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sheepispink · 2 days ago

Text

Relief

supersoldier!reader x lt ghost technicallly the 141 too but he’s the main culprit (part 4)

One Two Three

cw: Reaper is reader’s callsign (backstory and meaning will be given at the bottom and thanks to @pythonmoth to help me with this :) ), nightmares, slight derealisation

————

“Lord, Ghost! Why do you think they don’t want to speak up? Look at their face!”

Soap raises his voice, louder than you’ve ever heard a sergeant before. Yet despite that, you watch in horror as Ghost shoves him out of his way, stalking even closer to you. The anger in his eyes is nothing short of fury, making fear spike in your heart and so the machines start beeping loudly, screaming in your ears. They’re not supposed to do that; your heart rate is supposed to keep steady outside of battle and serious situations—you’re breaking.

Wetness coats your cheeks as you scramble backwards, watching the terrifying skull mask grow closer and closer. You suppose you’ve taken it for granted that you never had to worry about the rumours surrounding the mask, but now you understand what every enemy had felt when they came across him, worrying that if you even so blink he’d have your heart in his hands the second your eyes opened.

You suppose he’s talking, likely yelling more curses and insults at you but you can't hear any of it, nor Soap’s voice as he reaches for you, everything swirling into an incomprehensible blur. You have to blink, your vision blurry and the next second you open your eyes his hand is around your throat, forcing your eyes to blow wide and your own breath to clog in your throat. Everything is freezing; the walls are closing in and your entire body feels strange, like the world around you has tipped entirely. “You devil—”

“Reaper!“

Your hands clench at nothing but the cold flooring of the medical room you’re in, having fallen off of the bed altogether. The heart monitor beeps loudly, having been detached when you fell, also causing the iv drip to rip off, and leaving your bare arms feeling naked and raw. Gaz crouches before you, his hands like a furnace against your frozen body, trying to ease you. “What happened? Are you alright?” You do your best to nod quickly in response, a hiccup replacing the yes choked in your throat. He’s still soothing you when heavy footsteps approach, though you know well enough that it isnt the ones you fear—well, not that kind of fear anyway.

The Captain stands in the doorway, watching as Gaz pats your back and says reassuring words to your horror stricken face, the hot tears still curving over your cheeks and thawing the ice your hands feel like. It’s not like you were afraid of him like you were with Ghost, no it was more of a… professional intimidation.

The first time you spoke to him was the day you first arrived at base, having been picked up by Ghost and then taken to meet the Captain. He didn’t do much than tell you how to contact him, and a few words about the things you’d take part in whilst you worked alongside Ghost. Even so, you had figured immediately from the getgo that he wasn’t a man to mess with, and so you avoided him as best you could. In your head, talking to him only occured when something went wrong and well, nothing should be going wrong with a weapon like you.

“I’ll take it from here, Garrick.” His voice is low, but not harsh, and Gaz slowly stands, looking back at you one more time before he steps back. The Captain moves towards where you are on the ground, your back pressed against the small cupboard and your hands flat against the cold tiles. “I’m sorry i didnt come earlier.” It’s the first thing he says, and he takes his hat off, making him look strange and yet nothing like the stern authority he represents, especially when his brows are furrowed.

“Captain— I-” Despite that, you still didnt want to be seen as weak before him. All you had done for the past three months would be for a waste if something as menial as the events of the past day caused you to crumble to pieces. You wish you could explain everything to him, beg him to believe you when you say this was all nothing. All you need is for him to walk away now, pretend he didn’t see the visible distress in your face. Then maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to move past all of this and live your life as the weapon his team would wield proudly. “It’s- I’m just—“

“No.”

The word is short, simple and stern and yet somehow it has you stilling, every nerve frozen as you stare at him.

You should’ve known that weapons don't get second chances, that the damaged soldier doesn’t survive the battlefield. You should’ve known he wouldn’t care for some weak straggler, someone who broke apart from a few threats on their stupid birthday. Even if you had led each of his missions to a swift victory. Even if his days had been spent lighter, with more free time because there were just less things to worry about when you were the equivalent to ten soldiers. Even if he had written star reports about you, even going as far as to someday wish to permanently add you to the team. Even if you held every mission you went on by it’s strings and you kept them taut— never letting go, not even for a second.

“Why’d you always call me Captain, hm? You can call me John, you know.” His voice is relatively calmer, even if it’s the same tone he’s always used for you. He crouches and easily slips a hand behind your back, nudging you forward enough to allow him to pick you up and place you back onto the military bed.

“John…” You test the word on your lips and he nods, your shaken up state not disregarded as his eyes rake over your trembling form. He quickly pulls them away to reattach the iv drip and the heart monitor before his hand carefully brushes through your hair from the front to the back of your head. “See? Slides right off your tongue.”

You realise now that you still had been breathing quite heavily, with your hand gripping the front of your shirt. Everything just felt so tight, everything around was completely fake. You’re used to having reservations about this, used to pulling away from any physical contact, or just staying blank faced. A defense mechanism perhaps, especially after you had been through torture training and they tried their best to prey on any possible weaknesses. The thought of that day makes you shiver, but still, you were too lost in it to care that you were breaking your own rules aswell now.

You look up as his thumb rubs absentmindedly at the soft skin of your cheek. It’s one of the few places untouched by the horrors of experiments and severe training, still somehow retaining that childhood chubbiness, even if you had been trying to rid that for a long time. His lips have pulled into a small smile as he looks down at you, one that seems so fond you’re almost sure that perhaps he’s laughing at you since it couldn’t nearly be possible. Then you see the guilt in his eyes, the way they flicker down every now and then, and when his hand grazes your bandaged arm, for the first time, you flinch.

“Why—no— Did..you ever want to tell me, at all?”

You nod quietly, and his breath returns, letting out in the form of a long exhale as he just nods quietly, nudging you up so he can sit on the edge of the small hospital bed. “What..made you choose not to?”

“I.. I didn't think it was that serious.. It seemed like a stupid threat.” You murmur out and despite how angry he is about the whole situation, he can't get mad at your mindset. It really isn’t your fault.

“You were scared though.” He points out, and you nod in response, his hand still rubbing your head gently. “If it’s enough to cause you of all people fear, I think it’s pretty serious, kid.”

You swallow sharply, and he notices, letting out another sigh as his eyes fill with even more guilt. “I’m sorry..about your party. I should’ve been there; Me and Ghost, and I should've bought all your things for you too.” Never in your life has anyone looked at you with guilt, especially not directed at you. “It’s fine.. I didn’t really care for the party.” You mumble out, wiping the remaining tears that had coated your cheeks.“No— kid, i mean it. I’ll make it up to you; we can have that party—“

”It was a lie- I.. I’ve never celebrated my birthday.” You finally admit, the words blurting out as you stare down at your hands, fiddling with the blankets. “I just.. I thought if one of you came then they wouldn’t have dared to try and harm me.”

John stills, staring at you so hard and his hands have frozen on your shoulder, the air growing silent. “I.. You just wanted us to protect you.”

There’s one thing you haven't been letting yourself think about. Maybe it was the fact you were so terrified by all the threats you received, maybe it was the fact that you wanted to believe you could be the one in control— maybe you just thought that after everything you’d been through you were allowed to feel that confident. Now that everything’s over, your mind can no longer push the undoubted facts out.

You’re a weapon, that’s something you’ve always known about yourself. But just like with a weapon, it can't fire on its own—it needs someone to wield it. Ghost, for example; he’d give you commands on the battlefield, whether vague or specific. Those experiments ensured you listened to him, years of brainwashing forcing you into submission only to who was your commander. And so, despite everything you convinced yourself of the last few days, you weren’t exactly all that feared, not by your comrades. Those who understood the nature of you knew you couldn’t lay a hand against them, no matter how bad it got. You were powerless without a handler, as useless as a gun with no bullets.

Understanding lays heavy in Price’s eyes, seeing the emotions that pass through you with every twitch of your hand and flicker of your lashes. You were just a kid damnit. Sure, you were well of age, but you never knew anything past military life. You were everything he fought against and yet you were still here, under his team’s command. You don't argue when he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you in tight, and he doesn't argue when your face is pushed against his shoulder, wetting his thin shirt. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, whispering it in your ear again and again, making sure you dont only know it, but you believe it. You believe he didn’t mean it, and you believe he’ll do everything to fix this.

—————————-

10:23 pm, 3 days earlier

The tension in the room lays thick, the silence eating away at the two men sat infront of each other . Ghost was tense, muscles bulging as his fists clench at his lap, his eyes fixed onto the patterns on Price’s wooden desk. Meanwhile, the latter sat with his hands clasped, both of them with heavy hearts. “Reaper is in the infirmary; their arm took the brunt of the damage when she was protecting the fox.” He breathes out the words, suddenly wishing he has a cigar to fill the empty nausea in his throat.

Meanwhile, Ghost is only growing more furious, standing up way too fast before walking towards the cabinets. “They could’ve got killed, Capt.” His voice is stern, filled with fury that Price cant discern if placed on you or the soldiers at hand. Even so, there’s not much he can do, just sighing heavily.

“The higher ups are furious; we can’t afford for a failure in this program, and this sets us back months of research.” The glass sits in front of him, the golden liquid still inside and glowing in the low lamplight. Price steadies his words, watching as Ghost begins to pace back and forth. “They want to send Reaper back to the Scientists, brainwash any leftover fear out of their head.”

Brainwash

That word alone makes him snap, slamming his hands on the deep mahogany. “You cant be serious— We are not agreeing to that—!”

“I dont want to, Ghost.” Price reaches his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his elbows digging into the table as he tries to still the migraine that threatens to form.”But I can't deny them when we have nothing to disprove that Reaper’s state will only grow worse. We have to find out what happened, why they never told us about the threat—“

“So we have to coax it out of them? What, wait for them to feel all comfortable to tell us why they didn’t open their bloody mouths?!” He knows it’s more than that, he knows if it was that easy this never would’ve even happened because if you only functioned by orders, you wouldn't even be a person in the first place. Yet still he argues, because he knows this is all his fault. He chose to disregard the signs, he chose to hate you, he chose to push you to limits you didn’t even know you had. It’s his fault and he can't handle it.

He just couldn’t understand, why were you the one the team needed? It started off just testing if you’d handle the role you were destined for, a path you didn't know you were chosen to take once the time grew right. But then it grew deeper, a need to strain your limits, see if you could survive the cruelties he did. An abnormal urge and yet never too far, never over the edge. Just sheer of it.

Now look at what he’s done.

————————

4am. 5 days after the incident.

Another nightmare. You breathe heavily; for once no one is rushing to your room to check on your condition. Weirdly enough, Price had moved you to his barracks whilst he used a mattress hastily put together on the floor. Sure you had your own room, but with how frequent you managed to fall off of the bed because of recurring nightmares it was better to keep you here. Besides, this was far more comfortable than any sterile white hospital room which the rest of the 141 quickly realised hit a bad nerve with you. Your chest is tight, but it doesn't hurt, your lungs just feel pressured and yet you’re not short of oxygen either. It’s a strange feeling to say the least, and you just feel so, so exhausted.

Slowly you creep out of the bed, the bandage still tight around your upper arm and for once you’re wearing pajamas rather than the uniform you usually end up sleeping in to stop wasting time on changing. Disgusting perhaps, efficient regardless. Your feet creep into soft slippers Gaz brought you, hand sinking into your signature fox plush that Soap made sure to tuck in beside you. Quietly you slip out of Price’s room, the man snoring quietly on the mattress as you head down the corridor to the common room. They’ve let you use it now, like it’s actually yours too and that you belong there. Even if you know you dont.

It’s at the end of the hall, and you have to pass all their rooms to reach it. Gaz’s first, quiet inside, then Soap’s where you can hear a soft rustle— likely him rolling over. Your eyes linger on Ghost’s, the door shut and deadly silent. Ironically enough, he was sent on deployment the day after all the chaos went down, leaving radio silence on his part. It was strange, knowing your handler was around without you, going on a mission you would’ve probably been on too. All because you hadnt spoken up.

But would things really have changed?

You break your gaze away from his door, slipping into the common room to pour yourself a glass of water. “Hm? What ye doing up?” Soap is clearly tired, yawning all the way as he follows you over to the counter, pouring himself a glass of water aswell. “Thirsty..” You mumble, deciding to not let the idea of the nightmare linger much longer. Although, it seems like Soap’s already figured you all out, an arm lazily around your shoulder as he chugs his glass. “Nightmare, hm?”

You nod in response, and he lets out a small sigh, looking at you with softer eyes than usual. “Did ye tell Price?” He watches you shake your head, making him chuckle in response, a smile growing on his face as he lifts a hand up, ruffling your hair. “ ‘Course ye didn't, rascal.” It’s one of the few times anyone has been playfully mad with you before, the first being a nurse which accidentally just further reinforced your fear of medical staff. You never let that show though; it only came to light because of the trauma of the day. Soap and Gaz had been teaching you a lot of things, first of them being actually having a normal breakfast. You’ve joined them every morning now, well at least when they can make it, and it feels great but strange. They had immediately denounced your notions of “earning your breakfast” too, letting you have access to the actual food that was given at the normal breakfast times.

“Yknow, me and Gaz were thinking..” He hums, one hand still carding through your hair whilst he looks curiously at your arm for any sign of further damage. “You never celebrated in the end, did ya?” He watched you shake your head, teeth grazing your lips.

“No, i didn’t. I never wanted to though, i’m sure Price told you it was only a fib.” You respond, trying to downplay the situation. It’s not like you’d take much joy in celebrating now, even after all these years it felt better to just let the notion of it die in the trenches with your innocence.

“I know, I know.” He sighs, taking both your glasses and placing them near the sink for later. “Maybe we could do something small? Bit of cake, a movie. Nothin’ more.” You just shrug and nod, not sure what people even really do for their birthdays, and he gives you a smile, a hand on your back to lead you down the hall again.

You’re almost at the room when he stops you, his eyes almost locked onto you like he’s searching for something. “Do you wanna.. talk about the nightmare? It helps, I promise. You dont have to go in detail, but it’ll be good to know what you keep dreaming about.”

You debate his offer, staring back at him just as curiously. He wouldn't be mad if you didn't, even though you’re pretty sure the entire team is just anxiously waiting for you to speak. For someone whose silenced most of the time, it sure is weird.

“It was.. Ghost. I dream of when he yelled at me, except in my dreams he doesn't stop, he pushes you to the side and grabs me by my neck..” It’s straightforward and to the point. Well, maybe a little too much because Soap’s eyes have widened, pity swirling deep in his pupils. “He didnt— He was just angry that day, you know he wouldn’t do that.. right?”

There’s a rustle inside the room behind you, Price having woken up by your talking outside. You step towards the door, unsure what to respond to Soap’s question. “I…I know, .”

You disappear back into the room again, the door quietly shutting behind you again, leaving him standing outside and very worried.

——————

10am, the next day.

Gaz walks alongside you as you step through the forest, the morning air biting at your cheeks as he complains to you about whatever paperwork he had to finish last night. You’ve been at this for a while, the frosted leaves crunching beneath your boots and you dont feel the cold much thanks to his gloves.

“Through here.” You know the way and yet you follow him through the forestry, down the path, and towards the cabin up ahead. The floor is trampled, tire marks from when you were rushed back with blood trailing down your arm. Even Gaz looks a little tense at the small splotches on the ground but chooses not to comment on it, taking your hand as the ground becomes a little more uneven.

“Inside.”

He hums, unlocking the cabin door which has been tightly secured since the incident. You walk past him, stepping inside to hear an excited yip, the fox bundling towards you with joy. For once you smile out of relief, crouching down to pet the excitable creature that nips affectionately at your trousers. “Good to see you too.” You hum, hand running down his head and ears. Now that you can see it in the light, you realise they’ve cleaned it up properly, bandaged its dodgy leg and it looks noticeably happier.

The fox licks at your hands as you sit on the small bench, feeding it the occasional dried meat strips which it takes happily, tail swishing from side to side. Gaz sits beside you, one hand on the back of the bench and his arm grazing your shoulders.

“We called the wildlife centre for him. They’ll take him in the next few days, keep him safe and put him with some other foxes. He’ll be happier.”

Would you be happier though? When you look at the scrawny thing, all you really see is yourself. A known predator, a hated species, and yet just trying to survive like everyone else on this damn world.

“You’re right, it’d be better for him.”

—————————

Sleeping is increasingly difficult for once; usually you’re knocked out in seconds but today it’s like the concept of rest refuses you altogether. The reason behind it is Ghost’s return; you had heard the soft whispers between Soap and Gaz, the awkward tension as the day grew nearer. So you had resigned yourself to your room, left alone with your thoughts for the remainder of the day. However, now you were restless, unable to sit still with the threat looming down every corridor and through the vents. Your nails claw at the sheets– they feel sterile and uncomfortable no matter where you sleep– and so you slide off the bed, forcing one foot in front of the other. You need a break.

Somehow they had left you without surveillance tonight, which isn't surprising since you had promised you wouldn’t go out on your own. Oh well, you know two men who broke a promise to you. The air is cold as it blows on your face, slowly less frosty as winter begins to fade, and you walk past the track, planning to just walk through the other entrance and return to your room again. You wouldn’t dare go back the way you came– not when Ghost is around now.

It’s a rush of warmth when you reenter the building, the change making your fingertips tingle and your lashes flitter, mouth threatening to yawn. Thankfully, the hallways were clear, unlike your hazed mind. It was like swimming underwater, every thought swirling around and voices muffled by the water above—wait, voices? You pause infront of a door, immediately stilling when you recognise a voice too familiar.

“I’ve been gone for two weeks– how are they not stable by now?” You swallow, the roughness of the voice enough to make your teeth scrape against eachother nervously. It’s him.

“Reaper’s not doing well, it’s obvious—“

”So what? We’re just going to send them back? To those stupid scientists-”

You don't hear the rest, those words enough to make something in your brain snap. All this time you’ve worked tirelessly, day and night, after every mission and every near death experience. All to be sent back where you came from, like what, some broken toy? The thought of it makes anger brim in your chest, a fury that tips the scales enough to make you actually want to break something. Your feet stumble and for some reason you're running, somewhere, anywhere. It wouldn’t necessarily be a bad idea, a tempting one even— to actually lash out. What’s the point in anything if your life will be a full circle?

What is the point of all the pain if you’ll only relive it again?

Change has to come, even if you grapple with the chains at your neck and leave rope burns on your ankles.

You’ll die trying either way.

“No; we wont. Reaper isn’t going anywhere, ever again.” Gaz speaks up, having just closed the door after seeing a glimpse of someone walking past. They really shouldn't leave any doors open for anyone to hear their conversation. “Their performance outweighs the struggles. We have the time to make things right.”

Ghost’s expression hardens, listening to the words of his teams. Of course he knows what that means— he’s the one who has to make this right.

***************************************

buy me a coffee!

CALL SIGN: REAPER— Grim reapers dont choose who dies, they’re told. The victims time has come, similar to how reader has never killed someone of her own accord, only through the orders another has given. They’re merely a tool.

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jeonginsleftcheek · 1 day ago

Text

Stop the world I wanna get off with you

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

genre: fluff, smut

synopsis: your sweet boyfriend comes up with a way to make you feel even more connected as a couple.

wc: 7.2k

warnings: tantric sex ~ a meditative form of sex. the aim is to be present in the moment to achieve a sensual and fulfilling sexual experience, connecting with your lover on a more profound level.

(aka edging, soft lovemaking, sensual touch, making out, oral (f and m), handjob, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie)

a/n: i wrote this in two days (had to power through + it's not proofread so excuse any mistakes) and it felt so sweet and intimate and made me even more soft for hyune. happy birthday to my beloved hyune who deserves the entire universe and more💕

masterlist

You had just gotten home from work, the tiredness settling in your bones as you shucked off your shoes and coat with a deep exhale.

"Jinnie?" you called out to your beloved, scanning the living room and kitchen area in hopes of seeing a sign of him. With a little pout on your face, you made your way to the bedroom.

You slowly opened the door, thinking that he must be napping but your brows shot up in surprise when you didn't find him there either, nor heard the shower running in the bathroom.

"Jinnie?" you repeated but no answer. You shook your head with a small smile.

There was only one place you'd find him now.

You made your way to the guest room turned art studio where he was probably painting with his earphones in.

You knocked and quietly opened the door, finally finding your boyfriend, but he wasn't sitting in front of a canvas painting, he was sat at the desk, staring at his laptop. His brows were furrowed in concentration as his eyes scanned the letters on the screen, his teeth gnawing at his lip.

Upon hearing the door open, he looked up, his face softening into a smile when he laid his eyes upon you.

"Oh, hey love. I didn't hear you come in." Hyunjin said, beckoning you to come closer.

You walked closer to him and he wrapped his arm around you, swiftly pulling you in his lap and making you squeal in surprise. Your arms automatically wrapped around his shoulders as he leaned in, kissing your jaw and cheek.

"What's got you so concentrated?" you giggled a little, caressing the back of his head, the buzzed hair soft under your palm.

Hyunjin's eyes fluttered as he gently caressed your cheek, pressing his lips on yours.

"Something I wanted us to try for a long time." he whispered against your lips, kissing you slowly again. You could never get enough of his kisses, you loved it all from the little pecks he'd give you as he giggled to the most desperate and passionate make out sessions where you couldn't get enough of each other, always needing more.

"Oh yeah?" you smirked. "Something naughty?"

"Not really." Hyunjin shook his head and motioned towards his laptop, adjusting you on his lap so you were turned towards the screen. He leaned his chin on your shoulder, one arm wrapped around your stomach and his free hand scrolling up the page.

"Tantric sex?" your eyes widened, cheeks burning instantly.

"Mhm. Have you heard about it?"

"I have. It's supposed to be like meditative and sensual?" you asked, your hand caressing his arm that was holding you.

