................................................................

Flashing lights appeared in your rear view mirror, signalling you to pull over. Pulling into a secluded spot. You smile, and tug your shirt down a little, as the officer approaches your car.

"Do you know why i pulled you over ma'am?" A deep voice rings throughout the car.

You smile at your husband before playing along.

"No, Officer, why have you pulled me over?"

Keegan scoffs, before leaning in through your window, his arm resting above the window frame.

"Well, it's mighty dark outside and i just had to wonder, why a beautiful woman was out driving, all alone." He smiles, his gaze never breaking with yours.

"Well, aren't you kind?" You tease, the sight of your husband in uniform making you blush, your thighs squeezed together.

"My duty to protect and serve." He quips.

"You been drinkin' ma'am?" He asks, noticing your legs squeezed together with a smirk.

You shake your head, the movement causing your top to reveal a little more skin as you lean forward.

His steely gaze flickers to your chest and back to your eyes, a mock stern look on his face.

"You wouldn't be trying to seduce an officer, would you ma'am?" he asks in mock outrage.

"What if i am?" You laugh, a giggle escaping from your throat.

"Well, you'd have to be punished." He quips.

"Get out of the car, ma'am." He asks, stepping back and pulling the door open for you.

On shaky legs you get out, thankful you had time to prepare and wear his favourite skirt.

You notice his eyes travel up your legs, to your body, before settling on your lips.

"Dressed all nice, where were you off to?" He asks, his thumbs hooked into his vest.

You shrug, your cheeks pink as you watch your husbands gaze drink you in. Never had you felt so powerful, or desired, and you loved it.

"Just out." You reply, stepping forward into his space.

His eyebrow raised.

"Out, in this?" he asks, his body close to yours, you can smell the mix of leather and mint gum as you step closer, your bodies practically touching.

"Trying to get lucky, are we?" He laughs, a hand placed on your hip, his eyes searching permission for what comes next.

"Maybe." you lick your bottom lip, your eyes giving him all the permission he needs.

"Well, you've been pulled over and had your time wasted, so i suppose i should compensate you a little." His hand trails up from your hip to the back of your neck, before bringing his head down and sweeping his tongue over your lips, demanding you open your mouth for a deep kiss.

He takes his time, kissing you slowly, allowing your body to wrap around his as his other arm reaches around your waist.

He breaks off the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours.

"Turn around, hands where i can see them." he rasps out, his voice deep with need.

You comply, facing your car, you spread your hands out, lowering your front half over the front of the car.

You whimper when he kicks your legs apart, pressing his hard body against yours, his arousal prominent against your ass.

You feel the cold steel clamp around your wrists as Keegan cuffs your hands behind your back, your body arched against his.

"Such a shame to waste this pretty outfit on a random hook up, don't you think?" Keegan teases you, palming your ass through the skirt.

He plays your body like a fiddle, pulling your shirt down, exposing your nipples to the cool metal of the car, before leaning over your body, pressing kisses to your cheek and neck, smoothing your hair out of your face.

"So pretty for me, angel." He murmurs, appreciating your body and the way you are melting under his touch.

You nod, your body singing under the mix of the cool metal on your chest, and his hot hands on your skin as he flips your skirt up.

You let out a satisfied huff when you hear Keegan's breath hitch in his throat.

"Nothing under this cute little skirt, wife?" He moans, his eyes drawn to your exposed pussy.

You squeeze your thighs together the best you can with his frame between them, a mix of shame and arousal flushing your face.

You feel his fingers trace over your back, and as he massages over the globes of your ass, you let out a whimper as he brings his hand down sharply, marking you as his.

"Such a naughty thing, eh?" He asks, as his hands massage the sting away, before bringing his hand down once more, the pink skin grateful for the cool breeze of the night.

You barely get a word out as he slips a finger through your soaked folds, before slowly entering you with his gloved digits.

He bites back a heavy moan as he feels you clench around his finger.

"Forget naughty, such a needy little thing." he admonishes

"You need me to go faster, sweetheart? You need my fingers?" he asks, a full smirk on his face as he catches your blissed out state.

"You like being pulled over, spread over the car where we could be caught?"

You nod, your body arching against his fingers as he adds another to your heat. A dark chuckle came from above, and you opened your eyes to look at Keegan.

"I knew the uniform turned you on, sweetheart, but this side of you? God it gets me so fucking hot."

He teases your spot with his fingers, racing you close to the edge, your voice hoarse as you call out his name, chanting it like a mantra.

"That's a good girl... Let everyone know who makes you feel this good." Keegan murmurs. There isn't a soul for miles, and although you know that, the risk of being caught makes you buck against his hand.

You feel empty when he removes his fingers, you turn your body slightly, pouting up at him, your arms still cuffed behind your back.

"Don't worry, baby. i got you." You hear him say, along with the sound of his zipper being undone.

"You come, you come on my cock, you hear me sweetheart?" He asks, his body lining up with yours as he slides home. Your thighs shake as you feel him inch by inch, your throat dry as your eyes roll in the back of your head.

"Not gonna lie, baby. I can't last with you like this, tied up, under me, looking at me like i gave you the moon." He rasps, his hips snapping to yours at a steady pace.

You nod, what started out as a fantasy you mentioned casually after work once has turned into one of the best nights of your life.

"Me too, Keegan, please.." You beg, your body thrumming in pleasure.

He picks up the pace, gripping the cuffs in one hand, and your hips in another as he pushes you to your peak.

"Come for me, sweetheart, soak my fucking cock." he urges, his resolve long gone.

You sob, the pleasure almost too much as you let wave after wave take over you, your body shaking with the aftershocks.

You feel Keegan undo the cuffs, before spinning you around, still inside you, his dark and hungry gaze feasting on your flushed features.

"One more baby, i know you have one more." He urges as he hits inside you deeper, holding your legs wide open as he takes another orgasm from you, before coming himself, his arms barely holding himself up as he kisses you deeply, both your bodies lay flat on the car.

"Holy shit." he laughs, pulling you close to him, your heartbeats syncing as you come down from your high.

"How about an escort home, Ma'am? You never know what kind of men are out here."

........................................................

@kaeyasfuturewife @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @redzluvvesage @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @skeletonsucker

#call of duty #fanfiction #fanfic #keegan x you #keegan russ x reader #cod keegan #keegan p russ #keegan russ

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m0chaminx · 2 years ago

Text

Coriolanus Snow | Roses Grow Thorns

*•.¸♡Request: Pls pls pls do a part 2 too the snow x reader fix it was so amazing and I want more of them 🙏🙏🙏🙏‼️‼️🩷

*•.¸♡Prompts: none

*•.¸♡Warnings: Coriolanus, Cori isn't insane (ish), Snow is slight ooc, jealousy, hurt comfort, fluff ending

*•.¸♡Paring: Coriolanus Snow x F!reader

*•.¸♡Summary: Coriolanus learns his favourite flower grows thorns

You confront Coriolanus about his relationship with Lucy Gray

*•.¸♡Words: 2k

Part 1

People danced, swaying with their partners in a circle as you stood on stage, strumming your guitar and singing to the crowd. Lucy had just finished the first half of her set, so you took the stage to fill the silence. Coriolanus sat with Sejanus at a table across the room, large glasses of some sort of liquor. Coriolanus looked up at you and smiled.

If you like your coffee hot

Let me be your coffee pot

You call the shots, babe

I just wanna be yours

Your voice trailed off slightly as Lucy raced to Coriolanus and Sejanus, throwing her arm around his shoulder and leaning between them. You shook your head and continued to play, trying to ignore Lucy Gray practically hanging from Coriolanus’s arm.

Jealousy, an unwelcome guest, clawed at the edges of your heart, leaving an ache in your chest. No words had been exchanged, and no actions had passed between you two. It overtook the corners of your mind, urging you to believe that Lucy Gray should sense the unspoken connection threading its way between you and Coriolanus.

Each shared trip to the lake, every stolen moment when Coriolanus chose to spend his fleeting free hours with you — these fragments of time saved in your mind like photos in an old book. Yet, as you observed Lucy Gray standing there, a vision of radiant smiles and hushed confidences exchanged with Coriolanus, a wave of emotion surged. It was as if the world momentarily lost its colour, and the whispers of uncertainty left an indelible mark on your heart.

You clenched your hand, trying to ease the shaking in your hands.

Secrets I have held in my heart

Are harder to hide than I thought

Maybe I just wanna be yours

Every night for the past week following that evening, Coriolanus Snow would tap gently on the glass of your window. You would turn your head and he would smile, the same bright smile that made your stomach flip and fill with butterflies. You crept across the wood floors and opened the window, looking down at the blue-eyed boy. “Are you busy?”

You would simply laugh at him. You grabbed your coat and slipped out the window, Coriolanus gripping your waist to help you down properly. He would smile, slip a scarf under the window to close it without locking it and you would slip away unnoticed, descending into the velvety embrace of the night.

In those quiet moments, Coriolanus would slip your hand in his own, his warm hand covering yours as he laced your fingers together. He guided you through the dense labyrinth of woods, you knew these woods better than he did but through the nights as he led you to the lake, you questioned if you ever knew them at all.

The Mokingjays sang into the night as if calling to the small fireflies to light the way. “I brought matches,” Cori said, looking back at you. He tugged on your hand bringing you closer and you couldn't help but think about Lucy Gray running her hand along his shoulders. “We can light a fire. Maybe catch some fish.” You nodded and Coriolanus smiled.

You reached the lake and Coriolanus set his bag down, quickly gathering everything to start a fire. You walked to the edge of the water, your mind running faster than you could even start to comprehend. “Think we’ll catch anything?” He asked, stopping to look up at you.

You looked back over the water, looking at the fish no bigger than your palm swimming just above the sea floor. You shook your head, keeping your eyes on the moonlight dancing on the waves of the water. “Nothing big enough to eat,” You said. Coriolanus nodded and turned back to the fire.

Once the fire was made you sat on the ground beside him, leaving enough space so your shoulders didn’t touch. You both sat in silence, Coriolanus’s knee bouncing softly.

The flames danced and flickered, the golden glow flickering in Coriolanus’s blue eyes, you settled onto the ground beside him. You shifted slightly, making sure your shoulders didn't touch. The silence stretched between you, Coriolanus's fingers drumming against a stick he held in nervousness.

Coriolanus's knee bounced softly, mirroring the unsteady rhythm of both your hearts. The mere inches that separated you felt like an unbridgeable chasm, as long and confusing as his thoughts. “Did I do something?” His voice cut through the silence like a knife and you turned towards him, your eyebrows furrowed. “You seem distracted. You’re not talking like you usually do. You’re sitting far away.” You bit your lip and shrugged softly. “What’s wrong?”

“What did I sing tonight?” You turned to face Coriolanus. “Tonight. I sang, I wore the red dress so everyone could see the white rose you gave me. But what did I sing?” Coriolanus stammered. “You don’t spare a second glance at me during our shows, you talk to Sejanus when I do perform and you let Lucy Gray hang off your arm like she was yours.”

He spoke your name softly, trying to shuffle closer but you stood quickly. “Don’t do that Cori,” You pleaded. “I’m gonna go home, I’ll see you later.” You turned on your heel. Making your way back through the woods.

Coriolanus sighed, dropping his head into his hands as you walked from his view.

The next morning you stared at the ceiling, stretched out on your small bed. You twisted a small rose between your fingers, the thrones pricking your skin occasionally. The knock at the window made you jump. You turned your head to look at Coriolanus standing on the other side, smiling ever so slightly. You sighed and set the rose aside before walking to the window and pulling it open. “Corio-”

“Don’t talk,” he said quickly. “Don’t say anything, just follow me.”

“Cori-”

“What did I just say?”

A frustrated huff escaped you as you forcefully closed the window, shutting out the annoying sounds of crickets. Pulling the blinds closed with a swift motion covering Coriolanus’s face, but you caught his smile dropping. You donned your jacket and stepped out the front door, stopping in front of Coriolanus just as you turned the corner. He extended his hand, a warm smile playing on his lips. Suppressing the annoyance that still simmered beneath the surface, you offered a muted response, "Just lead the way," your words carrying a hint of resignation.

Coriolanus nodded and started to lead you through the woods, the sun still yet to rise properly. “You sang I Wanna Be Yours,” Coriolanus muttered. “No, I didn't ask Lucy Gray. You wrote it after you met your old girlfriend but you haven't sung it since. That’s why it was so important to you. And why you wanted me to remember it.”

You hummed and tried to hide your smile. “So you were paying attention.”

Coriolanus spoke, low and earnest, his gaze fixed on you. "I always pay attention," he assured, a sincerity etched into his words. The weight of his gaze, coupled with the firmness in his tone, sought to reassure you. "And nothing is happening between Lucy Gray and me. She was helping me with something," he explained, his words carrying the weight of truth and an unspoken plea for understanding.

“Which is?”

Coryo smiled, “Keep following me.”

You followed Coriolanus, walking in silence until the sun rose completely. He stopped at a rock wall, a small dirt trail winding around it. He reached out, slipping his hand into yours and leading you down the track. “Roses don’t grow in 12, the ground is too hard,” Coriolanus started. “Lucy Gray told me just beyond the rock wall there is ground soft enough to grow flowers. Sejanus used his father's money to get some seed and…” Coriolanus stepped aside as you reached the bottom of the track.

You smiled, Coriolanus’s hand slipping from yours as you stepped further into the growing rose field. Dozens of rose bushes had started to grow, small red and white flowers sporting. Small raindrops covered the flowers, the sun reflecting off of them like diamonds. You crouched, smiling as you ran your hand along the rose petals.

A soft smile played on your lips, and Coriolanus's hand tenderly released yours as you ventured deeper into the growing rose field. Rows of rose bushes, adorned with tiny red and white blossoms, unfold before you, blossoming like a garden from the Capitol. Small raindrops adorned the delicate petals, capturing the sunlight in a dance that shined like diamonds. Your heart swelled. You glanced back at Coriolanus who shared the same smile.

You carefully crouched down, your smile growing as you traced the velvet texture of the rose petals with your fingertips, each delicate touch slow and careful as if the rose would fall apart. Coriolanus smiled as he watched you, his stomach filling with butterflies as he waited for you to speak.

"Wait..." The urgency in your voice sliced through the air as you stood, swiftly pivoting to face Coriolanus. His smile disappeared, replaced by a stark seriousness mirrored in your eyes. Your heart fell to your stomach as your voice shook, "You said Sejanus got the seeds from his father. If the Peacemakers find out, they'll take you away." The gravity of your words hung heavily in the charged atmosphere. “Cori, they’ll take you to the hanging tree-”

“They won’t,” Coriolanus said quickly. He stepped forward holding your face in his hands, his thumb tracing the lines of your cheekbones. “No one is going to take me away. No one is taking you. Or Sejanus, or Lucy Gray.” You raised your hand, settling it on top of his. “This place is ours, yours and mine. No one is going to take that.”

Yours and mine.

You smiled, laughing softly as you looked up at Coriolanus, his blue eyes meeting yours. “You got me roses?” You asked.

“You said you liked the Capitol flowers more,” Coriolanus remembered. “I can’t exactly take you to the Capitol, so I thought I’d bring the best part of the Capitol here.”

“Besides yourself.”

A warm smile graced his features as he leaned in, closing the distance until his forehead gently met yours. "Do people in the Capitol kiss differently than the districts?" His inquiry, spoken in a hushed tone, carried a hint of curiosity and a touch of playfulness.

“I think…” you leaned up slightly, bumping your nose against his, “you should find out.”

The brush of his fingertips against your jawline, tracing a delicate path along your skin, igniting a shiver that danced down your spine. As he cradled your face, your breath hitched in anticipation, your eyes staring at his chapped pink lips. Drawing you closer, the final shared breath seemed to linger, suspended in the charged atmosphere, before he sealed the connection with a kiss that felt like a spark that lit a fire. Your heart echoed the rhythm of the thousands of times you had dreamed of this moment and your hands instinctively wound around the back of his neck, the embrace pulling him closer.

Your stomach twirled, filling with butterflies as one of Coryo’s hands moved to wrap around your waist and pull you impossibly closer. He pulled away, his breath coming out in small pants, your breath in sync with his. You opened your eyes, looking up at his half-closed eyes tracing over every part of your face. “I love you, Coriolanus Snow.”

He whispered it back.

ﾟ°☆Page navigation

#m0chaminx #coriolanus snow x reader #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x lucy gray #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x you #the hunger games #hunger games #ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #Spotify

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girliism · 3 months ago

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anyways 70s!patrick picking you up off the side of the road in his cadillac. it was so hot outside and you looked like you were struggling to carry this huge suitcase all by yourself. and that’s totally the only reason he stopped in front of you. to help. not just because you had on the tiniest shorts he’s ever seen.

“hey.” he called out to you from the open passenger seat window.

“hi.”

you gave him the sweetest smile, and he almost felt bad for the dirty thoughts he was having about you.

“need a ride?” you contemplated the offer for a moment before ultimately giving in. “hm… sure!” patrick parked his car a few stops ahead then got out to grab your bag.

“i’m patrick by the way.” he said. you nodded introducing yourself. “so where are we headed.” he asked you, sliding back into the car. “la.” you answered. kicking off your shoes and throwing you feet up on his dashboard, before sinking into the passenger seat. “i’m gonna be a movie star.” you giggled. patrick hummed, his eyes closing in on the smooth skin of your thighs that had a slight sheen of sweat on them. “the new american dream.”

he let you take control of the radio switching from station to station singing to every single song.

“i just wanna say thank you for picking me up. been walking for forever.” you dropped your hand on his shoulder, playfully tugging at his ears. patrick flinched at the sudden action before chuckling. “you uh- look a long ways away from home. how’d you get so far out here.” you sighed. “well, i hitched from nevada with this trucker who ended up creeping me out, so at our last stop i jumped out with my bag and have been walking since. my legs are so sore.” you pouted.

patrick dropped one of his big hands on your thigh, and squeezed. moving his hand up and down massaging your leg.

you “subtly” clenched your thighs together whenever his hand got a little to high, and patrick had to hold back his smirk leaving his hand to just rest at the top of your inner thigh. “you know, i have a friend who’s a photographer for… magazines. i could totally get him to take you headshots, and introduce you to people.” patrick turned to look at you, catching how your face lit up.” “really?!”

patrick nodded and you huffed a laugh, jumping in your seat a little. “that’s amazing, oh my god. how could i ever repay you?”

“we’ll think of something.”

that something being you riding him outside his condo in palm springs.

“fuck, babe your body was made to be on film.” your t-shirt was lost somewhere in the car, and patrick had his rough hands groping at your exposed breast. your thighs were starting to ache again from moving up and down on his cock.

“you’re so big, can’t -fuck- can’t do it.” your movement flattered down into slow grinds. “uh uh.” patrick held you up by your waist, and started moving you again. “movie stars don’t quit do they? i’m already helping you out so much just be a good girl ride me. ok.”

he wasn’t exactly wrong. he was helping you out. giving you a ride, letting you stay with him, getting his friends to do your head shots.

“ok.”

you planted your hands on his clothed shoulder holding on tight as you started bouncing again. your whimpery moans sounded as sweet as the smile you gave him earlier looked.

“atta girl.” patrick locked his arms around your waist, and dropped his head in the crook of your neck. he bucked his hips up in fast thrust. “patrick!”

his hand found place on the back of your neck forcing you to keep eye contact with him. “god, your pussy feels amazing. so glad i picked you up.” you nodded along with his words. “would’ve been so lost without me, get picked by some creepy old man.” he says as if he isn’t one them.

“thankyouthankyouthankyousomuch” you mumbled.

“and you’re so fucking sweet.” he pushed back against the steering, the both of you jumping when the horn went off. laughs mixed in with your moans.

patrick let his hand travel down body his finger finding your clit, and he rubbed figure eights on you feeling your walls clench tighter around him. “gonna cum baby?” you nodded your head fast. your bodies moving in the same fast pace, from the outside anyone walking by would be able to tell what’s going on.

“oh god -fuck!- cumming!” you moans filled up the space along with the slapping of skin, and some you gushing all over patrick’s cock with light scream. “shit!” patrick’s rhythm got sloppy and he completely stilled inside of you, fill you up with thick ropes of cum.

the two of sat there in each other’s catching your breaths, your mixed orgasms dripping down onto patrick’s leather seats.

“the industry’s gonna love you.” you smiled at his comment threading your fingers through his hair not knowing you two were thinking about very different industries.

#girliism #challengers #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut #was supposed to finish dodge today but saw this picture and jumped #70s!patrick

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tacoguacamole · 8 days ago

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ANOTHER TIME | JJK - 11

Summary: All you wanted was time. Time to love your husband. Time to feel him love you back. To see his smile again, not shadowed by grief and resentment. Time to share laughter instead of silence, warmth instead of distance. To feel his arms around you, not the cold of where he used to be. Time to hear “I love you too” before it’s too late. Time should’ve been simple.

But somehow, it always slips through your fingers just when you need it most.

[Pairing: Creative Director!Jungkook x Ceo!Female Reader]

[Theme: Marriage AU. BF2L2S]

[Warnings: Major Angst, Multiple Flashbacks and Time Jumps, Mature Theme, Smut, Mature/Explicit Language, Major Fluff For This Chapter, Romance, Slowburn, Splice of Life]

[Older JK, Older OC, Older Bangtan, Lawyer Seokjin and Namjoon, Doctor Yoongi, Event Planner Hobi, Solo idol Jimin, Secretary Taehyung, Brief cameos of Seventeen Mingyu, GOT7 Mark]

[Status: Ongoing]

[Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10. Part 11. Chapter Word Count: 12.2k+]

[Chapter Summary: Some places remember you better than you remember yourself. And in the quiet of old rooms, familiar laughter, and slow mornings, something begins to feel almost like home again—even if neither of you dares to call it that just yet.]

[MINORS DNI! 18+]

The sun filters through the windshield in soft streaks, casting a golden haze over the dashboard. You’re curled into the passenger seat, legs tucked to one side, fingers loosely wrapped around a convenience store coffee bottle, something you both had bought before starting the drive.

The soft hum of Jeongguk’s playlist fills the car. It’s a mix of old and new—the kind of playlist stitched from years of quiet care. Songs you used to steal from his iPod in Uni. Ones that once played through shared earphones tangled on buses and rooftops.

Others are newer, unfamiliar to you – but they don’t feel like strangers. They feel like something he picked with you in mind. You’d recognized the similarity of the vibes between the new and old and new tracks. Like even the songs he found in your silence were meant to find their way back to you.

Jeongguk drums his fingers gently along the wheel, syncing with the rhythm playing through the speakers.

You glance over, brow arched. “You updated the playlist. They’re pretty cool.”

He hums, eyes still on the road. “Track seventeen’s for you.” With a quick tap to the screen, he switches to the track in question, and the opening chords spill softly into the car. “Been saving it.”

You listen carefully to the lyrics while he sings along under his breath, almost like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.

All the reasons why I can laugh out; All the reasons why I sing this song; Thankful to be by your side now; I'll try to shine brighter than now.

Your heart stumbles at the words. They feel too tailored, too gentle, too full — like an unopened letter. You hate how fast your chest tightens, how that ache returns — the good kind. The kind you’ve been waiting for.

“Trying to woo me through a serenade?” you murmur, trying to keep it light.

“That’d be a miracle if it worked,” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand before returning it to the wheel.

His smile softens — not teasing now, just fond. “It’s just a good track. Thought I’d let you know it… fit you just right.”

You don’t say anything. Just reach forward, nudge the volume up by a notch. Then turn back to the window, hoping your heart beating could be drowned by the music filling the car.

You wake up somewhere along the coastline.

The sky outside is a deeper blue now — stretched wide and endless, the kind that only appears after a long drive south. You were expecting some discomfort by now — maybe the usual pinch in your lower back, or that telltale numbness in your legs from staying still too long. Instead, your body feels oddly light, your limbs loose, settled.

A blanket you don’t remember pulling over yourself is tucked beneath your arms, the seat reclined just enough to take the pressure off your spine. And your fingers — still curled in your sleep — are loosely gripping soft cotton.

You blink down slowly, adjusting to the light, only to find Jeongguk’s arm resting beside you on the center console. The fabric you’d been holding onto was the sleeve of his hoodie, stretched slightly from where your fingers had pulled at it.

The ink along his forearm shifts when he moves — just a subtle flex of muscle as he reaches over and brushes his hand gently against your knee.

“Hey,” he says quietly, voice threading through the last lingering chorus of whatever song is playing on low volume now. “You sleep okay?”

You nod, still groggy, rubbing at your eyes. “Didn’t mean to pass out on you.”

“I didn’t mind,” his thumb sweeps once over the edge of your knee before resting there, still. “Missed your snore keeping me company.”

You swat at his arm with a sleepy scoff. “I don’t snore.”

“Sure,” he says, lips twitching. “You just… aggressively breathe.”

“Unbelievable.”

But you’re smiling when you say it — a smile that’s too full to be small, tugging gently at your cheeks as you stretch beneath the blanket. The warmth in your chest has nothing to do with the sun.

The next stop is a place you recognize instantly — a sleepy little gas station tucked off the coastal highway, where the same single pump still wheezes and clicks like it’s doing its best to hang on. The sign out front is sun-bleached, one letter half-burnt out.