"Something like that." Hyunjin chuckled. "I just want us to connect like never before. I want to be close to you in every way possible. I want to explore you and love every part of you." he talked, his lips constantly making contact with the back of your neck.

Goosebumps appeared on your skin and you shivered, grabbing at his hand and intertwining your fingers as you turned to look at him.

"Hyunjin." you sighed, your heart beating fast against your chest.

"Don't feel pressured, my love. It's just a suggestion. You don't have to say yes." he smiled sweetly at you.

"Tell me more about it." you whispered, turning to face him fully and gently taking his face in your hands. Hyunjin giggled a little, nuzzling into your palms.

"Okay well, the point is to be in the moment with your partner, take your time as you explore each other and do stuff like breathe together and just touch each other. It doesn't have to be just sex, it's not about getting to the finish line, it's more about enjoying the journey." he explained and you nodded.

"It's supposed to bring us closer together. And when you do finish at the end, it's like the best full body orgasm you can experience." he added.

"So basically it's a huge edge fest?" you joked and Hyunjin laughed.

"Kind of, if you wanna look at it that way." he searched your eyes.

"Of course I wanna be closer to you, my love. It sounds like something wonderful, like an out of body experience." you smiled, kissing his nose.

"So, you wanna try it?" he beamed at you and you nodded.

"Yes, I'd love to." Hyunjin let out a delighted chuckle as he hugged you tighter, making you giggle.

You were a little bit nervous but excited to try something so romantic and loving with your sweet Hyunjin.

A few days later, after doing more research and discussing about it, the two of you finally had a weekend off, no other plans, perfect for enjoying each other without anyone else bothering you.

As soon as you opened your eyes that Saturday, you found Hyunjin already awake and smiling at you.

"Good morning, beautiful." he said and you whined, covering your face with the blanket, mumbling behind it.

"Don't hide." Hyunjin pried the blanket out of your fingers, pulling it down and chuckling at your disheveled state.

"You'll look at me all day today anyways." you huffed, moving your hair out of your face. He leaned in and gave you a few sweet pecks.

"I can't wait." he smiled, wrapping his arm around you.

You stayed like that quietly for some time as you caressed the back of his neck and he drew circles on your back. You almost fell back asleep until he lifted up and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"I'm gonna start preparing our space." Hyunjin said before getting up. You turned on your back, stretching with a smile.

It was really happening.

By the time you got up and made your way to the living room, Hyunjin had already moved around some furniture, preparing the carpeted floor with covers, blankets and pillows. The two of you thought your living room would be the best option, it was spacious and full of light, usually the room where you relaxed, with all the pretty paintings Hyunjin had hung on the walls and the flower pots you had scattered around.

It was also the room where you first kissed and made love on your third date, when you invited Hyunjin over for a home cooked dinner.

"Need help?" you asked and Hyunjin nodded.

"I prepared some fruit in the kitchen. And water bottles. You can bring it here." he said and you walked away to the kitchen, bringing all the stuff to the living room.

Hyunjin was lighting up some scented candles before he turned to smile at you.

"Do you think it's warm enough here? I turned on the heating."

"It's fine. Comfortable." you nodded.

You decided to eat a simple toast for breakfast and have just a little bit of coffee. There was a strict rule of no devices whatsoever, just you and Hyunjin in your own little world so he grabbed your phones and laptops, leaving it all turned off in your bedroom.

Lastly, Hyunjin dimmed the lights and took your hand in his gently, a sweet smile dancing on his lips as the two of you finally settled in your living room.

"So, how do we start?" you asked, feeling a little nervous.

"However we feel like. There is no rules to that." he smiled. "Though matching our breathing is important. But I just wanna embrace you first, my love." Hyunjin added, placing his hands gently on your waist. You smiled wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pressing your chest against his as you felt his warmth and found yourself enjoying the familiar and comforting place your lover's arms provided.

You held each other quietly for some time, then ever so slightly you started moving together to the quiet relaxing music in the background as if you were slow dancing but even slower. With your eyes closed, you pressed your cheek against his, your heart already filling up with love. Swaying with him like that almost made you feel like your feet weren't even touching the ground.

"You wanna sit down?" Hyunjin whispered quietly after a while, brushing his lips against your cheek gently.

"Mhm." you said and he leaned back, his hands finding yours and fingers entwining as he sat down cross-legged, you following suit and mirroring his pose, scooting closer to him so your knees and feet touched. Both of you were wearing only underwear and a shirt you slept in so the bare skin contact already got your breath stuck in your throat.

Hyunjin held your hands, resting them over his knees, his thumb caressing your skin gently. He gave you a little smile as the two of you held eye contact. You slowed your breathing, focusing on the moment as Hyunjin observed you. A little giggle escaped your lips.

"Sorry." you whispered.

"No, it's okay. We should be smiling and laughing. I'm glad that looking at me makes you giggle, darling." he smiled and you felt your cheeks burning. Even after so many shared moments together, you felt shy under his gaze at times.

"Well yeah, you always make me smile." you said quietly, it was his turn to giggle as he gently squeezed your hands. You sat like that for a while, gazing into each other's eyes lovingly, warmth spreading throughout your body, enveloping your heart as butterflies started fluttering inside your stomach, the flapping settling in your gut. You were shocked that only looking into Hyunjin's eyes already started making you feel aroused.

You closed your eyes a few times to take a deep breath and then looked at him again.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked.

"The day we met." Hyunjin answered.

"Oh. You bumped into me pretty hard." you laughed and he chuckled.

"It was Kkami's fault." he added and you rolled your eyes playfully.

"Poor Kkami." you pouted jokingly, reminiscing the day you thought would be the worst day ever but instead, you ended up meeting the love of your life. It was a horrible day at work, you were stressed as you were walking home, clutching a comforting cup of coffee when out of nowhere a little dog came running your way, barking as he flew past you, after him his owner who bumped into you so hard that you fell on your ass and spilled coffee all over yourself.

All you wanted to do in that moment was to just stay on the floor and cry. The handsome stranger gasped and shrieked, apologizing profusely before helping you up. He kept begging you to let him make it up to you and that's how you let him get you a new cup of coffee, exchanging names and numbers.

Only two weeks later you started dating, and you haven't looked back since.

"Thinking about it too now?" Hyunjin asked.

"I was." you smiled.

"I was in love with you the moment you yelled at me. You were so scary but so pretty." he confessed and you laughed.

"I thought I looked pathetic. I felt like it." you shook your head.

"No, you looked so beautiful." Hyunjin smiled, squeezing your hands gently.

"If you say so." you giggled and he let go of your hands, reaching towards your chest and putting his palm against your heartbeat.

He took your wrist in his other hand and guided your hand to his chest, your palm pressed against his heart too.

"Can you feel my heart beating for you, my love?" Hyunjin whispered and you felt a rush of emotions overwhelming you.

"Yes, I can." you whispered.

"Breathe with me." he added and the two of you kept eye contact, feeling each other's hearts beating as you matched your breathing.

You already felt overwhelmed with love for Hyunjin, as if your heart would burst, being close to him, looking at him, being looked at by him, being noticed, touched, loved.

"I wanna kiss you." Hyunjin said. "Am I being impatient?" he asked and you chuckled.

"I don't know. Aren't we supposed to let our feelings and desires lead us?"

"I guess we are. Come sit on my lap, beloved." Hyunjin smiled and you untangled your legs and stood up, stretching a little before sitting in his his lap, your legs wrapped around him. Your core was close to his but still far enough that you didn't feel him pressing against you, more so leaning on his legs.

Hyunjin's hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs gently tracing on your skin. The shapes of you were already engraved in his mind, he could sketch you out with his eyes closed.

He leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose, then each of your eyelids, making you giggle quietly as you placed your hands on either side of his neck. Hyunjin took in a sharp breath, his neck was always sensitive and you felt him becoming warmer and more tense as your fingertips ran over his skin.

"Relax." you said, pressing your lips into his cheeks, kissing his soft skin as he leaned his head back a little, enjoying your touches.

"Remember to breathe." you whispered and he nodded.

"Yes." he whispered back, opening his eyes and looking at you with a glazed over look.

"My sweet Jinnie." your hands ran up over his head, as you gently caressed his short hair, giving him a little massage.

"Mm. Darling. That feels really good." his hands came down to your waist and he gently squeezed.

"I love making you feel good." you kissed his forehead and he let out a quiet whine.

"You always make me feel good, beloved." he stated as you kissed the tip of his nose.

His breath hitched when you cupped his face and brushed your lips against his. Hyunjin couldn't help it as he pulled you in just a little closer so now you could feel the warmth of his core near yours.

He puckered up his lips and just stayed like that, connected with you as you matched your breath again. Hyunjin then captured your lower lip between his and started kissing you gently, slowly moving his lips, savoring the moment as if it was the first and last time he would kiss you.

His hands drew little circles on your lower back as you kept kissing him, pouring the love from your lips to his. You didn't even hear the music in the background anymore, all your senses were focused on Hyunjin. He gently rubbed his nose against yours in between kisses and your hands made their way down to his shoulders which you always admired and loved kissing, maybe even sinking your teeth in.

Hyunjin's hands trembled before travelling down to gently squeeze your hips. His fingertips played with the hem of your shirt, the tip of his tongue prodding at your lips. You parted them, letting him in and he tasted you, rubbing his tongue against yours before swirling it around. You felt a zap pass through your core, arousal gathering on your entrance now.

He squeezed your hips again before leaning back a little.

"Gotta catch our breath, hm?" he asked in a sultry tone, his eyes darkened as he brushed a strand of your hair away from your face.

"Mhm." you nodded, clutching at his shoulders a little.

Hyunjin's fingertips softly ran down your inner thighs, making you shiver as he went back up.

You looked down, noticing his erection and you bit your lip. He giggled a little, making you look up at him.

"Usually I'd already be inside you, hm?" he kissed the corners of your lips.

"Yeah, pretty much." you chuckled.

"I wanna keep kissing you, my love." he said, one of his hands tangling in your hair as he held the back of your neck, his other still lingering on your thigh.

"Me too." you said, caressing his upper back, feeling the muscles flexing underneath your palms.

Hyunjin leaned in with a smile, kissing you slowly again until you built up the kiss again, your tongues crashing against each other slowly as you savored the taste of each other.

You couldn't help the little moans escaping your lips, your panties becoming more wet by the second. You throbbed and burned slowly, wanting to feel him closer to you but at the same time enjoying the sensual moment you were in.

You stopped kissing, almost losing track of time, having no idea how long you have been making out.

"I wanna feel how warm you are." Hyunjin bit on your lower lip gently, his fingertips dangerously close to your wet pussy.

"Feel me, beloved." you whispered, gently caressing his back as he touched your thighs.

His fingers made contact with your core through your panties which were soaked at this point.

"Mm, love." Hyunjin's lips pressed against your jaw, kiss after kiss travelling to your neck. You threw your head back with a gasp, concentrating on your breathing and his fingertips just softly running over your clothed pussy.

Your touched his chest, hands sliding down until you got to his erection, your fingers finding his wet head and gently circling it.

"Y/n." his warm breath hit your neck before he licked a long stripe on your skin and gently nipped at it.

"I love you." Hyunjin pressed a kiss under your ear, retracting his hand, in favor of sliding both of them under your shirt and caressing your tummy.

"I love you." you squeezed his length a little, making him moan quietly before you slid your hands to his hips.

He leaned back to smile at you and you kissed him gently as he kept caressing your stomach.

"Can I take it off?" he asked, gripping the end od your shirt and you nodded.

"Of course." you smiled and he pulled your shirt off, tossing it aside. His eyes fell down to your chest and your tummy.

"So beautiful." he said, sucking his bottom lip in.

"Yours too." you said and Hyunjin snapped out of his trance, pulling his shirt off and throwing it somewhere in the same direction he threw yours.

"Come closer." he wrapped his arms around you and you wrapped yours around him as he pulled you flush against his body, your chest pressed against his and your cores finally touching. You felt as if your entire body was burning as you both let out a sigh at the little friction.

"There's nowhere I'd rather be right now." Hyunjin said, his cheek on your shoulder as you held each other tightly.

"Me too, sharing this moment with you is beautiful." you said, running your fingertips on his back. Hyunjin shivered a little, holding you tighter and you adjusted on his lap, squirming a little and making him moan into your ear.

"Love." he gripped your hips and moved against you slowly, grinding his entire length against your pussy.

"Jinnie." you matched his movement and started grinding against him gently.

The friction between you was delicious and the way you moved against him slowly, not hurrying to finish and holding back a little made you feel even more aroused than usually. You felt like there were waves of pleasure running through your entire body even though he wasn't even inside you.

"My sweet angel." Hyunjin gently cupped your breasts and you shivered, arching into his hands, still moving your core against his softly.

"Jinnie." you whined a little when his thumbs brushed against your nipples.

"I- I feel close."

"You want a break?" he asked and you nodded.

"Okay." he pecked your lips with a smile before the two of you untagled from each other, stretching a little.

"How are you feeling?" you asked when he gave you a bottle of water.

"Like my entire body is on fire."

"Same." you chuckled.

You decided to eat some fruit, sitting close to each other as you talked for a while, calming down just a little even though the fire still burned inside you, now a bit more dim.

"You wanna continue, angel?" Hyunjin asked after a while.

"Yes. What do you wanna do?"

"I want you to lay down and relax for me." he said, brushing his knuckles against your warm cheek.

"Oh. Okay." you smiled, anticipation building up inside you.

"Get comfy." he caressed your legs, noticing the tension in your body. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in and letting out a long exhale as you melted into the blankets beneath you.

Hyunjin hovered over you, leaning in to press small kisses everywhere on your face before kissing your lips. He tasted sweet like the fruit you just ate and you were so addicted to his lips. He slowly slid off your underwear so now you were completely bare under him.

He kissed your jaw, then your neck slowly, taking his time and lingering after each kiss. You felt his hot breath against your skin the entire time, making you shiver as your fingers curled into the sheets below.

"Love, relax." Hyunjin noticed, brushing his fingertips over your hands.

"Sorry." you whined, biting on your lip and relaxing again.

"It's okay." he reassured you, his fingers dancing on your sides. He scooted down a little, leaning in to press kisses on your stomach, dragging his bottom lip against your skin as he looked at you.

"You're so sweet, my darling." Hyunjin murmured against you as he kept kissing you. You fell into sort of a trance, closing your eyes as he kissed you everywhere, coming up to your breasts. His lips continued worshipping your supple flesh, avoiding your nipples at the beginning, making you shake with arousal and need. He gave you only two soft kisses on each bud, leaving you yearning for more.

"Hyun..." you breathed out, blinking your eyes open and seeing that he grabbed the coconut oil used for massage.

"Shh, I got you love. Just stay relaxed like that for me." he cooed at you, caressing your face. You closed your eyes and soon felt the oil drizzle on your abdomen. Your eyes snapped open and you looked at Hyunjin who smiled at you sweetly as he started gently spreading the oil on your skin, his fingers warming you up, right above your core, teasing, loving.

"Focus on your breathing." he reminded you as you got worked up immediately, it felt so good.

You focused on taking deep breaths, amplifying the feeling of his warm hands on you as he gently massaged you, his hands sliding up to your ribs and between your breasts. You fell into another trance as he kept gently running his hands on your body, before he poured some more coconut oil in his palms and softly grabbed your breasts, massaging the flesh.

"Look at my hands, beloved. Look at them worshipping your beautiful body." Hyunjin said and your eyes fluttered open, a moan escaping your lips when you saw the intense but loving look in his eyes, focused only on you, like you were the only thing that existed in the world.

You looked down at his beautiful hands, ones you loved, ones that held you, touched you, gave you comfort, brought your pleasure and painted masterpieces. You felt the urge to kiss and lick at his fingers but held it in, knowing soon he'll be the one receiving all the worship.

"Breathe." he saw you getting worked up.

You took a few deep breaths, feeling yourself getting incredibly wet, probably even dripping on the sheets and you wanted to press your legs together and rub them just to feel a little relief.

"Ah." you whined when Hyunjin started slowly circling around your nipples before pressing his thumbs gently into them and then moving up and down, left and right. Your eyes rolled back, your pussy clenching as you felt so sensitive to everything he was doing to you.

Hyunjin smiled at the state of you, lightly pinching your nipples before circling them again.

"H-Hyunjin." you moaned, feeling like you could cum just from that stimulation.

"Darling." he pinched your nipples again, and you whined, your legs twitching, pressing against his thighs where he kneeled between yours.

"Kiss me." you needed something, anything and Hyunjin obliged, pressing his sweet plump lips against yours, engulfing all the little moans slipping out of you as he kept stimulating your sensitive nipples.

You were so sure you were about to cum from only that when Hyunjin retracted his hands, grabbing a little cloth and cleaning his fingers from the coconut oil. He observed you with a little smile as you stared up at him.

"I need you, Jinnie." you whimpered, trying to close your legs.

"I know." he said, prying your legs open gently, his hands on your inner thighs. "I know, angel."

He leaned down, pressing his lips on your inner thigh as his eyes fell on your core. You felt exposed, a wave of embarrassment washing over you but Hyunjin smiled.

"You're so wet, my love." he whispered, closer to your pussy before he touched your clit ever so gently with his thumb, and that was enough for you to jolt and moan. You've never felt this sensitive before, surprising yourself at the electrifying feeling running through you while he only brushed against your nub.

"So sensitive huh?" he smirked a little, gently running the pad of his thumb up and down.

"Y-yes." you moaned out, your toes curling at the feeling.

"Ready to receive pleasure." he noted, biting on his lip harshly as he circled your clit. You were dripping more and more, your eyes falling down to see his erection straining against his boxers. He followed your eyes and looked down.

"Don't worry. Right now it's about you." Hyunjin reassured you.

"But I wanna see." you breathed out when he dipped his fingers down to gather your wetness and gently smear it all over your aching cunt.

"As you wish, beloved." he retracted his hand for a moment only to get rid of his boxers, his cock springing free, hard and dripping as it slapped against his abdomen.

"Fuck." you groaned, so needy for him. "Touch me more."

Hyunjin didn't need to be told twice, his hand was back between your legs as he started massaging your clit, applying different pressures and movements, making you moan loudly as your legs trembled. You were close again.

"Hyunjin! I'm gonna cum." you whined, fisting the sheets and he stopped, his hands on your inner thighs, caressing you as you shivered.

"Breathe for me." he hovered above you, trying to get you to match his deep breaths.

He kissed you lovingly until you calmed down a little before he made his way between your legs.

"Can I taste you?" he asked and you nodded frantically, you were still burning up like never before.

Hyunjin leaned in immediately, his plump lips pressed against your lower ones. You whined, your breath hitched before you relaxed against his lips, kissing your clit and your wet pussy. He pressed the tip of his tongue in your clit, circling it and making your toes curl again. It was getting harder and harder to hold back. He ran his tongue down through your slit, gathering your juices and swallowing them.

"So sweet, my angel." he muttered against you before prodding at you with his tongue, pushing it in, your warm pussy welcoming him.

"Hyunjin." you moaned his name, your hand finding the back of his head as you caressed him.

"Hyunjin." you repeated as he gently fucked you with his tongue. "I love you." you felt it in the deepest corners of your being, the love for your man.

"I love you so much, my angel." Hyunjin smiled as you touched his face before he dove back in to kiss and suck at your sensitive clit.

Pretty soon, you were trembling against his mouth, messy with your arousal and his spit and he moaned into you when his dick accidentally brushed against the sheets.

He leaned back suddenly, blinking.

"You okay?" you asked.

"I feel like if you touched me right now, I'd cum." he breathed hard, licking around his lips.

"Do you need a break?" you asked.

"No, not yet. You?"

"Maybe just some water." you swallowed and Hyunjin nodded, the two of you hydrating and then exchanging a few sweet kisses.

"You wanna lay down now?" you asked him and he giggled, becoming giddy.

"Yes." he answered and you changed your positions, Hyunjin getting comfy on the blankets as you hovered over him. You took a moment to admire him laid before you, vulnerable and naked, ready to receive your touch and your love.

"Beautiful." you whispered and Hyunjin smiled, his cute dimples showing as his eyes filled up with so much love. You grabbed his hands, bringing them to your lips, kissing his knuckles and he smiled as he looked at you.

"I love your hands so much." you said and he chuckled.

"So you've told me before." he licked at his lip as you started pressing lingering kisses into his fingertips.

"I love them because they can be the most gentle and the most rough, whichever I need." you licked at his middle finger, making him shiver as he stared at you in a trance.

"Y/n." Hyunjin breathed out when gently sucked on his middle finger. "Mm." his body was already trembling, arching into you. You kissed his hand, his palm, his fingertips again and again, looking at the little puddle of pre-cum forming on his navel.

You released his hands after some time, placing yours on his chest and gently running them up and down, slowly moving to his shoulders, his arms, squeezing his biceps then back to his chest where you slid your thumb over his nipples. Hyunjin shivered every time you did that, his body trembling under your touch, his cock twitching and leaking.

He enjoyed having your attention only on him, your touch purposeful as you slid your hands up to his neck, he threw his head back letting you hold him. The way he looked at you in that moment, as if he was giving his entire life to you made you throb, more arousal gathering on your pussy.

"Sweet lover." you whispered, sliding your hands down to his inner thighs full of love bites you had left on them, marking him as yours. You gently touched him, massaging his flesh, fingertips close to his core every time you went up.

"Ah. Yes." he moaned as you touched him. You wanted to hear more, to see more, you wanted to make him feel so good. Your hands were now gently massaging around his cock, closer and closer to where he yearned for you.

You bit on your lip as you gently cupped his balls and Hyunjin let out a desperate moan, trembling under your touch.

"Remember to breathe." you echoed his words and he nodded quickly, his brows furrowed as he breathed deeply, your hand massaging his balls. You put your other hand on his cheek, and he looked at you with a small smile as you smoothed out his eyebrows.

"Relax for me." you cooed at him and he relaxed into the blankets, giving into your touch. His cock kept twitching as you massaged him, pressing your fingertips to his inner thighs, then around his member, then back to cupping his balls and lightly tugging on them.