The convenience store beside it is exactly how you remembered it — slanted roof, uneven steps, and faded posters curling in the window like they haven’t been touched in years.

You pull in beside the pump, already working your way around. “I’ll get the gas. Snacks, please?” you call out.

But Jeongguk’s already halfway to the store, waving you off. “Don’t go overboard with the fuel!” he calls over his shoulder. “I’m watching you.”

You shake your head with a smile and set to work, tapping in the fuel code. The air here smells like brine and pine, the ocean just beyond the ridge. A breeze lifts your hair as you lean against the car, chin on your shoulder, eyes tracing the outline of the hills in the distance.

There’s a strange comfort in the familiarity. Like the past didn’t change this place. Like this stop still remembers both of you.

You’re capping the tank when you hear him — the rustle of bags, the soft clatter of snacks tumbling inside plastic.

You round the car.

And stop.

Jeongguk’s coming toward you with both arms full — not one or two, not even five — but what looks like the entire top shelf of the snack aisle. The bags are bulging, dangerously close to splitting. Chips, crackers, sweet bread, banana milk, chocolate bars, and—

Your eyes narrow. “Jeon Jeongguk.”

He blinks at you, completely unfazed.

“You planning to feed the entire town?”

He shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You didn’t say not to bring everything you love.”

Your jaw drops a little more as he breezes past you, popping open the backseat like he does this every day. He starts arranging the bags with all the precision of a man securing sacred cargo.

Among the chaos, you spot them — a whole pack of strawberry yogurt drinks. The exact kind you used to hoard in your old apartment fridge. The exact kind he used to swipe just to make you mad.

You fold your arms. “Whoever wanted those today is probably planning your downfall.”

“They’ll live,” he says, handing you one. “You come first.”

You stare at the bottle in your hand. The foil top already peeled halfway, like he remembered you never liked struggling with it.

Your throat tightens — not painfully. Just… full. “You’re impossible.”

He nudges your shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’re welcome.”

You nudge him back, a little harder. He staggers dramatically, pretending to lose balance before laughing under his breath. You scoff, shaking your head — but you’re smiling, soft and involuntary.

Somehow, this moment feels like more than you expected.

More than memory. More than just comfort.

It feels like coming home to something you didn’t know still existed.

He opens the passenger door for you again without a word. Just a look that says, Ready when you are.

You sip your yogurt drink, slip back inside, and let the warmth bloom across your chest.

As the car pulls back onto the road, the silence between you isn’t empty.

It hums — quiet, warm, alive.

And outside, the signs begin to change.

Busan is getting closer.

The sun hangs low by the time you pull up to the old house nestled along the edge of the beach road. The sound of waves greets you even before the car comes to a full stop—gentle, steady, like the tide’s been waiting for you to return.

The moment you see the familiar gate—the one Jeongguk always had to yank twice when it jammed—it’s like your heart forgets how to keep pace.

The porchlight flickers above the front steps. Once, then again. Like it remembers.

You stay curled in your seat, eyes fixed on the crooked “Welcome” sign—something you and Jeongguk had painted together on a whim years ago, the day you got rained in and had nothing better to do but argue over brush strokes and color swatches. He painted a smiley face in the corner when you weren’t looking. You’d rolled your eyes, but left it there.

Somewhere behind the house, you hear the call of seagulls, the breeze laced with salt and the faint scent of the sea. The air feels thick with memory.

You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until Jeongguk rounds the car and opens your door. He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t flinch. Just stands there, steady as ever, waiting.

You glance up at him, throat tight.

Slowly, you slip your hand into his, climb out of the car, and fall into step beside him—fingers curling around the fabric of his sleeve. He stays quiet. Lets you hold on. Walks with you to the front door like muscle memory.

The key sticks in the lock. It always did. He jostles it once, twice, and then the latch clicks with a familiar sound.

The door swings open with a quiet creak.

Inside, it smells like something warm and worn-in. A little dust, a hint of orange from that old cleaning spray you used to hoard in bulk from the local mart. The lights flicker on with a slow, humming bloom, casting the living room in a golden haze that softens every edge.

Sunlight spills across the floorboards, catching on scuff marks, the overgrown plant you left by the window, and the leaning shelf of books still crooked from the time he’d tried to rearrange it “aesthetically.”

You step in first.

The house is a mess—not in a bad way. Just the kind of disarray that happens when life gets paused mid-breath. A stack of magazines from three summers ago still sits on the coffee table. A pair of slippers peeks out from beneath the couch. One of the curtains droops slightly off its hook, like it gave up halfway.

You love the disaster. You love all of it.

Your hand trails along the back of the armchair, fingertips brushing familiar dents in the cushion. A photo frame leans slightly crooked on the mantle—one of those disposable camera shots of you and Jeongguk with wind-swept hair and sunburnt noses, taken after a long day in the water.

You pause by the dining table. There’s still a dent in the wood—Jeongguk’s fault, from the time he tried to assemble its matching chairs and sent one leg flying across the room, declaring he didn’t need instructions.

You laugh under your breath, the sound catching softly in your chest.

Jeongguk steps past you, toward the patio doors that open out to the deck. The grill’s still there—slightly rusted now, tucked in its corner near the railing.

“Hope that still works,” he says, gesturing toward it. “You nearly set the whole place on fire trying to perfect samgyeopsal.”

“It did come out perfect,” you argue, grabbing a cushion from the couch and tossing it at him.

He catches it with ease. Grins. “At what cost? You turned this whole patio into a fireworks venue.”

“It was a slight spark.”

“It was a smoke show. I had to Google ‘smoke inhalation symptoms.’”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks ache from smiling.

Later, as the laughter quiets, you find yourself near the wide window that overlooks the sand. The sea stretches out before you—soft, silver in the fading light, the shoreline curling like it’s holding something secret.

You feel him behind you before you hear him. His presence gentle, hesitant. When you glance back, you see the way his hands hover awkwardly at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t want to cross a line.

So you do it first.

You take his hands. Bring them around your waist. Guide him closer. Let him know that it’s okay. That you want him close. He exhales against your hair, breath warm, and presses his cheek to the top of your head like it’s instinct.

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice catching on your tongue.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs, low against your ear. “You shouldn’t have had to ask me. Where you go, I go. If that’s what you want.”

Your chest pulls tight. It’s more than I could ever want, you want to say. But instead, you flick his forehead. “Back to being cheesy again?”

He startles. “Shit—sorry. Too much?” He starts to loosen his hold, about to step away—trying not to mess this up.

You catch his wrists. Pull his arms back to where they belong.

“No,” you say, quiet but sure. “Just right.”

The next few hours blur into the gentle chaos of settling in.

You find the dustpan beneath the sink—right where it’s always been, still wedged beside the broken flashlight Jeongguk swore he’d fix years ago. The same one he taped up once with colorful washi tape, insisting it added “character.”

There's a small pile of forgotten laundry in the hallway you both pretend not to see just yet. And when he yanks open the patio screen to check if the lock still works, it sticks halfway, sending him into a low mutter that sounds like swearing. You try not to laugh, but your shoulders give you away.

He moves easily around the house, sleeves pushed up, one hand on the ladder, the other fiddling with the ceiling fixture that flickered the moment you turned it on. His shoulders shift with practiced rhythm, the same kind of confidence that used to kick in when he tried to fix things with nothing but guesswork and quiet stubbornness.

You stand below, arms crossed loosely, trying to steady the ladder with your feet. “You’re not exactly built for balance.”

“Excuse me?” He peeks down at you from the top step, hair flopping a little over his eyes. “I was an athlete, you know.”

“You did taekwondo in high school,” you say. “That doesn’t count as upper-body core stability.”

He grins, holds a new bulb up like a trophy. “Still counts.”

You roll your eyes, but your hands move on instinct—reaching up to press against the sides of the ladder, thumbs resting on his jeans just above his knees. It’s thoughtless. Familiar. Until your fingers curl slightly into the denim, and you realize too late where they’ve landed.

His movement stills.

You glance up.

Jeongguk is looking at you—really looking. The kind of look that makes the rest of the room blur at the edges. There’s a flicker of surprise in his gaze, but it’s softened by something steadier. Warmer. Something like awe.

You blink, heat rushing to your face, and drop your hands like you’ve been caught doing something indecent. “I—I’m going to check the kitchen.”

You turn before he can say anything else, already retreating toward safer ground. Behind you, you can hear the quiet scrape of the ladder as he shifts slightly, as if trying not to laugh too loud.

In the kitchen, you find old dish towels stuffed in the back of the drawer, mismatched chopsticks in uneven pairs, and a forgotten bottle of soy sauce that might’ve outlived three governments. You wipe down the counters with a faded rag and open a few overhead cabinets—some empty, others full of sun-faded tea boxes and instant soup packets from a grocery run neither of you ever finished.

One drawer sticks slightly before it gives. Inside, mismatch cooking sets, spatulas that definitely need replacing, a bent knife.

That one makes you pause.

You still remember the summer Jeongguk ruined it trying to open a coconut he insisted didn’t need a tutorial. He’d marched in from the yard, shirt half-tucked, eyes bright with victory and absolutely no plan.

“Trust me,” he’d said, proudly brandishing the coconut over the counter with your best kitchen knife. “This is what vacation homes are for.”

You raised a brow from the sink. “Property damage?”

He flashed you a grin. “Adventure.”

The blade barely made it through one awkward jab before it bent sideways like it gave up. You tried not to laugh. But by the time he wedged the coconut between his knees and muttered, “Okay, wait, I got it now,” you were doubled over at the counter.

It took both of you, a rock from outside, and eventually the heel of your shoe to get it open. He fed you the first bite with coconut water dripping off his fingers.

Now, the knife is still slightly warped. You pick it up, smile to yourself, then set it aside with a little sigh.

Behind you, footsteps.

Jeongguk passes by to grab a sponge, tossing a look over his shoulder, inspects the dish rack. “We’ve got to replace these ugly mugs. Doesn’t match the house’s aesthetic.”

You glance up from where you’re rinsing the bent knife. “They’re not ugly. They’re vintage.”

He points at one near the sink. “That one has a cat with laser eyes. Swear, I felt it watching me sleep four Christmases ago.”

You snort. “You and your boring aesthetic shit.” Then rinse the mug anyway. “I’m keeping them.”

Jeongguk gasps, mock-betrayed. “Even the cracked one?”

“Especially the cracked one. You gave it to me.”

He groans dramatically. “I’ll get you a new one.”

“No,” you say, drying it with a hand towel. “Mugs stay. You get out. Go fix the patio screen before mosquitos invade.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mutters. Then lower, more to himself than to you—“Happy wife, happy life.”

You hear it. Try not to smile. But you can’t help it. Your lips tug upward as you tuck the towel over the oven handle and shake your head, letting the warmth in your chest settle right where it belongs.

Most of the house has been dusted, rearranged, and gently revived from its long slumber by the time evening settles.

The couch covers—once black, heavy, and impossible to lint-roll—have been replaced with soft cream ones you and Jeongguk wrestled over earlier that afternoon.

“You’re really mourning furniture right now?” you’d teased, tugging the old slip off one corner while he clung to the other like it was a family heirloom.

“It’s not just furniture,” he’d said. “It hides everything—fur, takeout spills, and yeah... maybe some drool.”

You’d arched a brow. “All the more to get rid of it. That’s disgusting, Gguk.”

He let go after that. Grumbling, but smiling.

Now, the new covers stretch smooth across the cushions, soft and clean. Like the house had been waiting to exhale.

Some other things have changed, too.

A new mat by the back door. A pair of slippers with tags still on, left near the stairs. The spice rack finally hung straight. Nothing too fancy. Just small, quiet replacements—like things had simply found their way back home, no fanfare needed.

You’re fluffing the cushions when your eyes catch something different by the side table—just beside the couch. There’s a photo frame there you don’t remember placing.

It’s a picture from your Uni days. You and Jeongguk are sitting on the campus steps, knees drawn up, two bowls of convenience store ramen between you. His arm’s thrown lazily around your shoulder. You’ve got a french fry in your mouth. He’s laughing at something, head tilted, eyes almost shut.

Another one sits behind it. You and him from a summer beach trip in Incheon Islands, both sunburnt and wild-haired, balancing a melting ice cream cone between you like it was some kind of game.

You blink, heart fluttering on the sudden flood of memory.

“I found those while cleaning out some boxes in Seoul,” Jeongguk says from the kitchen, not looking up. “Figured they’d want to come home.”

You glance at him. He’s wiping down the counter with a worn towel, but there’s something in his tone—quiet, a little sheepish.

Your chest tightens. “Thank you,” you say softly. “For remembering.”

He gives a one-shouldered shrug, but there’s a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Even if you picked that photo with that horrible mint-choco chip in it,” you add with a teasing lilt.

That earns you a laugh. “Always the number one hater.”

When the plates are cleared from your quick takeout dinner—something you both agreed on after realizing neither of you had the energy to cook—you stretch, already headed for the guest room out of habit.

Only to stop short.

The door pushes open an inch before it hits resistance. You peek inside.

Wall-to-wall storage.

Boxes stacked high with old clothes, spare blankets, tangled light cords, and what looks like the entire bottom half of Jeongguk’s studio—tripods, folded light stands, crates of photo books and film reels. None of this was here during your last visit.

“Guess someone’s been using this as storage,” you murmur, nudging the door open further.

Jeongguk peers over your shoulder, wincing. “I moved some of my stuff here when my studio in the city ran out of space. Didn’t think I’d be back so soon.”

You turn toward him. There’s no accusation on your face—just surprise. And a quiet softness that steals across your expression before you can hide it.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “For keeping this place in your heart, even if it’s just in clutter.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “This is home.”

He starts stepping around you, muttering something about making space, already pushing a box aside when you stop him with a hand on his wrist.

“It’s late, Gguk. We’re both tired. I’d really like to call it a night and not hear you rattling with your tripod in the dark.”

He blinks. “Wait—are you suggesting—?”

“Our bedroom,” you say, like it’s obvious. “It’s not like we haven’t shared a space before.”

He raises a brow, genuinely surprised at your nonchalance. “Yeah, but when we last did...I mean we haven’t...You okay with that?”

You scoff, turning just enough for him to catch the confident flick of your hair over your shoulder. “I offered, didn’t I? It’s just a room. What’s there to be awkward about?”

But Jeongguk’s eyes linger on you, and you know he sees it—something faint beneath your easy smile. The slight flutter of nerves you’re trying not to betray.

You clear your throat. “If you want the couch, be my guest. But don’t come begging for back massages in the morning.”

He clutches his chest, mock-offended. “Charming. And to think I was going to offer you my cuddling arm.”

You lift a brow.

He grins, eyes playful but voice soft. “I never said anything about being awkward. Was just making sure you were okay with it. I mean, as much as I want to be close to my wife...”

You freeze. And that’s it.

That’s what does you in.

The blush starts behind your ears and spreads so fast you nearly trip on the hallway rug.

Without answering, you spin on your heel and march straight toward the master bedroom.

“Pillow stays between us!” you call back over your shoulder, barely keeping the squeak out of your voice. “And use the guest bathroom to freshen up. If you’re not back in ten, you’re sleeping in the hallway!”

You don’t wait for his reply, but you hear the sudden rush of footsteps behind you, followed by the softest, fondest laugh.

He’s still laughing when you close the bedroom door behind you, heart hammering like it’s in your twenties again.

You shake your head, already reaching for your pajamas in the room.

The bedroom walls are still that familiar pale cream—faded just slightly in the corners, like sunlight once curled there and decided to stay.

The curtains are drawn shut, fabric heavier now with disuse, and the faint scent of sea salt lingers beneath a quiet layer of dust and memory.

One window is cracked open just enough to let in the hush of waves from the beach down the slope.

You move through the room quietly, hair still damp from your shower, a loose braid skimming your shoulder. The towel’s already folded over the bathroom door. A faded tee hangs soft over your frame, sleeves slouched, paired with worn sweats you’ve long claimed as your favorite.

The corners of the bed are still unmade from what feels like lifetimes ago—pillowcases crumpled, a forgotten blanket tossed toward the end, untouched since your last visit.

You take your time with the sheets. The new ones you brought are soft and cool to the touch, a dusky lavender base splattered with inky black swirls like someone had spilled watercolor across the sky.

You’d found them at a tiny stall in Gwangjang Market—half-covered by old quilts, the last set left on the rack. The style felt like something between you and him. Colorful, but grounded. Quiet, but bold where it mattered.

You smooth the edges, tuck them in neatly. Then reach for the pillowcases—freshly laundered—stacking them into place.

Yours on the left. His on the right.

And like it’s the most natural thing in the world, you leave the smaller pillow for him. The one that never gave him neck pain. The one he used to grumble about replacing, only to reach for it every single night.

Three more pillows are added in between. A soft, padded wall of quiet understanding.

Near the dresser, the chipped corner on the lower edge is still there—jagged, a little worn from time. You remember cracking your knee on it one summer night while dancing in your pajamas to Jeongguk’s playlist.

It had been raining outside, wind rattling the windows. You’d been mid-spin, holding a spatula, singing off-key. He’d laughed so hard he nearly dropped the strawberries he’d brought for you.

Fingers brushing over the crack light, a smile tugs at your lips.

Your new diffuser now sits quietly on the nightstand, sleek and soft grey. The old one was probably long dead, its motor wheezing one too many times by the end of that summer. With filtered water already in from your flask, three drops of lavender go in next.

Your usual.

His favorite.

The one he’d learn to bulk-buy from the herbal stall outside Mangwon Market, ignoring the sign that limited customers to two bottles per purchase.

When the ajumma got strict, he brought Taehyung the next day to double up. Said it was worth it, even if Taehyung teased him for being obsessed with ‘air perfume’.

He’d once told you that scent helped him unwind. That it settled behind his ears like breath beneath skin. Something that held him steady when everything else spun too fast.

The diffuser hums to life with a low whirr. A soft stream of mist curls upward into the room—faint, floral, familiar.

You take a slow breath.

Then step back, settling by the edge of the bed, legs tucked beneath you. Fingers absently trail across the topmost pillow—the one marking your invisible boundary—and you let the quiet wrap around your shoulders like a blanket.

The calm is slow. Earned.

Like the room itself waited for you to return to it.

And then—soft footsteps pad against the hallway floorboards.

The door creaks open—slow and careful.

Jeongguk lingers in the doorway, towel draped around his neck, damp hair curling slightly at the edges. Grey drawstring pants and a plain black shirt that clings faintly to the last traces of heat from his shower. Sleeves hanging just by his elbows. Barefoot. Relaxed.

His eyes sweep across the room slowly. Like he’s searching for proof that something sacred hasn’t changed.

Then his gaze lands on you—and softens immediately.

“You made the bed,” his voice's low, almost careful, as the door clicks shut behind him.

You glance back toward the diffuser, watching the mist curl in lazy spirals. “Sheets were dusty.”

He pauses near the nightstand, breath catching slightly as the lavender settles into the room around him. “Mangwon?”

You nod once. “Same store. Same scent. Thought it might help you sleep. Don’t want you tossing around saying you can’t breathe and waking me up at 3 a.m.”

A soft huff escapes him. “Ah, so it’s self-preservation.”

“Obviously.”

He smiles—wide and quiet, eyes crinkling—and steps further in. “Still. You didn’t have to think of me.”

You shrug like it’s nothing. “Always have.”

That stalls him for a moment. Just long enough that he exhales something soft. Long enough for his eyes to linger on yours.

He moves to the other side of the bed—and pauses again when he sees the pillow barrier.

“Three pillows?” he asks, brow lifted. “Really? One wasn’t going to do the trick?”

“With how fidgety you get?” You nod at them. “Three’s generous.”

“I’ve evolved,” he protests lightly, easing onto the bed and adjusting the smaller pillow behind him. “Sleep like a turtle now.”

“Eomma said you rolled off the couch last time,” you say, settling onto your side.

“That floor was slanted.”

“Tell my mother about how her house isn’t architecturally structured right, and you’ll never hear the end of it.”

He just grins. Sinks into the mattress with a sigh that sounds like his whole body’s giving in. Then his fingers brush the blanket. “These are new.”

You nod. “It reminded me of us.”

That quiet smile returns. “They do.”

You try not to read into it. Instead, you adjust your corner of the blanket, watching as the lavender mist curls a little higher.

A peaceful quiet lingers. Then softer – more tentative, “Do you…want the lamp on?” he asks, glancing over.

It catches you off guard—not the question, but the softness in it. He used to switch it off without thinking.

Now, he waits.

You look at him—really look at him—and the realization hits slow but full; he’s waiting for your comfort. Letting you set the rhythm.

Still, your voice is quieter than expected. “Yeah. Leave it on.”

He nods. Reaches over to turn the dial just low enough that it glows like an ember, soft and golden against the cream walls.

You both settle in slowly, blanket tugged over your waists. There’s space between you—but not the kind that feels like distance. Just the kind that says we’re still learning this again.

Your eyes wander to the ceiling, catching the soft glow of sun-shaped decals still faintly visible, their yellow edges peeling away with time.

The memory of that first summer together floods back—Jeongguk balancing on a stool, you guiding him with a mischievous smile, and a ridiculous number of pattern inspirations from Google on how to stick them right.

They turned out chaotic – far from those printouts – but it was both of you. The sun decals have been up since then.

“Comfortable?” he asks quietly, head turned toward you now, eyes soft in the lamp light.

You nod, pulse thrumming somewhere behind your chest. Unable to find the words to say. Heart stuck in your throat with the way he was looking at you.

The silence that follows is full of soft breathing, of warmth, of sea wind rustling gently against the windows. Of lavender and cotton and the quiet knowledge that this—this—isn’t just memory anymore.

And just before sleep starts to settle in—just before your eyes fully close—

You feel it.

His hand finds yours, reaching across the pillow wall. Not demanding. Just there.

You don’t even think before your fingers curl into his.

And somewhere between the blur of exhaustion and the softness of it all—you think you hear him whisper something into the hush.

“I missed you.”

You don’t know if you imagined it. Sleep’s already tugging at your thoughts.

But if he said it—you know your heart heard it.

The light comes in slow, pooling through the sheer curtains in streaks of gold, settling across the bedsheets in warm gradients. The room is quiet except for the hush of waves, the call of gulls somewhere in the distance. The lavender diffuser hums faintly near the nightstand, its mist now faded to little more than memory.

And you… wake to warmth.

Not the soft weight of your blanket, or the breath of the sea through the cracked window. But something warmer. Closer.

The pillow wall is gone.

Your cheek is pressed to Jeongguk’s chest, his heartbeat a quiet thrum beneath your ear. His arm rests heavy and loose around your waist, hand tucked gently beneath the hem of your shirt. One of your legs — oh, god — is hitched over his, as if you were always meant to be tangled this way.

His shirt smells faintly of the old detergent you used to fight over in the store — the one that reminded you of late summer and new notebooks. But under that, the deeper scent of his cologne curls around you too, the same one from his Uni days — fresh and steady, like pine and river stone, like the Jeongguk who used to wait at your lecture hall with warm drinks and sunlit smiles.

He’s still asleep.

Your entire body locks up.

The pillows — three, very intentionally placed pillows — are now on the floor, scattered like fallen dominoes.

Of course they are.

It’s always been like this over the years. Cold nights would end with him stealing the comforters, only to toss them off minutes later because he’d get too hot. He’d complain, then cling to you anyway, mumbling something about how body heat beat overpriced stuffy cotton any day.

And sure, fine, maybe you’d allowed it a few times. But you’re confident — almost painfully sure — that you aren’t the one who tosses and turns. You’ve never been a fidgety sleeper.

Which means…

It only means—

You shift, just slightly, trying to gently peel yourself away. A slow, careful attempt to wiggle your leg off his—

But Jeongguk shifts too, murmuring softly. Hand sliding just slightly along your waist. He pulls you closer, tucked neatly to his chest.

You freeze.

Then panic.

With an embarrassing, squeaky gasp, you scramble backward in a wild, tangled motion of limbs and blanket and flailing dignity. The edge of the mattress slips out from under you, and you tumble—

“Aish…shibal!”

The mattress creaks. Blankets lift. Jeongguk jolts upright, limbs tangled and hair a tousled mess, blinking like a man yanked straight from a dream. “What’s happening? Baby, where are you?! Are we under attack?!”

Just when you thought the chaos of limbs and hearts beating too close couldn’t get worse, the slip of that nickname makes your stomach flip — in a dangerously good way. But your face heats anyway; it makes you squish your face into the hardwood like a panicked hamster trying to burrow into safety.

Jeongguk’s head pops over the edge of the bed, peering down at you. He blinks; takes in your crumpled form on the floor, brows lifting. “Did you…did you just fall out of bed?”

You groan, face down, cheek flattened against the wood. “No. Was doing push-ups.”

There’s a beat of silence — then the unmistakable smug in his voice. “Oh yeah? How far’d you get?”

You blindly grab the nearest pillow and hurl it at his face. “Jeon Jeongguk!”

He catches it one-handed, fully awake now, then tosses it somewhere across the room. “What? I’m just asking. How many push-ups, hmm?”

“I used to lift with you!” you snap, climbing to your feet and brushing yourself off. “Used to do ten sets in case you’re forgetting.”

He snorts. “A point-five kilo dumbbell over ten sets barely counts.”