"Fuck." Hyunjin gasped a little when you gathered the pre-cum that had been dripping on his navel and wrapped your fingers around his tip.

"Oh god." he let out a breath, looking down at your hand as you started circling your fingers all around the head, smearing his pre-cum and running your thumb over his slit.

You were getting even more wet, clenching at the feeling of him in your hand, so warm, so heavy, so wet, just for you. You wrapped your hand around him and started moving it slowly up and down, flicking your wrist at the tip.

"Ah, it feel so good!" Hyunjin whimpered before you wrapped your other hand around him, giving him more stimulation as you moved, squeezed and touched.

"W-wait, I don't wanna cum yet." he stuttered after a few minutes, his cock twitching harshly in your palms.

"Okay." you released him, gently touching his abdomen. You've never seen him so hard and you've never wanted him more, to feel him inside you, to be connected with him.

"Just breathe." you smiled at him, kissing him gently. Hyunjin placed his hand at the back of your head and held you as he pushed his tongue in and massaged yours with it.

You leaned back to catch your breath, trying to align your heartbeats again. You leaned in to kiss his neck and Hyunjin whimpered quietly, throwing his head back to give you access. You gently kissed his skin, inhaling his familiar and comforting scent as you went lower and lower, kissing his chest, his nipples, his stomach until you got to his cock.

"Y/n." he gasped, his thighs trembling when you pressed a kiss to his tip then ran your tongue over his sensitive slit.

"Keep going, please." Hyunjin needed you, he always did. You licked a long slow stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, leaving a few kisses on the way and making him lose his mind. You wrapped your lips around the head and lightly sucked.

Hyunjin let out a guttural moan, twitching against you as you took him in.

"Baby." he groaned, his fingers tangling in your hair. You took your time, enjoying the feeling of his heaviness on your tongue, how warm he was, how he throbbed harder the more you slid down, leaking into your mouth, the salty taste of pre-cum driving you wild, waking up something primal inside you.

You wrapped your hand around the base and slid down as much as you could, gagging lightly around him as you cupped his balls with your other hand again.

"Ah, shit!" Hyunjin's hips jerked, his hand gripping at your hair and you sucked on him a few more moments before releasing.

"I was so close. So close." he panted and you giggled, wiping away the spit on your lips.

"You wanna take a break?" you asked and he nodded, pulling you down to lay next to him.

Your arms wrapped around each other as you threw your leg over his thighs, your hand sliding up and down his arm and shoulder while Hyunjin caressed your head and played with your hair.

You basked in each other's warmth and presence in the comfortable silence for a while before Hyunjin kissed your forehead, making you look up at him.

"How do you feel?" you asked, caressing his face and he nuzzled into your touch.

"Wonderful. Loved." he kissed your palm before smiling at you again.

"I wanna suggest something." you said, sitting up and he leaned up on his elbows and looked at you.

"Of course."

"I always wanted to try... cockwarming you." you said, feeling a little shy as you looked away, your cheeks burning. Hyunjin twitched at your words, his eyes fluttering and hands squeezing and curling into fists.

"Yes. Yes. I'd love that." he said and you looked at him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, don't be shy now." he chuckled, sitting closer to you and wrapping his arms around you.

"You know I'm all yours, my love." he kissed your cheek, nosing against your skin.

"I'm all yours too, beloved."

"I know." Hyunjin smiled, kissing you sweetly. His hand reached between your legs and you pressed your thigh against his, opening up to let him touch you. His fingers slid against your wet entrance, up and down, tapping against your clit and making you whimper on his lips while he kissed you.

You reached down to touch his stomach, fingertips playing with his happy trail as he circled your clit. You let your hand slide lower as you wrapped your hand around his length, pumping him slowly and making him shiver. Hyunjin let out a grunt, laying his head on your shoulder and burying his face in your neck as he pressed his fingertips on your entrance. You leaned into his touch and he took that as a sign to slowly push two of his fingers inside you.

He slid in easily, your pussy clenching around his fingers and sucking them in, you were aching to be filled up for some time now. Neither of you said anything, just enjoyed the moment as both of your hands moved slowly, you spread the pre-cum down his length, giving him languid strokes and he matched your pace, pumping his fingers deep inside you, looking for that sweet spot.

You moaned loudly when he found it, his thumb pressing against your clit while his fingers rubbed your spot.

"Hyun..." you whimpered, squeezing his cock a little and making him bite into your shoulder.

"My love." he sighed then, licking over the bite and kissing it as he felt you getting wetter on his fingers, the thought of finally being inside your warmth made his mind spin.

You were close again, it was just a matter of moments for you to cum, you were so desperate at this point, you were barely holding back at this point. Hyunjin felt you clenching harder around him so he slowly pulled his fingers out, leaving you empty.

"Need you, Jinnie. Need you so much." your hands squeezed at his sides and he pulled you into his lap.

"Shh, it's okay, just wrap your legs around me." he said, grabbing the base of his cock and pressing the tip against your wet pussy. You bit on your lip, your legs wrapped around him as he guided you down on his length slowly, making you feel every inch of him. Both of you moaned loudly at the feeling, your senses heightened as he filled you up perfectly, fitting snuggly inside you.

"So warm." Hyunjin muttered, mouthing at your neck again. You clenched around him, arching your back, your nipples grazing against his skin.

He let out a breath as you slid your hands on his back, shoulders and neck, wrapping his arms around your waist, his hands gently squeezing the supple flesh on your bottom, massaging you.

"Hyunjin. I feel so full." you moaned. "You feel so good inside me." you added, touching the back of his neck.

"My angel. Always ready to take me and make me feel good. I love being inside you. Connected with you." Hyunjin spoke against your skin, lips travelling down to capture your nipple, gently sucking on it.

"Mm." your head started spinning instantly when he sucked a little harder, one of his hands coming up to play with your other breast.

You enjoyed the intimacy of the moment, him inside you while he worshipped your breasts and you caressed his hair, your eyes closed in bliss. There was really nothing else in this moment except you and him. You felt as if your souls were connected, not just your bodies and the thought of so much love between you made you want to burst.

You took his face in your hands and guided his lips to yours, kissing him passionately and lovingly. You squirmed on top of him, pressing your chest against his, both of you getting more desperate.

"Are we gonna break the rules if we make love now?" you asked, kissing the corner of his lips.

"There are no rules. We do what we feel like doing." Hyunjin said with a smile as you kissed the beauty marks on his face.

"Okay." you nodded, embracing him and the two of you stood like that for a few moments before you leaned back.

"I want you to make love to me." you whispered and Hyunjin let out a loving giggle, helping you get off him and move down onto the sheets.

"Gladly." he whispered, pushing you knees up as he positioned himself and slid back inside you easily, filling you up completely.

You moaned in unison as he caged you in with his arms, his body almost completely covering yours. You wrapped your legs around him, digging your heels into his backside. Hyunjin groaned and started fucking you with slow and languid movements.

"I don't think I will last long." he chuckled, his entire face and neck red.

"Me either." you clutched at this back while his hands cradled your head, caressing your hair as he looked at you with eyes full of love and lust.

"I love you, y/n. I wanna be with you forever. In every lifetime, just you and me." Hyunjin talked as he rocked into you slowly, dragging against your clit deliciously and creating perfect friction.

"I love you, Jinnie. Wanna be yours forever, too." you were losing your mind, maybe you were already gone as you nails dug into his flesh without you even realizing. It started from your toes curling and travelled up your legs, making your thighs quiver and then it spread like a fire inside your abdomen, fluttering through your stomach, somehow making your nipples harden even more, goosebumps rising on your skin.

"Hyunjin, I'm cumming." you whimpered and he groaned loudly.

"Me too." he whimpered. "Cum with me, my love."

He was shivering above you, his body on edge like yours, the love between you bursting as the coil finally snapped, feeling like a tidal wave crashing against every part of your body and pouring out of your core all around his length, you exploded, your ears ringing and entire body shaking as you kept cumming for what felt like a whole minute, your pussy clenching around Hyunjin's hardness.

He was stunned by the way you came, adding onto the emotions swirling and building up inside him as he moaned your name repeatedly like a prayer, twitching and exploding inside you, ropes of warm cum filling you up endlessly. Hyunjin kept rocking his hips into you, chasing that feeling, the wave that crashed over both of you, prolonging the orgasm as much as you could.

"Oh my god." you breathed hard as he collapsed on top of you. You felt like you went blind for a second, your ears ringing and your throat dry.

"Wow." Hyunjin squeezed your hand as he came down too.

You were in bliss.

He slowly looked up at you after a while, the sweetest smile adorning his face.

"That was... beautiful." he said and you nodded quickly.

"I can't feel my legs, honestly." you said and Hyunjin chuckled.

"I can't feel my dick." he added and you laughed, playfully smacking his shoulder.

"Do you know how much I love you?" he asked, lifting up to move the hair that got stuck on your sweaty face.

"As much as I love you." you answered and he bit on his lip with a chuckle.

"Happy four years, my love." Hyunjin said, kissing you gently.

"Happy four years, Jinnie." you smiled against his lips. "We should buy Kkami a treat to thank him."

"Oh yes. He did bring me to you." Hyunjin smiled, sliding out of you slowly and then wrapping his arms around you.

You shivered a little and he brought you closer to his warm body, pulling a blanket over the two of you.

"Let's stay like this for a while." he whispered and you nodded, burying your face in his neck, his arms your safe place.

Time and space disappeared around you, the world outside didn't exist, only your hearts vibrating together with a love that would last forever.

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world

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militaryapple · 3 days ago

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A KNIGHT'S OATH

synposis. it has been many moons since you have lost your love, your knight. until one day he comes back, and shows you that he's here to stay.

cw. cunnilingus, p in v (stay safe girliepops), oral (reviving), lwk kinda angsty, oh knight caleb how i miss thee, hes a pretty chill guy, hi knightly caleb! here to save our hearts and - oh..

add ons. kinda sucked with this one sorry to let u guys down </3 hopefully u guys enjoy the smut still very plot heavy too ah.. i will fall in love with you over and over again also writing in like.. medieval times is LWKK HARD DONT GAG ME

wc. 3.9k

it was finally time to find a husband. you couldn’t delay your mother any longer, a princess cannot go so long without being wed. it was something you didn’t look forward to at all, something you wanted to hide away from. marriage. your heart felt heavy, and you curled into your bed.

you felt as if the world seemed crumble, any other soon - to - be child would be thrilled to get married. have children and rule an entire kingdom with one they shall call their husband for eternity, yet it didn’t feel right. maybe it was because your mother was trying to get you wed to some prince in a well off kingdom, or how unhappy you would be in such marriage.

yet those were not the reasons you felt such sadness. your hands made their way to your head, and your eyes began to swell due to the mere thought of why you felt so upset, so alone, so empty.

you had missed your knight, your darling knight so dearly.

muffled cries came out of you, your face red and puffed. oh how you missed him, how you loathed him for leaving you alone in such a world. how could he do this to you? if it was any other lowly girl, he wouldn’t have left in such a manner. without a trace — anything.

your heart was heavy remembering how your guard left. how one day, he was gone without a trace. how you had asked around your castle to hear the sighs of nearby guards or the scowls of your maids on how you should keep out of peasant business. a day where you realized fairly quickly, he was not to come back to your kingdom.

many moons have passed since this, many nights of sobbing in your chambers, waiting. waiting for a letter, a call, a man to come back into your arms to assure you that no matter what, he would never leave your side again, he was to not let you get hurt once more. "you will be alright, your highness." was what he would whisper to you before you hid away in your chambers from the world that asked so much of you.

you were naive, foolish. your mother should have you as her own personal jest for even believing that one day you were to marry the knight you fell so stupidly in love with. how could you let yourself get this silly? what witch had cursed your mind of the plague you called love? you must put yourself together. you are royalty, not a village girl. there are reputations you must uphold.

you sniffled, wiping your tears. no amount of sobs, pleads and cries will bring him back to you. no matter how much you beg to the gods above, to the stars and heavens, he was to not see you again. you had to accept this, move on. you were to be queen, and queens do not let love - no. emotions, get in the way of how they rule their kingdoms.

getting up, you had called for your maid. was moving on always this hard? was leaving the person you truly loved behind this disheartening? was your heart not ready to move on after so much ache? your mind flooded, it was scary. new. you haven't felt such ways in so long. the sound of your chamber doors whisked you out of the hole you called your mind.

it was your maid, she was here to dress you for the ball today. you stood, making your way to the folding screen and moving so she could dress you properly. "your highness," the woman whispered. "you shall't ask for that lowly knight anymore after this day, do you understand?" she had huffed out, fixing your corset before patting your skirt down and fluffing it out.

you nodded, silently. biting down on your lips as you held your tongue. she's always known what was best for you — she was your mothers old maid after all, so she knew best. the woman moved back, examining you. "oh dear," she said softly, putting her hands together and wiping away her tears. "you look.. perfect." she moved towards you, embracing you tightly.

you couldn't help but let out a stifled sob. the woman letting out a small "oh," before patting your head. "i know," she coo'd to you. her hands going from the crown of your head down to the end of it. "i thought, we were going to get married," you sobbed out, returning her touch.

the woman hitched her breath in, her hands now bringing themselves to your face and looking down at you. "you sound like your mother when she was younger," the woman chuckled softly, wiping your tears with her thumb. "if he was yours truly, he would find you no matter what, but alas he is not here. you are. you must proceed with your duties without him, it is time for you to become a woman. no longer shall you be a girl after this day." her hands were warm, and her gaze was like watching a sun set over the great horizons.

you could only nod in agreement, letting her finish on your hair and makeup. soon the woman was out of your chambers and gone in the quarter hallways of your palace. moving towards your mirror you couldn't help but look at yourself. oh how you longed for the man that was gone. the knight holding you closely, whispering sweet nothing's in your ear as he stared at you in the reflection. beauty, such natural beauty he saw in you, and in your imperfections.

letting out a deep sigh, you finally left your sleeping quarters, moving down the hall. your back straightened and head held high. another man, in the back following closely behind you. though, instead of laughing with the guard. smiling and looking back, you walked. forward. your face; straight and your heart heavy. you felt empty.

it wasn't until you had finally found your mother, her arms opening out to you as you embraced her. "darling, good news, we have found you a suitor! prince zayne!" she said, her arms opening wide out to your castle. you cringed. you've heard of him before. the stone cold prince who cared for no one, and only focused on the economy of his kingdom. he seemed as if he didn't care for love, like he didn't care for his future. yet, you stayed silent. "wonderous news, mother." you said softly avoiding her gaze.

"good, you shall dance with him tonight, do you understand? the final dance is reserved for both you and him." she turned to you, fixing your dress that had moved due to the walking. "smile dear, you shall rule over the world you know of now. the people need you, the people need a king." the words making you turn away.

she fell silent, your mother stepping away from you, not pressing the subject any further.

you had a duty, not a dream.

the night had fallen over the kingdom, darkness engulfing the second and third floor of your castle. your body sat still next to your mother as she encouraged you to go and make talk with the people who had danced around your ballroom. yet you didn't want to do that, you didn't want to do anything.

your eyes followed the people who moved, who swayed and spun around in happiness. yes, right. a day for you, for your wedding that is to be announced soon tonight. before you got up, a tall frame appeared in front of you. you looked up, seeing prince zayne. his hand out, waiting for you. reluctantly you grabbed his hand and followed down the stairs with him.

your arm wrapped around him, your hands intertwining with his. the music making you both sway so slowly. the prince leaned down, whispering in your ear. "we are to be engaged." he said softly. you shriek at the sound of it. "i know," you replied, the words coming out like a heavy weight on your chest. "you must know, as my wife, we shall't sleep in the same bed until your days or reproduction." his words were cold, you guess the rumors that floated around were true.

he spun you, your dress twirling before you latched back on to him, your face now shriveled up in disgust. "we shall't sleep together at all your royal highness." you muttered out "if we shall be wed, i shall wed with a man i love. you are not convincing me enough." your words cut through him like a knife, his interest in you piquing.

"our children will know of our loveless marriage, our kingdoms rely on both safety and security. the security you can give and the safety I can lie down." his words made you shiver, you so desperately wanted to push him away, yet all eyes were on you.

zayne noticed your unease. how your steps followed uneven with his — how you looked as if you have been shot with an arrow. he sighed before pulling away and bowing to you, speaking loudly. "apologies to cut this short your highness, yet i must go. hopefully you can save me a dance for another time." and with that, he was gone. your heart bubbled, and your eyes swelled. you ran.

you ran as fast as you could. it was all too much! marriage? unhappy children? a bleak life with a kingdom you will no longer have any urge to live for? not to mention your soon - to - be husband is a man who will take control and leave you with little to none! oh how you couldn't contain your sadness any longer, you've bottled up for so long just for it to pour out in a singular afternoon.

you ran to your chambers, the only safe area that allowed you comfort. your dress falling with you as you hit the ground the moment your door shut with you inside. the darkness swallowing you whole while you sobbed. you missed him, your knight, your love, your everything. yet he was not here, and you were to be wed to a man who cares not if you lived or died!

you were angry, upset and frustrated. you managed to wiggle yourself out of the dress that weighed you down and put on a more comfortable dress, breaking down bit by bit.

the quietness allowed your sobs to echo throughout your bedroom. your heart hurt and your body ached. it wasn’t until you heard ‘knock knock’ at your door. you sighed, wiping your face before getting up and sighing on your end of the wall. “i cannot come out this instant,” you said trying to keep your voice up. “return to me once the sun has risen.” you turned to walk away.

“has her royalness forgotten about me already?”

your eyes widen, turning straight to your door. that voice, so familiar yet so far — a lump forming in your throat. it has been so long, maybe — maybe it was some sort of curse. a curse of remembering, a curse to haunt you. yet, you couldn’t help yourself, holding the door gently.

you pushed it open. your hands making their way to your lips in a gasp, then holding out. there, in front of you stood a man. he was tall, his frame big yet lighter than you remember. his hydrangea hued eyes that once shined with such brightness, now softer and exhausted. “is it you? my caleb?” you asked, gently placing your hand to his cheek, caressing his broken smile.

his hand followed, cupping your hand as he sighed nuzzling into your touch. his hands were rough, more rough than what you have been used too. like instead of holding his sword high to scare off any wandering eyes, he had been put into action, far too much more than he needed to be. “you are gentle, treating me as if i am to break at some point.” he jested. your eyes followed around his body. his armor was dirtied, and his helmet stayed to his side exposing his face.

“have my prayers been heard? have they finally sent you back to me?” you whispered, your hands caressing every part of his face, how real he felt. he spoke like your caleb, he had to be him.

caleb couldn’t help but embrace you. his arm wrapping around you so easily like they have done many moons before. “i have spent a eternity coming back to you,” he said softly. “yet the love you feel for me, is not for me. i am not the same man you loved, i have hurt people. i am a monster,” his voice low.

you push him back, making his loose his footing before balancing himself. “you accuse me of not loving you? you surely jest!” you yelled. your hands balled into a fist as you glared at him. “i have waited! waited! you left without a trace! not a soul would speak a word about your absence — your existence! i have yearned and prayed for your return, your touch and protection! and you dare call me a fake!” it was pouring out of you. your anger and sadness.

“your highness — ” his voice cut sharp off. “what have you done? you claim to not be mines? what have you done in his place? what makes you have the right to claim that the man whom i love is no longer here? in front of me!” your hand now point at him, poking and pushing him.

calebs hand grabbed yours in retaliation. “i have hurt people! killed! i have slaughtered over dozens of men and used people! i had to — i needed to get back to you! it was all to get back to my lady! to get back to you!” his response loud, a match between voices to be heard, listened to. caleb dipped his head into yours, “i must protect you, as that was my swore oath to the queen. my oath to you.” he said softly.

he let go of you, his hands dropping yours, instead of your hands returning to your body they reached out for him. your arms holding over him, embracing him. “that does not wipe you away from me,” you said softly, bringing his gaze to yours. “does that mean i am not in love with the same man who has served and protected me? am i not in love with the same man who has stayed by my side for what had seemed like an eternity?" your voice seemed harsh, but laced with comfort.

"my lady," he said softly, you moved away from him. his gaze unwavering from you. "hush now, into my chamber. i shall call off the ball at once," you pushed him into your bedroom but he quickly grabbed your arm stopping you. "do not, you can hear the music from here. I shall have a dance with you," he said pulling you into his arms as your door closed on its own. his wrecked smile now blooming into a genuine one, his eyes beaming as they used to.

"you shall have a dance with me? sir caleb, if one does recall.. you are supposed to ask a lady to dance. what if I wish to dance alone?" you hummed in amusement. though it was already too late and he had already taken you both hand and waist. the slow movements of the music seemed to be more happy than when you were dancing with another.

caleb had spun you around, making you giggle in response. "if her royalness is to dance alone, surely that means she is waiting for some big, handsome knight to sweep her up off her feet and take her into his arms." before you could respond, he had picked you up and twirled you around making you laugh, more than you have ever in so long. it showed to him, he set you down, placing a kiss on your cheek.

"my fair lady," he bowed to you. "a lovely dance we had together." he hummed, you did the same. your dress pulling up as your legs crossed and you bowed down. "i can only say the same to you." you replied. before you knew it, the kingdom was entirely dark. the stillness surrounding you as you both realized that the ball had come to its end.

you looked back at the knight, worried. "you shall't leave!" you said quickly, the obscure switch of your emotions throwing him off as you pushed him to your bed, rushing to your door and putting a chair up to it, then back to him. "the night is still young, you must stay my love!" you whined out crawling on top of the poor knight. caleb let out a chuckle, "my lady," he hummed out. "if i were to leave i would've done so already, i am here to stay." his hands wrapping around your hairs that fell down your face, tickling him.