“Yah!” you whine, tossing your hands up in mock outrage. “That’s not the point! You removed the pillows! So much for respecting the barrier!”

“I didn’t touch the pillow wall.” He raises both hands like a man accused. “You started crossing over at 2 a.m. Clung to me like a baby sloth. Squished me half to death.”

“You’re making that up,” you grumble, tugging down your sweatshirt sleeves, trying to ignore the heat climbing up your neck. “I’d never do such a thing.”

“Tell that to your arms,” he says, tone teasing. “Every time I rebuilt the wall, you threw them off like a traitor. Not that I’m complaining. I’m all in for my wife’s clinginess, just say the word and—”

“Lalala! Shut up!” you squeal, scrambling to your feet and beelining for the bathroom, already hiding your face in your hands.

Behind you, you hear him laughing softly as you slam the bathroom door and flick on the light.

Your reflection meets you in the mirror — hair tousled, cheeks flushed, lips parted from sleep.

“I’m a grown-ass thirty-three-year-old woman,” you whisper, horrified. “What in the teenager-level fuck was that?”

You groan again, turning the tap on full blast and splashing cold water over your face — hoping it’ll shock some sense back into your nervous system and rinse the blush off your chest while it’s at it.

Outside, the floor creaks again.

You hear the quiet patter of footsteps — Jeongguk padding around the bedroom, probably grabbing his bag, maybe rummaging through the mini fridge for his usual morning Gatorade, or heading to the guest bathroom to get ready. Already slipping into the rhythm of the day, like it’s his turn to take care of things.

You let out a long breath, fingers still pressed to your damp cheeks.

Part of you wants to hide in here forever.

But the other part — the quieter one, the steadier one — reminds you that this is okay.

That this is safe. This is home.

That waking up tangled in Jeongguk’s arms shouldn’t feel like something to escape from. That it’s just going to take some getting used to — not because you don’t trust him, but because he’s doing everything right. And that kind of right? It’s hard to believe in when you’ve lived without it for so long.

It’s the kind of right you never thought you’d get back again.

But it’s here. It’s real. And you want it.

And somewhere beneath your chest, that old flutter stirs — not fear, not uncertainty — but the quiet ache of a heart learning how to be held again.

The house smells like coffee, cinnamon, and toasted bread by the time you step out into the hallway. Soft waves crash faintly from beyond the shore. Morning light pours in from the terrace doors, casting a lazy golden wash across the wooden floors. The house feels alive but quiet—like it's holding its breath for something sweet.

In the kitchen, Jeongguk stands by the stove with his back to you, already plating scrambled eggs beside a neat stack of cinnamon toast. The sleeves of his hoodie are pushed up to his elbows, hair still damp at the nape of his neck.

There’s a slight bounce to his stance, a rhythm in his movements that reminds you of Sunday mornings long ago. He looks domestic. Steady. Yours. And it makes something in your chest ache with the kind of warmth that threatens tears.

You walk toward him quietly, arms sliding around his waist as you press your cheek to his back. He stills mid-motion, the eggs tipping from his spatula and landing squarely onto the plate with a soft sizzle. Then, after a breath, you feel him relax—shoulders sinking into your hold like he'd been waiting for this, too.

“Breathe, okay?” he says gently, not turning around.

You nod, eyes fluttering closed. “Mmhm.” You pause. “Sorry for the...acrobatic start to your morning.”

He chuckles, setting the pan aside. “It was memorable. Thought I’d have to fish you out of the tub, though.”

You snort. “Please. We took freediving lessons. Swam with sharks. Outswam coast guards that one time we trespassed on that restricted island in Jeju when we were twenty-five. And you’re telling me I’m going to drown in a bathtub not even a foot deep?”

Jeongguk turns slightly, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I don’t know, maybe you’d find a way to fold yourself under the water. Or crawl out the window to avoid me.”

You laugh, staying close for another moment before peeling away and sinking into the bar stool across the counter. He joins you, setting your plate in front of you and placing a steaming cup beside your cat mug—the one he pretends to hate but always refills first. The scent of coffee and almond milk and cinnamon rises between you.

“Thank you,” you murmur, already biting into the toast. “This… this is amazing.”

It tastes the same. The way it used to when he'd cook for you in college—after a week of your all-nighters, when he knew all you wanted was something warm, something comforting the morning after. Like this.

“You’re welcome.” He lifts his own cup. “Figured we’d start our first morning here with something homey. Something familiar.”

He pauses, watching your expression carefully. “Hope it isn’t too much?”

You shake your head. “It’s perfect.”

The silence that follows is peaceful, comfortable, just the two of you enjoying a good meal. Somewhere in the distance, a boat horn sounds—a low, drawn-out echo reminding you that the world outside still moves, even if yours feels paused here.

The kitchen hums softly with the tick of the wall clock, the occasional creak of wood as the house settles. It’s not loud, but it’s alive—like the house is listening in, keeping its voice low to let you breathe.

“About earlier…” you say, fingers curling around the mug in your hands.

Jeongguk sets down his fork, turns to face you. “We don’t have to talk about it if you’re still uncomfortable.”

“I want to,” you whisper. “I just… want to get it out. It’s unfair—one minute I’m okay with having you close, asking for it, and the next I’m just panicking and—”

“—doing non-existent push-ups?” he says with a wry grin.

You flick a toast crumb at him, rolling your eyes—grateful for his ability to meet your vulnerability with lightness. His boyish laugh fills the air, and your chest feels a little lighter.

“I panicked,” you say after a pause. “Not because I didn’t want you near me—because I did. I do. God, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

He listens carefully, elbows resting lightly on the counter, posture open but not pressing.

“I guess…” you go on, voice quieter. “I wasn’t ready to feel that familiarity again. It’s stupid, I know I asked for this. Even made that list with Jin when everything was falling apart, but having it now—naturally, without trying—it’s just... different, you know?”

Jeongguk nods once. Not too eagerly. Just enough to let you know he’s with you.

“I understand,” he says. “If it’s too much to take in, I’ll give you time. I’m sorry if I came on too strong.”

“No, please don’t apologize.” You set the mug down, fumble with the hem of your shirt. “If anything, you’ve done everything right. I don't want what we have to change. I know I’ve been weird. The kiss at the tram, our visit to Uni, this morning… probably a hundred more times in between. I told you why I ran, but it wasn’t the full story.”

He sees the tremble in your fingers before you do. Quietly, without needing to ask, he reaches over and laces your hand with his.

“Meant what I said,” he tells you, voice steady. “I’m all in now. You don’t need to tiptoe around me.”

You smile, eyes damp. “That’s not what I’m thinking anymore. I see that. I see you. It’s just… us being this close again. It’s so easy. Like no time passed. Like nothing broke. And that scares me. Not because I blame you—I never did. Maybe I’m just scared for you.”

His brows knit together, soft and confused. “You don’t have to be scared for me. I don’t know why you are.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “My head’s just… everywhere. I think a part of me still can’t believe this is real. That you’re real. That this version of us—soft, safe, in love again—isn’t just some dream I’ll wake up from.”

He exhales slowly, like the weight of that truth settles into his chest.

“I’m so sorry you had to feel like that. That I ever made you feel like I was a dream you’d lose.” He leans in a little closer. “But I’m here. I’m staying. And I’ll keep proving that every day until you believe me. Until it feels real for you.”

You finally look up.

And Jeongguk, eyes locked on yours, reaches over and gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers brush along your cheek, linger like they’re memorizing this moment.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “So you can stop running.”

You nod once, breath catching. “I’m really sorry.”

He shakes his head, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Hey. Don’t be. Baby steps, right? Anytime, I overstep, tell me.”

“What if I just want to hold hands forever?”

“And that’s a bad thing, how?” he teases. “Holding my wife’s hand for the rest of time? That sounds like a dream.”

You laugh, heart full and aching all at once.

“Besides,” he adds with a glint in his eye, “I think it’s really adorable how you still get all flustered when I’m close. Reminds me of how we couldn’t even get our first kiss right.”

You groan, burying your face against his chest. “Oh God, that was a disaster. Didn’t we go through a whole mint pack first?”

“Yup, had to run to the store downstairs at the old apartment just to get a second one.”

His chest rises with a quiet chuckle, and you press your ear to it, listening to his heart beat in steady rhythm beneath the fabric. His hand traces gentle circles along your back, grounding you.

“We’ll be okay, right?” you whisper.

He presses his cheek to the top of your head, voice soft. “We’ll be fine. I promise. Just say the word if you want to cling to me again tonight. I’ll throw out those damn pillows.”

The tension breaks, laughter bubbling up your throat as you gently shove him away.

“I knew you were going to be a smug little shit again.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he grins, catching your hand in his. “Let’s just finish breakfast for now. I’ve got big plans for you today.”

“Oh yeah? Where are we going?”

Jeongguk nudges your foot with his. “Do you want to see Junebug?”

Your brows lift. And in the soft silence that follows, he reaches over to brush a crumb from your cheek—grinning like he’s waited years to ask you this again.

It’s strange how the places that knew you once always seem to remember.

You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until the glass doors part and a wave of cool air brushes against your skin. The scent of saltwater and steel greets you like an old friend. Overhead, blue-tinted lights cast shifting reflections on the floor, and somewhere nearby, the low hum of rushing tanks fills the space like a familiar song.

The aquarium hasn’t changed. Not the way the glass tunnels curve like the inside of a dream. Not the soft lull of water against acrylic. Not the way this place always made the world feel quieter—softer. It still feels like the version of you who used to come here on rainy weekends hasn’t left at all.

You remember those weekends: when the city was too loud, when your heads were too full. You’d weave through the halls with fingers brushing and laughter spilling like secret rebellion. You always pretended to be lost, even though you knew exactly where the clownfish were.

You ran through the echoing tunnels, got scolded for being too loud, and Jeongguk—always your partner in crime—would nudge your elbow and whisper, “Run.” And then you’d bolt, hearts light, joy uncontained.

“Still smells like seawater,” Jeongguk says, voice low beside you, a smile hidden inside it.

You turn to him, already finding his gaze on you—soft, knowing, a little wistful. “We used to love the smell of seawater,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

His eyes crinkle. “We still do.”

He reaches for your hand and holds it there, palm up, like he’s offering you a moment to choose.

You slide your fingers into his without a word, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steadiness in the way he squeezes once. Your other hand gently presses over the back of his.

“We still do,” you echo, holding on.

And just like that, the two of you begin walking—into the tunnels of light and color and time, where the water sways above your heads like a sky you used to believe in, and the world quiets, just for a while.

The air is cooler in this part of the aquarium exhibits, tinged with salt and something clean, like filtered sea breeze. The shallow pool glistens beneath the overhead lights, rippling softly where little hands and curious fingers explore.

You remember sneaking in here during off-hours once—just to dip your hands and watch the creatures swirl beneath the surface like a living galaxy.

One small darting fish catches your eye—orange and white, with a fin that wobbles like it’s swimming offbeat. For a second, the world folds inward, back to your tiny apartment with cracked tile floors and noisy neighbors.

“Is that…?” you murmur, leaning closer. “Gguk, Gguk, it’s Junebug!” You nearly tear up as the familiar orange-and-white streak slips through the shallow current.

Jeongguk follows your gaze, eyes widening before he lets out a breathy laugh. “Told you we’d see him today. Our first and last pet—born from your full-on PMS meltdown."

“Blame our sea life movie marathon that day!” you laugh, nudging his shoulder with yours. “The Little Mermaid one, two, and three. Finding Nemo.”

“Don’t forget those deep-sea documentaries on National Geographic.”

“See? You remember.” Your gaze follows the fish as it swims farther, blending back into the ripple of orange and white near the rocks. “Thanks for getting me Junebug—even if it was during a weird time. Too bad he died after a week.”

“Who knew water bowls needed changing.”

“Every person who’s ever owned a fish?”

“That was our first,” Jeongguk gasps dramatically, laughing so hard tears prick at the corners of his eyes. “Next time you break down, please ask for anything but a fish.”

“Next time I break down, and I ask for ice cream, get the right flavor, hmm?”

“Okay, okay—that was on me. No double dutch on PMS days. It’s rocky road or nothing.” He leans closer to the edge of the pool, watching as the fish flicks past again. “We miss you, Junebug. Sorry about the toilet funeral and the short life. But you were a warrior.”

You smile, soft and fond. “He always swam funny. But he never stopped swimming.”

The moment lingers, warm like sea-glass in your palm—strange how a fish you barely had for a week can still make you feel this way.

Eventually, the two of you wander into the quieter halls, following the curve of dim lighting and low blue ceilings until you reach the otter tank. A hush settles over the space, broken only by the occasional drip of water and the soft shuffling of little paws.

Two otters are curled up inside a plastic barrel, legs kicking lazily as they float together in a sleepy, swaying rhythm. It’s peaceful here. The kind of quiet you both settle into naturally now—without trying.

Beside you, Jeongguk pulls out his phone, silent and careful. A soft click cuts through the hum of the water.

You glance at him. “Stealing photos of me again?”

He shrugs, a little bashful. “It’s you�� with the otters. Mostly the otters.”

A teasing lilt tugs at your voice. “I bet you still have those photos from ten years ago. Hidden in some secret folder.”

“They were never hidden.” His gaze flicks to yours, the corners of his mouth curling into something soft—unhidden, unguarded. “Besides, you’ve seen my Instagram. It’s still all you.”

You bump his arm gently with yours, leaning closer into his side. His warmth anchors you. “Just take pictures of the otters, Gguk.”

You point with a grin, pressing your face close to the glass. “Oh look! They’re kissing.” Your eyes light up like they used to, the reflection catching just enough of it for him to notice.

“I could kiss you right now,” he murmurs, so low it nearly gets lost beneath the soft music and faint speaker commentary. But you hear it. You always do.

He keeps snapping photos, casually—of the otters, the signs, the tank displays. Then you notice the faint Instagram logo blinking at the corner of his screen.

Your heart skips. Your palms grow warm. A dozen thoughts tumble through your mind, but they all quiet when you lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek—right as he angles the camera for a selfie, otter couple in the background.

The shutter clicks. And you know that picture definitely has you in it.

“Come on, I’m kind of hungry,” you say breezily, already turning away.

But before you do, you catch the smile forming on his face—boyish, full, real.

It’s the same smile you feel pulling at your own.

The snack break happens on a quiet bench tucked between two exhibits—low lights, blue walls, a bubbling tank just behind you. There’s a sign overhead that clearly reads No Food or Drinks, but you ignore it.

You pull two familiar wrappers out of your bag anyway.

Jeongguk’s laugh is immediate and low, lips curling at the corners. “You’re unbelievable. I thought they banned those years ago.”

“Fine, more for me.”

“These bars are our favorites. Can’t say no,” he says, already reaching for one without hesitation.

You toss him a packet and tear open your own. The chocolate’s slightly melted and sticky between your fingers, but the taste is the same—like your Uni days. Like cramming at dawn, sneaking onto rooftops, whispering secrets into dusk. Like stories that always ended in maybe, and one day, and eventually.

“I just wanted to remember what it felt like,” you murmur, eyes on the swirling tank ahead. “To be reckless with you again.”

Jeongguk leans in slightly, his knee nudging yours beneath the bench. “You always had the craziest moments.”

“Not denying that,” you say through a mouthful of chocolate. “But you always followed me. No matter how risky it was.”

He chuckles, shaking his head like he still can’t believe it. “You once made me sneak into a lecture hall just to graffiti our names on the back of a chair.”

You grin, completely unrepentant. “That was art, thank you.”

His eyes linger on you then—just for a second too long, like he’s cataloguing every version of you that’s ever existed. The reckless girl, the brave woman, the one beside him now.

“I’d still follow you anywhere,” he says softly, with that look in his eyes again. “Even to prison. If we ever get caught in one of your schemes.”

You gasp, mock-offended, flick a chocolate crumb at his chest. “Tsk. Like we’d ever get caught. Hello? Seora’s heir here. I got you.”

You flash him a wink, the smug tilt of your head daring him to doubt it.

Just then, a sharp voice cuts through the calm, “Excuse me—no eating in this area!”

You freeze mid-bite.

Jeongguk looks up like a guilty teenager, wrappers still in hand.

The staff member starts approaching, and before either of you can think, you’re on your feet.

“Come on, come on,” you whisper, don’t wait.

He laughs—half in disbelief, half in delight—and takes off behind you, barely pocketing the chocolate.

You dart around a corner, past a sleepy seahorse exhibit, and crash straight into the entrance of the gift shop. Jeongguk barrels in right after, breathless and laughing, grabbing your arm as you both duck behind a rack of overpriced plush stingrays.

Your hands fumble through a basket of souvenir hats, adrenaline still thrumming. Without warning, you shove one onto his head—a ridiculous blue cap with a cartoon shark grinning across the front.

“What the hell is this?” he hisses.

“Disguise,” you whisper back, slipping a matching one over your own head with a proud little smirk. “Now we’re invisible.”

He stares at you, deadpan—and then breaks. Shakes his head, laughter bubbling out of him as he leans in, forehead pressing briefly to yours.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs.

“But you love it,” you grin, nudging him with your shoulder.

And he does. You can see it in the way his eyes stay on you—flushed cheeks, soft-edged smile, gaze so full of you it nearly takes your breath away.

And for a moment, tucked between plush toys and panicked giggles, it really does feel like you’re young again.

The Glass Bottom Boat station sits quietly near the deeper tanks, tucked beneath the glow of soft blue lights. There’s barely a line—weekday stillness keeping the crowd away—and for a brief moment, it almost feels like the place belongs to just the two of you.

This was always your favorite.

Back when you were younger, when time still felt generous, you’d wait an hour just to board the glass boat together—just to watch sharks slip underneath your feet and feed the fishes side by side like kids pretending they ruled the sea.

Jeongguk steps forward to confirm your names, bouncing lightly on his heels, eyes already gleaming with excitement. But you pause.

Quietly, gently, you pull one of the staff members aside with a polite smile.

“Excuse me,” you ask, lowering your voice. “Do you still have the same… health restrictions for this?”

The staff’s face softens. Kindly, they explain—nothing’s changed. For safety, only guests in full physical condition are recommended to board. Just precaution. Nothing alarming.

Just like before.

You nod, offer a small smile. “Maybe next time.”

And maybe that’s the part that stings—the quiet hope that this time, it would be different.

When you turn back, Jeongguk’s eyes are already on you. Bright. Expectant.

“You ready?” he asks, practically glowing. “Dory’s right there, baby.”

The nickname tugs something in your chest—tender, familiar. You reach for his arm, catching him just before he moves.

“You should go,” you say gently.

He freezes. “What? But this is our favorite part.” He frowns, confused. “You love this part.”

“I know.” You manage a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “But I think… it’s better if I sit this one out.”

He blinks, a question forming—but you press on before he can ask it aloud.

“Feed the fishes for me, yeah?” your voice light, like it doesn’t ache to speak.

For a second, he studies your face again—eyes searching, reading the space between your words.

But he doesn’t push.

“Only if you promise to take a hundred photos of me being cool,” he finally says, trying to lift the moment.

You smirk, grateful. “Only if the fish like you.”

You keep your promise.

From the bench by the jellyfish wall, you snap photo after photo of Jeongguk on the boat—him waving dramatically at a stingray, pretending to narrate like a wildlife host, posing with a childlike grin that scrunches up his nose. The soft glow of the tanks spills across his face, making him look younger, brighter, like someone you used to know and someone you still do.

When he returns, cheeks pink and hair wind-tossed, he’s practically bouncing. The sight of him makes your chest ache in the sweetest way.

You lower the phone and smile. “Enjoy yourself?”

He plops down beside you, nudging your knee with his. “Think I got splashed.”

“You think? You smell like the whole ocean.”

“You like the ocean,” he shoots back, lips tugging into a smug grin. “Therefore, you like me, noh?”

You sigh, full of affection, no hint of denial. “I do. You already know that.” You glance down at his phone, now in your hands, thumb swiping through the ridiculous photos you took. “Now… did the fish like you too? Or should I delete the evidence?”

He gasps, scandalized, snatching the phone back and stuffing it into his pocket. “You wouldn’t dare. The Nemos and I—besties. The sharks? I think the hat ruined my odds.”

You look up, just in time to see him adjusting the ridiculous shark cap from the gift shop, tugging it down with mock seriousness.

“You should’ve left that behind.”

“This?” He pats the hat proudly. “This outdoes every Seora piece you’ve ever given me.”

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. Instead of replying, you lean in—resting your cheek against his still-damp shoulder. He shifts instinctively, settling closer, letting your body weight fold into his.

The glow of the jellyfish tank hums around you, gentle and surreal. The creatures move like silk threads in water, pulsing and drifting like stars floating in a liquid sky.

Neither of you speak for a while.

Then, quietly, he says, “We should come here more often.”

Your gaze stays on the glowing glass. A long breath. A beat of quiet.

“You should,” you murmur. “Even when it’s just on your own.”

Beside you, Jeongguk stills. His head turns slightly, gaze falling on your profile. You don’t meet it.

You lift a hand and press your fingers gently to the glass.

“They look like stars, don’t they?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he watches you. Lets the silence settle in, warm and full. Lets you hold onto this moment—this soft, forever kind of day that feels like falling in love all over again.

By the time you get home, the sky is painted in soft streaks of lilac and gold, settling gently over rooftops like a lullaby. You both take your shoes off quietly at the door, the hush of the house wrapping around you like a blanket.

“Wait here,” Jeongguk says, already stepping toward the porch.

You tilt your head, eyebrows raised, only to find him crouched by the front door, hauling in a familiar cardboard box.

“You didn’t—” you blink. “You did.”

A sheepish grin pulls at his lips as he lifts the box with practiced ease. “You were getting tired after the otters. Figured we’d skip the grocery crowd.”

You press a hand to your chest, mock-gasping. “You had groceries delivered while we were out on a date?”

“I planned ahead,” he says, full of quiet pride. “Wanted to cook for you. Didn’t want you sneaking off to ‘rest’ and magically make dinner appear again. Or disappear. Can’t risk the house experiencing the Fourth of July.”

“I only did that once.”

“Twice. Let’s not have Busan’s fire department show up at this hour, hmm?”

You fumble with the keys as you speak, childlike in your insistence, sticking your tongue out slightly in concentration.

“Two fire incidents and it’s like the end of the world,” you mutter, finally unlocking the door with a triumphant click. “My cooking’s improved, by the way. You did teach me.”

He just watches you for a second longer, smile soft. “Just let me take care of you.”

He’s already disappearing into the kitchen before you can answer, and you follow—feet slow, heart full. The warm scents of the house greet you again—clean, lived-in, familiar, like it never stopped being yours. The sea still lingers on your clothes, in your hair, or maybe it’s just Jeongguk, still wearing that ridiculous cartoon shark hat like it’s a crown.

You settle onto a bar stool as he unpacks the bag with smooth efficiency: fresh garlic, noodles, thinly sliced beef, green onions, sesame oil.

“Wait,” you narrow your eyes. “Is that—?”

“Yukgaejang,” he confirms, flashing a wink. “Well, my version. Comfort food. Fire-free. You’ve been craving spicy again, haven’t you?”

You rest your chin on your palm, eyes soft as you watch him move. The way he wipes down the cutting board. The way he hums under his breath, a tune from nowhere in particular. The way he glances up now and then, just to make sure you’re still there. Still watching. Still his.

You start snapping pictures between prep—first, Jeongguk proudly holding up the cutting board stacked with ingredients like a contestant on a cooking show. Then one of you stealing a half-cooked strip of beef from the plate. He swats your hand away with a mock scowl, scolding, “Hey! My precious meat supply!”

“You’re not feeding me fast enough,” you mutter around the bite.

“Then quit stealing my ingredients, woman. I’ll finish faster.”

“So mean,” with a playful pout, you manage to catch the moment on his phone. “Smile. Eyebrows too.”

He huffs but obeys, smile curling on the corner of his lip. You direct him like a manager on a shoot, “Now angle the spoon. Chin up. Softer jaw. There. Perfect. Vogue-worthy.”

The last picture is captured on a timer, the phone leaned against a mug on the counter. You’re beside him, half-tucked under his arm as he stirs the pot. His free hand instinctively shifts, curling gently around your waist. You nudge your cheek into his hoodie, whisper, “Smile with your heart, chef-nim.”

“Heart’s smiling,” he murmurs, barely glancing at the camera, “but my pot’s about to boil over.”

You laugh, try to sneak the spatula from under his arm. “Can I help now?”

He’s quicker, pulling it out of reach like a practiced move. “Can’t have you burning the house down for the third time.”

“Ugh,” you groan, stepping back to your spot on the stool, defeated but smiling. “Fine. I’ll just sit here and look like I want to help.”

“You’re doing amazing,” he teases, stirring with practiced grace. The stove ticks softly in the background, a quiet rhythm anchoring the moment.

You fold your arms across the counter, hands tucked beneath your cheek, watching him like this—focused, present, still somehow the boy you married. He moves like someone who knows what he’s making matters—not just the food, but the memory it’ll become.

You don’t remember falling into conversation, but it happens anyway—quiet voices mingling with the hum of the night.

The dishes are done, the air still warm from dinner, the scent of sesame and beef lingering faintly in the background. You’re both freshly showered, skin cool from the breeze slipping through the windows. The bedroom feels softer tonight—soft in a way that lives in the spaces between laughter and silence.