"yes but, what if you leave again? you had left me! you were gone without a word, no one would tell me anything! I cannot just trust that you will stay again, that you shall't hurt me once more," you bursted, your voice quieting down after each word. you choked back tears, oh how your knight hated seeing you hurt, his hands going from your hair to your cheek as he held you gently.

he hummed, his eyes grazing over you, "then if my lady does not believe my words," his hands brushing your cheek before moving down to your neck. "then I shall show her with my actions, shall I not?" caleb brought his hand to the crown of your neck, bringing you down to kiss him. he was gentle with you, steady. his mouth finding every part of your skin to kiss on.

his free hand traveled around your skin, unlacing your dress as he slipped his hands right between the fabric that had hidden your skin. "princess," he murmured, his gaze avoiding you then glancing back. "oh the things you do to me," he whined softly. you couldn't help but get up, moving away quickly as caleb sat up also. "was I too demanding? have I asked for too much of you?" he said worriedly, it wasn't the fact that he had just caressed you, touching you places no unmarried princess should allow anyone to touch - you were nervous. you shook your head. "i shall allow you to undress your armor first," you said looking away from him, and all caleb did was return a laugh.

"i am your knight, am i not? you will be the one taking off my armor, what is mine is yours." he stared as you crept closer to him, letting your top half of your empire gown fall. your tits pretty as you set next to the knight. you carefully helped him take off his armor, his eyes fixated on your pretty breasts.

once he was bare, he leaned in. kissing your neck as you let out small moans. "there you go," he hummed moving away from you, his hands now sliding against the skin of your thighs. he got off the bed, and knelt down to you, his eyes looking up at you. "may i?" he asked so nicely allowing you to return his question with a nod of approval.

calebs hand slid your dress up, his mouth following between your legs as he placed small kisses here and there, then his mouth latching on to your sensitive nub as he kissed and suckled on it. one of his hands still placed on your thigh, while the other rubbed small circles on your clit. oh how you felt so good, you moaned grabbing on to the softness of his hair. your legs twitch while he held one spread. "my gods, you are divine." he mumbled out.

the feeling made you gasp. it was new — and it felt so good. your hips rolling at the feeling of his tongue. your hand gripping his hair, while you whined. caleb hummed, his vibrations sending shivers down your body as you twitched. “uh uh princess,” he said softly, his hands holding your legs open while he could better a taste.

how he made you feel so good, your whines becoming begs and pleads, his pace quickening at the sounds of your moans. your hips practically rut against his mouth, his tongue coating every bit of your slit and folds, he wanted to make you feel good, make his princess know that he shall never leave her again. he was evil for leaving you; making you suffer.

you felt a heat rise in you, your heart thumping while you mindlessly whined. “i know,” he said softly, licking your clit as his hands rubbed furiously on your nub. “do you feel good here?” he looked at your swelled eyes, “a yes it is,” he said softly. placing his last kisses on your sobbing cunt, watching you shake and twitch on his mouth, waves crashing together as you felt your high come down.

caleb moved away, his body finding its way up and over you. his hands tugged on your dress, completely pulling it off you. he flipped you over; his cock pushed up against your sobbing cunt. “please, i’ve been waiting so long — let me make you feel good m’lady” he whined. you let out a small ‘go ahead’ he pushed inside of you shuddering at the feeling.

he stilled, waiting for any sound or moment of discomfort or pain but instead he was met with a moan. your hips rocking against him, his hips only moving in a rhythm agreeing with yours. you gasped, moaning and gripping your sheets. he coaxed you in adoration, and sweet murmurs of ‘i love you’ — grabbing your hips and rutting into you.

“we — ngh, are to be wed,” he groaned. his eyes falling on your pretty back, “and i will not leave you, mh, you will bear my children, and we will stay together. as king or queen, or as too common folk.” his thrusts were sloppy, hitting a spot that made you roll your eyes back. caleb kissed your body, worshipping every part of you that he could.

you felt the waves again, the heat of your climax. you sobbed as caleb took that as a sign. his pace quickening, snapping his hips into yours will harsher thrusts. “apologies, princess,” he groaned, his cock hit every angle of you, the sounds of ‘ah’ and ‘oh’s filled your room before you began to twitch, your waves crashing down as you climaxed. your juices leaking over his cock.

it didn’t stop caleb, his cock leaking inside of you as he continued to thrust himself inside your sobbing cunt. his breaths now sounds of your name, his arms wrapping around your body lifting you up so he could go deeper inside you.

his thrusts were nasty against you, “m going to protect you forever,” he whined. “is that all right, princess?” his lips kissing your neck — you too far out to respond. his hips becoming faster before he slammed into you, spilling himself inside of you. he gave you slow strokes before pulling out. watching you numb on your bed as you pant and fight for air.

he couldn’t help but kiss your head, petting it slowly and lying down next to you. “i told you,” he hummed. “i shall’t be leaving you anymore, my love. i am your knight, and yours alone.”

taglist for my pipsquirters : @rcvcgers @neigepomme @tsumoorin @hannasarah @sleepyvivikitty @loldoll @rivifying @allmightyfishdick @criedallday

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yizhouism · 1 day ago

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— bf!caleb headcanons;

trust that this man will not leave you alone. you want space? "sure," he says while taking one step away from you

he is LOCKED in and he will not let you go, i fear. should have ran away when you had the chance, when he was still willing to let you go... because now that's he's had you? yeah... sorry but it's till death with him! beyond that even (wink wink)

you can't stand him anymore? he'll tell you to sit on his face

you're tired of him? "no, you're not pipsqueak! you just need a nap"

always pulls the "sorry, my gf said i can't go card". like, it's to the point that everyone thinks you're an overprotective and controlling gf

you're not! he's the problem!!! he's the obsessed one!!!

time and time again you've told him to hang out with his friends more but noooooo, why would he want to spend his friday nights getting wasted with his friends when he can spend the night cuddling with you? do you not care about him anymore? do you want other girls to flirt with him at the bar? he's going to spend the whole night wishing he was in your arms anyway so don't make him go. pretty please? *cue the puppy dog eyes*

caleb clings to you like a koala. he's not just velcroed to you—he's superglued to you

a hand on your waist, playing with your fingers, squeezing your thigh, gently kicking your feet with his, his head on your shoulder, his head on your lap, backhugs whenever you're both standing, his fingers playing with your hair, a kiss to your shoulders, your cheeks, the back of your hand

speaking of physical affection, he likes to bite you! not in a possessive way (contrary to popular belief), he just has a severe case of gigil (cuteness aggression) whenever it comes to you

it's neverending and the most endearing part is that he doesn't even realize that he does it 🥹

but he will ease up if you ever express discomfort. after all, this man's first priority is your comfort and safety

he sees you pouting and not only does he want to kiss your lips but he also wants to munch on your cheeks. they're just so cute all puffed up like that, so can you really blame him?

caleb who can't help but notice how much of your stuff is themed around apples and planes—all reminders of him

when he finally noticed just how much you look for him in every aspect of your life, his heart just melted into a puddle. caleb is the type who always needs to feel needed, so to know that you need his presence to the point that most of your things are a testament to his being? yeah... he's a goner. he's never felt so loved before? god knows you're in for a long night of him worshipping you 🤞

the fighter plane keychain that hangs from your bag? your apple-themsd kitchenware? the map of skyhaven that decorates the wall above your couch? your apple-themed accessories—all of it makes him giddy

"you're love me a lot, don't ya pips?" he says teasingly, only for you to reply with a quiet but certain "i do"

it's so certain and so sure, and your eyes are looking at him with so much adoration, as if he painted the stars in the sky himself—it's just too much for his poor heart to handle that he finds himself hiding his face in the crook of your neck

caleb is not shy about letting people know he's taken. i mean... he wears the necklace you got him like a collar so ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

he wears your apple-themed hair ties around his wrist (this is canon! see: longtime yesterday)

the type to always find a way to mention his girlfriend no matter what the topic of the conversation is

"you know, my girlfriend—" "we get it caleb, shut up!"

also always has a spare sanitary napkin or tampon on him. anything you might need, he has on him

if y'all started dating in highschool, i feel like he'd also be the type to order extra sets of his sports jerseys just to gift to you

nothing gets him going like seeing "xia, 05" plastered all over your back (caleb was player no. 5 in his highschool basketball team)

the type to run to you after every game and scoop you up in a big hug despite being all sweaty

"ugh, caleb, you're sweaty!" "oh hush, i know you love it, pips."

aaaand, he's not wrong 😞 there's just something so endearing to you about being the first person he runs to after every big win—like you're the prize instead of the trophy they just won

and to him, you are. you're the best prize—the best thing, best person in his life

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n0vazsq · 2 days ago

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Promise me | OP81 x Reader

pairing . . . oscar piastri x gf!reader

summary . . . When you ask your boyfriend an innocent question, you never expected that it'd nearly give him a heart attack

request . . . no!!

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . !PART OF MINI FIC SERIES! it's a bit shitty and kinda rushed bc i have a lit exam after this </3 i'm gonna try to write a lot bc i won't be uploading much so yes!!

. . . "What if we broke up?"

Oscar froze. His whole body went stiff, brown eyes widening like you’d just yanked the ground out from under him. To you, it was just a random, hypothetical question. To him? It was the worst thing you could have possibly said.

"What?" His voice came out hurriedly, almost breathless, as he sat up a little straighter. His eyes flicked across your face, scanning for any indication that you were actually serious.

Completely oblivious to the chaos you’d just thrown him into, you only grinned. "I said, what if we broke up? What would happen?"

Oscar just stared at you, dead silent. He looked like you’d confessed to murdering his entire family. His jaw clenched before he took a deep breath, shaking his head as if he was trying to get rid of the thought.

"Love… is something wrong? Did I do something?" His voice was softer now, a little unsure.

You blinked. "Huh?"

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard. "You just asked what would happen if we broke up, so I thought that you meant…" His voice trailed off, his panic still evident on his face.

And then, realisation hit you.

"Oh," you said, fighting back a laugh. He actually thought you meant it.

"Osc, I didn’t mean it like that," you said quickly, reaching for his hand. His fingers wrapped around yours, warm and soft, but you could feel the tension in them. "It was just out of pure curiosity, you know?"

Oscar let out a deep breath, shaking his head again. "That’s not funny," he muttered, his lips turning into a slight frown.

You bit your lip, barely able to hold back a laugh. "I thought it was."

"Well, it's not." He huffed and shifted closert to you, free hand cupping your cheek, thumb tracing slow, gentle circles against your skin. "Because if we broke up…" He hesitated, voice dropping to something quieter, more real. "I don’t even want to imagine it."

Your chest tightened at the way he said it, it was so serious and genuine. You suddenly felt slightly bad for asking that question in the first place.

"You’re such a sap," you teased, but your voice was softer now, with undertones of something warmer.

"Only for you," he muttered, eyes flicking between yours before he leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to your forehead. His lips lingering there for a second before he pulled back, resting his hand against yours.

"Promise me you'll never say that again?" he questioned. "Even as a joke?"

You smiled, your hands coming up to cup his face. "Yeah, okay. I promise."

"Good."

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl ,, @awritingtree ,, @freyathehuntress ,, @chilling-seavey (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

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chansdoll · 2 days ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ현진ㅤㅤ♡ㅤㅤnot just friendsㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

★ pairing。nonidol!hyunjin x afab!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎g. ╰・ angst , smut‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cw。 unprotected sex , oral (f. receiving) , they're in love your honor wc。 4.3k

lana's note! ᰍᩚ this is kinda like a friends to lovers type thing except it starts late in the situationship phase, idk what this is tbh, i got bored and thought of it

♡ masterlist

it was a typical friday night, the kind of party everyone in your class had been buzzing about for days. a packed house, music pulsing through the walls, the air thick with alcohol and the sharp bite of too many cheap colognes. you were there, perched on the worn-out couch in the sunroom with your friends, half-listening as they gushed over the guys at the party. the room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from a few tangled strings of fairy lights that flickered unevenly, casting soft shadows across the walls.

you wanted to be here—at least, that’s what you told yourself. you liked the distraction, the way alcohol dulled the edges of emotions you refused to acknowledge. lately, those emotions had been clawing at your chest, threatening to spill over, and drinking was the only thing that kept them at bay. you weren’t about to let yourself feel, not when feeling meant risking getting hurt again.

then, as if on cue, he walked in.

hyunjin.

your heart lurched the second your eyes landed on him, a cruel reminder of something you wanted but could never have. he strolled in effortlessly, his presence commanding attention without even trying, flanked by felix and changbin. his dark eyes swept over the room, taking in the scene, and then—inevitably—they found you.

you didn’t think. you just acted. without hesitation, you tipped your glass back, downing the rest of your drink in one go. the burn of the alcohol was nothing compared to the ache in your chest, the one that only seemed to grow stronger every time he was near. you needed more. more to drink, more distance, more anything to push away the emotions threatening to surface.

hyunjin noticed. of course, he did.

he didn’t say anything right away, but you felt his eyes on you—watching, assessing. he always had this way of looking at you, like he was trying to solve a puzzle only he could see. he could tell something was wrong, that you were struggling, but he didn’t know why.

and you weren’t about to let him find out.

for years, you and hyunjin had been inseparable. what started as a simple friendship—born from long nights studying together, laughing over inside jokes, and supporting each other through the highs and lows of life—evolved into something deeper, something unspoken. he was your safe place, and you were his. but neither of you ever crossed that line, both too scared to risk what you had.

then, everything changed.

a few months ago, you went through a painful breakup, one that left you reeling. you had trusted, loved, and given your heart away—only to have it shattered. the pain made you wary, hesitant to let anyone get too close again. and hyunjin, ever the patient friend, had been there for you through it all. he never pushed, never asked for more than you could give. he just stayed.

but one night, after too many drinks and too many lingering stares, you found yourself in his arms in a way you never had before. it wasn’t just a moment of weakness—it was comfort, desperation, need. what was supposed to be a one-time thing became something neither of you could walk away from. it started with stolen kisses behind closed doors, tangled sheets, and hushed promises of this doesn’t mean anything. but as the weeks passed, something shifted.

the sex turned softer, more intimate. he would press lingering kisses to your temple, trace gentle patterns on your skin afterward. you would wake up in his bed, wrapped in his warmth, and pretend you didn’t crave staying longer. it was dangerous—because the more time you spent wrapped up in hyunjin, the harder it became to deny what was happening between you.

but you had to deny it.

because falling for him meant opening yourself up again. and after what you had been through, you weren’t sure you could survive that kind of heartbreak twice.

so you pushed him away. again. and again.

but hyunjin wasn’t stupid. he saw through every excuse, every attempt to put distance between you. he knew you felt it too—knew you were running from something real. and no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you couldn’t ignore the way your heart ached every time you saw him.

and now, as your eyes met his, from across the kitchen, the ache in your chest grew.

it didn’t take long for you to get tipsy enough to crave hyunjin’s touch—his warmth, his presence—and he welcomed you with open arms. before you knew it, you were stumbling into a bedroom upstairs, hands everywhere, lips colliding in desperate, messy kisses.

his fingers dug into your waist, pulling you closer, and you clutched at his shirt, tugging at the fabric until it bunched against his ribs. he broke the kiss just long enough to yank it over his head, tossing it aside before his mouth crashed back to yours—hot and needy.

“you look so good tonight,” he muttered, voice low and breathless against your lips. his hands slid down to your hips, guiding you back until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

you barely remembered falling onto the mattress—all you remembered was the way hyunjin followed, crawling over you with that same hunger burning in his eyes. his lips moved down your neck, biting and kissing and tasting while your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer.

everything blurred—clothes tugged and tossed aside, warm skin pressed against yours. your breaths mingled in the charged air, messy and uneven.

he kissed down your body, his mouth hot and teasing as he moved lower. you gasped when his lips ghosted over your inner thigh, and then you moaned outright when he pressed a lingering kiss to your mound.

“hyun—” you whined, but your words melted into a sharp gasp when his tongue met your clit. he licked you like he was savoring you, dragging his tongue in slow, deliberate circles before closing his lips around your most sensitive spot. a deep groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating against you. he was lost in it—lost in you—his hands gripping your thighs tightly to keep you from squirming away.

“fuck—oh my god,” you gasped, clutching at the sheets as the pressure in your core built rapidly. his fingers flexed harder against your skin, his nails digging into your flesh, and your body tensed.

“i’m—shit, i’m cumming,” you cried out, your body shaking violently as the pleasure crashed over you.

he didn’t stop—not right away. he kept licking, sucking, savoring every bit of you until the overstimulation forced you to gently push his head away. even then, he lingered, leaving a messy kiss against your soaked folds before rising to his feet.

his cock was heavy in his boxers, the outline thick and prominent as he hurriedly shoved the fabric down. he crawled over you again, kissing you roughly—hungry, like he needed this, needed you.

“you’re driving me insane,” he rasped against your lips, his hand fumbling to spread your thighs wider. his cock bobbed against your slick entrance, and you reached down, guiding him inside you.

he pushed in slowly, groaning low in his throat as you stretched around him. the feeling was overwhelming—the heat, the weight of him pressed so perfectly against you.

it started fast and frantic—hips grinding together in messy desperation. you clung to him, his skin warm and slick beneath your fingertips, both of you chasing something primal and raw. but somewhere in the haze of it all, something shifted.

his kisses deepened, slowing to something softer, something felt. his fingers laced with yours, pinning your hand beside your head as he rocked into you, deep and deliberate. his forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and shaky against your lips.

“fuck,” he groaned, voice strained like he was holding himself back. his free hand trailed along your waist, down to your thigh, where his fingers dug in just enough to ground you.

it was too much—his body against yours, the way he filled you so perfectly. the way he whispered your name, soft and reverent, like you were something precious.

your heart raced, your breath hitched, and before you could stop it, the pressure in your core unraveled once more. it rushed through you fast and hard, making your body arch beneath him.

“f-fuck,” you choked out, and then—without thinking, without meaning to—you said it.

“i love you.”

the words tumbled from your lips right as you reached your peak, your body trembling beneath him as waves of pleasure rolled through you.

hyunjin stilled for half a second, his hips stuttering before he fully realized what you had said. his breath hitched—and somehow, those three words undid him.

“shit—” his voice broke as he pushed all the way inside you, burying himself deep as his own orgasm tore through him. a string of groans left his lips, shaky and breathless, as he filled you with his release.

you barely registered the warmth spreading inside you—you were too lost in your own head, panic settling in like ice beneath your skin. you clung to him, your breath unsteady, trying to ignore the weight of what had just slipped out.

you couldn’t take it back.

and somehow, that terrified you more than anything.

the air felt heavier now, thick with something you couldn’t name. neither of you spoke as you pulled your clothes back on—hyunjin grabbing his shirt from the floor while you reached for your dress, still crumpled on the edge of the bed.

he moved slower than usual, his eyes flicking toward you every few seconds like he was trying to find the right words. you knew what was coming—you could feel it.

“you meant it, didn’t you?” his voice was soft but certain.

you froze for a beat, fingers faltering at the zipper of your dress. “what?”

“you know what,” he said, stepping closer. “what you said before.”

you swallowed hard, refusing to meet his gaze. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“you do,” he insisted, his voice firm now.

“i don’t.” you turned to face him, zipping your dress the rest of the way with a sharp tug. “i was tipsy. we were... caught up in the moment. i don’t even remember half of what i said.”

it wasn’t true—you remembered everything. the way his body felt against yours, the warmth of his breath, the way the words had just spilled out before you could stop them. but admitting that? no chance.

hyunjin scoffed softly, raking a hand through his hair. “sure,” he muttered, his tone dry. “whatever you say.”

“yeah,” you snapped, grabbing your purse from the nightstand. “whatever i say.”

you knew you were being cold, but you couldn’t stop yourself. it was easier to shut him out than to face what had just happened. because if you did—if you let yourself feel it—you knew you’d fall too hard. and after everything you’d been through, that was a risk you couldn’t take.

“are you coming?” you asked, barely sparing him a glance before heading for the door.

hyunjin didn’t answer right away. but when you reached the hallway, you heard his footsteps behind you, following you back to the party like nothing had happened.

only it had. and you knew there was no running from it for long.

the next day, hyunjin sent you a text:

hey. wanna grab coffee?

you stared at the message for a long time, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. you typed out a few responses—sure, i can’t, i’m sorry—but you deleted them all. nothing felt right.

you felt awful. awful for how you snapped at him, awful for pretending like nothing had happened, and even worse for how scared you were. scared of opening up, scared of hurting him, scared of getting hurt yourself. you couldn’t risk that. not again.

so, for the first time since you and hyunjin had been friends, you turned off your read receipts.

and of course, he noticed.

hyunjin lay on his dorm bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen like he could will a reply out of you. his text still sat unread, no confirmation that you’d seen it. he knew you were acting cold—he wasn’t stupid. ever since that night, you’d been distant, avoiding eye contact, cutting conversations short, disappearing whenever he walked into a room.

he knew you were dealing with things—your breakup had left you guarded, pulling away from everyone who tried to get close. but he thought he was different. he thought he was helping.

the next evening, he found himself wandering to one of the campus cafés—somewhere you both used to go all the time. it was crowded, filled with clusters of students cramming for exams or killing time between classes.

and that’s when he saw you.

you were tucked into the corner by the window, sitting across from some guy hyunjin didn’t recognize. he looked your age, maybe a little older, with an easy smile that made hyunjin’s stomach churn.

he watched from a distance, eyes narrowing as the guy leaned closer, whispering something that made you laugh—actually laugh. the sound made hyunjin’s chest tighten.

his mind raced. maybe this was nothing—just some classmate, someone you bumped into. but the way you smiled... the way you twirled your straw between your fingers, leaning in just a little closer... it felt different.

he told himself it wasn’t a big deal, that you were allowed to spend time with whoever you wanted.

but deep down, it felt like he was losing you.

hyunjin was standing near the counter, waiting for his order. he was dressed casually—sweatpants and a hoodie—but he still managed to stand out.

your heart dropped.

for a second, you just stared. he looked tired, his face drawn in a way that made guilt gnaw at your insides. his phone was in his hand, his thumb flicking over the screen like he was checking for something—checking for you.

when he finally looked up, your eyes locked.

your breath hitched.

his gaze hardened, just slightly, his face unreadable. you knew that look—it was the one he gave when he was hurt but refused to show it.

the guy across from you kept talking, laughing at his own joke, but you couldn’t hear a word of it. hyunjin’s eyes flicked from you to the guy sitting at your table, and something in his expression shifted—a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place.

you dropped your gaze, suddenly unable to hold it. your fingers curled around your drink, knuckles going white from how tightly you gripped it.

“you okay?” the guy asked, finally noticing your sudden silence.

“yeah,” you lied, forcing a smile that felt thin and strained. “i’m fine.”

the soft glow of the moonlight slipped through the blinds, casting faint shadows across the room. you stared up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the night pressing against your chest. the silence was suffocating, and yet your thoughts wouldn’t let you escape.

tossing onto your side, you tugged the blanket tighter around yourself, the heat from your body offering no comfort. your mind refused to quiet. you couldn’t stop thinking about him — about hyunjin.

it wasn’t supposed to be this way. you weren’t supposed to feel so lost. so fucking confused. you had been fine before, or at least, you thought you were. you hadn’t expected to fall into something like this with him.

you let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding beneath your ribs. you were afraid — of what, exactly, you weren’t even sure. afraid of letting him in, afraid of loving him, afraid of not being good enough to keep him. every time you let yourself get close to him, the fear crept in, and now it had spiraled into this mess of misunderstandings and regrets.

you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to shut out the thoughts, but they only grew louder. you had pushed him away. you had hurt him, and now... now you were ruining everything. your friendship with hyunjin, the one thing that had been consistent in your life, was slipping through your fingers. you were scared. so scared of what he might mean to you, what you might mean to him.

the tears came unbidden, hot and fast. you rolled onto your back, unable to control the sobs that wracked your chest. you thought of all the things you should have said to him, of how he looked at you that night, how his warmth had felt like the one thing that made you feel whole.

but you pushed him away. you always pushed people away.

you reached for your phone, desperate for a distraction. maybe scrolling through your gallery would give you something to focus on, anything to get you out of your head.

your thumb swiped through the photos — random things at first. selfies from random nights out, pictures of your friends, screenshots of texts that no longer seemed relevant. then you saw them. the ones with hyunjin.

you paused, your thumb frozen over the screen. your breath caught in your throat as your eyes traced the photos. the first one was a silly selfie the two of you had taken during one of those late-night study sessions. he had made a face, pulling a stupid expression, and you had laughed so hard you almost cried. the memory of his laughter filled your chest, and you let out a shaky sigh.

then there was the one from that night at his place. you remembered it so clearly — your faces so close, your smiles so real. he had kissed you right after that photo, and you had felt a rush of something deep in your chest, something that made your stomach flutter. you had felt seen, wanted.

but you weren’t ready for that.

another swipe.

this time, a picture of the two of you on the couch after a party. your bodies were close, his arm draped over your shoulders. you were looking at each other, and in that look, you saw something more than just friendship. it scared you, that look. you couldn’t handle it. you couldn’t handle him. you had to keep your distance, even if it meant hurting him.

you scrolled further, and the next picture stopped your heart. it was taken the last time the two of you had been alone together. the photo was intimate, suggestive — you both had been fooling around, your faces flushed with desire. it wasn’t a moment of passion, not like you had imagined when you thought about what you two might become. it was a mess of emotions, blurred lines, and you had let it happen. you had let him in, even when you told yourself you never would.

you should have stopped it.

you should have never let yourself fall into this.

you closed your eyes, and suddenly, the weight of everything hit you all at once. your chest tightened, your breathing shallow as you clutched the phone to your chest. you ruined it. you ruined everything.

you were never enough. you were never going to be enough.

the tears started again, harder this time, as the realization crushed you. you had pushed him away, scared of your own feelings, and now you were paying the price. you had been so selfish, so afraid of letting yourself want him.

and now you had lost him.

the quiet of your dorm room seemed to mock you as you sat there, body shaking with sobs. you had pushed him to the point where he probably wouldn’t even look at you the same way anymore. you had destroyed the one thing that had meant something to you, and no matter how much you wanted to fix it, you couldn’t.

you ruined it.

you ruined him.

the bass thumped through the walls of the campus bar, the low vibrations buzzing against your chest. your friends’ laughter rang out beside you, but you barely heard it — your mind had been clouded all night. the drink in your hand had grown warm, condensation pooling under your fingertips.

you were trying — really trying — to forget. to drown out the memories of hyunjin’s touch, his voice, the way he looked at you before you pushed him away. but no amount of alcohol could drown out what was festering inside you.

and then you saw him.

hyunjin was at the far end of the bar, his elbow braced against the counter, swirling his drink in his hand. his hair was damp — maybe from the rain outside, maybe from sweat — but he still looked too good. his jaw was tight, his eyes focused on nothing in particular. he looked... off.

your stomach flipped. he hadn’t seen you yet, but you knew it was only a matter of time.

"i need some air," you muttered to your friends, barely registering their response as you grabbed your bag and moved quickly toward the exit.

but you weren’t fast enough.

"y/n?"

his voice cut through the noise like a knife.

panic shot through you, your heart racing. you didn’t turn around — couldn’t. you shoved through the crowd, weaving between bodies until you finally stumbled out the front door and into the cold night.

rain poured from the sky, cold droplets clinging to your skin as you rushed down the sidewalk. your breath hitched, your chest tightening. you just needed to get away — far enough that the guilt would stop clawing at you, far enough that hyunjin wouldn’t follow.

but he did.

"y/n!"

his voice rang out behind you, sharp and angry. you heard the fast steps of his shoes slapping against wet pavement.

"stop!"

you didn’t stop — you couldn’t. your pulse thundered in your ears, but suddenly his hand grabbed your arm, jerking you back.

"what the hell is your problem?" his voice was tight, breathless, but unmistakably angry. his hair clung to his forehead, strands dripping with rain. "are you just gonna keep running from me forever?"

"hyunjin, let go," you said weakly, but your voice wavered.

"no." his grip didn’t tighten, but he didn’t let go. "you’ve been avoiding me for days. i texted you, i called you — hell, i’ve been waiting for you to just say something. but instead, i see you here — acting like none of it ever happened. like i don’t even fucking exist."

"i can’t do this," you whispered, voice barely audible over the rain. you pulled your arm from his grasp, wrapping your arms around yourself like it could hold you together. "i just... i can’t."

"why?" his voice cracked. "why are you doing this? did i... did i do something wrong?"

you shook your head, swallowing hard. "no. no, it’s not you, i just..." you trailed off, words dying on your tongue.

"then what is it?" hyunjin’s voice rose again, frustration bubbling to the surface. "i know you feel something for me. don’t tell me you don’t — you wouldn’t have said what you said if you didn’t."

your stomach twisted painfully. "i don’t know what you’re talking about."

"bullshit," he snapped. "we are not just friends. we are not just friends, and you fucking know it."

the words hit you like a punch to the chest. your breath faltered, and you took a shaky step back, your shoes splashing in a shallow puddle.

"i didn’t mean to—"

"yes, you did!" his voice broke this time — less sharp, more desperate. "you said you loved me. i heard you. and i know you meant it. so why are you running from me like i’m some kind of mistake?"

your throat tightened painfully. tears blurred your vision, mixing with the rain streaking down your face.

"because i’m scared!" the words burst out of you before you could stop them. your voice cracked, your chest heaving. "i’m scared of getting hurt, i’m scared of losing you — and i’m scared i’ll ruin everything because that’s what i do."

"you’re not going to lose me," he said quietly. his voice was softer now, gentler — but there was still a tremor in it. "i just... i don’t understand why you won’t let me in. why do you think you have to do this alone?"

"because i’ll hurt you!" you choked out. "i’ll mess this up, hyunjin. you deserve someone better — someone who isn’t so... so broken."

"don’t do that." his voice was firm, but not angry — raw, almost pleading. "don’t tell me what i deserve. i know what i want."

he stepped closer, his fingers brushing your wrist again, more tentative this time — like he wasn’t sure you’d let him.

"i want you."

a sob tore from your throat, and before you could stop yourself, you were stepping forward, crashing into him. your hands fisted into the soaked fabric of his jacket, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

his arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling you in tight — like he’d been waiting for you to do this. you didn’t know who kissed who first — all you knew was that his lips were on yours, hard and desperate. the kiss was messy, rain-slicked and breathless, but neither of you seemed to care.

"i’m sorry," you whispered against his mouth, the words spilling out between kisses. "i’m so sorry."

"don’t be," he murmured back, his fingers curling at the nape of your neck, holding you closer. "just... please don’t push me away anymore."

for a moment, you stayed like that — tangled in each other’s arms, the rain washing over you both. whatever tension had been hanging in the air seemed to crack and fall away, replaced by something heavier yet somehow lighter at the same time. and as hyunjin pressed one more lingering kiss to your forehead, you realized something — maybe you’d been wrong.

maybe love wasn’t about avoiding pain; maybe it was about trusting someone enough to hold your heart, even when you were scared they might break it.

taglist: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin @tirena1 @geni-627 @bbokvhs @wavetohannie

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violetstarr24 · 3 days ago

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Image 1: A reddit post from r/TrueOffMyChest by user u/Empty-Ad-2031 titled "I miss my husband so goddamn much. It reads:

I (35M) divorced my husband (36M) three years ago. And God, I miss him. I asked for a divorce for a few reasons, most of which being that his depression got exponentially worse day after day and he refused to seek treatment. Sometimes he wouldn't even go into work and ended up getting fired from his job. I stayed with him for so fucking long, praying that one day he would start trying to get better. It was all I ever wanted, but that day didn't come. I sobbed the entire time signing those papers, and when I handed them to him and asked for a divorce, he just gave me the emptiest, deadest look and signed them without a word. My heart felt like it had been shattered with a hammer, anger and sadness and fear tied together in the world's tightest, ugliest knot and inset deep into my chest. I put on a brave face for my friends, tried to frame it as shackles coming off and a new beginning, but it was a lie. It just hurt, and it keeps hurting, and it will never stop hurting. He was my soulmate. I'll never love anyone like I loved him. He used to be so sweet and loving, so passionate and happy and every other wonderful thing a man could want from another. They say each day gets easier, but it isn't for me. It's been three years and I'm still reaching over to the other side of the bed in the morning to pull him close, and it always stings when my hands touch fabric and not his skin. It's been three years and I'm still expecting to see his car in the driveway when I get home from work. It's been three years and my heart isn't any less broken than the day he left. I've been stalking his socials, I'll admit. He's been getting back to the gym, started meds, and I see him smiling so genuinely in these photos. He looks so incredible. Maybe if I had just waited, he would have changed his mind and went to a doctor like he is now? Or was it me that held him down? Was I making it worse?

Image 2: A continuation of the previous post. It reads:

I hope not. I wanna go over to his place and just fall into his arms and beg him to take me back. Maybe he's wishing the same thing about me. If there's even a chance I could have my boy back I feel like I should try. I'll never know otherwise. EDIT: One: 1 am a homosexual man. My husband is a homosexual man. I am not a woman. Yes, I know I'm effeminate and kind of emotional. Get creative. Two: my husband was a binge drinker. He refused treatment no matter how much I begged. We got antidepressants but he wouldn't take them. I know he's started meds now because he's posted about them and his 2 yrs sober chip that he got last month. Three: I never stopped loving him. I never loved him any less. Near the end of our marriage, I started drinking to cope. The second I realized I was, I realized he was dragging me down with him, and I couldn't help him anymore. I didn't dip the second it got hard. Many of you are being kind of rude. I'll accept that I wasn't the perfect husband, nobody is. But claims that I never loved him are just wrong and make me feel sick to my stomach. EDIT 2: No, I am not the catalyst for this. His depression started when his young brother died terribly and unexpectedly. It's not because he just hated me so much. We were childhood sweethearts and had been together for years when this happened.

Image 3: A new post titled "[UPDATE] I met my husband that I divorced 3 years ago." It begins with a link to the the previous and next post before continuing. It reads:

Well, with Reddit's advice, I did it. A few days ago, I called my (35M) ex-husband (36M) whom I divorced after 6 years when he refused to seek treatment for his depression. I called him later in the evening. It was the first time we'd spoken since a bit of trouble he'd had while he was still drinking 2 1/2 years ago. He picked up on the second ring. Our conversation was a little stilted at first, as to be expected, but he said he was really glad to hear from me. We ended up meeting up for coffee yesterday as so many of you suggested. I'll admit: it was kind of hard to see him, but in a good way? He looked so much better than the last time I had seen him, but he looked exactly like the man I married. He had put off a ton of weight (he gained like 75ish pounds during his struggle with depression, and before some dick says so, I didn't leave him because of his weight gain), he looked way healthier and very put together. Ill just say it: he looked incredibly hot. What made it hard was that I couldn't kiss him hello like I used to. But God, the way his eyes lit up when he saw me, I barely needed to. We got our coffee and sat, and he updated me a little on his life in the last 3 years. What really turned his life around was in part the divorce but moreso a DUI (nobody was hurt, he was caught a few blocks from his apartment). He's since gone to rehab and AA, gotten his license back, and had to use a breathalyzer whenever he started his car for a while. He hasn't had a drop of alcohol since and I told him I was so fucking proud of him. He's also started antidepressants, and made a point of telling me that they're not SRis, but when I asked what that meant he got embarrassed and told me nevermind (???). Bottom line is that they've been helping him, he's back to being a gym rat, and he's almost completely turned his life around. This was around the point I started tearing up. It just felt so good knowing he was okay. Better than okay, he was good. I also apologized to him for not sticking by him. He cut me off and said I had nothing to apologize for. He was a wreck, and I was being dragged down with him. That also felt good to hear. I apologized for not contacting him much during the last 3 years. That apology, he accepted.

Image 4: A continuation of the previous post. It reads:

He was dating someone for a few months, too. He broke up with him once he tried to get him to drink on New Year's. He seemed dismissive of the guy. Guess it wasn't too serious. We got up and went on a walk after a few hours, and I think we both realized it felt like a first date. I had to stop myself from trying to hold his hand at a few points, Hi admit. We ended up sitting on a bench in a nearby park, and I confessed. I told him I missed him more than anything, how I never stopped loving him, and how if he wanted to, I'd love to try again from the beginning this time. We'd go to couples' therapy, keep our heads above the water, and take it slow. He was quiet for a minute before he told me something. He said he was doing better now, but there may be a time where he sunk low again. Depression isn't easily cured, and he was far from cured. He still had bad days, but he said there would be one difference: he promised he would never stop trying to improve. He was never going to give up like he did before, and refused to neglect me like he used to. If I was willing to accept that truth, he was willing to try again. I agreed, and he pulled me into an embrace and snuck a kiss to my temple. You know when it's the first warm day of spring after a cold, harsh winter, and the soft breeze and basking sun hit your skin at the same time? It felt something like that, to the 1000th degree. After a while he walked me back to my car and squeezed my hand goodbye, and the second I got inside I started sobbing like a baby. Happy tears, though. I'm currently sitting in bed, kicking my feet like a teenage girl, texting him back and forth to schedule an actual date. He said he'd plan everything, and try his best to make up for the birthdays and anniversaries he missed. He said it would "knock my socks off." What a dork. I love being in love. Not gonna lie, this is gonna be a bit hard to explain to my friends and family. Not looking forward to those conversations, but right now I don't care. My man loves me. Thank you to everyone who had kind words to say, and all the people that messaged me with sympathy and advice. I hope we all find happiness, and love if we want it. I never would have made the leap if y'all hadn't encouraged me. Best of luck to all of you, and sorry for the overly flowery language <3 EDIT: we've scheduled a date for tomorrow evening. I'll let people know how it went two days from now in my final (unless something big happens) update. EDIT 2: at his place presently. Shame me not, reddit.

Image 5: A new post titled "[FINAL UPDATE] | went on a date with my ex-husband last night." It begins with a link to the previous post before continuing. It reads:

My (35M) ex-husband (36M) and I recently reconnected. I won't go over the details of why we split or our reconciliation since l'm sure the average redditor can click buttons and most likely read. He was the one taking me out, and promised that it would, in his words, "knock my socks off" to make up for his neglect of me. He sure as hell delivered. A little backstory, we've been together since we were 15 and 16 respectively, and have never moved out of our hometown. This year would have been our 20th anniversary (of getting together, not marriage). We were dating secretly for about five years before our parents caught us one day during summer break. The fallout from finding out their son was gay actually made his parents split. His dad wanted to send him away to conversion therapy. He's seen his father maybe once per year on average, and every time he's incredibly cold towards me. Would never refer to me as his son-in-law, only my husband's "pal." I wonder why. Anyway, not what you're here to read. I'll get on with the lore. He picked me up from the house and wouldn't tell me where we were going, but told me to dress warmly. He ended up taking me to the place where we met: a run down ice skating rink in our town. He used to do hockey, and I spent some time trying to learn figure skating until people started beating me up for it. Both sports would practice at the same time and I remember barely being able to keep my eyes off him. We went skating, I tried to pull off a few of the moves I remembered (he only had to catch me from falling on my ass once or twice, and I won't complain about an attractive man that I love hooking his arm around my waist), and we spent an hour or so there until our feet hurt. At one point I said that my face was getting cold, so he skated around in front of me and placed his gloved hands on my cheeks to warm me up. I just about burned a hole in the ice from how hard I was blushing, I swear to God.

Image 6: A continuation of the previous post. It reads:

He wasn't done then. We left and went to dinner, specifically the restaurant where we had our first date. It's a cheap hole-in-the-wall place, seeing as we were poor teenagers when we first met. We chatted and ate food that probably took 5 years off our lives, he was an incorrigible flirt, and even held my hand underneath the table like he did all those years ago. I know I said I never stopped loving him, and I stand by that, but I think I somehow fell in love with him a thousand times over again during that meal. At the end of dinner, he asked if I had energy for one more simple thing, to which I agreed. He took me a while out of town to a dark sky zone park, specifically the one where he proposed to me ten years ago. He set out a blanket to sit on and another to cuddle under, and we went stargazing all bundled up together. You never know how much you miss the sound of someone's heartbeat until you haven't heard it for so long. We shared a bottle of sparkling grape juice in plastic champagne flutes and dumb, giggly kisses. It felt so similar yet so different. He told me in a moment of quiet that he loved me, and oh, God. It took everything I had not to cry. I barely hesitated before asking if he wanted to change venues. He seemed surprised, but eagerly accepted. I ended up at his place, as some of you may have seen from my edit on my second post yesterday. I wanted to take it slower than this, but it was so hard to. I was so starved of affection and hadn't been intimate with anyone for just about six years. I'm gonna keep what happened at his between us, but all I'll say is that his medication was no issue and all of you should be jealous. I woke up in his bed this morning, reached over for him, and pulled him close just like I used to do. I haven't been this happy in a long time. We had a sleepy discussion and decided to get back together, but we're not using the term boyfriends. It just feels weird after all this time. So he's my partner, or my lover. He's mine. Thank you, reddit. Wouldn't have done it without a little push from the internet. Let's see where all this goes.

Image 7: A picture of Kermit the Frog lying on a bed with his arms out, surrounded by dozens of heart emojis. END ID

#ID by me #oh man i apologize for the length #but hey!#now its accessible <3 #gay #i guess #wholesome?

33K notes · View notes

zuhaism · 2 days ago

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⊹ ｡˚ 𓂃 ♡ PUPPY LOVE ?!

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pairing : sophialaforteza x brothersbff!reader

synopsis : sophia laforteza spent years convincing herself that whatever she felt for you was just a childhood crush. something she buried the day you left. but then you came back, slipping into her life like you never left at all.

a/n : i wrote more than this lol. this is like the intro ig they in for a ride😛😛. and i js realised i named the guy alex cs i was reading mammamia by @/cinnamanz shout out to bro for making that masterpeice and im sowy 😔. btw making a dani christmas fic idc if its not chrisms im making it vro 💔

when sophia was nine, she was an absolute menace. not in a cool, rebellious way. more like the annoying little sister who wouldn't take a hint. she knew it. her brother knew it. his friends definitely knew it.

but not to you.

you never told her to go away. you never rolled your eyes when she trailed after you guys, even when her brother and his friends groaned about her being annoying. you actually talked to her like she was part of the group instead of a burden. and maybe that was why she clung to the idea that she could be something more in the group, if only she tried hard enough.

during one instance in summer and you all spent your days biking around the neighborhood, playing ding-dong ditch like a bunch of reckless kids with nothing better to do, she insisted on joining in.

her brother had scoffed, “sophie, you suck at this game. you’ll get caught in two seconds.”

she had pouted, “no i won’t.”

the others laughed,”no just stay on your bike.” one of them said. but you just grinned and shrugged, “let her try.” you dismissed them and there’s audible groaning from the group of boys.

and just like that, she had your approval. that was all she needed. she beamed at you. she knew the basic rules of ding dong ditch. ring the doorbell, pedal like hell, don’t get caught. easy. but when it was her turn, nothing went easy at all.

her heart pounded as she sprinted up the porch, her small fingers trembling on the doorbell. the chime echoed in her ears, and as soon as she hit it, she spun on her heel, ready to run. but her foot caught on the edge of the step and in an instant, she was falling.

the pavement met her with a rough scrape, and her knees burned from the impact. a sharp sting shot through her, but the rising panic in her chest drowned out every other sensation.

the porch light flicked on.

her stomach dropped.

she scrambled to her feet, but she was too slow. her brother and his friends had already melted into the shadows, their bikes disappearing into the distance. and there she was, left alone, frozen on the pavement with a bloody knee as the front door creaked open.

she was so dead.

but then, out of the dim light, you appeared.

she barely had time to register before you stepped in front of her, leaning casually against the porch railing like it was no big deal. your expression was calm, as if she didn’t just screw up infront of you.