“Was the shark tunnel always that short?” you murmur, smoothing lotion over your arms. “Felt like we blinked and it was over.”

Jeongguk chuckles from the other side of the bed, towel-drying his hair. “You were the one doing slow-mo runway walks in there. Pretty sure we got lapped by a toddler.”

You grin, flopping onto the mattress as he crosses the room. “Still the best aisle I’ve ever walked down.”

His steps falter slightly, eyes softening as he sits beside you. “Can I disagree on that?”

“Huh?” you blink, caught off guard.

“I think the best aisle you ever walked down was on June 13th, 2016.”

The date brings your hands to a pause over the blanket. How could it not?

The day you walked barefoot down the aisle at Gwangalli, salt wind in your veil and Jeongguk waiting in linen and light. The day two twenty-four-year-olds made vows with teary laughter and shaky rings. The day you were born and weaved into this shared life with him.

A quiet smile pulls at your lips. You shake your head, pick up a pillow, and toss it at him—the soft thud of cotton landing harmlessly against his chest. He catches it before it hits his face, laughing.

“Cheesy little shit.”

“Just honest,” he shrugs, arranging the pillows neatly like it’s instinct. Like the words he dropped didn’t just undo your whole chest.

Jeongguk stacks the last pillow in the middle—same as the night before.

You pluck each one away, one by one, dropping them on the couch nearby. Only one left.

“Oh? A promotion?” His voice lifts with mock surprise, eyes glinting when he sees the lone pillow still on the bed.

You don’t answer. Just reach for the last one, lift it slowly, and toss it aside like it never stood a chance.

There’s a second of stunned silence—

Then he pumps his fist into the air behind your back l like a child winning a gold medal, mouthing a triumphant yes! before quickly recomposing when you glance back. You pretend not to see the grin he tries to hide, even as it lights up the entire room.

Eventually, you both settle under the covers. The lights are dimmed to a golden hush. Jeongguk turns toward you, body angled close.

“Thank you for today,” you whisper.

He reaches across the sheet, fingers brushing yours. “Thank you. For letting me be part of your memories. Even the old ones.”

You press your cheek into the pillow, his hand still near—warm, steady. “It didn’t feel old today.”

He hums in agreement, eyelids fluttering once, then again. His breathing slows, the weight of the day finally pulling him under.

You wait. Watch.

Then shift toward him.

Close the small space he left open. Let your hand drift into his hair, brushing it back with a tenderness that doesn’t ask for permission.

He murmurs something unintelligible, and without thinking, shifts closer—nuzzling into your chest like gravity, arms curling around your waist like it’s a memory etched into his muscle.

And maybe it is.

Maybe it always has been.

Maybe you both have lived this moment a hundred different ways across these seventeen years.

Jeongguk sleeps soundly beside you now, his breathing steady and low—one that comes after full days and full hearts. His hand is still curled loosely around your wrist, like even in sleep, he’s afraid to let go.

You shift slowly, gently easing out of his hold. Careful not to stir him, you reach for the hoodie draped over the foot of the bed—his, soft and oversized, still faintly scented with laundry soap and him—and slip it on like armor.

The veranda door clicks open with the smallest sound. You step outside into the stillness, closing the door just enough behind you to hush the warmth of the room. The night greets you with a breeze off the sea, cooler than expected. You pull the hoodie tighter around you.

Your phone buzzes in your hand.

Jin.

You sit quietly on the wicker chair facing the ocean, the horizon a soft stretch of black and silver. The stars are out tonight. You take a breath, then answer.

“Hey,” you say first, voice low.

“Hey,” Jin replies, already gentler than usual. “Did I wake you?”

You shake your head. “No. I couldn’t sleep.”

A pause.

“How’s Busan so far?”

You glance toward the slightly open door—toward the lamp still glowing in the bedroom behind it.

“It’s been… kind,” you say eventually. “We went to the aquarium today. The one by the coast.”

“The one you used to sneak off to on rainy weekends? When you both needed to escape the city?”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah. He remembered all the exhibits. We got matching shark hats from the gift shop.”

Jin hums. “Sounds like you both.”

Silence stretches, peaceful but not empty. Then, gently:

“I just wanted to let you know the arrangements are settled. Final signatures went through earlier this morning.”

You look down, your thumb brushing over the edge of your wedding ring. “That soon?”

“There’s no rush,” he says carefully. “It’ll be ready whenever you are.”

You blink, eyes stinging in the corners. “She’ll come home soon.”

And just like that—your heart flutters. Not out of nerves. But from something else entirely.

A quiet sort of joy. A stillness blooming in your chest. Like—for once—everything might actually be falling into place.

Jin’s voice is softer now. “She deserves to be home. You both do.”

The line falls quiet. But you don’t hang up just yet.

You let the silence sit between you, calm and full. The waves roll in softly beyond the veranda, like they’re whispering secrets only the night understands.

Head tilted back, you trace the stars overhead, eyes finding the constellation patterns you used to name on nights like this. They’re brighter tonight—maybe because you’re finally looking.

Maybe because someone else is, too.

Your fingers brush the curve of your ring.

And for a moment, you just sit there, holding on.

#jungkook fanfiction #jungkook ff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x yn #bts fanfiction #fanfic #bts jeon jungkook #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook

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blossomwritesfics · 2 months ago

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-Me n My Girl-

Alfie Buttle x fem reader

Summary: Your first time at the Grotto.

Warnings: None! Fluff, kissing?

Blurry FaceTime calls, midnight texts and liking instagram stories. The realities of a long distance relationship. Practicality hadn’t seemed to matter at the time, not when he first popped up into your DM’s with a cringe worthy pickup line. You’d laughed at your screen, a girlish giggle as you just stared at the message.

Alfie Buttle has sent you a message…

The notification had set off the butterflies in your stomach, fluttering and dancing with joy. You’d replied instantly of course. Becoming an influencer overnight hadn’t seemed real, you were still the same teenage girl who people somehow found interesting enough to pay attention to. And now you’d caught the attention of the brunette you’d been ogling over for months.

Late night phone calls slowly turned into good morning texts, memes being sent throughout the day until one day he popped the question. “How do you feel about staying at mine this weekend? Saves you paying for a hotel” You could feel his grin through the skin, a boyish smirk with a mixture of hope. Who were you to deny him?

As the weekend arrived you found yourself a flustered mess, cross legged on your bedroom carpet as you stuffed the last of your belongings into an overflowing backpack. The zip refused to close, much to your dismay, despite your insistent tugging and grumbled swears. “Stupid fucking bag!” You snatched it up in a huff, throwing the strap over your shoulder before jumping into the car.

“Omw! See u soon x”

Three hours passed as you drove, singing along to the radio, one hand gripping the wheel and the other clutching a coffee you’d picked up along the way. The stupid paper straw had practically dissolved by the end of your journey, but nothing was going to dampen your mood. The smile tugging at your lips was infectious, a bright grin sure to make anybody’s day.

Pulling into his driveway felt like a fever dream, your heart thudding louder than the engine. The car's soft hum faded as you put the car in park, you sat in silence for a moment. Everything had led up to this one nerve wracking moment. Your reflection in the mirror showed flushed cheeks and wide, expecting eyes, both excitement and nervousness all blended into one. The perfect storm. Was he watching you from the window? Were his cheeks as pink as yours? There was no time to contemplate as Alfie swung the front door open with a sense of urgency. Taller than you’d expected, the instagram photos you practically had memorised didn’t do him justice. Familiar, and completely new all at once. He walked toward you, arms open and inviting, and in that moment the distance seemed to melt away.

“Hi,” You whispered breathlessly, cheek to his chest. His heart was beating slowly, a relaxed and soothing rhythm contrasting yours. You could still feel your heart in your throat, intrusive and nerve wracking. “Hey darlin’,” He hummed back, pressing a delicate kiss to your hairline.

Like a true gentleman, Alfie carried your bag into the house, ensuring your over packed belongings didn’t explode onto the ground. You stood awkwardly in the middle of the bedroom, taking in the space. Crisp white sheets on a perfectly made bed, nothing out of place as if he’d run round tidying just moments before. Alfie watched as you glanced around, now his turn to check you out. He let out a hum of appreciation, stepping forward to tower over you once more. “C’mere” he murmured softly, sensing your nerves. He dropped onto the bed, the mattress springs creaking beneath his weight. You joined him without a second thought, hypnotised by his gentle tone. He wasted no time in pulling you close, sharing the warmth radiating from his frame. “You’re warm,” you breathed, eyes closing as you nuzzled closer. “And you’re hot,” he laughed, leaning forward to catch your lips in a kiss. If it weren’t for the surprising affection, you would have rolled your eyes at the cheesy come back.

You had spoken about this moment for months, half-teasing, half-dreaming. The air felt charged, heavy with everything you were yet to say. The kiss was soft, gentle at first as you found your rhythm. Real, raw, a culmination of months of longing compressed into a few stolen seconds.

Alfie was the first to pull back, not bothering to speak in favour of taking you in. The sparkle in your eyes, the way it seemed like the entire universe had shifted.

Taglist: @mdhillclarkey

#blossomwritesfics #alfie buttle x fem reader #alfie buttle #alfie buttle smut #arthur hill #arthur frederick #harry lewis #george clarke #george clarke x fem!reader #chrismd #george clarkey #sidemen

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angel-writes-skz-here · 1 month ago

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Soju Speedster

Felix x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: Being stuck with Felix in a car isn't your idea of a fun time, or at least, it wasn't. Warnings: SMUT, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, oral (both rec), fingering, use of pet names, spit, degradation, Felix talks a lot A/N: Another order fulfilled! Thank you for the likes and love on these stories! I appreciate it so very much! I have a dad!chan fic coming out for Father's Day so please follow or comment if you'd like to be tagged in that or future fics of mine! Larie's Libations - Soju Speedster [Soju]- Felix [Cola]- Someone's Car [Citrus Rind] - Kinks (spitting, degradation) Thank you for your service! Please come again! 🍷

It was stupid really, the way you and Felix never could fully get along. Sure, in front of guests you were polite, but on the occasions, you were forced to be alone, it was torture.

You meet him downstairs, forced to ride with him to meet the guys for an SKZ code filming.

“So, you’re camping?” you ask, trying to keep the edge out of your voice.

“Yep,” he says. It’s short, sweet, and oh so sharp.

“Good luck with that, you hate camping,” you snicker. Felix rolls his eyes.

“Why don’t we just not talk? It’ll keep my ears from bleeding on the way there,” he sneers.

You scoff as you both walk out the door.

The car ride is silent, tense, the pouring rain the only sound heard other than the low hum of the radio. You’re in the middle of nowhere, nothing but fields and trees.

“I can’t believe Chan is actually making me stay with you. I mean seriously, you hate camping, you’re such a baby about everything.” You sigh as you mumble to yourself.

“At least I don’t put up a front.” He shrugs.

“Excuse you?”

“You act like you’re too fucking cool for anything, like you can’t have fun, like it’s a chore to hang out with us.” He flits his eyes to you, anger evident in his voice.

“It’s only a chore when it’s you, Lixie,” you sarcastically call him the pet name. He huffs, face turning slightly red from frustration.

“It makes me sick ya know, the way you act. Like you just can’t enjoy anything. I mean, you complain constantly. Why don’t you lighten up.”

“You’re right, let’s pretend we’re the best of friends and love each other and crowd around a campfire with marshmallows and sing songs,” you sarcastically remark.

You notice his jaw tick and smile, satisfied that you got the last word.

“It’s not my dream to have you here, either,” he says after a beat of silence.

“Then we can actually agree on something for once!” you feign excitement. His grip on the wheel tightens, turning his knuckles white. You can’t help the giggle.

“Man, I really get under that freckled skin of yours huh?” you stifle another laugh. Felix’s teeth slightly grind together.

He opens his mouth to say something when you interrupt.

“Make a left down this road!” you point and he ignores it.

“Felix, seriously?”

“I don’t take orders from you,” he shrugs, “I know where I’m going, and we can get there from here.”

“We could get there faster if you’d turn around and do what I told you to do,” you huff.

“What you told me? Seriously? What am I? A dog?” he asks as he continues driving the same way.

“A bitch more like it,” you mumble under your breath as you look out the passenger window.

“Oh, fuck off,” he bites, and your shoulders raise as you stifle yet another laugh. Felix was never one to show his anger, he’s usually very patient, but something about you pushes him to the edge.

Before anything else can be said, you hear a weird sound come from the front of the car and it begins to slow down.

“Oh my god,” you groan. Felix turns the wheel pulling off on the side of the road.

“See if you had just listened to me, we would have-,”

“Can you please, for the love of God, shut your fucking mouth for two minutes?” he snaps as he pulls out his phone to shoot a text to Chan and then call a tow truck.

“Ooh, Lixie’s getting angry,” you tease once he’s off the phone.

“Y/n, I’m serious.” He says through clenched teeth.

“If you want me to shut up so bad, make me.” You challenge in defiance. It all happens so fast you aren’t sure what’s happening until it’s done.

Felix undoes his seatbelt harshly, hand on your cheek as his lips crash into yours; hot and heavy. You’re stunned, eyes wide the feeling of his lips and teeth on your mouth foreign. But not unwelcome.

His hand reaches down to undo your seat belt, lips never leaving yours. Your heart is erratic in your chest, but you give in, allowing your pent-up anger to be expressed. Your hands go his hair, tugging it harshly, earning a sharp bite to your lip; causing you to giggle.

“Back seat; now,” his voice is low, dominating. It sends shiver down your spine. You oblige, quickly moving to the back seat, Felix not far behind.

Your lips reconnect, fire and passion still evident, breaths mixing as you sigh against each other, the window of the car already fogging up.

“You’re such a fucking tease, you know that,” he asks as he undoes the buttons on your jeans.

“How?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“These tight fucking pants,” he says as your hips lift, “this tight shirt, showing me everything, such a slutty little outfit,” he groans. Your hips shift at his words and his brow quirks with an evident smirk and cocky chuckle.

“So, you like being called a slut huh? Like it when someone tells you how much of a fucking mess you are?”

He lifts your top over your head, “And no fucking bra?” he lets out a breathless laugh as he cups your chest.

“Fuck,” he breathes as his lips go to your neck.

“Such a fucking tease,” he bites down harsh, sucking a mark on your neck.

“A pain in my ass,” he groans in your ear as one of your hands goes up to palm him through his pants. He sucks another mark on your neck, one that can’t be hidden by your t shirt.

“Careful they’ll know how much of a little bitch you really are for me,” you say between gasps as his thumbs run over you peaked buds.

He chuckles in your ear, low, sinful, dangerous.

“You think I’m the simp here?” you hear the smirk in his voice, and your heart thuds in your ears.

“Y-yeah, I do,” you breathe as his tongue runs over the shell of your ear.

“We’ll see about that, baby.” His lips find yours again for another rough kiss.

“Lay down,” he growls against your lips and you want to fight it, but your body betrays you.

“Such an obedient little thing,” he taunts; amusement in his voice. He holds himself above you, hair falling on either side of his face, dark eyes staring into yours before looking down at you. You feel the heat rise up your neck, exposed to him in a way you never thought you could be. Excited about the fact that you are.

“Tell me what you want,” he smirks, “Or you get nothing.”

“Fuck you,” you spit.

“Good enough,” he says as his lips reattach to yours and his hand slips into your underwear, a groan leaving his lips. You feel the pads of his fingers spread you open, your legs separating for him to have better access.

He moves his lips to your ear.

“So wet, you like it when I’m angry don’t you?” His fingers start rubbing slow circles on your clit. You gasp, biting your lip so hard you taste blood, trying not to let him know he’s breaking your resolve.

“If you don’t let it out, I’ll stop,” he says gruffly.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you breathe.

“Why not?” he taunts. You don’t answer.

“Because you’re a desperate little thing who wants me to fuck her till she see’s stars?” he coos.

You can’t help the groan that ultimately escapes you. His fingers abandon your clit, and slowly his fingers work your entrance, pumping in and out, finding your g spot quickly.

“Oh fuck,” you exhale as your eyes flutter shut.

“This what you wanted the whole time? Someone to take control? Someone to make you feel good and scream, while you just sit back and fucking take it?” he asks.

“That was a question, y/n, answer me.” He demands as his fingers stop. You let out a whimper.

“Fuck, yes. Please,” you whine breathlessly as your hips try to move and he snickers.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make you feel good.” He says as he kisses your temple, adding a second finger, curling them with each thrust.

“Ah-ha,” you gasp out the broken word, hands bracing on his shoulders. Felix can feel how hard his cock is, watching you submit under him after months of teasing and arguing, it’s something he never thought he’d get off to; and yet here he is getting off to having the upper hand for once.

“Fuck, Felix I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, completely at his mercy. He holds himself up a little higher, letting a string of spit encase your nipple before sucking it into his mouth flicking his tongue over the hardened nub.

“Lix,” you whine as your fingers to his hair, the stimulation, overwhelming as he pumps his fingers faster, the bottom part of his palm bumping your clit, making your head spin.

“Fuck,” you whine as you feel your muscles go taut.

“Ah fuck, please don’t stop,” you plead as your body starts to shake, your orgasm slamming into you so hard your hearing fades slightly.

You gasp, once your body loosens, Felix’s mouth open in awe as he watched the whole thing.

“What?” you ask breathlessly.

“That was hot,” he admits as he pulls his fingers out.

“Shut the fuck up,” you sass. Felix tsks, wagging his non soaked finger. He sucks your juices off his hand.

“Still got that mouth on you, still such a bratty girl.” He says as his own shirt is taken off, revealing his abs. Your hands reach up to touch them, and he smirks.

“Just drop the façade.” He chuckles as his pants and boxers come off next.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lixie boy,” you smirk and he leans down, lips to your ear again.

“As if you didn’t just fall apart because of my fingers in your tight little pussy,” he says in your ear, making you shutter and your walls clench.

“Get up,” his voice is rough as he helps you sit up. He taps his cock against your lips and you raise your brows.

“Excuse you?” you ask, sounding offended, but your cunt clenches despite your tone.

“We’re gonna put that dirty little mouth of yours to better use, so open.” He demands. Hesitantly, you oblige. He smiles before taking your jaw roughly and spitting in your mouth. He shuts your mouth for you and lifts his brow. You swallow it, eye contact never breaking.

He forces your jaw open with his fingers, though you barely resist as he brings his swelled, veiny cock to your lips.

“Go on,” he motions. You stick your tongue out flat, before licking his slit. His eyes shut automatically, a groan leaving his mouth. You smirk, control being yours again, as you mimic the action again.

“Don’t tease me,” he says as his hand tangles in your hair.

“It’s only fair, baby.” You taunt seductively as your hand comes up to stroke him slowly, teasingly slow.

“You’re gonna,” he says but a moan cuts him off, “fuck, you’re gonna regret this,” he huffs a laugh.

“That a promise?” you tease and as his mouth opens to respond, you suck him in, nose going to his pelvis, and a pornographic moan leaves him.

“Shit,” he breathes as your head begins to move, cheeks hollowed out.

“Knew this mouth could do more than talk. Imagined it so many times,” he says as his hand guides you back and forth. You slide off him.

“You’ve imagined this?” He takes the opportunity to sit down against the cloth seat and you arch your back, spitting on his cock, watching it coat him.

“You’ve imagined, me, naked, sucking your cock?” you ask again and he looks at you, unsure of what he should say.

“Yeah, I have. I figured you’re such a brat verbally you must know how to use your mouth.”

He groans as your mouth wraps around him again, teeth teasingly scrapping him at his words.

“Such a filthy mind,” you taunt before swirling your tongue around the head.

“Fuck,” his eyes screw shut, mouth going slack as your head continues to work.

“Fuck, baby I’m gonna cum.” He says as he pushes your head down, slight gagging being heard before you breathe through your nose again.

“Gonna fill that mouth so full you won’t be able to talk,” he pants, hips thrusting up into your mouth. You abandon your ambition and let him use you, hips sputtering into your mouth as he twitches and suddenly you feel the heat from his cum shoot into your mouth, white ropes hitting the back of your throat, groans and moans filling the car.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he says, and you peer up at him through your lashes. His head is back; eyes are squeezed so tight you swear he’ll bust his capillaries, mouth slack. And something within you is satisfied; empowered.

You take your mouth off him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“There, now we can wait for the truck,” you say and Felix lets out a real laugh.

“You think I’m finished with you?” he snickers and gets up on his knees, backing you against the seat again. The rain outside beats against the car, and the windows are fogged offering a little bit of privacy.

“Let’s see if we can fix that attitude huh?” He kisses your lips again as he lines himself up at your entrance. He pushes in slow and deep. He groans as his hand encases your throat.

“Maybe this is what you needed, just a good fuck to make you act right,” he mumbles to himself as he drags himself against your walls, making you feel every vein, every thick inch of him.

You groan as he slams into you, hitting your sweet spot. Your body jolts upward into his, your arms wrapping around his neck. He chuckles at you, sweat slicked skin against skin as his hips rock back and forth. Your legs wrap around him.

“Fuck you’re such a mess for me,” he groans in your ear.

“Look at how you tremble, fucking gorgeous,” he rambles as he feels you shake beneath him, your next orgasm too close.

“You gonna cum again already? Pathetic,” he smirks cockily until you clench around him and his mouth gapes open.

“God,” he groans before littering kisses onto your shoulder and nape of your neck

“Fuck, Felix I can’t, I can’t hold it,” you whimper against him.

“Yes you can, come on baby girl you can do it. Hold it just another minute, be a good girl for me,” he grunts as his hips pound into you, bodies still close. He feels your walls flutter and he reaches between you, feeling your puffy clit and rubs side to side against it.

“Oh fuck,” you say as your body starts to go rigid. You tremble as you can’t hold it back anymore.

“Cum for me, let me hear how good I make you feel,” he breathes. You gasp as you cry out, body in utter shambles, as the aftershocks hit, legs still twitching. Felix cums just a moment or two after, forehead against yours, breaths fanning each other.

The two of you settle together, the car smelling of sex and sweat, the rain still beating against it. Neither of you move, but you feel the remnants of Felix drip down your thigh.

The moment is surreal, part of you wonders for half a second if it is real. Did you dream it, or did Felix really just fuck the attitude right out of you? Did he really just ruin you in the best way possible?

“Still wanna mouth off to me?” he laughs breathlessly.

“Depends, does it get me this?”

“I’m not encouraging this behavior.” He tuts.

“Just kiss me,” you say and he captures your lips, slowly pulling out, making you both groan.

“Fuck look at you,” he says as he sits up. Your body is slack, eyes half lidded, with a lazy smile and flushed cheeks.

“Never thought you could look so beautiful,” he says with a genuine grin. Your cheeks tint with a darker shade of crimson.

“The tow truck will be here soon, we should,” he trails off as he picks up your clothes.

“Fuck I’m a mess,” you grumble as you try to sit up.

“Allow me,” he says before dropping down and licking you clean with his tongue. You gasp as his nose bumps your all too sensitive clit. He keeps eye contact with you, and for a moment you swear you could cum again just from that. Felix moans as your taste is slowly transferred to his tongue, mixing with his own release.

He’s not quick, not teasing, just soft and slow until he’s sure you’re cleaned up enough. He pulls back, a satisfied smile on his face. He helps you put your underwear and jeans back on, just in time for the two truck to arrive.

The rain slacks and Felix opens the back door getting out first, and as you step out of the car, your legs are wobbly and you shoot him a glare as he helps steady you. Felix chuckles to himself as he watches them hook up the car.

Thankfully Chan arrives not long after the two truck and when his eyes land on you, flushed skin, messy hair, swollen lips and bruised neck, he busts out into laughter.

“Finally!” Is all he can say as you and Felix get buckled in and he drives off.

Tags: @breakmeoff @idkimobsessed @queenofdumbfuckery @mfcherry @downingmorphine @pixie-felix @d3kstar @lveegsoi @ebnabi @nebugalaxy @babystay724 @mmarusa @imagine-all-the-imagines @erisuna @beabidoobee @hanniesbubuwife @bbykaixx @riri53 @jinniesgirl @alx-wyjsr @skzswife @hwangjoanna @stephanieeeyang @minnysproutgriffinteddy @jqtsblyth @magicshuhua @loveesiren @szonyix6277 @seungttttop @moontabi @velvetmoonlght @thelovelybireader

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veebeeboo109 · 1 month ago

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[Read on AO3]

Continuation of Cleaning up the Timeline

[5k words - Poly!Lads x Reader: A little one on one Rafayel x You with Merman!Rafayel]

[Part One]

Tags: Underwater, Merman!Rafayel, Nonhuman anatomy.

Ebb Day Recovery

At some point in the night, the window was opened and salt sea air drifted in, dancing with the sheer curtains back and forth. Incandescent sunlight peeks in the gaps, the rising sun casting beams of warmth to pair with cool breeze.

You wake to something soft and warm against your cheek. Lips that barely brush against your nose and then just below your eye. Tender little pecks that coax you out of sleep.

“There you are…” Rafayel’s voice is barely even a whisper, and you feel his words puff against you. “Wakey wakey, cutie.”

Your eyes flutter open, lazily opening to find Rafayel’s face mere inches from your own. The morning light casts in him in a dreamy glow, and for a moment you just stare at him. The flecks of magenta and indigo in his eyes, and the hints of violet in his eyelashes.

Rafayel smiles and dips his head down, kissing you slowly. For a moment, you worry that it’s still Ebb day– that his kiss will soon become teeth, and you’ll be bent over the edge of the bed holding on for dear life.

You hum softly into his kiss, and he pulls away without pressing further.

“Come with me…” He whispers to you, and drags his hands down your arm to your hand and pulls you upright.

Sleep still clings like a shawl over your shoulders, making your limbs feel heavy, but you follow along obediently. Shifting among the other bodies in the too-small bed before finding your footing.

You hear Sylus grumble something, and when you look over your shoulder you see him rolling over to lay across Xavier, who wheezes softly under the added weight.

Rafayel has both of your hands in his, walking in front of you like a guiding light. His smile is as soft as the morning light. His touch is cool like the morning dew, and his voice sings sweetly in your ear like the songbird’s dawn chorus.

The silky material of your nightdress shifts as you step outside and onto the damp wood of the patio. Rafayel laughs airily when you shiver. He lets out a soft coo and runs his thumbs across your knuckles.

The wood of the walkway gives way to powdery sand between your toes as Rafayel draws you to the ocean.

Waves draw up the sand, crawling to kiss at your ankles and then slide away. His warm hands slide up your arms, “This okay? I wanna’ swim with you a while.”

You nod and help extricate him of the loose pants he’d been wearing. With his hands still clasped in yours, he draws you into the water and the further you go the more exhilarated you feel. A sparkle of excitement that trickles down your spine that feels oddly like danger.

A siren is pulling you into the sea, not by a song, but with his gentle hands. What a perfect trap for you. Seduced by the passion beneath his fingertips, and the devotion of his lips. If his desire was to drown you…you’re not sure you’d try and stop him.

The last time you were here, you hadn’t gotten to properly swim and it was nice to slip into the weightlessness of the water. He keeps a hold of your hand as he guides you deeper and deeper, until the sandy beach is too far to reach with your toes and you're floating.

Rafayel pulls you close and presses your lips to his, and slowly descends beneath the surface and brings you with him. Water rushes into your nose and past your parted lips, diving into places that should make you choke and sputter. But all you feel is a cool rush as sea replaces air. Blinking, your vision slowly comes into focus, a haze of blue, blue and him.

Rafayel’s laugh moves slowly through the shifting tide, and you feel the waves of it against your face as you simultaneously hear it. “I’ve waited so long to see you like this again…how does it feel?”

The echo of memories rises to your mind. Swimming in a small pool too small to properly swim, but making do anyway.

You open your mouth, speaking being the oddest sensation underwater. The last of your air bubbles past your lips before you manage any sound. “It’s always strange. Breathing underwater.”

Rafayel pulls his hands apart, which effectively draws your torso closer to him. He tilts his head and closes the gap, pushing your lips together with a little more hunger than before. The sleepy daze has finally left both of you, and so you can fully enjoy the way he kisses like he just can’t get enough.

With gentle kicks of your legs, the two of you drift further and further from shore, heading towards the reef. The fish that scurry by in their little schools don’t seem bothered by your presence, but they give Rafayel a wide berth. Jolting like the caught the eye of a shark when he turns his head to look at you with a fond, syrupy smile.

“You didn’t remember last time,” Rafayel says as he brings you to a sandy spot surrounded by the black volcanic rock. A little bowl covered in colorful coral and dotted with tropical fish, almost like a little bed. “So, I found all the beautiful places I could while you slept and promised myself to bring you here…if you ever did remember.”

You slowly sink to lie on the sandy bed, and gaze up at the swirling, gemstone surface. The beams of sunlight shift and dance, catching against the scales of wrasse and basslets. Like strings of colorful jewels that swim like a delicate chandelier above you.

Rafayel sinks to rest beside you, and moves some of the hair from your face. “I told them all about you, and I think they’re excited to meet you.”

A playful laugh escapes you, thinking he’s teasing about talking to the fish. However, just then a shadow is cast over your face, and when you look up a trio of sea turtles swims overhead. They take their time, in the timeless laze that turtles do.

You turn to look at your sea god, and find him watching you. Instead of the elaborate theatre of tropical sea life that he’s orchestrated for you, he’s entranced by you. Nothing the sea could create matches the delicate sparkle in your eyes, or the perfect curve of your lips when you smile.

“Thank you,” You whisper to him, and tilt your face close to his, “Are you feeling better now? After Ebb day?”

“Hm, I’m a little sore.” Rafayel replies, raising one arm to rest his head on his hand, while the other remains clasped with yours. “I don’t feel like I’m gonna’ melt anymore. Though, I should be asking about you, princess. You still in one piece?”

Your laughter stirs up tiny bubbles, “I’m alright. You weren’t kidding when you said I couldn’t handle it on my own, I think you changed the shape of my hipbones a little.”

Rafayel rolls to lie on his side facing you, and tilts his head. His expression is light, but there’s a density to his stare. “That…shouldn’t excite me but it does. Do you think, when archaeologists find our bones, they’ll be able to match my hands to your little deformed hips?”

His voice trails down into a dark timbre, and he doesn’t wait for your reply because he leaning over you, dragging you back into a kiss. He nips at your lower lip and sighs into it, clearly pleased.

“Rafayel…” Your voice is a breath, an exhale of salt water and sweet adoration. He opens his eyes slightly, just enough to meet yours so you can ask, “Will you…will you change, for me?”

He tilts his head, brushing the tips of your noses together. “You really want that?”

“I only got to see it for a second.” You almost whine, trailing your fingertips up the curves of his sculpted, bare arms. “You’re so pretty…please?”

Rafayel makes a low, trilling sound deep in his chest. It vibrates in a way that makes you think it's only audible because you’re underwater. The tips of his ears are tinged that pretty raspberry color, but it’s quickly overcome by a soft cerulean glow.

There’s a small shift in the water, and you’re surprised by how quickly he can change. The shimmer of evol or some power equivalent buzzes around you. Lingering like static electricity.

“Happy now, cutie?” Rafayel asks, leaning back a little so you can get a good look at him. You sit up slowly, the drag of the water resisting harsh movement. He rests on his elbows and lets you have your fill.

His ethereal tail is so much longer than his legs, nearly twice so. It rolls slightly, shifting with the movement of the water, and the cascade of sunbeams catches along his opalescent scales. Shimmery and slick looking, you can’t help but reach out.

The scales are large, and it’s odd the way they disperse and transition to the pale expanse of his abdomen. Dragging your hand down, it slides easily, slick and smooth. Dragging it back up, you can feel the texture of the slightly rounded scales, and with a little pressure, you feel how incredibly sharp they are.

“Careful,” Rafayel says, grabbing your hand and lifting it up, “I really don’t want to deal with sharks right now. They’re so nosy.”

Too curious for your own good, you glance down again– to that little hidden slit. Now that you know about it, it’s hard to ignore.

The hand that holds yours tightens slightly, and he pulls you a little closer. “You look like you want something….what could that be?”

You’re not sure if it’s possible to be breathless when you’re not breathing air, but you find yourself a little light headed. “Can I…can I touch…?”

“Touch?” Rafayel coos. You’d almost forgotten how teasing he could be. After this week of pure desperation where Rafayel would growl if you wasted time with words, this return sends a shiver down your spine. “Touch what? Be a little more specific…”

You sigh softly and give him your best pleading look, “I want to touch you please. I wanna’ touch that spot that made you cry last time…”

Rafayel’s breathing hitches, and you see the spark of your words catch fire inside him. He drags you up and over him, fingertips digging into the flesh of your thighs and making you straddle the wide thickness of his tail. “Don’t be a brat, cutie. Makes you smell like something to eat. Go on then…touch.”

You can feel the slide of his scales tickle the tender flesh of your inner thigh. The thin night dress you are wearing provides so little coverage you might as well have left it on the beach.

While positioned over him, you're a little bolder. Placing your palms on the mounds of his abs and drifting down, feeling him tremble at your feather light touch. Make no mistake, this isn’t a position of power for you. The hands on your thighs are your leash, and he keeps you exactly where he wants you.

The sea god hums, deep within his chest and the water rumbles around him. Within his element, the very earth beneath him bends to his whims. You are his supplicant. His favorite follower allowed the singular privilege of his touch.

“Can I?” You whisper as you drag your fingertips over the slit at the crux of his hips. His whole body shudders, and he slowly pulls you back and forth to grind gently over him– hands acting before his mind can make a decision.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” Rafayel warns. The ridges of his scales are a delicious texture against your sex, and in this state, his face flushes violet instead of red.

You don’t reply, and answer his grunted warning with a deliberate press of your fingers inside of him. The heat of him makes your mouth fall open in awe. It’s not nearly as sweltering as when you felt it the first time, but it surrounds your digits all warm and inviting.

Rafayel inhales sharply, “That’s– ah…”

You start a slow, teasing pace, but just as you find a rhythm something hard and firm pushes your fingers away.

Rafayel sighs. A vibration fluttering through the water that’s low and nearly deafening. Thick at the base and tapered ends, his cocks throb with the frantic beat of his heart and are the prettiest violet mauve color. You shift your hand to gently run your fingertips over the seam where the dual-cocks press together. They part as your hand grows close, and invitingly try to wrap around you.

Their prehensile nature makes you both gasp and clench. A low, tight twisting in your tummy that has you consumed by the idea of these things inside you above all else.

Rafayel grabs you, hauling the night dress over your shoulders and pushing you down into the sand. In this form, he’s so much more nimble. Carving through the water so easily because he made for it. You don’t realize until he’s settling in between your legs that he’s bigger in this form.

The width of his shoulders and hips are wider. His torso is longer, and his hands as they slide up your form to gently cup your jaw to kiss you are larger. It’s a shock to realize, and you gasp into his languid kiss.

Bubbles sprout from your parted lips, drifting up and around his and through his shimmery hair– brighter in the water like plum and wild violets.

“Let me take care of you, darling,” Rafayel coos, “You deserve a treat for being so obedient during Ebb day.”

“Rafayel…” Your voice is weak as he slides easily down your body, peppering kisses like he’s sad to part with every part he passes.

You feel the sharp edge of his teeth as he nips softly at your hip, kissing the bruises that linger there. You weren’t kidding when you said your hipbones were likely permanently changed from his hands, and the discoloring of your skin is proof of that.

A hungry, wanton sound leaves Rafayel’s lips when he finally reaches your sex, vibrating against you in the most sinful, inhuman way. A part of you missed how he was during his rut, because now he has patience. He eagerly prolongs your anticipation, only kissing the outer edges of you.

The weightlessness of the water adds a sort of sensory deprivation, making every little touch Rafayel does grant you all the more intense. The only draw back is it’s hard to stay in one place. Drifting further and further up your sandy bed until your head nearly hits the dark craggy rocks.

You raise your hands above your head and grab onto the sharp stone and coral, giving you enough leverage to roll your hips into his mouth. Pushing your desperate leaking cunt onto his open, waiting mouth.

Rafayel looks up at you, the blue of the ocean gleaming in his eyes, and there’s a deep satisfaction there. His tongue pushes inside you, and drags up, torturing your clit and rolling it around his– is his tongue longer? Oh god…oh god it is…

You feel Rafayel’s laugh against your sex, and it enters you like some sort of heady drug. Your hips move of their own accord and your lips spill every lurid thought that passes your mind.

“Oh…Oh god, your tongue.” You whine, riding it and his face as your mind starts to turn to mush. “It’s longer…ahh. Oh fuck don’t stop. More, more , more.”

Rafayel reaches up to grab your waist, pulling you down onto his mouth like you're a morsel trying to squirm away. The edge of one of his sharp teeth barely touches your clit and you jolt, crying out from that exhilarating mix of danger, pain, and pleasure.

“My bride…” Rafayel slurs in between swipes of his tongue and filthy slurps, “is so needy even now. Even when I’ve filled you over and over….you’re still begging me for me…”

Rafayel’s fingers join in, two pressing inside like he’s searching for something. Testing the limits of what you can handle as he crooks them into that sensitive spongy spot he loves to abuse.

“You need to come for me a few times, my darling.” Rafayel hums, looking at your cunt like he’s speaking to it more so than you. “Then you can have me. Mmh, don’t clench so hard…that’s it….I know, I know. You need me so badly, don’t you?”

Rafayel is cruel to you in the most sublime way. Drinking in your sounds, your movements, your taste. In this form all his senses are even stronger than before. He can hear your heartbeat like it’s his own in his ears. Feel the rush of endorphins and oxytocin release from you as you approach climax. And he wants it all. Rafayel satiates this ravenous desire to please you almost violently.

When you come, Rafayel feels it in his fingers and on his tongue. The intense burst of ecstasy that leaks from your skin and your mewling cunt hits him like a physical blow. Rushing down his spine and coils low in his belly. His cocks twist against one another in a desperate attempt for friction.

As you ride his face to prolong your high, your hand slips on the coral above you. A high pitch whine leaving your lips as you bring the palm to your face to see the small line split in across your palm. Scarlet blood trickles out from it, a tiny trail that almost looks like smoke in the water.

Rafayel’s hand snaps to your wrist, and one roll of his tail has him above you. The scent of blood is so potent it drowns out everything else. His pupils have blown so wide there’s barely any color left in his iris. There’s no hesitation. A single second from the moment the cut occurred to his tongue dragging across it.

The groan that rumbles in his chest is utterly depraved, and when he looks at you, Rafayel is more shark than man. Predatory in his pinpoint hunger.

“Turn around.” He demands, and you obey. Moving in a scramble to get up on your knees, holding onto the dark rocks to keep from floating away.

Rafayel’s hands grab your hips and you inhale sharply, expecting him to press those wriggling, tentacle-like cocks right inside. Your inside clench in preparation, but you're left waiting.

His tight grip softens, and his hands turn gentle. One hand keeps you still while the other returns to your cunt, feeling it flutter with the slightest touch.

“That was a nasty trick.” Rafayel coos, tapping his fingertips against your hips almost like a mock spank. He flicks his fingers against your clit harshly, making you yelp and jolt forward, but the rocks keep you moving away. “A little bit of blood and you think I’ll lose it? Gimme’ a little more credit. My bride should know better than to try and tempt me like that… Now, be a good supplicant and come again for me.”

You don’t have enough time to reply to his remarks because Rafayel pushes three fingers inside you. On your knees and from behind, he reaches a deeper, softer part of you that makes your eyes nearly cross.

So soon after your last orgasm, it’s difficult to find that peak again. But Rafayel is nothing if not skilled with his hands. Rafayel shifts to press his hips so very close to yours. You can feel the silky texture of his scales every so often as you push back into his hand.

There are fins at his hips, little webbed ones that likely help him stay straight while swimming at high speeds. They brush against you. Their edges are sharp and they’re very cool to the touch, a star difference from the heat of his fingers inside you.

Your mind is mush. Sensory overload as you cry out your pleasure into the open ocean. Bubbles escaping your lips like diamonds in devotion to a god. Rafayel worries he won’t be able to leave. How could he ever walk on land again after this?

His mind is slowly sinking into darkness. Thoughts that are usually saved for the rut of Ebb day come back to whisper their filth in his ear. Surely he could find a way to keep you here forever. He could sit you on his cock and drag you into the inky abyss of the ocean. He’d find the ruins of Lemuria and take you amongst the rubble. Atone for his past sins with utter devotion to you– a new, perfect goddess.

Rafayel almost misses it when you come again, but the tight vice of your pussy on his fingers jolts him from his reverie. From those sanguine images of you laid across the sacrificial slab in the sanctuary of Lemuria, crying out not in fear or pain, but in ecstasy,

“That’s it…” He groans, barely able to contain the growl in his voice. “Mmh…yes.”

Rafayel removes his fingers and licks them clean. Whether it be your slick, your blood, your moans; they’re all his to feast upon. At least here. Here in the ocean, you belong to him. Only him. And he belongs to you.

“Are you ready, darling?” Rafayel purrs in your ear, and you struggle to catch your breath to answer. Steadying himself with his hands on your hips, he lines himself up. It’s torture not to press inside immediately, but he wants you to get accustomed to the sensation of the different anatomy.

Rafayel feels like a preening peacock when you moan for him. When that first alien swipe of his cocks brush against you. They twist together and reach for you, lapping like a large, dual tongue up the length of your slit before finding your cunt. He keeps himself just far enough away that they can’t quite press inside, but it takes nearly all his strength to do so.

“Oh fuck!” You howl in overstimulated pleasure. The uncanny feeling of their prehensile nature has your mind struggling to focus on anything beside shivering and whimpering. “R-Rafayel, please. Please, my god….”

A hammer to a nail. The slam of your quietly muttered expletive strikes him right in the gut, and it sunders the control he’d been maintaining over his hips. Pushing forward with a broken moan, his cocks press together tightly forming one, large shape, trying to shove inside.

It’s incredible, and also oddly terrifying. You gasp and claw at the rocks in front of you as you feel his cocks wiggle eagerly to try and fit. The stretch is incredible, nearly as bad as taking both Sylus and Zayne at the same time, but wholly different at the same time. Sylus and Zayne didn’t throb like this, twisting inside you like a tongue trying to taste every little inch.

“B-both…” Rafayel gasps, sounding utterly breathless. “Y-you took both so well, my love. My darling. My dearest follower. My beloved bride…”

Rafayel’s voice slurs, and you’re beyond speech.

Thrusting isn’t like it normally is. He doesn’t pull out until just the tip remains and then pushes back in. In this form, fucking happens in tiny, rolling thrusts. No more than an inch ever leaves you, and the shape of his cocks almost prevents that. It’s narrow at the base, flaring out slightly to keep those writhing tentacle-like cocks nestled deep.

Rafayel presses his chest to your back and lifts you up to fuck you up and down that little bit with his hands. Using you like a toy, but mumbling words of love and affection in your ear the entire time. Underneath his voice, a low rumble vibrates the waters around you. A dangerous sound coming from his chest that has sent every fish and creature swimming madly away.

“Perfect. Perfect girl.” Rafayel croons, open mouth brushing against your cheek as he pants wildly. “That’s it. You take me so well. Fuck, I should have dragged you out here first chance I got. Nngh, baby…oh my love. Keep singing for me.”

You turn your head, letting your lips brush as the two of you rut together. Closer together than you’ve ever been. “I…I…I’m gonna– Oh god…I…”

Rafayel places his large hand over your lower abdomen, pressing on the soft skin below your belly button and picking up his pace. “Yes, yes. Come. Come for me. Let me feel it– oh please please…”

You try to hold it back. Try to prolong this perfect torture for as long as you can, but Rafayel kisses you. He captures your lips and you feel like you’re going to split at the seams. Your orgasm cascades down your body, sliding down your spine and jolting you with waves of incandescent pleasure.

Rafayel is only a beat behind you. The tight squeeze of your cunt around him makes him hiss through gritted teeth. When he comes, the girth of his cocks swells slightly before filling you with gushes of steaming, too-hot come. You feel it like a rush of heat that sinks deep into you, shivers run up your sensitive spine and you whine as it just keeps coming.

“Shh, take it slow.” Rafayel whispers lovingly. You feel his powerful tail shift, bringing the two of you back down to the sandy bed. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Laying down on the cool, coarse sand, you sigh softly. Letting your body slowly come down from the taught tension. Buzzes of residual desire flicker across your skin like little zaps of electricity and you twitch every so often.

Rafayel peppers the back of your neck and shoulder with kisses. Gentle, loving pecks that feel like gratitude and praise.

After a few more moments of basking, you shift a little, and feel resistance when you tug on the cock– cocks? – inside you.

“Are you…” You begin, turning your head to look at Rafayel, “Are you stuck?”

Rafayel laughs, little bubbles coming from his hair as he shakes his head. “No, cutie. I’m not Sylus. I’m just nice and snug, and I don’t wanna leave. Can you really blame me?”

He places a hand under your knee and hikes your leg up, pulling out of you with a twist of his hips. He was right, he wasn’t stuck. The shape of him was almost plug like, so there was resistance to part.

You ponder what he means about Sylus as he lays you down on your back. Rafayel holds the side of your face as he kisses you a few more times, “I’m gonna’ find your nightgown, kay?”

When he swims away, you watch in awe as he glides so easily through the water. His tail barely moves and it propels him with more speed than any olympic swimmer could hope for.

Rafayel returns with your nightgown, plucking an angry looking crab off its hem before helping you put it over your head. “A bunch of stinky hermits found it. Thought they could make a house out of it.”

You giggle, as you’re partially covered again. Rafayel shoos away the crab and picks you up bridal style, carrying you up and away from your hidden bed and up towards the surface. The water rushes past you as his tail easily carves through the water.

You breach the surface and it takes a second to get used to breathing air again. The warm breeze that coasts along the ocean feels bizarre against your cheeks as Rafayel swims towards the beach,

You’re not sure when he turned back to his human form, only that when he reaches close enough he stands up with you still in his arms– naked as a jaybird.

Rafayel looks entirely too smug as he carries you back towards the house, looking down at you with a cocky little smirk and a triumphant twinkle in his eyes. You can only roll your eyes at him.

“Ah!” A voice squeaks. “Oh thank god!”

You’ve barely made it back to the porch before someone else is plucking you from Rafayel’s arms.

“I told you she was fine,” Sylus’ voice groans, and when you turn you see him sitting in one of the lounge chairs, reading a book.

Caleb gathers you in his arms, drawing away from Rafayel and pointing at him accusingly. “Stealing her away and dragging her into the ocean! I should filet you!”

You scoff in disbelief. “Caleb, please, I’m fine.”

“I wake up and you’re gone!” Caleb hisses sharply. The cool metal of his arm digging into your sensitive flesh. “And the last thing I see is this one dragging you under!”

“Caleb was under the impression you were luring her to her death.” Zayne informs as he steps through the open sliding door. He’s got a cup of green tea in his hands, and he gives Caleb a very tired look.

Rafayel scowls and places his hands on his hips. His very bare hips. “It was a little morning swim! Geez puppy, if you wanted to come so bad you should have said something.”

You’re still dripping wet, and Caleb’s shirt and pants are effectively soaked from holding you so close. Caleb shifts you slightly, and points again at Rafayel sharply. “Don’t scare me like that. You nearly ate her alive during your Ebb day, how was I supposed to know dragging off to the depths wasn’t the grand finale!”

“Kind of defeats the point of the whole rut,” Sylus adds, looking up from his book, “If you kill the mate after spending so much time trying to procreate.”

“Caleb, please put me down.” You sigh, patting him on the shoulder gently.

“No, no, you know what?” Caleb adjusts you again, holding you to his chest and giving Rafayel a sharp glare. “You don’t get to scare me like that and just get away with it. Let’s go get you cleaned up, and then we can chat.”

You whine softly, but let him haul you inside disappearing into the bedroom and into the bathroom.

“Are you recovered from your condition?” Zayne asks when he can tear his faze away from where Caleb carries you away. He offers his warm mug of tea to Rafayel.

Rafayel takes it and lets it warm his hands. “Much better, doctor Zayne. I enjoyed a very nice swim this morning. I didn’t think it’d cause such an upset.”

“He was fretting like a mother hen.” Xavier comments from the lounge chair next to Sylus. He lifts the oversized sunhat that had been covering his face while he napped, “Squawking, because he was sure you drowned her.”

Rafayel takes a small sip of his tea and gives the blond a small, cocky smirk. “Well someone drowned in something, but it wasn’t her.”

Zayne sighs, long winded and suffering. “Please, just get dressed.”

#love and deepspace #lads #lads x reader #lads rafayel #rafayel x you #rafayel x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #qi yu #merman rafayel #lemurian form #lads fanfic

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wileycap · 2 months ago

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Two Siblings In A Room Talking About How Much Their Dad Sucks

a.k.a a non-comics compliant ficlet about Zuko and an in-therapy Azula talking about their dad. This ended up being weird angsty sibling fluff instead of a crackfic about how stupid Ozai is. G. ~1000 words.

“Did you know that Father could have won the war?”

Azula cracked an eye open, lazily. Sunlight streamed in through the narrow windows. It had caught Zuko’s good eye – Zuko was turned so that she couldn’t see his scar and he looked…

“Oh, Zuko, it’s so strange how your mind works,” she said, cutting off her own train of thought. “What prompted this?”

“I was reorganizing the Navy, and I had to read up on our old battle plans,” Zuko replied, turning to face her. “Did you know that we had a plan to invade Ba Sing Se?”

“I did,” Azula said, inspecting her nails. "More than one, in fact."

“A good plan? A plan that would have worked? A plan that wasn't a giant drill?”

Azula mm-hm’ed, trying to speed Zuko along.

“As soon as Omashu fell, we had our supply lines. Farms, water, land, even quarries. Uncle Iroh would have taken Ba Sing Se if cousin Lu Ten hadn’t died, you know that. And if he could have done it with just what we had at the time, Father could have done it any time he wanted.”

Zuko was picking up steam. Azula was mildly entertained.

“I never even thought about how stupid the drill was. A huge offensive… relying on an untested piece of technology that cost more than half our fleet. If I did that, my advisors would skin me alive!”

“If that happens, can I book tickets in advance?” Azula asked, smirking in the face of Zuko’s fuming.