“sorry, sir,” you said smoothly as the old man peered at you from inside. “wrong house. thought this was my friend’s place.”

sophia’s eyes widened. the man grumbled something about “kids these days” before retreating inside, closing the door behind him with a final thud. the moment the door clicked shut, you reached out and grabbed her wrist, gently yanking her up onto her bike.

“let’s go, sophie.”

she didn’t resist, she simply followed, her legs pumping furiously even as the pain in her scraped knees nagged at her. her heart wasn’t just racing from fear. it was racing because you had come back for her. you turned back and didn’t leave her there. Helpless.

sophia was raging with disappointment and also something else as she pedaled the bike. Her gaze landing on your back pedalling down the neighborhood. when you finally regrouped with the others, her brother was already laughing.

“sophie can’t even ditch properly” “you didn’t even try” “sophie just stay on your bike quietly next time”

sophia’s face flushed, and she hugged her arms to herself as embarrassment and shame mingled into a burning heat along her neck. she wished she could just vanish. then you sighed, cutting through the teasing.

“oh, come on,” you said, your voice gentle yet firm. “she tried her best. cut her some slack. she actually has a conscience. not all of us enjoy terrorizing innocent neighbors.”

sophia blinked, her eyes darting from you to the sneering faces around her. the others groaned and rolled their eyes, but in that moment, she couldn’t care less. all she felt was the overwhelming throb of her heart and a strange, warm flutter deep inside her chest.

the ride back to her house felt different. as you pedaled side by side, she kept sneaking glances at you watching how your hair caught the light in the wind, the slight parting of your lips as you focused on the road. you looked so effortlessly cool, so completely unbothered by everything.

by the time you reached her driveway, the sting in her knees had become a dull ache that reminded her of every fall she’d ever taken. she hopped off her bike and winced, trying to mask the pain.

“hey,” you said, noticing immediately as you slowed down, everyone already left while you stayed behind to ask. “you okay?”

she forced a smile, shrugging off the concern. “yeah, i’m fine.”

but you knew better. you knelt down in front of her, tilting your head as you inspected the scrape on her knee. a messy ribbon of dirt and dried blood tracing along her skin.

“that’s not fine,” you murmured.

before she could protest, you rushed inside dampening a paper towel. when you got back out sophia was sitting on the stairs. “this might sting a bit,” you warned as you knelt in front of her. she braced herself as you gently dabbed at the wound. a sharp hiss of pain escaped her lips, and you couldn’t help but smirk softly.

“baby,” you teased, though there was genuine care in your tone.

her face flushed deeper, and she mumbled, “i’m not.”

“whatever you say,” you replied with a light chuckle, fishing out a band aid out your pocket then pressing the band-aid over the scrape and smoothing it down with careful, deliberate strokes. “there. good as new.”

she stared at her knee, then at you, her wide eyes searching your face.

“what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

she shook her head quickly, turning away as if to hide her vulnerability. “nothing.”but it wasn’t nothing. in that tender moment, as she tried to mask her pain and embarrassment, she felt something shift inside her, an undeniable spark that made her heart beat faster. nine-year-old sophia laforteza was completely, hopelessly in love, even if she didn’t fully understand it yet.

sophia still remembers the day you left. it had been a summer afternoon, thick with the smell of cut grass and the distant hum of cicadas. you stood on her driveway, kicking at a stray rock while her brother complained about you moving away, arms crossed like his sulking could somehow convince you to stay.

but sophia? she just stood there, gripping the hem of her shirt so tightly that her knuckles turned white. she wanted to say something. anything. but all she could do was stare at the ground and swallow around the lump in her throat.

you had crouched down in front of her, tapping a knuckle under her chin to make her look up. “hey,” you had said, smiling softly, “don’t look so sad. i’ll visit. it’s not like i’m disappearing off the face of the earth.”

but you did disappear.

there were a few texts at first. pictures of your new neighborhood, jokes she barely understood, casual check-ins. but then middle school started, life got busier, and slowly, inevitably, the messages faded.

before she knew it, you became a memory. a childhood chapter she tucked away, rereading only when nostalgia hit late at night. she convinced herself that whatever she felt back then. that stupid, childish crush was gone.

until one fateful day it all came back. sophia wasn’t expecting her day to be anything special. she was walking down the hallway with her friends, disappointed with her grades on the recent exams, when she saw you.

leaning against a row of lockers, casually talking to her brother like you had never left, like you hadn’t been gone for years. her feet stopped before she even realized it.

“what—”

“no way,” she whispered, heart hammering against her ribs.

you looked different. taller, sharper around the edges. your uniform slightly rumpled, hair messier than she remembered. but the moment you smiled. that same easy, lopsided grin. she felt something inside her lurch violently back to life.

she barely had time to process before you looked up. and the second your eyes found hers, your whole face lit up.

“soph?”

you pushed off the lockers, taking easy strides toward her. laughing. it hit her harder than she thought possible because it was the same.

the world narrowed to just you.

the second your voice cut through the noise warm, familiar, so casually affectionate. it sent a violent jolt down her spine.

“holy shit,” you grinned, stepping forward like this was the most natural thing in the world. “come here, baby.”

baby?

the word crashed into her, loud and deafening, like someone had just rung a bell directly in her skull.

because, god, it had been years since she’d last heard you call her that. since she had been the baby of your little group. the youngest, the smallest, the one trailing behind while you stayed with her and her brother ran ahead.

back then, she hated it.

“i’m not a baby!” nine-year-old sophia had whined, stomping her foot.

but you had only laughed, ruffling her hair and calling her baby anyway, and for some reason. it sounded different coming from you.

so she never told you to stop and now she’s facing the consequences.

her body froze, breath caught somewhere between her lungs and throat. her friends barely had time to react before your arms wrapped around her, pulling her in.

the warmth of you hit her all at once. solid, grounding, impossibly real. she felt everything. the way your chin brushed the side of her head, the slow rise and fall of your chest, the way you smelled exactly how she remembered.

her hands hovered mid-air, uncertain, but her body betrayed her. before she could think, she was gripping the back of your blazer, her fingers curling into the fabric like she needed to anchor herself. because if she let go, if she even moved too fast, she was terrified she’d wake up and this would all be some elaborate, messed-up dream.

her friends were losing their minds behind her. manon’s choked gasp. megan’s loud, “oh, what the fu—” lara grabbing her arm, shaking her violently.

but sophia couldn’t focus on any of it.

because your arms tightened around her just slightly, a slow, lingering squeeze before you pulled back just enough to look at her, hands shifting from her back to her shoulders. your eyes flickered over her face, scanning, like you were checking to see if she was still the same girl from all those years ago.

she didn’t dare move. barely dared to breathe. and then, just like before, just like always, your hand lifted. before she could react, you were ruffling her hair, laughing. “you got taller.”

sophia sucked in a sharp breath.

it wasn’t fair.

how easily you fit right back into place, like you had never left. how you could just stand here, completely unaware of the way her heart had just thrown itself against the bars of her ribs like it was desperate to escape.

she scowled, nose scrunching as she smacked your hand away, even as heat crawled up her neck. “and you got uglier.”

you only laughed, unbothered.

her stomach flipped.

you pouted, tilting your head, teasing. “aren’t you excited? your favorite person is back in town permanently now.”

her favorite person. that's what youve always been. she has a feeling it’s going to stay that way for a long time. she scoffed, rolling her eyes like it didn’t affect her. like you didn’t affect her. “you wish.”

you gasped, pressing a hand to your chest, dramatic as always. “you’re so mean to me.”

“you deserve it.” she grumbled, crossing her arms.

before you could say anything else, another voice cut in.

“wait, hold on—”

manon was staring at her like she had just witnessed the moon landing. her eyes darted between the two of you, a grin way too knowing stretching across her face. “is this the cutie you used to talk about when—”

oh, absolutely the hell not.

“okay, we’re leaving.” sophia grabbed her wrist and dragged her away before she could finish that sentence. “oh, come on!” manon whined. behind her, megan and lara were already snickering.

“wait” lara grinned, “so that was y/n?”

lara finally asked after sophia had dragged them to a more secluded space. sophia glared ahead, jaw locked. “no idea what you’re talking about.”

megan lifted an eyebrow, arms crossed. “liar. your ears are so red”

sophia groaned, picking up the pace, yanking them along with her. the teasing turned into background noise, but the weight of it all settled onto her chest.

you were back. after years of being gone. after she thought she had finally let go of whatever childish feelings she had for you.

except now, she wasn’t a kid anymore, and neither were you. but the way you had smiled at her. so easily, so effortlessly. like nothing had changed. her stomach twisted.

she clenched her jaw and shoved it all down, deep, where it couldn’t reach her.

it didn’t mean anything.

she wasn’t nine anymore.

and she wasn’t going to let you get to her again.

the second tragedy of sophia’s day was sitting at her dinner table. the first, of course, was the fact that she had spent the entire afternoon thinking about you returning like you never left.

which meant she had gotten absolutely nothing done.

calculus? a lost cause. chemistry? an afterthought. all she could do was replay every second of seeing you again. every teasing grin, every laugh, the way you looked at her the same with a little something she couldn’t pinpoint.

and now, as she stood frozen in the doorway, her stomach plummeted.

because there you were. in her house. sitting comfortably at the dinner table, chatting with her dad like you weren’t the reason she had stared blankly at her notes for hours.

“sophia, honey, welcome home,” her mom’s voice cut through her panic. “come sit next to y/n.”

her heart actually stopped. because, of course, there was an empty seat right next to you.

perfect. just what she needed. another excruciatingly painful evening of trying to act normal around you.

she took a breath, squared her shoulders, and willed herself to move. you looked up as she approached, and there it was again. that smile. the one that had derailed her entire day.

“hey, soph,” you greeted, warm and easy, like it was completely normal for you to be here, in her house, in her life again.

she swallowed, nodding stiffly before sliding into the seat beside you. you nudged her lightly with your elbow. “long day?”

sophia forced herself to breathe. “yeah.”

“extra classes?”

“yeah.”

you hummed, picking at your food. “what’s got you stuck this time?”

“calculus.”

“oof,” you winced

her mom perked up at that, setting down her chopsticks. “oh! y/n could help you with that.”

sophia froze.

you? helping her? absolutely not.

“she’s been acing her ap calculus class,” her mom continued, beaming. “it’s perfect!”

sophia clenched her jaw. of course you did. you were always a natural at things you didn’t even try for. meanwhile, she had been drowning in numbers for weeks, getting nowhere.

“maybe you should let y/n tutor you,” her mom added, smiling like she hadn’t just ruined sophia’s life.

great. fantastic. because the one thing she needed less than anything in the world was to spend even more time with you.

“no thanks,” sophia muttered, stabbing at her food.

you gasped dramatically, hand over your heart. “wow. you wound me, baby.”

sophia choked.

her fork slipped from her fingers. she did not just hear that. you did not just say that. again.

she whipped her head toward you, eyes wide, betrayed. but you just grinned at her, all shameless and teasing, like you hadn’t just sent her into a full-blown internal crisis.

and worst of all? no one else at the table even reacted. her parents just kept eating, like this was completely normal.

like this wasn’t the most earth-shattering moment of her life. her grip tightened around her fork, heat crawling up her neck. “don’t call me that.”

you blinked, tilting your head. “what? baby?”

oh my god.

she kicked you under the table. hard. you yelped, nearly dropping your spoon. “hey!”

she scowled at you, but you were still smiling. that same stupid grin, like you knew exactly what you were doing to her.

“take the tutoring, soph,” her brother chimed in. “god knows you need it.”

sophia turned even redder. “this is none of your business!”

he shrugged. “what? your last test score was—”

“okay! fine!” she snapped, fists clenched. she turned to you, glaring. “you. library. tomorrow. after school. no funny business.”

you raised your hands in surrender, grinning. “scout’s honor.” she narrowed her eyes, warning you one last time before turning back to her food mumbling about you being a weirdo.

it has been a week tutoring and sophia convinced it was torture. she had to always keep herself in check and try to not look to stupid infront of you. but what made it worse is you’re so understanding.

its frustrating.

you never made her feel dumb, never handed her the answers outright. instead, you guided her, nudged her toward figuring things out herself. you’d lean closer always too close. tapping the edge of her notebook as you encouraged her to think it through.

and it worked.

somehow, against all odds, she had started understanding calculus. started answering questions in class, participating.

even her friends had noticed.

“no lara …ive had tutoring.”

“what you need to set me up soph, im drowning”

sophia only rolled her eyes and left class with lara calling out for her.

other than the improvement in her attitude during class, sophia absolutely loathed when you tucked her hair behind her ear so you could see her work.

hated the way it happened so effortlessly, like it was something you did without thinking. like it was just natural to reach over, brush your fingers against her skin, and push those stubborn strands back.

her entire body locking up as she tried desperately to keep her expression neutral, to not let you see just how stupidly, embarrassingly affected she was. hated how it made her feel unsteady.

it made her wonder if you had always done this, if she had just been too young, too naive to notice how close you always were, how easy it was for you to slip into her space like you belonged there.

and when your fingers brushed her skin, when you leaned in slightly she could smell that familiar scent of yours, the one that had embedded itself into her memories. she refused to acknowledge the way her heart kicked against her ribs just like she did last time.

she has grown out of it. so she would force herself to react the only way she knew how. with annoyance. with a sharp, “can you not?” or a dramatic sigh as she swatted your hand away.

rolling her eyes as if that would somehow erase the fact that her face was burning. but it never worked. because you’d just laugh it off completely unbothered. and go right back to helping her like you hadn’t just made her feel butterflies.

whats worse is youd be all sweet after, and treating her to something like boba, ice cream or whatever. just because.

“bubble tea?” she had a problem of never saying no to you. pathetic. she thought to herself. but a small voice in her head was thrilled that you asked. she convinced herself it was the after effects of calculus.

the night was windy. the silence was deafening but also comforting to sophia. she could hear barking in the distance that reminded her of her own dogs and how she was going to be with them after.

you and sophia walked side by side. the quiet was only broken when you asked, casually, like it was just another thought that had floated into your mind, “so, you seeing anyone?”

sophia almost tripped over her own feet. she froze for a full three seconds. before she managed to scoff and shake her head. “what? no”

you hummed, hands in your pockets, tilting your head as you glanced at her. “really?”

she frowned, shifting her backpack higher on her shoulder. “why do you sound surprised?”

you gave her an easy smile, and she felt that stupid tingle creep up her spine again. “c’mon, soph. you’ve grown so beautiful—there’s no way no one wants you.”

she could feel heat creeping up her face before she could stop it. why are you saying this so casually. she forced herself to roll her eyes, trying to act unbothered despite the fact that she was literally about to explode on the spot. “shut up.”

you only laughed, completely unfazed by the way she was actively fighting for her life.

before she could even process what was happening, you reached for her backpack, slipping it off her shoulder effortlessly.

“what—” she started, but you just slung it over your other shoulder, adjusting the straps like it was yours now.

you grinned, glancing down at her with an amused glint in your eyes. “this bag is, like, ten times bigger than you, baby. i don’t even know how you’re carrying this around all day without toppling over.”

sophia gawked at you, her mouth opening and closing. she was offended. she smacked your arm as hard as she could, she knew it did no damge to you. but you still gasped, all dramatic, clutching your chest like she had just mortally wounded you.

“wow” you breathed, “why am i getting bashed for doing public service”

“because i don’t need your public service,” sophia huffed, crossing her arms.

you just laughed, adjusting her bag on your shoulder like it weighed nothing. annoying.

the walk to the boba shop was short, just a few blocks away from campus, but sophia felt every single step. maybe it was the way your arm would occasionally brush against hers, or how effortlessly you carried both of your bags like it was the easiest thing in the world. maybe it was the fact that you had called her beautiful like it was something undeniable. she scowled to herself. no. youre not thinking about that.

before the moment could get quiet again, the boba shop came into view, the neon sign casting a soft glow against the pavement. you pushed the door open, motioning for her to go in first, and she absolutely did not feel anything about that. not at all.

the familiar smell of tea and tapioca filled the air as you both stepped inside. the shop was mostly empty, save for a couple of students hunched over their laptops in the corner. the cashier perked up as you approached the counter, giving a friendly nod.

she watched as you stepped up to the counter with effortless ease, ordering like you’d been doing this for years. she didn’t even need to say anything—you already knew her usual. it was something small, something insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it made her feel something she absolutely did not want to name.

the cashier punched in the order, and before she could even think about reaching for her wallet, you had already handed over your card.

“my treat,” you said, completely casual, like it wasn’t a big deal. “for doing so well in calculus.”

sophia stiffened. you said it like you were proud of her. like it actually meant something. her fingers twitched at her side, the automatic urge to argue bubbling up, but she clamped her mouth shut.

she exhaled through her nose, muttering a small thanks while eyes darting anywhere but at you.

the walk back to campus was calm, the kind of quiet that felt easy. sophia focused on her drink, letting the cold seep into her fingers, every now and then glancing at you as you absentmindedly shook your cup to mix the boba. she hated how natural this was starting to feel, falling back into your orbit like no time had passed at all.

as the campus gates came into view, you turned to her, tilting your head. “you want a ride home?”

sophia shook her head without thinking. “no, it’s okay. basil’s got it.”

you slowed your steps, raising an eyebrow. “soph. he’s gonna leave you stranded for at least an hour” she winced. you weren’t wrong. basil had a horrible habit of showing up ridiculously late. still, she shrugged, acting like it didn’t bother her. “it’s fine.”

you sighed, shaking your head. “c’mon, don’t be dumb. i’ll give you a ride home. i have to pick up something at your place anyway.”

the city lights flickered through the windshield as you maneuvered through the streets. one hand on the wheel, the other lazily adjusting the air conditioning.

its crazy how natural you looked like this. relaxed, the faint glow of passing headlights casting soft shadows across your face. she hated that she noticed.

she looked away quickly, pretending to be very interested in her boba. “so,” you said, breaking the silence, “how’s school been? besides me making you a calculus genius, obviously.”

sophia snorted, shaking her head. “hardly a genius.”

you hummed, shooting her a knowing look. “lara says otherwise.”

“lara?” sophia repeated, trying to keep her voice neutral, but she could already hear the edge creeping in.

you glanced at her, amused. “yeah” sophia knew she was being irrational. knew it was dumb to be irritated by something as small as you acknowledging lara’s existence. but she couldn’t help it. because you were supposed to be hers. you were already invading her space, was it so much to ask that she didn’t have to hear your voice saying someone else’s name?

she took a long sip of her boba, mostly just to have something to do with her mouth that wasn’t pouting like a child. “since when do you talk to lara?”

you laughed, drumming your fingers lightly against the steering wheel. “since she’s in my music club”

oh.

sophia frowned slightly. lara hadn’t mentioned that. she should have known, lara told her everything, and yet somehow, she’d never thought to bring you up? before she could dwell on it, you kept talking.

“she talks about you,” you added, throwing her a quick glance before looking back at the road. “don’t worry, it’s good stuff.”

sophia’s grip tightened around her drink. “…like what?”

you smirked. “like how she overheard the teachers saying you’re almost one of the best in the class.”

her lips parted slightly. what. she didn’t even know the teachers said that. lara never told her. but you knew? how did that make any sense?

she didn’t know what to focus on. the fact that she was apparently good enough to be talked about like that, or the fact that you were the one telling her. she forced herself to scoff, looking away. “tch. what can i say im self made.”

you tapped your fingers lightly against the wheel. “ofcourse you are, you put in the effort. you show up to tutoring, you do practices and you actually care about getting better. you deserve everything good that comes your way.”

her breath caught in her throat.

the words hit her square in the chest, and suddenly, it was hard to breathe. how could someone be this kind? how could you say something like that so easily, like it wasn’t something that would sit in her ribs for the rest of the night?

her fingers tightened slightly around her boba shes surprised it hasn’t exploded and before she could stop herself, her eyes drifted toward you. your profile was illuminated by the city lights outside, jawline sharp, mouth relaxed, brows furrowing just the slightest bit in focus. you looked so… at ease. saying things like this came naturally to you.

because how could she get all the credit when you were the one who spent your free time tutoring her? when you were the one making sure she understood things, guiding her without ever making her feel stupid for free, and still somehow acting like she was the one who had done all the hard work?

she should look away. she knew she should look away. but she couldn’t.

then—

“if you keep looking at me like that, i’m gonna think you’re in love with me.”

her head snapped forward so fast it was a miracle she didn’t get whiplash. “shut up,” she muttered, taking a very long sip of her drink just to avoid saying anything else.

you laughed, amused, clearly enjoying the way she was stunned. “i’m just saying.” she ignored you, staring straight ahead, praying to every higher power that the ride home would be over soon.

as soon as you pulled into the driveway, sophia was out of the car like it was on fire, barely sparing you a glance before disappearing into the house. you huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you followed her inside.

basil was in the kitchen, lazily scrolling through his phone, but he barely got the chance to look up before sophia breezed past him, dropping her bag onto the floor with a little more force than necessary.

“dude, i was just about to head out,” basil said, glancing at her.