“It’s not a joke!” Zuko snapped, getting up in one violent motion. He paced around the small sitting area. “I spent sixteen years terrified of him, hating him, wanting him to love and accept me, and…”

Zuko let himself drop down on the rug, burying his face in his hands.

Azula observed, uncaring.

They sat in silence for a while.

“It was better when he was this… invincible monster,” Zuko finally said, gesturing vaguely with his arms.

“Yes, I imagine it was. Better than getting half your face burned off by an idiot who doesn’t even know how to read,” Azula shrugged.

Zuko’s incredulous look was an entirely predictable reaction. “I’m pretty sure he knows how to read.”

“I’m not.”

“Azula, come on. Father reads.”

“Are you sure? Can you remember one time he read something, or wrote something, instead of having it read to him or dictating?” Azula paused to let Zuko think. By the blank look on her brother’s face, Azula decided that no answer was forthcoming. “See? Father doesn’t know how to read.”

Zuko gaped. Azula raised an eyebrow, radiating smug superiority.

“Wait,” Zuko said, pointing a finger. “At his coronation, he read the Greeting to Agni!”

“Memorized it,” Azula waved it off. “And he made a mistake. He said Agni’s radiance instead of Agni’s light.”

“Why would he replace an easier word with a harder one?” Zuko asked. There was just the slightest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t it make more sense the other way around?”

“Easy. Bigger words are better, if you’re an idiot who can’t read and doesn’t want all the nobles and the ministers and the sages to know about it.”

Zuko snorted, toppling over to lay on his back. “I thought he didn’t read my letters because I was a failure, but now it turns out he just couldn’t.”

“No, he had those read out for the court to laugh at,” Azula said, her face serious. “’I remain your dutiful son’ always got big laugh.”

“I bet it did.”

They sat in silence for a while. The beam of sunlight dragged across the floor.

“Do you ever think about him?” Zuko said, staring at the ceiling.

“No,” Azula said, staring at Zuko because she wasn’t a coward.

“Never?”

“No,” Azula said, rolling her eyes. “I already had one mental breakdown. I’m not going to have another one just so you can have company on your little pity-me-my-dad’s-terrible trip.”

Zuko didn’t say anything. He just turned his head so that his scarred eye was looking at Azula.

Azula sighed.

“Look, do you want to know what’s going on in dear old Daddy’s head right now?” At Zuko’s nod-shrug, she continued. “He’s written the both of us off as losses. Oh, if I break out of here and go release him, he’ll take me back – just like he took you back after Ba Sing Se – but until then, I’m crazy and you’re a traitor.

“That leaves him in his cell, and without his bending. By now, he’s probably convinced himself that either his bending will return on its own and he’ll conquer the world again, or his loyalists, his good friends from court, will depose you and probably capture the Avatar to boot. Then they’ll force the Avatar to give him back his Firebending, and Father will reign supreme forever.

“Neither of the two options is going to happen. Even if his Firebending comes back naturally, the Avatar will just defeat him again – hopefully before he makes your eyes match. And his loyalists? He probably doesn’t have any. And if he does, they’re as incompetent as he is. You’re right, Father’s an idiot. He alienated half his court with his insane schemes and promoting crackpots like Qin. The other half he terrified or bribed into submission. I wouldn’t be surprised if even his actual supporters, the few that there are, are happier with you in power.”

Zuko was looking at her with undisguised interest. “So, what’s your point?”

“My point, little Zuzu, is that there’s no need to worry about him anymore,” Azula said, laying down on her bed. “It’s over. He’s not coming back, idiot or not.”

“Huh,” Zuko said. “That’s like a proverb, except it makes sense.”

Azula huffed, caught by surprise. “Dum-dum.”

“… what if I captured Aang and took him to Father? Do you think he’d let me be the prince again?”

“Try it,” Azula shrugged. “But I definitely want tickets.”

#atla fic #fire hazard siblings #fire nation #azula #zuko #ozai #atla #avatar the last airbender #Azula: *uncaringly cheers her brother up*#The reason Azula knows what Zuko's letters home were signed with is because she read them. Just to laugh of course.#Zuko: *visits Azula twice a week and tries to make her talk about Real Stuff in the most awkward way he can*#cw child abuse mention

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faestunna · 16 days ago

Note

if you’re still taking these then lion and “x” (or number 10) from the domestic fluff prompts 👉👈

heart of promise

PAIRING: lion kaminski x fem!reader

WC: 1.5k

WARNINGS: tooth rotting fluff XD

A/N: my first lion fic!! it honestly feels so weird to write ‘walter’ but i’ll prob get used to it. sorry it took me a second anon, thank you for the request! i hope you enjoy!

from this prompt list

x, tracing gentle shapes on the other’s back while they lie on top of them

masterlist

There’s still a trace of supper in the air by the time you retire for the night. With an unusual amount of time on your hands, you’d spent a majority of the day deep-cleaning the apartment.

You aren’t a housewife. No desire to be one.

But there is something special about watching your man stroll through the front door to a clean home.

The bookshelves neatly organized, the blankets folded on the back of the couch, and not a speck of dust to be found.

On his days off—even if there weren’t many—Walter did the same for you.

“Oh, baby,” he’d said with a hand over his heart. “It’s like a whole new place.” He’d spun you around for the simple pleasure of hearing your laughter.

The apartment wasn’t perfect. Or anywhere near it. Sometimes, the windows wouldn’t shut and let in a draft of cold air through the air. An outlet in the living room didn’t work, and the plumbing made questionable sounds.

But it was yours to share with the one person you loved more than anything else.

Walter was enough to make it a home.

You ate dinner in front of the television together. Laughed at some of the odd commercials they aired nowadays.

He’d washed the dishes because you’d done the cooking—a deal the two of you struck on your first day in the apartment that you hadn’t broken for nine months. You listened to him sing along with the radio as he worked. Steam and silly bubbles rising into the air, dishes clattering in the water.

“You liked the pasta?” You’d asked, leaning against the counter. “Tried something new with the recipe.”

“I thought it tasted even better. It’s delicious, baby, always.”

And after the tasks for the night were finished, he’d quickly changed into shorts and a sweatshirt while you watched TV. Pressed a kiss to your cheek like your dad used to with your mom.

“Goin’ for my run, sweetheart. I’ll be back in 20.”

“Be careful.” You’d said.

Walter always was. And besides, he was more than capable of defending himself, even if he’d given up using his fists for work when he met you. “You don’t lose that sort of thing,” he’d told you.

So now, the faint aroma of pasta still drifts about, making it even to your bathroom.

You spit into the sink, frothy, minty toothpaste sitting near the drain until you flush it out with water. Some of the paste collects in the corner of your mouth.

Then, the front door creaked open. Closed shut almost immediately after.

Footsteps trailed down the hallway before you heard a distant “Shit”. Fumbling to quickly tear off his shoes. You rinsed your toothbrush as the steps resumed, only for Walter to appear behind you in the mirror.

He instantly smiled at the sight of you. Hair clinging to his forehead with sweat. Chest still heaving to catch his breath.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hey, baby,” you smirk and arch a brow. “You wear your sneakers on the carpet again?”

He pursed his lips, trying to fight an even wider smile. Eyes trailing off like a toddler who’d just gotten caught. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He moved to wrap his arms around you, but before you could, you shrieked and wormed out of his grasp. “You’re all sweaty, Walter!”

You gently pushed him towards the shower. He waved his hand in defeat. And smirked.

“Oh, you love when I’m sweaty. Just only when I’m on top of you, doin’ all the work.”

If you were a weaker woman, your knees would’ve buckled right there and then. You thanked God he had his back turned as you squeezed your legs together.

He begins to strip from his athletic wear. Throws it in the laundry hamper.

“I don’t make you do all the work,” you cross your arms.

You look up to see him stark naked as the shower starts to run. He runs his hand under it occasionally to check the temperature.

Then, he turns to face you. And you force yourself to chew the inside of your cheek so your eyes don’t drift down…

“I don’t mind doin’ all the work, doll.”

Walter smiles when he notices your restraint falter for just a moment. He lets his mind wander at what’s waiting for him underneath your t-shirt.

You playfully roll your eyes and wave him off. “Go take a bath.”

His laughter echoes in the shower as you turn on your heel, back to the bedroom.

He doesn’t take long. Just enough to rinse the grime and dirt from the day off of him. Gives himself an extra few minutes because the hot water soothes his hands like nothing else—other than you, of course.

From the bed, you can hear the water stop and the shower curtain slide open. There’s a few minutes of ruffling and brushing and deep, paced breaths before the light switches off. As soon as Walter’s beside the bed, he collapses onto you.

You laugh under the weight of him. “Okay, okay,” you gasp, adjusting how you lay.

He looks up at you, “You’re so beautiful.”

He’s said a million times, and will say it a million more.

“Thank you, baby.” Like an instinct, your fingers find themselves running through the hair above his ear. The smell of his shampoo still fresh.

“I love you,” he says into your skin.

You chuckle, “I love you, too.”

“No, really,” Walter shifts to wrap an arm around you, letting the other lay flat against the bed. Rests his head on its side like you’re a pillow. “I don’t think you’ll ever understand.”

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrow. Hand curling to the back of his head.

You feel his lashes flutter against you as his eyes close. “Jus’ really love you. Think about you all the time.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your arm.

“Well, I really love you, too,” you smile.

“It’s different than that, baby.” Your hand trails to his neck and then his shoulder. “I mean, I think I waited my whole life for you.”

You freeze for just a moment. A warmth spreads through your chest.

“I never thought I’d be here, ya know? Didn’t even know if I’d be alive. And I didn’t really have a reason to be alive. Was just goin’ along with it.” He chuckles to himself. “If you told me then that I’d be here—with you, this home, this life—I woulda laughed in your face.”

Your fingertips begin to dance over his spine. “I’m glad you’re here. With my whole life.”

“I owe you everything I got,” he continued. “All that I can give, and it still won’t make up for what you do for me.”

“Hey,” you move to correct him, but his arm around you tightens.

“I’m not lying, baby. Not jokin’ around, either.” His eyes—a soft, muted blue that makes you swoon—meet yours desperately. “Sometimes, my head hurts. ‘S too small to keep up with how much I think of you. When I’m at work, when you’re at work. Hell, even when you’re in the same room.”

“You’re gonna make yourself sick of me.”

“No, never.” He said hushed. The slightest bit of fear in his voice at the thought of even being away from you. “Could never be sick of you.”

He planted a firm kiss on your ribs. Sighed at how your fingers felt dancing over his back. It’s silent for a long moment.

You glance down. “You asleep already?”

With his eyes shut softly, Walter shifted only half awake. “I’m gettin’ up early tomorrow. Gonna cook you a nice big breakfast, clean it up, too.

“Then, I’ll do all the laundry. Fold it and put it away just how you like. Water all the plants.”

He begins to recognize the swift movements of your finger on his back like ink bleeding into paper. Warmth blooming under his skin every time your touch brushes past. A curve and a straight line. He spells it in his head: Walter.

His leg involuntarily twitches, a sleeping habit you first noticed dhring your first night together. A remaining need for defense since all he knew before you was to fight.

“I’m gonna take care of you, baby. Gonna give you everything you want. And you don’t gotta ask for—” Walter yawns. “Nothin’ in return.”

His voice trails off at the end, heart thumping like he had five pages more to say. But the man laying on top of you, holding you like nothing else mattered, slowly falls to sleep.

You lean down and press a kiss to his forehead.

“Go to sleep now, honey,” you whisper, switching the lamp off. “Tell me the rest in the morning.”

#fluff feels nastier than smut to write #and i love it #give me tooth rotting fluff #give me corny give me cliche #jack o'connell #lion kaminski #lion kaminski x reader #lion kaminski fanfic #lion kaminski fluff #jack o’connell fluff #jack o’connell one shot #jack o’connell fanfic #jack o’connell x reader

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stervrucht · 1 year ago

Text

[AO3]

David Bowie plays on the radio and Steve drums his fingers along the steering wheel of his car as he contemplates. He is truly too good for this world. Now he is running errands for Dustin like some common soccer mom. The kid only had to give him one pout – one! – and Steve felt all his resistance crumbling. So, there he is on a Friday evening, seated in his still-running car in a Hawkin’s trailer park.

He stops his car in front of Eddie’s trailer and listens to the music as he gathers the willpower to leave the car.

Laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace, Bowie sings on the radio.

How fitting

Outside, dusk is setting in and the world colors purple. Closing up Family Video had taken longer than he anticipated due to a difficult customer who couldn’t decide between The Thing and The Nightmare on Elm Street and had asked Steve extensive questions to make up his mind.

Steve used to be fine with horror movies, but given recent developments (give or take his life the past few years), he isn’t into horror anymore. Out of the two, The Thing is probably the worst offender. Those crazy fleshy monsters hit a bit too close to home. Although, Freddie Krueger does have some vague Vecna vibes to him.

Steve is so lost in thought he doesn't notice the door of the trailer open until Eddie knocks on his window with his knuckle. With a jolt, Steve turns to roll his car window down. Once it is fully open, Eddie leans forward, his arms resting on the car.

“Sup Harrington.” Eddie’s hair falls forward and the low-cut tank top reveals his chest, framed by the silver chain of a guitar-pick necklace.

Shaved, Steve notes. Then, realizing he is staring, he tears his eyes away, coming face to face with Eddie Munson who gives him an amused look.

“Oh uh, right” – Steve coughs nervously – “Dustin asked me to give you this…” he unbuckles his seatbelt and leans over to the passenger seat where he grabs the cardboard box of some nerdy game.

“Here–” He hands the box to Eddie’s outstretched hands.

“Hell yeah, Talisman. Took Henderson long enough.” Eddie pushes himself away from the car and inspects the box for a moment. When he turns back to Steve, his eyes move towards the car radio.

“I didn’t take you for a Bowie fan.”

“Oh, I’m not really … Robin must have left it in. It’s … alright, I suppose.”

“And what type of music does Steve find more than alright?”

Eddie flashes him a cheeky smile and Steve finds himself somewhat intimidated. Whatever his answer, someone like Eddie will probably find it lame. Steve isn’t all that passionate about music anyway and mostly listens to whatever is on the radio.

“Maybe Queen, The Bee Gees…” he lists in no particular order.

Eddie tuts. “Such a proper boy.”

Although he expects it, Steve still winces.

“I should introduce you to some real music,” Eddie says thoughtfully, then – “Wanna come in?”

Steve takes a moment to think. His parents are out, so it isn’t like he’s expected at home. He has nothing to do tonight except watch some movies (perks of the job). Although the prospect of hanging out with Eddie doesn’t thrill him, it might be the more interesting option.

“Sure,” Steve turns his car off, rolls the window back up and opens the car door. Eddie takes a step back, giving Steve some room to get out.

Eddie’s eyes move to his chest and Steve realizes he is still wearing the stupid Family Video vest. He quickly takes it off, crumples it and unceremoniously throws it in his car before shutting the door again. With a quick turn of his key, the car is locked.

Steve follows Eddie towards the trailer. It is a warm summer’s night and the shadows of the trees grow long under the purple sky. The trailer park is surrounded by ample woods and fields from which the sound of crickets flares up.

“You coming?” Eddie waits for him at the door. Steve doesn’t realize he stopped moving and quickly makes his way to where Eddie is standing.

“After you, King Steve,” Eddie says, holding open the door with a dramatic bow.

Damn, Eddie is kind of annoying, isn’t he? No wonder Dustin gets on so well with him. Two peas in a pod. Steve lets out an unamused scoff.

Once inside, Steve stands in the middle of the…living room? Kitchen? He isn’t sure what to call such multifunctional rooms. He crosses his arms and shifts his weight from one leg to the other as he waits for Eddie to put the game away.

The main room is crowded and messy. It is the complete opposite of his parents’ living room, which is kept meticulously clean and organized – with the help of their cleaning lady of course. The coffee table is stained with water circles from mugs and the like. Something unthinkable to Steve. If he ever puts a glass down without a coaster, he will face his mother’s wrath.

“Beer?” Eddie calls from the kitchen. He already turned his back to him to make his way to the under-table fridge.

“Sure.”

Steve is getting sick of standing around and decides to move to the small beige sofa. It is littered with clothes and after a moment of hesitation, he shoves them aside and sits down.

“You’re fucking tense,” Eddie says as he hands Steve a can of beer. He looks down at the pile of clothes and without hesitation grabs them and throws them in a different corner of the room. Then he lets himself fall onto the sofa next to Steve, which objects with a loud creak.

The sofa really is quite small and granted, a bigger one probably wouldn’t fit. The middle of it sagged considerably too, dragging its occupants to the center.

Steve feels the warmth of Eddie’s jeans-clad legs against his own. They are probably sitting a bit too close and Steve shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

The can lets out an audible hiss as Eddie opens it and takes a quick sip from his beer. Then, he puts it down on the table and jumps up again.

“Fuck, I was gonna play you some music.” He hurries past the kitchen into a separate room.

Steve opens his own can – cheap store-brand beer – and takes a nervous gulp as he waits for Eddie to return.

He is starting to reconsider his choices this evening. Perhaps he should just have watched Back to the Future again. Instead, he is in the trailer of some guy he kinda-sorta knows because they have shared custody of some annoying kid (one of Steve’s best friends).

“Oh yes, this will be good.” Eddie re-emerges cradling a few cassettes in his arms like he is holding a baby. He squats in front of the coffee table and releases the collection of plastic cases on top of it. Steve eyes the contents, but he recognises none of it. Then he looks over at Eddie – the flesh of his knee peeks through the hole of his jeans and Steve wonders if Eddie made it himself or if it had naturally torn by use.

Eddie shifts through the cassettes with ring-clad fingers, picking a few up and turning them around to look at the back of the plastic cases.

“Let’s start with Rainbow,” he mumbles to himself, grabbing the cassette (a hand holding a rainbow over mountains on its front). He walks over to a small side table next to the front door where an old-school cassette player stands.

With a loud click, the front of the cassette player opens and Eddie puts the cassette in and closes it again. Immediately, music starts playing.

“Fuck, hold on.”

Eddie rushes over to the kitchen, rummaging through some drawers until he finds what he is looking for.

Victoriously, he holds up a pencil to Steve and clicks his tongue. Steve takes another gulp of his beer as he watches Eddie move through the trailer with a skip in his step. He is actually excited to let Steve hear his music. Steve feels strangely flattered and he lets himself fall back on the sofa.

The music stops and Eddie takes the cassette out. Using the back of the pencil, he rewinds the tape. Steve looks at Eddie’s hands as he works. The rings are kinda cool. Maybe he should let Robin pick out a ring for him too. Although perhaps not with skulls and crosses like Eddie wears. Maybe something more simple, like a signet ring or something.

Steve is pulled from his thoughts when he hears the cassette player click shut again.

“Your player doesn’t rewind?” Steve asks.

“Steve” – Eddie puts the pencil behind his ear and turns to look at him – “I live in a trailer…”

Steve feels heat rise to his cheeks.

Shit, sometimes he forgets his parents are very well off and some things are considered luxuries instead of the default. He made the same mistake with Robin too – multiple times – but it was hard to prevent. He thinks back on his car – not particularly expensive, but also not as beat-up as Jonathan’s. Does Eddie think he is some spoiled rich boy?

“Right, sorry.” Steve takes another mouthful of beer. Eddie turns around again to put the cassette in the cassette player.

A song begins to play, the sound reminds Steve of something alien – not really like music at all. Once the drums kicks in Eddie begins to bob his head on the beat, his hands hitting an invisible drum. He dances across the room, drumming his invisible drumsticks along the wall before falling back onto the sofa, stringing his fingers as if playing a guitar.

“Shit, I should really learn this on the guitar.” He leans forward to grab his can of beer. Condensation forms on the outside and when he picks it up, a wet circle is left on the table.

Eddie kicks his feet up, white sneakers hitting the wood of the coffee table and the cassettes rattle. He takes a deep swig of his beer and audibly sighs.

Steve leans forward, arms resting on his thighs and can between his knees. Once the music actually began, it wasn’t too bad. He didn’t understand the long intros though, and preferred it if music would just start.

“So, what do you think?” Eddie asks.

“Not bad.”

“Not bad” – Eddie scoffs – “You, my friend, have not been exposed to nearly enough good music.”

Steve chuckles. “I thought Bowie was pretty acceptable by –” he looks Eddie up and down demonstratively, “ – your kind.”

“My kind, huh?” a smile plays at the corners of Eddie’s lips. “And what would that be, exactly?”

Well, shit. Steve drove himself straight into possible-insult town. Eddie eyes him curiously, one elbow resting on the sofa’s backrest and his hands holding his can in a way Steve could only describe as cool.

“Well, you know…” he trails off.

“I know…?”

“Eh, metalheads, I guess?”

“Ziggy Stardust isn’t metal, you know that right?”

Steve sighs exasperatedly. “I know, ugh. I mean he’s–”

“Weird?” Eddie finishes.

Steve takes another gulp of beer, desperate to compose himself. “Yeah,” he answers lamely.

“I suppose he’s pretty weird, huh?” Eddie eyes the ceiling of the trailer while taking a lazy sip from his beer. “Did you know he used to be gay?”

Steve looks to Eddie, who is still eying the ceiling, head lying back against the sofa’s backrest.

“Used to be?” If Steve is to believe Robin, there is no ‘used to be ’ when it comes to being gay. You either are or you aren’t. Now he thinks about it, Bowie seems somewhat queer with his tight suits and styled hair, but that is what girls dig, isn't it? He has heard countless girls swoon over men just like that.

“You never had a gay phase, Harrington?”

Steve nearly drops his can.

“Gay….phase?”

“You know, live a little, try some shit, see what sticks –”

“I can’t say I have,” Steve mumbles, his eyes now firmly fixed on the can in his hands. He plays nervously with the lip, pulling it in tandem with the music before taking another sip.

“With a pretty face like yours, you might actually get some good ones.”

Steve chokes on his beer. Actually chokes, and he hits his chest with a fist to get himself to breathe again.

“W-what?”

“How can you know what you like when you never tried it?” Eddie sits up straight, pulling one leg to his chest as he turns to Steve. His dark eyes seem like a bottomless lake and Steve feels small under his gaze.

“H-have you?” Steve stutters and it is utterly embarrassing. Why is he so rattled by some stupid revelation?

Wait, did Eddie just call him pretty?

Eddie smirks at him like they are sharing in a secret, and perhaps they are.

“Fuck yes, if someone tells me not to do something you can bet your ass I will do it. Besides, humans are humans, big fucking deal.”

“So – was it a phase? In your case?” Steve asks carefully. He isn’t really sure why he asks. Maybe it is part curiosity. He never seriously considered relationships with men. Some are nice enough to look at, sure, but marriage, a house, children – that is only meant for a man and a woman right? A world in which someone just casually tries homosexuality seems…foreign.

“Hm, I guess so … Wow, don’t look at me like that Harrington. Are you disappointed?”

“W-what, no!” Steve really doesn’t know why he is getting so flustered. He suddenly feels self-conscious under Eddie’s piercing eyes and runs a hand through his hair – a nervous habit.

“Fuck, you are – well, alright, maybe for you I can arrange an encore.”

Before Steve has time to respond, Eddie pushes himself upright and leans one knee on the sofa between Steve’s legs. He feels the cold metal of Eddie’s rings under his chin as he lays a sprawled hand on his throat and tilts his head.

Steve freezes, air caught in his chest as Eddie leans over his face, his breath hot on his lips. Steve’s right hand uselessly holds on to the near-empty can – afraid to spill it – while his left hand digs into the sofa next to his thighs. Then, Eddie leans down, capturing his lips with practiced ease. Steve feels his long hair tickle his cheeks and the scruff of a five-o-clock shadow grace his chin.

Eddie’s lips move over his, slightly chapped and rough in a way that couldn’t possibly be a girl. Without meaning to, Steve feels his own lips move against Eddie’s.

Well, now he couldn't pretend it was just something happening to him. He had graduated to an active participant.

Kissing Eddie Munson. Eddie freaking Munson.

Robin was going to have a field day.

Perhaps the most surprising part is how he doesn’t hate it. He likes the feeling of stubble on his chin, the hard corners of Eddie’s jaw, the way Eddie pushes him back onto the sofa and he wills Steve’s mouth open with a sweep of a thumb and the cold metal of rings on his face. A hot tongue explores his mouth, stroking it against Steve’s in a way that makes him gasp.

Steve has never experienced anything like it. Usually with the girls he dated, he took the lead. Kisses were usually shy and timid. Eddie is completely different. He knows what he wants and he isn’t afraid to get it. Steve feels something stir in him as he presses back.

Eddie bites his bottom lip, taking it between his lips, and breaks away from him. Steve feels breathless and blinks up at Eddie. His hand reaches over to Steve’s right side, gently taking the can from his hand and setting it away on the coffee table. He turns back, eyes dark and Steve wills his mouth close as he regards him.

Was he gay? Shit, he doesn’t really want to think about it now. Humans are humans was what Eddie had said right?

Steve reaches out, sliding his hands behind Eddie’s neck, and pulls him back. Eddie moves himself into a more comfortable position, placing a knee on either side of Steve’s thighs and straddling him. Eddie’s hands reach for Steve’s temples, threading themselves through Steve’s hair – rings catch on the strands but Steve doesn’t mind the painful sting as it pulls. He just wants to get Eddie’s lips back on his – and so he does.

Their lips meet, fiery and hot. Open-mouthed Steve explores every corner of Eddie. He lowers his hands to Eddie’s back, playing on the edge of his tanktop and the hot skin underneath. If it works for girls, surely it works for guys too right?

He runs his hands up the side of Eddie’s chest, a thumb over a nipple, and Eddie gasps into his mouth. Steve feels heat settle in his crotch and he is glad he chose to wear jeans made of thick fabric rather than thin trousers. Steve’s hands move over Eddie’s chest, feeling the smooth muscle of it and the roughness of regrowing chest hair.

Eddie’s fingers reach the hair on the back of Steve’s head and yank it back, exposing Steve’s throat. He lets out a surprised yelp when he feels Eddie’s mouth latch to the delicate bow of his neck and suck.

Steve is learning a lot about himself in the span of less than an hour. The way Eddie tugs his hair, and has his way with him is sending a pleasant jolt straight to his cock. And Steve can’t help but moan under the ministrations of Eddie’s mouth as he sucks and bites.

“Y-you’re gonna leave a mark,” Steve breathes.

“That’s the plan,” Eddie mouths against his neck. Then, he licks his way up into Steve’s mouth again.

Shit, he is kinda into this. Steve isn’t sure how he could ever go back to girls now he knows what it feels like to be touched by calloused fingers and kissed with such force.

Eddie’s hand leaves his hair and travels down to the rim of his jeans, pulling out his shirt in the process. Steve feels the ghost of fingers running along its edge and the muscles in his stomach tense pleasantly in response.

Eddie breaks away from him, his breath ghosting over his lips as he searches Steve’s eyes.

“You wanna take this further?” Eddie asks, his eyes flitting over Steve’s face.

Steve feels drunk, even though half a can of beer isn’t nearly enough to even get him close to being buzzed. He is also turned on. Ridiculously so. But fuck, what does taking it further even mean in this context. Steve feels like a virgin all over again and shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to hide his arousal from Eddie.

Not that they are not actively engaged anymore, anxiety hits Steve like a bag of bricks.

“Uhh…” is all Steve manages to utter.

Eddie throws himself off Steve’s lap onto the empty spot next to him on the sofa. He puts his feet on the table again, hands behind his head.

“You’re right, maybe that’s enough for tonight.”

It doesn’t escape Steve that Eddie’s jeans look a little tighter than usual.

They sit in silence for a moment, only the voice of Rainbow’s singer cutting through the tension.

“I thought you said it was a phase,” Steve asks after he finally gets his breathing under control.

“Oh right, I should have clarified” – Eddie grins up at the ceiling – “The gay thing was a phase. I figured I was into both.”

Both? Wasn’t that something only hippies preached with their free love? Somewhere, Steve feels a wave of relief washes over him. He never seriously considered someone could like both. He has some serious soul-searching to do once he gets home.

“Huh,” is all Steve replies. Eddie’s eyebrow quirks in interest as he side-eyes Steve.

“I, uh…probably should get going.” Steve puts his hands on his thighs and pushes himself up. Eddie doesn’t move from his position, but his eyes follow him with interest.

“If you’re ever in the mood for a sequel, you know where to find me.”

Steve nods, because what else can you do in reply to such a comment? He is baffled at the ease with which the words escape Eddie. There is no shame or self-doubt.

As he lays his hand on the door handle, Steve looks back one final time. Eddie’s feet are bouncing in tandem with the beat of the drums and his eyes are closed. He looks so absolutely unshaken by their encounter that Steve feels almost jealous.

Steve is anything but unshaken.

“See you around,” he offers.

“See you, Harrington,” Eddie’s voice is playful, even though he doesn’t move.

When Steve is safe and sound in the driver’s seat of his car, he leans his head against the steering wheel and stays there for a moment.

What the hell just happened?

He turns his mirror to his neck and traces the hickey that Eddie left on his throat with a finger. He would have to ask Robin for some make-up to cover that up.

She is going to love this story.

Steve sighs and pushes the mirror back into its original position. When he starts the car, Bowie continues to sing like nothing happened.

Yes, he was alright, his song went on forever, Bowie sings and Steve groans as he hits the gas.

***

It is Saturday morning when Steve walks up to the Buckley residence. He passes the garden fence and walks around the house to the backdoor.

Hawkins was struck by the beginning of a heatwave and at this point, the temperature was bearable as long as one didn't move too much. The perfect day for a visit to the pool, but too hot for videos.

Which is why Steve is sure today won’t be too busy at Family Video. Fine by him.

The quiet days he works with Robin are always his favorite. Sometimes Henderson comes over – either with his friends or alone – and they mess around with the cardboard cut-outs or watch a movie on the little TV screen hanging from the ceiling. Steve has zero regrets about missing out on college. Everything he loves is right here in Hawkins.

He pulls at the red handkerchief around his neck. It is against company policy to wear scarves (and probably too hot too) but Steve needs something to cover up the damage of his little adventure with Eddie. At least, until he gets his hands on some skin paint stuff – or whatever girls call that type of make-up.

He enters through the backdoor straight into the kitchen, where he finds Robin’s mother clearing the table of breakfast plates. The room smells faintly like toast.

“Morning, Ms. Buckley!” he calls, already moving towards the hallway. Steve hears her respond, but he's halfway up the stairs by then.

“Rob!”

“Just a second!” Her voice is muffled. She opens her door, fixing an earring. Her eyes flick to his scarf before meeting his gaze.

“Geez, you’re early.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve walks straight past her and throws himself on her unmade bed. Robin pays him no mind and she walks over to her dresser again. From his spot on the bed, Steve can see Robin's face reflected in the mirror as she fusses with her hair. When she reaches for a pouch, Steve is suddenly reminded of why he is early to begin with.

“Do you have that face-stuff?” he asks as he sees Robin pull a pencil from the pouch.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than ‘face stuff’.”

“You know, the skin-colored goo.” Steve makes motions over his face as if he’s painting.

“Concealer?” Robin’s mouth is open in concentration as she lines her waterline with black.

“That’s it!” Steve throws himself off the bed and walks over to Robin.

“Sure, I’ve got some,” Robin puts down her pencil and rummages through the pouch again. She pulls out a small beige bottle and holds it up for Steve. He reaches for it, but Robin pulls away.

“Does this have anything to do with your avant-garde fashion statement today?” She looks at his scarf again.

Steve laughs sheepishly and pulls his scarf aside. Robin’s eyes widen at the dark hickey on his neck.

“Jesus, Steve! It’s massive” – she leans in closer – “Was it Rebecca? Never thought she’d be the type...” Robin reaches for his neck but Steve pulls away.

“What? No!” – Steve lets go of the scarf – “I stopped seeing her like five weeks ago. Get with the times, Rob.”

“Well, sorry I can’t keep up with your busy love life.” Robin turns back to the mirror. She definitely isn’t sorry and Steve wouldn’t exactly call the origin of the hickey ‘love’. A lapse of judgment, maybe, or something uniquely in the corner of Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson.

“Can I get the stuff now?”

“Fine,” she says and she pushes the bottle in his hands.

***

Outside the car, the world passes in a flash of yellow fields. The windows are down and the scent of drying grass fills the air. Steve turns the music up to drown out the thundering sound of the wind as it enters the car and drums his fingers on the steering wheel while he uselessly mouths along with the music. He doesn’t know the lyrics, but that can’t stop him. The fact it annoys Robin when he does so makes it even more fun in his opinion.

“You’re in a good mood,” Robin remarks while she digs through her bag.

“It’s a beautiful day and I’m working with my best friend,” Steve chirps.

“Uhuh, right,” she replies skeptically. She puts her bag back between her legs on the car floor and fiddles with something in her hands.

Steve’s eyes are focused on the road before him when the music suddenly stops.

“Hey! I was listening to that!”

“I thought you said Bowie was ‘overrated trash’” Robin says while opening the case to another cassette.

“I didn’t,”

“You so did, and you called his pants too tight,”

“Whatever, driver decides,”

Robin sighs and pushes the cassette back in. “When I get my license, it will be Blondie all day every day. You better prepare yourself, dingus!”

Steve hums in satisfaction as the music comes back on. Maybe he found it somewhat grating in the beginning, but it was growing on him now. That, of course, had nothing to do with Eddie Munson.

“Did you know he used to be gay?” Steve suddenly says.

“Bisexual, Steve, and of course I know that. The question is, why do you?” From his periphery, he can see Robin staring at him.

“I just heard it somewhere,”

“Somewhere…” Robin repeated. She leans over to put the other cassette back in her bag.

Steve is relieved when he sees Family Video come into view. It’s not like Robin will forget their conversation, she is far too smart for that. And he really does plan on telling her about what happened yesterday, he just has to find the right moment. Hell, maybe it wouldn’t even be today.

Steve pulls into the parking space and hops out of the car. He locks his door and throws the keys over the car to Robin. She fumbles in her attempt to catch it and Steve is once again reminded that Robin is a band dweeb and not an athlete.

“Let’s open this baby up,” he says as he tosses the store keys into the air and catches them overhand.

“You’re such a show-off” – she walks past Steve into the store and continues without looking back – “For your information, there are no girls around…”

“Yet,” Steve finishes and Robin groans in response.

There wouldn’t be any girls around for most of the day as it turned out.

As Steve expected, it was a slow day. The only people who visited were those who probably wouldn’t be found dead sunbathing, nerds who never stepped outside (except to rent a video, apparently), and old people looking for something nice to watch with their grandkids.

Somewhere between the shelves, Robin is putting returned VHS tapes into their rightful place. Meanwhile, Steve sorts through new arrivals and adds them to the computer system. In the back of the shop, a guy has been staring at some science fiction movies for probably half an hour by now. Category basement nerd, Steve decides.

They had been working in relative solitude. Steve looks up as he hears the bell signal someone’s entrance. He is greeted with a curly head of hair.

“Henderson!” Steve stands up and throws himself over the counter. The secret handshake is a must and cannot be skipped.

Shake, box, Star Wars sword thing, guts.

Dustin smiles wildly at him.

Just as Steve is spilling his guts, the bell chimes again. He looks up, readying himself to apologize to the poor customer he has no doubt scared off with his wild gestures when he comes face to face with dark bottomless eyes.

“Munson,” Steve is probably gawking, at least a little and Eddie looks amused at the scene in front of him.

Dustin, oblivious to it all, immediately starts talking.

“I was just about to grab my bike when I ran into Eddie. He offered me a ride in his van. Mom’s at the pool today, says it’s too hot to stay indoors; she practically kicked me out of the house,”

“Right,” Steve wasn’t even looking at Dustin as he yapped on. He somehow couldn’t tear his eyes away from Eddie’s. It was strange seeing him in daylight now. The darkness of dusk had made their whole interaction the night prior seem like a dream. Now, face to face with Eddie, Steve was hit by the reality of what had transpired. He felt profoundly awkward.

“ – You should totally get a van, Steve!” Dustin’s voice pulls Steve from his thoughts and he tears his eyes away.

“Y-yeah, probably not. I like my car,” he composed himself, deciding to focus his attention on Dustin rather than Eddie.

“Hey Dustin” – Robin walks from behind the shelves, carrying a now-empty crate. Her eyes land on Eddie with a hint of surprise – “Hey Eddie,”

“Got anything good yet?” Dustin asks Robin eagerly.

“You’re in luck–” Robin says as she puts the crate away, “We just added The Dark Crystal to our collection,”

“Sweet!” He hears Dustin call when Robin leads him away to one of the shelves in the back.

Steve is left alone with Eddie and doesn’t know how to compose himself. A part of him feels nervous under Eddie’s dark gaze.

Eddie walks over to the counter and leans against it.

“Cool gig,” Eddie says as he looks around the store. “Do you ever get to keep the cardboard cut-outs?” Eddie points his finger at a life-size cut-out of Indiana Jones that stands proudly at the front of the store. Steve’s eyes involuntary drift back to his fingers again and he really ought to stop that. Sooner or later, Eddie will catch him staring.

“I don’t, but Keith does sometimes,”

“Sweet,”

A silence falls between them and Eddie kicks his feet. The guy in the back still hasn’t made up his mind and a little distance away Dustin is eagerly explaining something about the ‘Gelflings’ to Robin.

“Hey, uh, are you doing anything next Friday?” Eddie asks suddenly.

“Nothing yet,” Steve is desperately trying to stop his heart from beating at such an insistent pace and he hopes his voice comes out as nonchalant as he intends it to.

“You wanna…I don’t know…hang out or something?”

‘ Or something’. What does ‘or something’ mean ?

“Yeah, I– …yeah, sure” Steve fumbles a bit, but Eddie doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. A smile grows on his face.

“Cool,” Eddie says.

He pushes himself away from the counter and walks up to a shelf to inspect some of the movies. He leans forward, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, and hums a song that sounds vaguely familiar. Steve stares at the interlaced fingers behind his back – adorned with silver rings – and shivers at the memory of their coolness against his neck.

“Cool,” Steve echoes.

***

The whole week, Steve had thought of countless excuses to cancel hanging out with Eddie on Friday, but in the end, none of them carried any weight. He couldn’t get Eddie of his freaking mind and the sappy romance movies that played on the television screen at work didn’t help either.

Eddie had visited Family Video again – once – with Dustin to return a movie. Apparently, they regularly hung out when Steve was busy at work and he felt something akin to jealousy. He had always been Dustin’s role model. Heck, the kid even started wearing his hair like him (thank you, Farrah Fawcett). That was until Eddie somehow inserted himself into the equation. Now, Dustin had grown out his hair and was wearing that ridiculous Hellfire shirt religiously; so often, Steve sometimes wondered if it was ever washed at all.

Eddie had corrupted him, and maybe he had corrupted Steve a little bit as well.

“You seem nervous,” Robin remarks as she flips through a folder, biting in the back of a ballpen.

“Well, I’m no–” Before Steve can finish his sentence, Robin continues.

“I haven’t heard you talk about your dates the whole week. Whoever gave you that ridiculous hickey has some serious hold over you –”

Steve feels his shoulders tense. The idea of Eddie having any kind of hold over him was crazy. Steve is cool, Steve is casual. Steve is definitely not nervous about his casual hangout with Eddie tonight.

“ –It’s Friday, aren’t you supposed to be on like three different dates tonight?” she continues.

“Uhm, well–”

“And you’ve been acting weird all week. Things are adding up to a very weird sum. The ‘buying thirty watermelons’ kind of weird sum.”

“You have such a way with words,” Steve rolls his eyes as he finally regains his composure.

“Steve!” Robin throws her pen at his head. He ducks, but the pen hits him anyway.

“Robin!” he mimics her tone.

“It’s someone’s mom, isn’t it? God, Steve–” Robin pulls a face in disgust.

“It’s not someone’s mom! Geez, Rob, what kind of person do you take me for?”

“The kind that acts all mysterious and weird, and suddenly listens to music he hates!”

Maybe going out of his way to buy a Rainbow cassette had been somewhat uncharacteristic. Of course, Robin would pick up on that.

“A guy can expand his tastes…” he trails, hit by the ambiguity of his statement.

Robin sighs, picks up her pen from the floor and gives him an irritated glance.

Steve hears the bell chime just as he closes the door to the vault in which they store cash overnight. It is only a couple of minutes before closing time and Steve grunts audibly as he raises himself into a standing position. Entering a shop this close to closing time is a certified dick move and Steve is not above sending whoever entered away, customer service be damned.

“We’re closed!” he yells as he walks back into the shop from the backroom.

“Eddie’s here for you,” Robin calls without looking back at Steve.

Sure enough, Eddie is standing at the counter. He is wearing a tank top and his hair is pulled up into a messy bun; his skin gleams with sweat from the heat outside and around his neck hangs a wiry set of headphones. Wind from the air conditioner pulls at his hair. When their eyes meet, a smile creeps on his face.

“Sup, Harrington…I’ve brought the van.” He holds the keys up demonstratively, dangling them from his index finger.

"He brought the van!" Robin exclaims looking back at Steve, her eyebrows raised and a sly smile playing on her lips. Steve can almost see the moment of realization dawn upon her as if a lightbulb had been switched on in her mind.

Steve scratches the back of his head. “I promised Robin a ride back–”

“No problem, We’ll drop her off. I’ll bring you back to pick up your car later.”

Steve casts Robin a quick glance and she shrugs in response.

“If Robin’s fine with it…” he trails.

“A van,” Robin whispers as Steve joins her at the counter and elbows him in his arm.

Steve rolls his eyes at her, but still can’t fight the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.

***

Twigs crack under Steve’s shoes as he follows Eddie through the forest. The canopy of the trees offers ample shadow and Steve finds the heat more bearable here than when they had been walking alongside the road. Still, his shirt clings to his back and sweat is slicking his hair as Steve runs a hand through it.

When Eddie asked him to hang out, he didn’t expect they would be hiking through the forest behind the trailer park during a freaking heatwave.

He looks over to Eddie. His bangs cling to his forehead and the veins on his arms are thick as his body fights to keep cool. Despite the oppressive heat, there's a glint of excitement in Eddie's eyes.

“There it is.” Eddie stops and looks somewhere in the distance. Steve squints and follows Eddie’s gaze. Between the trees, he can see the shimmer of water, and he realizes Eddie has taken them to Lover’s lake.

When they near the water, Eddie ups his pace, stepping around some of the bigger rocks and boulders near the lake’s edge like he has done it a thousand times before. Steve tries to keep up, but his unfamiliarity with the landscape slows him down.

At last, he is standing on the pebbled lakeside. The sun is already lowering itself into the embrace of dusk and Steve thinks they have maybe two hours of light left before sundown. He looks to his right where he sees Eddie standing above a pile of wood. When he gets closer, Steve realizes it is actually an old stranded fisher’s boat.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Eddie remarks.

Steve looks the boat over. It’s medium sized and some of its wood has rotted away. A good portion of it is covered in graffiti, and half of it sits in the water. It has probably been there for years.

“You bring all your conquests here?” Steve asks as he watches Eddie climb onto the boat. The question is mostly meant to be lighthearted, yet he feels a sense of anticipation as he waits for Eddie to reach the deck.

Eddie squats and looks down on him. “Nah, just you.”

Somehow, those words make Steve’s heart flutter and his cheeks heat up. He quickly looks away, pretending to search for footing to scale the boat.

When Steve reaches the deck, Eddie is sitting cross-legged facing the lake.

“This is a nice place,” Steve says, sitting next to Eddie. He lets his feet dangle from the side and follows Eddie’s gaze. Across the lake, some people linger, cooling down before heading back to their hot homes. Some children are playing in the shallows and their joyful screams carry over the water.

“Your work?” Steve asks as he gestures to some of the writing on the boat. The wood is covered in crude phrases, names, and dates – some of them are carved, but most look to be written with a sharpie.

“Some of it is.” Eddie pulls out a pocket knife from his jeans and hands it to Steve. “You can add to it if you want.”

Steve turns the knife in his hand. It is a classic red Swiss knife and it lays heavy in his hand.

“Here–” Eddie twists around and Steve follows suit. Eddie’s fingers are tracing the wood behind them, running them over the carvings in the wood. “– I think I did this about a year ago.”

Eddie removes his hands and Steve can finally get a good look. It’s nothing crazy, just a simple ‘Eddie was here’ carved in crude scratches – eternalised in some rotting wood in a town no one cares about.

Eddie holds up his hand to Steve and he realizes he is asking for his knife back. Steve hands it over.

Eddie flips out the knife and bends himself over the carving. Steve turns back around, looking over the lake again as the sound of scratching fills his ears.

“All done!” Eddie says after a while.

When Steve turns back, he sees his name freshly carved into the wood, right above Eddie’s original carving.

Steve + Eddie was here

“You wanted to immortalize this?” Steve asks amused.

Eddie flips the knife closed again and shoves it into his pocket. “A year ago, I’d never thought I’d be sitting here with Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington. Guess that’s pretty fucking special.” Eddie casts him a toothy grin.

Steve had to agree though. If someone had told him a year ago he would be hanging out with Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson on a Friday evening – rather than spend his night on a date or at a party – he would have declared them crazy.

“I suppose so,” Steve replies.

All is quiet for a moment, save the sound of leaves rustling by a welcome breeze. Steve closes his eyes as the wind kisses his sweaty skin.

“I got you something,” Eddie says, breaking the silence and he stands up. Steve’s gaze follows him and his eyes widen when he sees Eddie move his hands over his head to pull his tank top off.

“But let's take a dip first…it’s hot as balls.” He throws the sweaty tank top at Steve, who slaps it out of the air before it can hit him. The fabric lands heavily on the wooden deck.

“I didn’t bring my trunks,”

“You don’t need those here.” Eddie gives him a knowing smile as he kicks on his shoes.

Eddie is lean and he has a nice back, Steve thinks. Not particularly broad like some of his former teammates on the swimming team, but not bad for a guy who spends his time playing board games. His torso is littered with fading scars from the Upside Down and Steve has a fair amount of those himself.

“Get on with it, Harrington!” Eddie is already stripped to his underwear when Steve tears his eyes away and finally tugs his own shirt over his head.

A dip in the lake was a fantastic idea and Steve felt himself relax now that he was slowly but surely cooling down to more humane temperatures.

Steve tries to keep his eyes away from Eddie as they make their way back to the boat. The fabric of his boxers is clinging to his skin.

Eddie lays himself down on the deck, using his jeans as a pillow while he fiddles with his headphones.

“C’mere Steve.” Eddie pats the space next to him and Steve reluctantly seats himself. Eddie is working the buttons of a walkman.

“Remember when I said I got you something?”

“That was like twenty minutes ago,” Steve feels borderline offended at the implication.

Eddie gestures for Steve to lay down as well and Steve complies begrudgingly, resting his head next to Eddie’s on his crumpled jeans while he stares up at the blue sky. He feels exposed in just his boxers and now Eddie wants them to lay side by side.

“Here.” Eddie hands him one half of the headphones while holding the other side to his own ears. Suddenly it dawns on Steve why they’re lying as they are. Eddie wants to let him listen to music. Steve moves half of the headphones to his ear and sure enough music starts playing.

“I put some things together I thought you might like.” Steve can see Eddie turn his head towards him from his periphery and study his face.

“You made me a mixtape?” Steve asks. The idea of Eddie putting together a mixtape for him was…well, really thoughtful.

“Now you say it out loud it sounds kinda lame,” Eddie laughs.

“No, it– it’s really nice.” Steve offers.

He closes his eyes and listens to the unfamiliar tunes. Eddie did quite a good job at picking music that he might like. It is definitely less intense than Rainbow – the voices are less shrill, the guitar less cutting, and the drums beat at a lower frequency. It’s nice, ridiculously nice, and Steve can’t think of an instance when someone has ever taken the time to put something together for him like this – not even his ex-girlfriends.

They lay there for a while, each holding one end of the headphone. The people on the other side of the lake must have left by now because the only things Steve can hear are birdsong, the sound of rustling leaves, and the music that comes from the walkman. The breeze feels cool against his damp body, and he wonders why he had never done this before – stay at the lake until the sun went down.

Steve can almost feel himself drift asleep when Eddie nudges him.

“Steve.” Eddie shakes him gently by his shoulder.

“Hm, lemme be…” he whines without opening his eyes.

“You’re gonna be mosquito food.” Beside him, he hears Eddie getting up and when Steve finally opens his eyes, Eddie is already wearing his tank top.

Steve hadn’t realized how long they had laid there. Only a small line of sun was visible in the distance and Eddie’s figure was dark against the pastel sky.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna need my pants,” Eddie says as he points at Steve’s head.

“Oh right.” Steve finally sits up, handing Eddie the makeshift pillow of his jeans.

Once they’re both dressed, Eddie leads them back through the forest. The sky is pink and the trees form black outlines against it. Steve walks after Eddie, who points out when to be mindful of a hidden boulder or a sudden dip in the forest floor.

They take Eddie’s van back to Family Video so Steve can get his car. The whole car ride, Steve can’t help the feeling of nervousness that sits in his stomach.

Today kinda felt like a date.

Normally he would be on the other end of it – driving a girl home after a movie or something. And then, once he stops the car in front of her house, the girl would fidget and Steve would place his arm on the back of her car seat, confident and reassuring. He would tell her he had a good time and if she did as well, he would seal the deal with a kiss.

But this was Eddie, and they had been just two guys hanging out.

Two guys that had made out a week ago.

But that didn’t mean anything. It had just been Steve’s one-day gay phase and he got it out of his system now, hadn’t he? Eddie had only offered out of a misunderstanding, or maybe some weird kindness.

Shit, this train of thought was not helping Steve whatsoever. If anything, it had just made the nervous flutter in his stomach worse.

Eddie stops the van and the red neon light of Family Video plays with the curves of his face.

“There we are.” Eddie pushes himself back into his seat with his arms stretched on the steering wheel. Steve makes no movement to get out. They sit in silence for a while.

“About last week–” Steve starts. If he doesn’t acknowledge it now, he feels like he might go crazy. Besides, he doesn’t know when or if they’ll have another moment alone.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone. We can forget about it if you want…” Eddie says without looking at him. His shoulders are tense and his grip on the steering wheels seems to harden.

“No…it’s not–” Steve tries, but Eddie cuts him off.