“shut up,” sophia muttered, opening the fridge for a cold drink. she needed it with the day she had.

you snorted, leaning against the counter. “yeah, an hour from now.”

basil shot you a look, unimpressed. “why are you even here?”

you grinned, holding up the gaming controller you’d come to grab. “came to pick this up. also, saved your sister from being stranded at school.” basil rolled his eyes dismissing yn.

sophia grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, twisting the cap open as she turned on her heel, fully intending to escape upstairs before she did something stupid.

but before she could make it past the doorway, she felt a gentle tug at her wrist.

she nearly dropped the bottle.

you were still leaning against the counter, a lazy grin tugging at your lips as you looked at her. “my hug as thanks?”

sophia stared at you, her thoughts scrambled. her skin burned where your fingers lightly curled around her wrist. “for what?” she blurted, attempting to sound annoyed, but it came out a little too breathless.

your grin widened. “a week of tutoring and for saving you from sitting around for an hour waiting on basil.”

basil scoffed from the kitchen, but sophia barely heard him over the sound of her own heartbeat.

she hesitated, but you tugged her just slightly closer, tilting your head like you were waiting. expecting.

her body moved before her mind could catch up. stiffly, awkwardly, she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around you in what was probably the worst hug of her life.

but you didn’t seem to mind.

you hummed, warm and solid against her, your arms looping around her shoulders with ease.your comforting scent drowned her receptors.

sophia wanted to shove you. wanted to roll her eyes and scoff and say something sarcastic.

instead, she stayed there for a second too long, breathing you in, feeling the steady rise and fall of your chest against hers and then, before she could completely lose it, she pulled away, muttering a quick, “goodnight,” before practically sprinting upstairs.

rumors had been circulating that alex was planning to confess to sophia at the fundraiser. the very idea made her stomach turn.

she hated alex. he was one of basil’s friends. the one who never missed a chance to add salt to the wound whenever she messed up in front of the group. he made sure she felt like an outsider.

and now, all of a sudden, he liked her?

alex had spent years making her life difficult, and no amount of sudden affection was going to erase that. she wanted to tell him to get lost.

whenever alex pushed too far, you were the one who stepped in, the one who made him back off before things could go too far. you were the only one who ever really seemed to notice when she was uncomfortable, the only one who cared enough to make sure she was okay. and sophia hated the way that made her feel. she hated the warmth that crept in at the thought of you.

sophia groaned, slumping against the lockers as lara dug through her bag. “this is actually my worst nightmare.” sophia scowled, arms crossed tight over her chest.

lara finally glanced at her, unimpressed. “you’re being dramatic.”

“am not.” sophia huffed. “alex is the absolute last person on earth i’d want confessing to me. i mean, the guy made my childhood miserable! he’s a fucking bully and now he suddenly likes me? like, what—am i supposed to just forget years of bullying and fall into his arms?” she threw her hands up.

“i don’t want a confession! all i want is a handwritten apology letter with tears on it”

“who’s confessing to who?”

sophia stiffened. you.

she turned her head just in time to see you strolling up, brows raised in curiosity. the sight of you with hands shoved into your pockets, head tilted ever so slightly as you looked between her and lara.

lara, the traitor, wasted no time in answering. “alex. apparently, he’s planning to confess to sophia at the fundraiser.”

sophia braced herself, expecting you to tease her, maybe even laugh about it.

but instead your expression shifted.

it was subtle. your shoulders tensed just a little, your jaw tightening, something unreadable flashing behind your eyes before you quickly masked it with an easy grin. “oh?” you drawled, but your voice wasn’t as lighthearted as usual. “so, what—he’s just gonna make some big public scene about it?”

lara shrugged. “maybe.”

you scoffed, and sophia swore you rolled your eyes. “you could always just make it clear you’re not interested before he tries anything.”

sophia narrowed her eyes. “what do you care?”

“i dont” you said too fast, you were trying to cut off the conversation before it could lead anywhere dangerous. but then you hesitated, backtracking, exhaling softly through your nose before tilting your head toward her, your voice lowering just a bit. “but you do. and if you don’t like him, that’s kinda annoying, isn’t it?”

she knew you had a point, but she wasn’t focused on that. she was focused on the way your fingers twitched at your sides, the way the muscle in your jaw flexed before relaxing, the way your eyes were carefully fixed on some random spot on the lockers instead of on her.

before she could say anything, your phone buzzed, and you glanced down at it, thumb moving lazily across the screen. “basil said to wait by music room three after school,” you muttered, still half-focused on whatever was on your phone.

lara perked up immediately. “ooh, band practice?”

that finally got your attention. you looked up, smirked, and shot lara a wink before going right back to your phone, like it was nothing. “well see you later.” then you left.

sophia felt it like a physical blow. her stomach twisted, heat creeping up her neck before she could stop it.

that was hers. that wink, that stupid smirk, the teasing lilt in your voice. a jealous feeling clouded her mind.

before she could even think about it, she turned to lara, brows furrowing. “how’d you even know about that?” she tried to sound casual, but there was a slight edge to her voice, one that lara definitely caught.

lara just smiled, slow and knowing, like she was enjoying this way too much. “music club.” sophia clenched her jaw.

for the whole week, sophia couldn’t get a moment of peace. alex had been relentless, hovering around her like an annoying gnat that just wouldn’t go away. he was everywhere. before class, after class, during lunch. and she couldn’t even focus when she was with you.

not because of you, obviously. if it were just you, she wouldn’t mind. but alex had somehow made it his mission to sit with you two every single day, running his mouth and making so much noise that sophia could barely concentrate.

it was finally friday, and she was trying. really trying. to focus on solving an integration problem, gripping her pen just a little too tightly as she stared down at the numbers.

“and then my parents wanted me to go to princeton,” alex droned on beside her, leaning back in his chair smugly. like he belonged there with you two, “but i thought—”

sophia didn’t even look at him. she just clenched her jaw and kept scribbling in her notebook, pointedly ignoring him.

you, on the other hand, were visibly tense. she could tell by the way your fingers tapped impatiently against the table, the way your jaw clenched tight and defined, the muscle flexing beneath your skin.

she hated that she noticed.

alex was still talking. still. he had barely shut up the entire session, and it had been four whole days of him yapping while she was just trying to learn.

you exhaled sharply through your nose and finally snapped, turning to him with an expression so flat it sent a thrill through sophia’s spine.

“alex,” you said, voice edged with frustration. “shut the fuck up.”

alex blinked. “huh?”

you tilted your head, feigning patience, but your tone was anything but. “for the past four days, you’ve done nothing but talk about shit no one cares about while soph is literally trying to learn. do you even need to be here?”

alex scoffed, shifting in his chair. “damn, no need to be so hostile.”

“no, actually, i do,” you shot back. “because you’re annoying as hell and we’re trying to focus. so unless you suddenly became a calculus tutor, fuck off.”

sophia had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. the look on alex’s face was priceless. eyes wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water before he muttered something under his breath and stood up, huffing as he stomped off.

you let out a long sigh, rubbing your temples before turning back to her.

“finally,” you muttered. “now, where were we?”

sophia blinked down at her notebook, heart skipping a beat. “integration” she murmured.

sophia woke up to the soft glow of sunlight filtering through her curtains, warming her face. but more than that, she woke up to the sound of music. faint but distinct, a steady rhythm pulsing through the floorboards.

she groaned, burying her face into her pillow for a moment before sighing and pushing herself up. rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she shuffled out of bed, still dressed in her pajama shorts and an oversized hoodie, her hair a mess of waves from sleep.

it was saturday. finally. she’d been dreading the weekend for one reason only. alex’s ridiculous plan to confess at the fundraiser. but after you had told him to fuck off in the bluntest way possible, she was praying he’d finally take the hint and drop it.

but that wasn’t her concern right now. because where the hell was that noise coming from?

barefoot, she padded downstairs, the music growing louder as she made her way to the basement door. it wasn’t just any music. it was live music, the deep hum of a bass and the sharp strum of a guitar.

she pushed the door open and peeked in, blinking at the sight before her.

basil and the rest of the band were scattered around the basement, instruments in hand, deep in the middle of rehearsal. the air buzzed with the sound of drums, the occasional offbeat note, and laughter between takes.

but her gaze landed on you immediately.

you were sitting on a stool, guitar resting on your thigh, fingers effortlessly plucking at the strings. you were focused, brow slightly furrowed, bottom lip caught between your teeth. and god, it was stupidly attractive.

before she could even process that thought, you looked up—and your gaze locked onto hers.

for a second, the rest of the basement faded away.

your eyes flickered down, taking in her disheveled appearance, and then you grinned, that slow, teasing kind that made something in her stomach tighten. “morning, sleeping beauty.”

sophia huffed, crossing her arms, suddenly very aware of how she must look. “why the hell are you playing so early?”

“it’s literally noon.”

she scowled, making you chuckle as you set your guitar down, leaning forward on your elbows. “you mad ‘cause we woke you up or ‘cause you missed half the practice?”

her cheeks warmed. half the practice? how long had you been down here? she glanced at basil, who just raised a brow at her knowingly before returning to tuning his bass.

“whatever,” she muttered, shifting on her feet. but before she could turn to leave, you reached out, catching her wrist gently.

“stay,” you said, softer this time. “we’re almost done, and you can judge our setlist.”

sophia hesitated. the way your fingers curled around her wrist—light but firm—made her brain stall for a second.

but she rolled her eyes, feigning disinterest. “fine. but if it sucks, i’m telling you.”

you smirked, giving her wrist a small squeeze before letting go. “wouldn’t expect anything less from you, baby.” her cheeks immediately turned red.

sophia couldn’t stop staring.

you moved effortlessly, arms flexing as you adjusted the equipment in the truck, the fading sunset casting a golden glow on your skin. your sleeves were rolled up, exposing the lean definition of your forearms, and when you lifted a speaker into place, the wind tugged at the hem of your white button-up, lifting it just enough to reveal a sliver of your stomach.

“soph, get the fuck in the car.”

her brother’s voice snapped her out of it. she blinked, heat creeping up her neck as she realized she had been blatantly staring. jesus christ.

rolling her eyes to play it off, she huffed and strode toward the truck. she was dressed for the fundraiser. her silky top tucked neatly into a fitted skirt that accentuated her figure, her hair styled effortlessly, makeup subtle but effective. she knew she looked good. she just wished she wasn’t thinking about whether you thought so too.

she barely had a second to settle into the truck before you slid in beside her. and then another bandmate followed, cramming into the seat on your other side.

the space was ridiculously tight.

sophia sucked in a breath as your thigh pressed flush against hers. your shoulder bumped into her, and you let out a quiet grunt, shifting slightly. only for the guy next to you to do the same, squeezing you further into her space.

“fuck,” you muttered, glancing down at her. “okay, this is—hold on.”

before she could process it, your arm lifted and draped over her shoulders.

her breath hitched.

“what the hell are you doing?” she hissed, stiffening.

“trying to not breath down your neck,” you deadpanned, tilting your head toward the guy practically squishing you from the other side.

sophia clenched her jaw, but she didn’t shove you off. mostly because you were right. the way you were packed into the truck, this was the only way to make it even remotely comfortable. but also…you were warm. and close. and smelled stupidly good.

your fingers lightly rested against her arm, thumb brushing against the fabric of her sleeve as you got settled. and when you turned your head slightly, murmuring, “better?” so close to her ear, she almost forgot how to function.

she exhaled through her nose, rolling her eyes as if her pulse wasn’t racing. “couldn’t get any worse.”

you chuckled, clearly amused, but you didn’t say anything else. just relaxed into the seat, arm still loosely slung around her. and sophia sat there, unmoving, fighting the urge to lean into you.

the whole ride was oddly comforting. light chatter from the front row with the soft music playing.

the way your fingers absentmindedly tapped against her arm, keeping time with the soft beat of the radio. the occasional hum under your breath when a song you liked came on. the lazy tilt of your head against the seat, eyes half-lidded, relaxed, completely unaware of the absolute disaster unfolding beside you.

she felt trapped. surrounded. every inhale filled her lungs with you. she hated to admit that she liked it.

the truck rumbled to a stop, and sophia barely had a second to process before she felt you shift beside her. your arm, the one that had been slung so casually over her shoulders the whole ride, lifted away, leaving behind a ghost of warmth that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

she exhaled sharply. god, she needed air.

but before she could bolt, the door swung open, and basil was already barking orders.

sophia rolled her eyes as she slid out of the truck, stretching her arms over her head, letting the crisp evening air cool the heat simmering under her skin.

the fundraiser was already coming to life around them. the sun was starting to lower on the horizon, painting the sky in warm hues of orange. carnival lights flickered on, illuminating the fairground in a golden glow. the scent of fried food and kettle corn drifted through the air, mingling with the distant laughter of kids running past.

but before she could take it all in, a heavy weight landed on her shoulders.

“carry that inside, yeah?”

sophia scowled at basil, who had just dropped a coiled-up cable over her like she was some kind of pack mule. “are you serious?”

basil only shooed her away. before she could snap at him, you walked past, effortlessly carrying an amp under one arm, a guitar case slung over your back. you shot her a grin over your shoulder. “c’mon, soph, at least pretend to be helpful.”

she grumbled something under her breath but followed anyway, dragging her feet as she carried the cable toward the stage area.

sophia cleared her throat, shifting on her feet. “alright, i’m gonna go find lara,” she announced, directing it mostly toward you and basil as you both worked on setting up. she needed to move, to go, to be anywhere but here—somewhere alex wouldn’t find her.

but before she could slip away, you turned to her, wiping your hands on your jeans, eyes locking onto hers, big wide doe eyes. “hey, you’re gonna come watch us play, right?” almost pleading. like her presence mattered

and god, why couldn’t she say no to you? why was that even a question?

she hadn’t seen you play in years. not since you were kids messing around in her garage, when your hands were too small to reach all the chords properly, when you’d grin at her between strums like you knew she was watching.

and now? now you were standing in front of her, taller, sharper, so much cooler than before, looking at her like it would make a difference if she was there.

she knew she should say something, but her mind was blank, lost in the way you tilted your head, looking at her expectantly.

sophia swallowed. tried to look unaffected. failed miserably.

“yeah,” she blurted out, barely a whisper. then, as if that wasn’t pathetic enough, she cleared her throat and tried again. “yeah. of course. i’ll be there.”

your face lit up instantly, all bright eyes and easy joy, and before she could even process what was happening, you wrapped your arms around her.

your arms were strong but gentle, warm but not suffocating, like you were made to hold her. you smelled like soap and a little bit of sweat from moving equipment, and it should not be as intoxicating as it was.

her hands hovered awkwardly on your back. patting it lightly not enough for you to notice, but enough for her to feel like she was about to melt straight into the ground.

then, just as quickly as you hugged her, you pulled back, grinning.

“awesome,” you said, still holding onto her arms for a second before finally letting go. “i’ll look for you in the crowd.”

she just nodded, not trusting herself to speak. and then scurried away to find lara and get alex out of sight, out of mind.

after what it seemed like minutes of having fun with her friends. the sun started to set slowly. and that was her que to leave. “gotta go guys” she said amongst the laughter.

“what. why so early?” megan perked up. “shes going to see her hot rockstar girlfriend” said lara with a smirk.

lara’s smirk deepened when sophia didn’t immediately deny it. “oh my god,” she drawled, nudging megan. “did you see that? she hesitated.”

sophia’s eyes widened, heat creeping up her neck. “i did not hesitate.” megan gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to her chest. “you totally hesitated.”

sophia groaned, shoving at lara’s shoulder. “she’s not my girlfriend.”

“yet,” lara shot back smoothly.

“shut up,” sophia muttered, but her ears burned.

her friends weren’t letting up. “nah, this is crazy,” megan grinned. “you got all dressed up just to go watch her play, huh?”

“that’s- i always look good!” sophia stammered. They were so annoying.

lara sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “it’s okay, soph. we get it. the effortlessly cool guitarist, the stage presence, the stupidly hot arm veins—”

before lara could even finish her sentence, sophia was already looking the other way, walking to the stage. she didn’t even turn around. she just flipped them off as she walked away, which only made them cackle harder.

sophia could already feel it before she even saw you—the buzz of anticipation in the air, the excited murmurs from the crowd, the way her pulse started to pick up as she pushed through the sea of people. and she finally got a good spot in the middle.

and then you walked onto the stage.

and sophia completely forgot how to breathe.

god.

the warm tones of the sunset traced every sharp angle of your jaw, the slope of your nose, the stray beads of sweat along your temple. the silver rings on your fingers caught the light as you flexed your hands, rolling out the tension before picking up your guitar. your sleeves were haphazardly rolled to your elbows, exposing the lean muscle of your forearms, your collarbones peeking through the loose neckline of your button-up.

you looked unreal.

her breath stalled in her throat as she watched you tilt your head back slightly. her fingers twitched at her sides, like some pathetic, desperate part of her wanted to reach for you.

then the first strum of your guitar broke through the air, and the sound of it. low and rich and you sent a shiver down her spine. the band kicked in, bass thrumming in her chest, drums pulsing like a heartbeat.

she wanted to keep watching forever. but then something blocked her view. a shadow fell over her, and her stomach dropped.

her focus wavered just enough for her to realize. alex.

he was saying something, voice edged with nervous excitement, but she wasn’t listening. couldn’t listen. not when you were right there, bathed in golden light, bass slung over your shoulder, looking like something out of a fever dream.

then, as if you could feel her staring.

you looked at her.

the air in her lungs vanished.

it wasn’t immediate. you didn’t react at first, just held her gaze, steady and unshaken, fingers still moving over the strings, body still swaying with the rhythm. but sophia felt it.

the weight of it. the intensity of it.

your lips parted slightly as you breathed through the lyrics, loose strands of hair falling into your face, eyes barely lidded under the glow.

she had to look away. because if she didn’t, if she kept looking, if she let herself fall for you again and she wasn’t sure she’d survive it.

alex was still talking. something about how he’s liked her for a while, how he wanted to tell her properly, how he knew the timing wasn’t great. her pulse was still in her throat.

her thoughts were spiraling. all she could think about was you. she felt exposed. like something inside her had cracked wide open, and every feeling she had been pushing down for years was crawling out, raw and desperate, begging to be acknowledged.

she had spent too long convincing herself this was over. that whatever she felt for you was just nostalgia, and that she wasn’t still looking at you the same way she did when she was nine. hopelessly smitten.

she was right back where she started. and she was drowning in it.

“—so would you go out with me?,” alex was saying infront her. but all she could look at was you.

she barely even registered his voice. her thoughts were screaming. she needed to stop this. she needed to push it all back down, needed to bury it so deep it never saw the light of day again.

before she could think, before she could stop herself, the words were already tumbling out.

“yes, alex. i’d love to go out with you.”

346 notes · View notes

pretentious-blonde · 2 days ago

Text

finally

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: in the aftermath of everything, steve comes to one undeniable realisation—he has to let you in. he just hopes you’re ready for what he's about to give.

warnings: 18+ this contains smut, angst (what's new?), scars, crying, body insecurity, arguments, explicit smut, p in v, body worship kinda, it's so sappy guys

a/n: this is so long and was incredibly difficult to write, i swear i was struggling and probably deleted and rewrote each part at least twice. i really hope i did this justice. but buckle up because this is a rollercoaster.

series masterlist

Steve slipped through the front doors of the school before the sun had fully risen, a ghost drifting in silent halls. The echo of his footsteps against the polished floor was unnerving without the usual morning ruckus. Only a couple of bleary-eyed janitors acknowledged his presence with a nod, too occupied to question why he was there so early.

Truthfully, he hoped they wouldn’t ask—because no explanation would ever sound right. But then again, that was nothing new.

He headed straight for the gym, heart pounding like a trapped animal in his chest. He could feel it throbbing in his ears, overshadowing even the squeak of his trainers on the spotless tiles. Rounding the back corner, he found the small set of showers—an afterthought of a space once used for older students or the occasional sports camp.

He dropped his bag onto the bench, the sound echoing in the stark emptiness. Then, without hesitation, he tugged the clothes off his body—jumper and joggers, the ones he’d gone to sleep in. He couldn’t even remember how he’d managed to find his other clothes in his scramble to leave your place. His head had been too clouded with shame and panic.

But now, he wanted them off—his mind was already overstimulated, and the added fabric against his skin was only making it worse.

The steady flow of the water was comforting, constant in a life that felt like it was careening off the rails. He stepped under the stream, letting the hot spray pelt his skin. It stung at first, just a little too hot, reminding him that he was still alive—still breathing, still here. He forced his eyes shut, shoulders slumping as steam enveloped him.

He didn’t want to think about anything, yet the images came unbidden. Your face. The look in your eyes when he lost control, when he gripped you hard enough to bruise. It flickered behind his closed lids, bright and aching.

The memory of that moment—your shock at his exit—slammed into him like a punch. A strangled groan escaped him. He raised his fist to the tiled wall, teeth gritted, so close to just letting go and smashing it. So very close.

No. Don’t. Not again.

He could almost hear his therapist’s voice.

Nothing good ever comes from hurting yourself.

But what about the hurt he inflicted on you?

Because—Christ, that was worse.

Worse than any bruise he could plant on his own flesh.

Part of him wanted to hurt. He deserved it after laying a hand on you. He couldn't stomach the thought of how those marks would look on your skin now—the shape of them a perfect match to his hand. Proof of his failure to protect, to be gentle.

He was supposed to be better than this.

He was supposed to be getting better.

The water slowly turned tepid, so he twisted the knob off with a hiss, breath still ragged as steam ghosted around him. His hair dripped in limp strands around his face.

Only after stopping the shower, he remembered something vital.

No towel.

He nearly laughed—a dark, bitter chuckle that caught in his throat. Nothing like standing drip-dry in an abandoned changing room. He hated the feeling of his exposed skin, even on the best of days.

He grabbed the abandoned jumper from the bench, pressing it to his body to wick away the water. The material felt clammy and foreign, but he pushed through, feeling each drop like another reminder of how he never planned anything right anymore.

When he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he grimaced. The reflective surface was warped with condensation, but he could still see the angry marks etched across his torso—the largest slash running from his hip bone to just under his ribs. His stomach clenched at the sight. It didn’t matter how many times he’d seen them; it always felt like the first.

He thought back to who he used to be. Cocky, a little arrogant, but at least he was whole.

He used to swagger around the high school hallways, grin on his face, chest puffed out like he owned the place. Back then, he was King Steve, the golden boy—girls would practically sigh when he peeled off his shirt at the pool, drawn to his tanned skin and slick confidence.

He could remember the way their fingertips would graze along his sides, warm and curious, sometimes shy, other times bold. He lived for it—lived for the validation of their longing stares, the flush of their cheeks when they realised they wanted him.