“Don’t worry Steve, I get it. I know what people say about me –”

“But–”

“ –and it doesn’t have to mean anything. People make out all the time–”

Steve unbuckles his seatbelt. He’s kind of sick of Eddie not letting him finish his sentences and is ready to return the favor.

He leans over, turning Eddie’s head towards him and kisses him. Hard.

Eddie’s mouth is parted, mid-sentence, and Steve feels teeth beneath his lips. By all accounts, it’s a shoddy kiss – not his best work – but it seems to do the trick.

Eddie loses his grip on the steering wheel, hands moving to Steve’s shoulders instead as he eagerly returns the sentiment.

“Fuck, Harrington, aren’t you full of surprises,” Eddie breaths against his lips.

Steve leans back into his chair and runs a hand through his hair.

“You talk too much,” he says as he opens the door of the van.

By the time he hears Eddie get out of his van, Steve is already opening the door to his BMW.

“Wait, Steve,” Eddie calls as he jogs over. When he’s standing in front of Steve, he pulls at Steve’s arm, running his hand down and urging Steve’s palm up. He shoves something square in his hand and closes Steve’s fingers around it.

“Next Friday, same time?” Eddie asks him, searching his eyes.

Steve nods silently. He stares after Eddie as he walks back to his van. He opens the door and turns one last time, giving Steve a two-fingered salute before getting in.

Steve hears the sound of the motor swinging on and looks at his hand. In the dim neon light, he stares down at a small cassette. Steve can hardly read the black letters in the red light, but he realizes Eddie has written something on its white label.

From Freak, to Hair.

[AO3]

#steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie #my fics #ster writes steddie

900 notes · View notes

itwillbethescarletwitch · 14 days ago

Text

Every Version Of You

bob floyd x fem!reader

The first thing you feel is warmth.

Not the harsh kind, not burning or bright—just soft, slow warmth, like honey left out in the sun. It sinks into your skin, spreads through your limbs, hums quietly inside your bones. The kind of warmth that feels earned. The kind you only get after nights like last night.

His arm is slung lazily across your waist, palm heavy on your stomach. He’s so close behind you that you can feel each inhale brush against your spine. Bare skin against bare skin. Breath on your neck. His heartbeat pressing steady against your back.

You haven’t even opened your eyes yet, but you know he’s awake.

You can feel it. That subtle shift in the air when he stirs slightly, trying not to wake you, like if he’s still enough maybe this moment will stretch longer. Maybe it won’t end at all.

“Morning,” you murmur, voice still half-asleep.

There’s a pause. Then:

“Mornin’, baby,” Bob whispers into your hair, voice gravelly and low, thick with sleep. “You sleep alright?”

You nod, nuzzling your face into the pillow. “Too good.”

His hand smooths up your stomach, then down again, slow and gentle. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you for the hundredth time. Like he’ll never stop needing to.

“Let’s stay in bed today,” he mumbles.

You laugh, light and tired. “You say that every morning.”

“Yeah, and I’m always right.”

You finally roll over to face him.

Bob Floyd in the morning is something out of a dream. Sleep-mussed curls, lips pink and puffy from the pillow, eyes half-lidded and soft with that unbearable look—the one that says he’d do anything for you. He hasn’t even fully woken up, but the second your eyes meet, he smiles like seeing you is enough to make his whole day.

You reach out, running your fingers through his hair, flattening the rogue curl sticking straight up at the crown of his head.

“You look ridiculous,” you tease.

“Don’t care. You love it.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

He shifts closer, nose brushing yours, lips ghosting over your jaw, your cheekbone, the corner of your mouth. He kisses you slow and lazy and perfect, like he’s got nowhere to be for the next ten years.

“You’re not allowed to be this good to me,” you murmur.

He smirks into your skin. “I’ve got four years of practice.”

⸻

By the time you make it downstairs, it’s well past nine.

You shuffle into the kitchen barefoot, wrapped in one of his old Navy sweatshirts, and find him already there—barefoot too, of course, in boxers and a faded Top Gun tee, flipping pancakes in a pan with a spatula that’s seen better days.

There’s music playing from your phone speaker on the counter. Something old. Familiar. His voice—off-key, low—singing along softly.

He doesn’t hear you walk in at first.

He’s got pancake batter on his wrist, a smear of flour on his jaw, and his curls are somehow messier now than they were in bed. He looks like he belongs there—right there, in that tiny kitchen, in your shared home, making you breakfast like he’s done it a thousand times before.

Like this is all he’s ever known.

You lean against the doorway, watching him.

“This what you do when I’m not around?” you ask.

Bob jumps a little, then turns, grinning. “Caught me.”

He walks over, presses a quick, messy kiss to your cheek, and hands you a plate.

“Made them exactly how you like. Crispy edges. Chocolate chips in only one.”

“You do love me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

You eat together by the window.

Your knees touch under the table. He reaches over at random intervals to tuck your hair behind your ear. You tell him about a weird dream you had. He tells you about something dumb Hangman said in the group chat last night. You laugh. He laughs harder. There’s powdered sugar on your lips and he kisses it off without asking.

You didn’t know mornings could feel like this. Easy. Uncomplicated. Full.

You reach for his hand, and he laces your fingers like it’s muscle memory.

And then he says, so quietly you almost miss it:

“Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You look up, but his expression is unreadable—just focused on his plate, like it was nothing. Like it didn’t feel like a knife sliding gently under your ribs.

You don’t ask what he means. You just squeeze his hand tighter.

⸻

Later, you curl up on the couch with him. The windows are open. There’s a breeze.

You watch an old movie you’ve both seen a dozen times. You pretend to follow the plot, but you’re really just watching him. The way his face softens when he’s at peace. The way he strokes the inside of your wrist while your head rests on his chest.

———

It’s the small things you remember most.

Like how he always pulls your sleeves down when you’re cold before handing you his hoodie—like he’s layering you in care. Or how he sings along to the worst parts of every song—loud, off-key, unapologetic. Especially in the car. Especially when you’re trying to concentrate.

Like how he says, “Hold out your hand,” and drops random things into your palm throughout the day—grapes, keys, your phone, chapstick—with a kiss to your wrist like it’s a love language. You never have to ask for anything twice.

Bob Floyd loves hard, but he doesn’t love loud. His love is in the details. The repetition. The reliability.

And right now, he’s washing your hair in the bathtub.

Your knees are drawn to your chest, bubbles halfway to your chin, and he’s kneeling outside the tub, sleeves rolled up, working his fingers gently through your hair like you’re something breakable. You close your eyes and hum.

“This is unfair,” you say.

“What is?”

“You being this good to me. You know it sets an impossible standard, right?”

Bob chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, well. Not my fault you settled for excellence.”

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“You picked me.”

He rinses you off with the hand-shower, careful not to let the water get too hot, too loud, too anything. When he presses a kiss to your temple and helps you up with a towel ready, you’re hit with that same feeling you’ve had all month:

I could stay here forever.

⸻

The days blur together in golden tones.

One morning, he makes heart-shaped waffles “by accident.” The next, you catch him humming a song you’ve never heard before, and when you ask what it is, he shrugs.

“I don’t know. Just something stuck in my head.”

You make dinner together. You fall asleep on his chest in the living room. You forget what your life looked like before him.

There’s a photo booth strip on the fridge. A polaroid of him kissing your cheek. A receipt from your favorite café, circled in red pen:

“Bob + Y/N = forever.”

It should make you feel whole.

But instead, you feel… floaty. Slightly disoriented. Like time isn’t moving quite right. Like you’re watching the days pass through a thick pane of glass.

⸻

It starts with the flowers.

He brings home a bouquet on a random Tuesday—beaming, proud of himself.

“Figured I’d surprise you.”

You unwrap them slowly, carefully, then pause.

Lilies.

Your stomach sinks.

“You hate them,” he says suddenly.

You blink. “No. I don’t.”

Bob frowns. “I thought—you’ve told me before.”

“No. I haven’t.”

The silence stretches between you. You force a smile.

“They’re beautiful,” you say, and set them gently in the sink.

He doesn’t bring up flowers again.

⸻

Then, there’s the car.

It’s your car. You know it’s yours.

Except the presets on the radio are all wrong.

Station 1: 80s rock.

Station 2: Country.

Station 3: Static.

Station 4: A song you swear you’ve never heard in your life, already playing halfway through—but you know every single word.

You don’t say anything.

Bob drives with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh. His thumb strokes back and forth like a heartbeat. Like it’s all normal.

⸻

The worst moment comes during dinner.

You’re laughing at something stupid—he made a joke about Hangman’s TikTok addiction—and Bob looks at you with a strange kind of softness.

“I love you,” he says. “Even when you’re annoying as hell.”

You grin, mouth full. “You have no idea how annoying I can be.”

And he says, without blinking:

“I do. I’ve loved you through worse. I’ll love you through anything.”

You stop chewing.

Your throat goes dry.

“…What?”

Bob blinks. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘through worse’?”

He pauses like he’s trying to remember something. Something he doesn’t quite have words for.

“I don’t know,” he says finally. “That just felt true.”

You stare at him.

He reaches across the table, tucks your hair behind your ear, and changes the subject.

You let him.

⸻

That night, you lie awake in bed beside him. His arm is around you. His breathing is slow. Steady. Peaceful.

But your heart is beating too fast. Your skin feels tight.

You swear you saw a scar on his wrist today—faint, half-faded, something you’ve never noticed before. You tried to ask him about it, but he brushed it off.

You don’t know why it’s bothering you so much.

You love him. God, you love him.

But something in your chest whispers, low and urgent—

You’re running out of time.

———

The rain starts just after midnight.

Not a drizzle. Not soft, romantic, cinematic rain.

Real rain.

Sideways, slashing, window-rattling rain. Lightning flashes through the sky like it’s trying to tear it open. The wind howls against the glass like it’s angry. The world outside your apartment looks like the beginning of a storm-chaser documentary.

And of course, that’s when you run out of ice cream.

You stare at the freezer, hands on your hips, groaning like this is the worst tragedy of the night.

“Babe,” you call. “We’re out of chocolate peanut butter swirl.”

From the couch: “You ate it yesterday.”

You spin around and glare at him. He’s stretched out under a blanket like a smug little burrito, eyes half on the TV, half on you. Hair a mess. Glasses crooked. Utterly unbothered.

“Correction: I finished it yesterday. You watched me do it.”

Bob grins. “And you want me to go out in that—” he nods toward the window—“because your gremlin cravings don’t care about hurricane season?”

You cross your arms. “You’re gonna let your fiancée suffer?”

He exhales slowly through his nose like he’s trying to make a point—then throws off the blanket, grabs the car keys off the hook, and points at you like a coach calling plays.

“Get your shoes. I’m not going alone.”

⸻

You’re laughing as you both race through the apartment, trying to find your sneakers and hoodie, arguing over who has the better umbrella (you do, obviously). By the time you’re in the car, your cheeks hurt from smiling.

Bob puts the wipers on max. They barely help. It’s coming down in sheets.

The roads are almost empty—just reflections of headlights on wet pavement and the blur of stoplights blinking through the downpour. You keep sneaking glances at him while he drives. He’s got one hand on the wheel, the other resting between you, fingers tapping to the beat of a song humming from the radio.

Everything feels surreal. Like it’s all happening underwater.

Like the night itself is humming.

⸻

He’s the one who breaks the silence.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, voice quiet, eyes still on the road.

You hum, “Mmm?” and glance over.

There’s something in his profile you can’t read. Not sadness. Not fear. Just… something heavy.

And then he says it:

“What we have is forever.”

“I love you so much.”

“Please… don’t let anyone tell you different.”

You blink. “What?”

His grip tightens slightly on the steering wheel. He still doesn’t look at you.

“I just—sometimes I get scared that you’ll forget. Or doubt it. I just need you to remember. No matter what happens.”

Your stomach turns, slow and uneasy.

“Bob,” you laugh nervously, “what are you talking about?”

He looks at you then. Just for a second.

“Promise me.”

“Bob—”

Headlights.

A horn.

Screeching tires.

Metal.

Glass.

Everything lurches.

You scream. His arm flies out in front of you instinctively.

The world flips.

And then—

Impact.

⸻

There’s blood in your mouth. It tastes like copper and panic.

You’re upside down.

The seatbelt is slicing into your chest. There’s something burning in your shoulder, your hip, your lungs. The rain is hitting the shattered windshield like it’s trying to dig you out.

You try to move and scream instead.

“Bob—” you choke.

He’s still. Slumped. There’s blood running from somewhere near his temple, soaking the collar of his shirt. But his hand—his hand finds yours, blindly. Shaking. Holding on.

“I’m here,” he gasps. “I’m right here.”

You’re crying. You don’t even realize it. You can’t stop.

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

He squeezes your hand, breath shallow. His voice breaks.

“I love you baby.”

“Don’t forget me.”

You try to speak, but the sound is stolen from your throat.

You don’t know what he means.

You don’t know what’s happening.

All you know is you’re losing him.

He pulls your hand to his lips, kisses your knuckles, and says the last thing you ever hear from him:

“I love you.”

Then the light goes out.

———

The first thing you feel is pain.

It’s dull at first, then sharp—like lightning beneath your skin. Every part of you aches. Your throat burns. Your mouth is dry. There’s a beeping sound somewhere close. Slow. Steady. Monitors.

Then: voices.

Low murmurs. Footsteps. The sound of a curtain being drawn.

“—she’s waking up—”

A hand touches your arm gently. You flinch.

“Y/N?” a voice asks, cautious and tight. “Sweetheart?”

You force your eyes open. Everything is too bright. The world blurs and twists and rearranges itself slowly—white ceilings, blinking lights, IV poles, wires. The sterile scent of antiseptic fills your nose.

You blink again. Turn your head. A woman stands beside your bed—tears in her eyes. Another figure next to her. Your mom. Your dad.

Mom gasps softly. “Oh my God.”

Dad squeezes her hand. He’s trying not to cry.

And all you can manage to rasp out is:

“Where’s Bob?”

There’s silence.

A strange, cold pause. Your mother’s eyes flick to your father’s. Something panicked in the way they both look at each other.

You try to sit up, immediately wince. Pain shoots through your ribs. Tubes tug at your arm. You feel like you’ve been hit by a truck.

“Where—” your voice breaks. “Where is he? Is he okay? Please—he was in the car—he was driving—”

“Honey,” your mom whispers, taking your hand. “There… there wasn’t anyone else in the car.”

You freeze.

“What?”

Your dad steps closer, careful. “You were alone, baby. It was just you.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No—no, he was driving—he held my hand, he—he told me not to be scared—”

Your mother’s eyes are shining now. “Y/N, I promise—we asked. The paramedics only found you.”

You’re staring at them.

You don’t blink.

You don’t breathe.

“You’re wrong,” you say softly. “You didn’t see him. He—he was right there—he said—he told me he loved me—he kissed my hand.”

Your dad’s voice cracks. “We believe you think that. But—there’s no record. No ID. No blood type. No other vehicle involved. No trace of anyone else on the scene. You were alone.”

“He was driving the car.”

You don’t remember how loud you get after that. You just remember screaming.

You yank at the IV. You try to sit up. The pain is blinding, but it doesn’t matter. You’re crying and screaming and begging, hysterical, sobbing “NO NO NO NO NO—”

Your mom is crying too now, calling for a nurse. Your dad tries to hold you down. Your voice goes hoarse from yelling his name—

“BOB—BOB—BOB—PLEASE—”

Nurses flood in. There’s a needle. A voice saying “This will help you calm down.”

You fight it. But the world slips anyway.

Back into static.

⸻

When you wake again, everything’s quieter.

Dimmed lights. No visitors. Just you.

Your throat is sore from screaming.

You turn your head slowly and whisper to the empty room:

“You were real.”

———

You stop pretending.

No more polite nods. No more quiet meals. No more playing along.

You don’t smile at your parents. You don’t respond to the doctors.

You’ve given up on being understood.

All you care about now is finding him.

⸻

You start cataloging everything again.

Every dream. Every flicker of memory. Every second you spent together—dates, kisses, fights, his toothbrush in your bathroom, the song he used to hum under his breath while stirring pasta.

You write it down like scripture.

A journal filled with scribbles, arrows, taped fragments of your sanity:

• “Jacket size — L. Faded Top Gun tee.”

• “Right-handed. Slight dimple on left cheek when tired.”

• “Once told me he cried watching The Iron Giant.”

You tape photos to your bedroom wall like a detective in a murder mystery.

String connects nothing to nothing.

But to you, it all means something.

There’s an empty space beside you in every photo, every video, every moment.

And you whisper to that space:

“Where are you?”

“Where did they take you?”

⸻

Your mom finds you one morning collapsed in front of the bathroom mirror.

Red-rimmed eyes. Fingernails cracked. You’ve written his name on the glass in toothpaste, over and over and over again.

She calls your father. You hear the words again through the fog:

“We have to do something.”

“She’s getting worse.”

“She’s not eating. She doesn’t sleep. She’s talking to walls.”

You don’t correct them.

Walls are the only things that haven’t lied to you.

⸻

They take your phone.

So you carve his name into your journal cover with a safety pin.

They throw out your photos.

So you re-draw his face in pencil every night before bed.

They say the more you fixate, the more damage you do.

But you’re not fixating.

You’re remembering.

You’re honoring.

You’re searching.

⸻

They send you to a specialist.

She’s soft-voiced. Young. You can’t stand her.

She holds a clipboard and says:

“If this Bob was real, we would’ve found some trace. A friend. A coworker. A relative. But there’s nothing.”

You sit still. Silent.

She leans forward like she’s talking to a scared child.

“Can I ask you something difficult?”

You blink.

“What if Bob never existed because… your mind created him to protect you?”

You don’t flinch. You don’t cry.

You laugh.

“Then my mind’s a better person than anyone in this building.”

⸻

That night, you run.

You don’t know how far.

Down the hall. Through a stairwell. Into a section of the ward you’re notallowed in.

The alarms go off too late.

You’re fast—limping, but fast. Wild.

Heart racing. Eyes darting. Vision blurring from meds and sleep deprivation.

You burst through a door at the end of the hall.

And then you hear it.

A voice.

Low. Familiar. Quiet. Like it’s been pulled through years of silence.

“Hold out your hand.”

You freeze.

You don’t even breathe.

Your heart seizes in your chest like something divine just reached through your ribs.

Slowly, your head turns.

And there—in the corner of the room—sits a boy.

Slouched in a chair. Hoodie over his head.

Thin. Disconnected.

Almost gone.

But you’d know him anywhere.

You whisper:

“Bob?”

His head lifts.

Eyes bloodshot. Face pale. Bruised.

He stares at you like he’s seeing a ghost.

“Y/N?”

And your legs give out.

You don’t remember how you got to the floor.

One second, you’re standing—arms limp, chest hollow, the air knocked out of you.

The next, you’re on your knees. The hallway spinning. Hands pressed to the linoleum. Staring at him like the world just cracked in half.

Bob Floyd.

Exactly how you remember him, and nothing like you remember him.

His hair’s longer now, messier. Face gaunt. Shoulders hunched. There’s a shadow under his eyes that wasn’t there before—a weight, like he’s been carrying something impossible for far too long.

He stares at you with open, disbelieving terror.

“Y/N?”

You nod. A sob catches in your throat. “You’re real.”

He stumbles to his feet.

You rise too—unsteady, dazed, clinging to the wall. It’s like the air between you pulls, like gravity shifted to make your bodies collide. You don’t run. You don’t have to. Your hands find each other. Your arms wrap tight.

It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s desperate.

He’s shaking.

So are you.

He holds you like someone just put oxygen back in his lungs.

“They told me—” he gasps. “They told me you weren’t real.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. “They told me you weren’t.”

“That I imagined you.”

“That you were a… a coping mechanism. A name I made up.”

“I tried to forget. I tried to believe them.”

His fingers find your jaw, your cheeks, your shoulders—touching every part of you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again.

“I didn’t forget you,” you whisper. “Not once.”

His voice cracks. “Neither did I.”

And then he kisses you.

⸻

It’s not perfect.

You taste salt—your tears, his too.

You’re both trembling.

The hallway is spinning.

Footsteps thunder in the distance—orderlies, nurses, shouting your names.

But for a second, none of that matters.

It’s just him.

His lips. His hands. The way he holds the back of your head like you’re sacred.

The way you melt into him like you never left.

⸻

They drag you apart.

You’re screaming his name.

He’s yelling yours.

The world is tearing at the seams again—but this time, you know he’s out there.

You saw him.

You held him.

They say you had another episode.

That your “mutual delusion” was triggered by overlapping trauma.

That you’ll be placed on different wards.

Different floors.

Different ends of the building.

But none of it matters.

You found him.

⸻

And in the weeks that follow, you learn the art of stealing time.

Late-night glances through glass partitions. Whispered messages passed through art therapy. Smuggled notes in books.

You share the same dream every night now:

You’re back in the car.

It’s raining.

And this time, he doesn’t let go.

⸻

They call you sick.

Delusional.

Broken.

But the way he looks at you—like you’re the only real thing in a world of fog?

That feels like the only truth that’s ever mattered.

———

It starts in the hallway.

You’re heading back from therapy. He’s walking the opposite direction. A nurse on either side of him. He keeps his head down. So do you.

But your fingers brush. Just for a second.

He passes you a folded slip of paper hidden in the palm of his hand. You tuck it into your sleeve.

That night, under your pillow, you unfold it:

I dreamed of the pancakes again. You wore that hoodie I hate. I still love you in it.

— B

You laugh into your blanket, eyes stinging.

You write back.

⸻

Weeks pass.

They rotate staff. Change your therapists. Add meds.

They keep saying it’ll make the delusions fade.

But they’re just making you sharper.

Your hands stop shaking.

Your memories get clearer.

And you start noticing things.

• The way your dreams sync up.

• The scar on his hand you never told anyone about.

• How he remembers your secrets—ones you didn’t even remember until he said them out loud.

They call it shared psychosis.

You call it connection.

⸻

Sometimes, you meet in the art room.

He sits two tables away. Pretends to doodle. You paint.

You don’t look at each other, but you smile at the same time.

He mouths, “You okay?” across the room.

You nod. Mouth, “You?”

He taps his pen against the table once.

Yes.

⸻

One afternoon, you both sneak into the records room. Thirty seconds. That’s all you get.

You find your file. His too.

You’re “delusional.” “Fixated.” “Hallucinatory.”

But on the back of his intake form, scrawled in messy black ink—

“Subject insists on the existence of one person: Y/N [redacted].

Claims she was present in a dream-state during coma.

Insists she is real.”

You stare at it.

Proof.

You take it. Fold it. Hide it under your mattress.

⸻

There’s a moment in the rec room, late one night.

The TV’s playing some old war movie. Everyone’s half-asleep.

You sit beside him on the couch. Shoulders touching. No one watches.

You whisper, “Did I die that night?”

Bob doesn’t look at you.

He just says: “I think we both did.”

You say nothing for a long time.

Then, quietly:

“Then how are we still here?”

He turns to you. Eyes glassy, but certain.

“Because we found each other. Again.”

———

They try to separate you.

Permanently.

New wing. New floor. Different visiting hours. Different doctors. Different names on your door.

You scream. Bob breaks a window.

You’re both sedated for two days.

When you wake up, your body is sluggish, but your rage is sharp.

“They want us to forget each other,” you whisper to your reflection.

“They think if we’re apart long enough, we’ll stop believing.”

They don’t understand.

You aren’t delusional.

You’re in love.

And now?

You’re getting out.

⸻

The plan begins in pieces.

Little things.

• The nurse who always forgets to lock the linen closet.

• The exit badge someone dropped during lights out.

• The kitchen door that jams unless you hit it just right.

• The fuse box that powers the security cams for the east hallway.

Bob draws a map on the back of a playing card. Slips it to you under the chess board during rec hour.

You tuck it in your sock.

⸻

They start pretending again.

Smiling at doctors. Nodding through therapy. Taking their meds and hiding the pills under their tongues.

You start wearing your hair down again. Let them think you’re healing.

You say things like “I don’t hear him anymore” and “I know now he wasn’t real.”

They believe you.

Because they want to believe you.

Because they never thought two “broken” people could build anything strong enough to burn through their system.

But you do.

⸻

The night you run, it rains.

Of course it does.

Bob meets you behind the kitchen, right where the fuse box lives. You’re both in gray hoodies. He’s shaking. You’re not.

You grab his hand.

“Ready?” you ask.

His voice cracks. “I’ve been ready since they told me you didn’t exist.”

You throw the switch. The lights buzz and die.

In the dark, you run.

⸻

Footsteps. Shouting. Sirens. Flashlights behind you.

You duck behind a dumpster. Bob pulls you into the trees.

Through mud. Through thorns. Through freedom.

You don’t stop running until your lungs ache and your hands are bloodied and the world goes quiet.

And when it finally does?

You collapse into him, laughing—laughing—like you’re not terrified. Like you’re alive.

Because you are.

⸻

They say you were both a danger to yourselves.

They say you were unwell.

They say you disappeared into the woods and were never seen again.

Maybe that’s true.

But if you look close—if you know where to look—somewhere out there, off the grid, in a borrowed cabin or a quiet shack deep in the trees…

Two people still laugh over pancakes.

Still hum old songs.

Still kiss like it’s the first and last time every time.

⸻

They didn’t escape a hospital.

They escaped a lie.

And now?

They’re finally real.

To each other.

Forever.

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