Now, he could barely stand his own reflection.

The raised scars were ragged lines cutting across the person he once was. Each one told a story of violence, of fights he barely survived. The old Steve had worshiped the feel of someone’s palms sliding over his smooth skin; this Steve was terrified of letting anyone see the mess underneath his clothes.

He was certain no one would ever touch him like that again—not without flinching. And why wouldn’t they flinch?

You didn’t.

The thought stabbed at his gut. He pictured your reaction when he first showed you the state of his arms—the complete lack of revulsion in your eyes. But those were just his arms. There was no telling how you’d react to the rest of him.

Maybe you’d feel obligated to tell him it didn’t matter—but he knew it would matter. It was too ugly, too raw, too real. His fingers ghosted over the ridges and valleys of ruined flesh, hating every inch of it, mourning the boy who used to be so sure that anyone’s hands on him were a promise of pleasure, not a reminder of pain.

He squeezed his eyes shut, letting a shaky exhale pass through his lips.

He wished he could go back—so fucking badly.

Not just to yesterday, but to his younger self, to tell him to run and never look back. That’s what all his friends had done, anyway. Max, Lucas, Nancy, Dustin—they all left the moment they had the chance.

But then again, if he hadn’t stayed, who would have been there to protect them?

He didn’t regret that.

Staying had felt safer, clinging to the familiar. At least he had Robin. But now, all he did was look back on the life he could have lived, replaying the possibilities like a song stuck on repeat.

Back to simpler days when he reveled in stolen kisses behind the bleachers, back when the biggest problem was heartbreak or a lost basketball game. But he couldn’t rewind time. He was stuck here, carrying an inventory of scars on his skin and secrets in his soul, all of them carved by battles he never volunteered for but fought anyway.

Selfless and stupid.

So fucking stupid.

Cautiously, he stepped away from the mirror. His boxers slid up over damp thighs, sticking uncomfortably, a reminder of how unprepared he’d been for all of this. As he tugged on his jeans from yesterday, he caught another glimpse of those twisted lines on his hip, and his stomach churned.

You’ll never look at him the way the others did.

Especially after this morning.

He couldn’t let that self-hatred bloom right now, not when he still had to make it through the day.

He pulled the shirt over his head, careful not to aggravate the scar tissue. It still stung sometimes, and the shock of cool air against his wet skin made him shiver. One final glance at the mirror, and he felt that hollow ache gnaw at his chest again.

He looked so far from the King Steve of old—his hair flat, his eyes rimmed, nothing left of that youthful swagger but a faint ghost.

Clenching his jaw, he bent down to pick up his bag. The clothes serving as a flimsy barrier between him and the rest of the world. A world that didn’t know the truth, a world that would never see the depth of his shame.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, ignoring the pounding guilt that told him he’d never be worthy of touch or tenderness again. With slow, deliberate steps, he turned away from the mirror.

He was fully dressed, but it didn’t matter. Underneath the fabric, he was still raw, still marked, still broken—and no amount of clothing would ever change that. He couldn’t hide in this empty locker room forever. He had to face the day, face the kids, face you—except he wasn’t sure he was ready for that. Not after he’d left you in pieces.

Get through the day, just get through the day.

The weight of it all made his steps feel leaden. When he emerged from the gym, the halls were still quiet. Everything was tinted in a dull gray that matched the cold ache in his bones. In a few hours, the corridors would be flooded with laughter, questions, and chatter, and bright eyes would turn to him for guidance.

The thought made his stomach churn.

How could he possibly guide them?

But there was no time to linger. He had to keep moving—because if he stopped, even for a heartbeat, he’d sink so far that he might never resurface.

It had happened before. And he had managed to pull himself out once, but there was no telling if he could do it again.

The only thing you felt as you stared at the door was complete numbness.

Your body trembled, each breath catching in your chest as you try to wrap your mind around the fact that Steve just…left. Walked out without even a backward glance in your direction.

The echo of the door closing still rings in your ears, and you swear you can feel it vibrating through the room, a certainty that he isn’t coming back.

You’d called out, desperate, begged him not to go, pleaded for him to stay and fix this horrible mess that you had no idea how to navigate. He didn’t so much as hesitate. He saw the hurt in your eyes, registered the tremble in your voice, and still decided to leave you here alone.

And that’s what fucking hurt the most.

It hits you in waves: confusion, anger, aching in your chest so sharp you think it might just hollow you out from the inside. A mix of emotions tangles in your mind, and you can’t believe this is the same man who’s been so gentle, so sweet, who made you feel seen and wanted. Protected, always.

The sting of betrayal ignites something bitter—how could this man, the one who’d look at you with such warmth, so casually vanish when you needed him most?

You press a hand to your face, feeling the tears slip between your fingers. In a distant corner of your mind, you register that you’re shaking, your knees threatening to give. The memory of him grabbing you in the throes of that nightmare is still fresh, sharp as a newly opened wound.

You can practically feel his grip on your wrist, the surge of his panic flooding you as he relived some horror. As frightening as it was, you understood—or at least, you tried to. Night terrors were real; you’d seen enough to know you couldn’t blame him for something he wasn’t even awake to control.

That was all explainable.

What truly rips you apart inside is that he ran before you could even talk it through.

You would have endured the pain in your wrist a hundred times over if it meant you didn’t have to deal with this gaping sense of abandonment. You needed him here, not just physically but emotionally—to see the remorse in his eyes, to hear his voice, to feel his arms around you as he promised this would never happen again.

You wanted him to sit down with you, both of you maybe still trembling from the shock, and figure out how to handle it next time. Because you already know you’re in too deep to pretend you can just walk away.

If this was going to be part of the reality you shared, then so be it—you’d find ways to cope, to help him. That’s what people do when they care about each other.

They stay and talk and try to understand.

But he didn’t. He vanished, leaving the sharp tang of fear and heartbreak in his wake. And the one person who can stitch you back together is also the one who tore you apart in the first place.

Worse, there’s a small voice whispering in your mind that he might not trust you at all, that he doesn’t believe you can handle this darkness—or maybe that he doesn’t want you to see how deep it really goes. It crushes you. If he can’t open up in a moment like this, when you’ve already witnessed him at his most vulnerable, how can you ever feel safe being vulnerable in return?

Your eyes drift again to the door, half-expecting him to change his mind and burst back in, breathless and apologetic. But the knob remains still, the room silent except for your ragged breathing.

A profound sense of loneliness steals over you. You almost consider marching right out, driving to the school, demanding he talk to you. Let him try to brush you off in front of everyone—let him see you won’t be turned away so easily.

But common sense, or maybe just the last shred of your pride, holds you back. You know better than to cause a scene, especially around innocent kids who don’t deserve to see two adults unraveling.

At length, you retreat to your bedroom, hands fumbling for clothes that feel safe and soft. You pick a long-sleeved top, something that covers the marks on your arm. The bruises throb with each movement, a physical reminder of everything that happened. Every time you rotate your wrist, the ache spikes, and fresh tears threaten to break free.

You don’t know which hurts more: the bruises or the empty space where Steve should be, reassuring you that he never meant to cause you pain.

Downstairs, you force yourself into a routine. There’s an order on the desk, scheduled for pickup later today—simple enough to pack, something you can do on autopilot. You line the boxes, arrange the contents, trying to focus on each small task. But your wrist protests every time you bend it, and it’s impossible not to recall the panic in his voice, the wildness in his eyes when he woke.

You push through the discomfort, desperate for a distraction, but all it does is magnify the emptiness in your chest. When the last box is sealed, you exhale a shaky breath and rub your forehead, wishing you could smooth away the swarm of thoughts churning behind it.

You decide you’ll work the shop until the customer comes, feign a smile and some semblance of calm, then close up early. Maybe after that, you can collapse into bed and let yourself cry until your eyes ache more than your arm. Maybe you’ll try to sleep, or maybe you’ll just stare at your phone, hoping Steve will call.

You hate how much you want him to, but you can’t help it.

Because despite everything, he’s the only one who can stitch these pieces of you back together in any meaningful way.

You don’t want to think about it, yet it’s all that occupies your mind. He’d been terrified, and that knowledge twists your sympathy and anger together in a knot so tight you feel you might suffocate from it.

The part of you that cares for him wants to comfort him, hold him until those nightmares fade. The part of you that’s hurt wants to shake him and demand he never, ever do this again.

You aren’t sure which part is stronger.

You brace yourself for customer service mode, plastering on a polite smile you know won’t reach your eyes.

And after that, you’ll close up shop and let your thoughts spiral in circles, trying to figure out if there’s a way to mend what’s been broken.

Because, really, what else can you do?

You can’t go back to pretending everything is fine, not when you have the proof etched into your skin. And you can’t move forward until he decides to talk—if he decides to talk at all.

He hadn’t slept. Not really.

The night blurred into a half-awake haze where every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face. It was the only thing he had left since you had been dodging his calls.

He’d told you he would—call that is—or at least, he thought he did. It was all so garbled and panicked, words tumbling out in a half-choked stream as he fled, too ashamed to look at your panic-stricken form for one second longer.

At first, he wondered if you’d even heard. The confusion in your gaze suggested maybe you hadn’t.

None of this would have made sense to you anyway.

He could barely comprehend it himself.

When lunchtime came around at school, he tried. He dialed your number on the ancient landline in his classroom, pressing the handset so tightly to his ear that his knuckles turned white. The phone rang on and on, that endless tone droning in his head like an alarm. Then, voicemail. No click of your voice picking up, no hesitant greeting, nothing.

It was the first sign something was off. You’d always said it was important to answer—it could be a customer, after all.

He set the phone down slowly.

Maybe you’re out.

But that uneasy feeling lodged itself in his chest, refusing to let go. You hardly ever left during your lunch hour.

He tried again after class ended, his nerves coiled tighter than a spring as he tapped his foot under the desk. Every glance from a passing teacher through the door felt like it burned straight through him—like they all knew he’d done something awful.

And it showed, too: even the kids had been oddly subdued, their usual energy muted by the forced smile he gave them, the one that never reached his eyes. He wanted to tell them, he wasn’t mad at them. That they didn’t do anything wrong.

But he did.

He couldn’t find the words. Not when all he could think about was how he’d scared someone he cared about, even if it was an accident.

The phone rang and rang again, no answer.

By the time he walked the entire route back to his place, he was ready to crawl out of his skin. He tried once more after he closed his front door behind him, your number already lodged in his mind like a reflex.

Nothing.

Not a peep.

His heart felt like it was in his throat. You always pick up. Especially in the evenings.

He remembered all those late-night calls, you answering groggy but delighted, telling him he was being stupid for staying up so late. Then you’d laugh, that sweet, half-asleep giggle he’d come to adore, and he’d cling to the sound like a lifeline.

You’d talk until dawn sometimes, spinning stories, sharing secrets. That memory cut him now like glass—because tonight, there was only silence on the other end.

And that was the second strike.

When he tried one last time before bed—gripping the handset with both hands to his ear—and still got no answer, the panic set in.

Hard.

He could practically hear your voice in his head. But the ring trilled on, eventually sliding into voicemail again. The emptiness felt like a personal betrayal, even though he knew he was the one who’d run from you.

Maybe you hated him now.

He wouldn’t blame you.

Or maybe you were hurt and couldn’t bear to speak to him. Neither possibility let him sleep.

But that still didn’t make sense to him. Not answering when you didn’t even know it would be him.

He almost dialed Robin’s number, thumb hovering over the buttons. She’d know what to do—she always did. She’d give him some tough-love pep talk, maybe call you herself. But he pictured the horror on her face when she found out the full extent of what happened, how he’d latched onto you during that nightmare and left you with marks in the shape of his fingers.

Would she see him differently now? As a threat? A monster?

He couldn’t stomach that. Couldn’t lose her too. So he didn’t call. He just let the phone drop back on the holder and stared at the ceiling until morning.

The next day only confirmed his worst fears—still no answer. He tried you at every spare moment, hands shaking so badly sometimes he nearly dropped the receiver.

He told himself he was a coward for doing this over the phone, but the alternative was to walk right up to your shop and risk you slamming the door in his face. He couldn’t decide which would hurt more: your silence over the line or seeing rejection in your eyes.

But the silence was brutal. It chipped away at him, driving his mind into overdrive with possibilities. That unwavering habit of yours to always answer, to be available, had been so endearing. Now it had morphed into a warning sign.

No answer meant something was wrong.

No answer meant trouble.

No answer meant danger.

The more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t shake it. By afternoon, he was in his car, driving too fast through the quiet neighborhoods of Hawkins, heart rattling in his rib cage like it wanted out. Each stop sign felt like an obstacle, every slow driver a personal torment. A voice in his head whispered that maybe this was all in vain—maybe you wouldn’t even want to see him.

He had to do something. If you were in trouble, if you were shutting down, he couldn’t just sit at home wracked with guilt.

He owed you more than that. He could understand that now.

When he finally screeched to a halt in front of your place, he killed the engine in one rough jerk, not caring that the car was crookedly parked. His hand trembled on the door handle as he climbed out, the sight of your shop sending a jolt of dread through him. It wasn’t as bright, as welcoming. The windows seemed dimmer, as though the life had bled from the space.

Or maybe it’s just you that’s gone dark.

An icy wave of guilt twisted in his stomach.

He tried the door, a gentle pull at first that quickly escalated into a desperate yank when it wouldn’t budge.

Locked.

You never locked it at this hour, at least not without a sign indicating you’d be back soon. This was abnormal.

Pressing a palm flat against the glass, he peered inside, squinting to see past the faint reflections. That’s when he noticed the state of your desk—papers strewn about, boxes teetering precariously, random books flung as if you’d knocked them over and never bothered to pick them up.

His heart lurched. You hated mess, took pride in keeping everything tidy. He vividly remembered the meltdown you’d had over a weekend rush, how you’d scurried to reorganise everything within minutes.

This was not like you.

A flicker of relief sparked when he realised only that corner was in disarray—the rest of the shop looked intact. But the relief was short-lived. This still screamed trouble. If you were leaving things in such a state, you had to be upset, or distracted, or both.

Shoulders bunched, he thumped on the door, urgency mounting with each second.

“Hey!” he called, the sound cracking in his throat. He said your name once, then twice, his voice rising in panic when only silence answered.

He remembered every unanswered ring on that phone, every message he’d left that was met with nothing but static. Sanding here, it felt like the universe was doubling down on his punishment, forcing him to relive the helplessness all over again.

“Please,” he said, pressing his brow against the glass. “Listen—I know I messed up, but—”

Suddenly, he saw something move at the edge of his vision. A flash of you, stepping from behind a shelf or the back counter—he couldn’t be sure. Relief slammed through him, leaving him momentarily dizzy. He straightened, heart in his throat, eyes drinking in the sight of you like a lifeline.

He wanted to weep with gratitude that you were up. You were moving.

You were alright.

But the instant he registered your expression, his stomach knotted.

You looked exhausted—drained in a way that went beyond lack of sleep. You were wearing the clothes you usually reserved for upstairs, they felt so out of place. No shoes, just those thick socks peeking out from beneath your pajama bottoms. An oversized jumper swallowed your frame, sleeves unrolled for once, hanging past your knuckles instead of pushed up like usual.

The relief that hit him was replaced by a heavier dread. He knew why. The sleeves weren’t for comfort—they were for hiding. He didn’t have to see the damage from a few days ago to know it would be worse by now.

You look broken.

And knowing it was his fault made him wish he could just vanish.

He lifted a hand in a shaky attempt at a wave, lips forming your name in a breathless whisper. The only consolation he had was that you were here, physically okay—at least for now.

His heart lurched the moment he saw you dart for the stairs.

So this is what it feels like.

The helplessness of watching someone run when you need them most.

It gutted him. He wrenched on the handle again, calling your name, more desperate this time. The echoes of what he did—leaving you in exactly the same state—taunted him. His shame rolled over him, drenching him in guilt.

He called your name again, his voice unsteady, and caught a glimpse of you hesitating on the landing. You turned slowly, wary eyes meeting his, your expression pinched, unreadable and indecisive. You looked torn, as if caught between two instincts, sending him away for good or granting him the same chance you had begged him to give the morning he ran.

He wasn’t running anymore.

“Please,” he rasped, voice cracking around the word, “can you—fuck—can you just open the door? I—I just want to talk.”

He winced at how needy it sounded, but desperation had stripped him of all pride. You turned fully, glaring at him with an anger he knew too well.

How dare he ask that of you.

It was a grim understanding, remembering how you’d wanted him to stay and talk.

He watched you stomp to the door. As your hand closed around the lock, he could see the barely contained fury in the tightness of your jaw. The click sounded thunderous in the still of the shop.

“You want to talk?” You snapped, throwing the door open. “Now, Steve? Really?”

His chest constricted, because you had every right to be furious.

It didn’t dull the sting of your words, but he owed you this, owed you the chance to say every bit of anger you’d bottled up. He swallowed hard, opening his mouth.

No explanation came. How could it?

He deserved this.

Your eyes flicked over him and you gave a mirthless laugh, then turned on your heel and marched back inside. He followed, hands sweaty and shaking, shutting the door behind him in a soft click that felt eerily final.

“You wanna talk?” You whirled, arms crossed. “Let’s talk.”

He could feel your gaze cutting into him, but it was the exhaustion limning your features that really made his stomach knot. You looked one harsh word away from shattering into pieces.

He recognised that brand of exhaustion all too well—he wore it often.

“Look, I—I’m so sorry, angel,” he began, voice trembling. The term of endearment slipped out unthinkingly.

“No.” You inhaled sharply, tearing your gaze from his. “You don’t—you don’t get to call me that, okay?” Your breathing was shaky, tears threatening at the edges of your voice.

He swallowed and nodded, stepping back as if to physically rein himself in.

This was worse than he thought.

“Alright,” he whispered. “I won’t. But please, let me say sorry. I—I never meant to scare you like that.”

Something flashed in your eyes, a deep, wounded frustration.

He really didn’t get it.

“Steve,” you said with a weary sigh, “I don’t give a shit about that right now.”

He blinked, thrown. He expected you to rip into him for hurting you, even if it was unintentional. But you pushed on, your voice rising.

“Are you ever gonna talk to me? Like, actually talk?”

“I—” He stammered.

Isn’t that what he was doing right now?

“Of course you’re not,” you said bitterly, eyes flicking to the floor. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Wait—wait, what?” A spike of alarm hammered in his chest. “I promise, I never meant to lay a hand—”

“Jesus, Steve!” You let out a broken laugh that cracked partway through. “I know that! I know what a fucking nightmare is, alright?”

He stared, stunned, as you raked a hand through your hair, tears brimming.

“I can deal with that,” you pressed on, your voice firm despite the weight of the conversation. “People have them all the time—maybe not to that extent, but at least I can make sense of it.”

You took a deep breath.

This was it—the question that had been sitting on your tongue for months, the one you had rehearsed a hundred different ways but never had the nerve to say aloud.

“I know something happened to you—you think I haven’t noticed?” You exhaled sharply, a weak attempt to steady yourself before pushing forward. “I see the way you act around me, how you’re always looking over your shoulder, how you barely let me touch you. Don’t you think I’ve put two and two together by now?”

A twisted sense of dread pooled in his stomach.

So much for keeping everything subtle.

He’d thought he was being careful, showing you just enough to fly under the radar, but apparently not enough.

“I don’t know the details, not really. But I’ve been patient. I’ve been letting you take your time. And that’s fine. But—God—you need to let me in just a little. Anything. Especially if it could get this bad.”

He opened his mouth, a term of endearment on the tip of his tongue, but he caught himself.

“I’ve… I’ve never done this before.”

Your eyes filled with pain.

Is he not even going to try?

“Well, you’re gonna have to figure it out. Because I can’t keep doing this—stumbling around in the dark, watching you shut me out, and getting hurt for trying.”

The fatigue in your voice tore at his heart. He wanted to grab your hands, drag you close, promise that he’d tell you everything if it meant wiping that tortured look off your face. But he knew you needed space to speak, to get it all out.

“You know…I thought about leaving.”

“What?” His eyes widened, the notion shook him.

Leave Hawkins? Leave him?

The panic roared in his veins.

“When you left, I was a wreck,” you admitted, tears quivering on your lashes. “I couldn’t do anything right. The order I had to fill? I screwed it up—completely. And the customer tore me a new one, cursing me out in front of everybody. And I stood there, thinking, ‘Why am I doing this? Why am I giving my all to this place when it gives me nothing in return?’”

It was true—you had uprooted everything to move here, determined to start fresh. And for a while, you thought you could. Especially with him. But every time you tried to move forward, you hit a wall. Resistance. Silence. There was only so much you could take.

This lack of communication was breaking you. Only intensified by the last few days.

“And—I’m not asking for your whole life story,” you said, your voice wavering as you wrapped your arms around yourself instead of reaching for him. He didn’t get that privilege right now. “But it’s like you’re not even trying. Like you don’t want to try. And—and it just—” You swallowed hard, struggling to keep your emotions in check. “It just feels like you don’t trust me.”

His throat constricted at the sight of your tears finally spilling over. He couldn’t hold himself back any longer—he closed the distance in a rush, wrapping his arms around you. You trembled against him, clinging to his shirt as sobs wracked your frame.

He stroked your hair, pressing apologies into the air around you like whispered confessions, though he wasn’t sure if you could hear them over your own grief. But none of that mattered more than holding you right now, than letting you know he was here.

He hadn’t even stopped to consider how hard this was for you—how much you had clung to him, relied on him. And maybe that was his fault. He didn’t know how to be your rock, the person you could turn to when everything else felt unsteady. He had shattered that illusion, along with everything you had given him, leaving you with nothing to hold onto.

Then, in a trembling voice, you muttered into his shoulder, something so small he could barely hear it.

"I just—" You suck in a shaky breath, but it doesn’t help. It doesn’t settle the ache in your chest or stop the way your voice wavers.

"I just feel so fucking stupid—like… like nobody even wants me here anymore."

Oh.

Oh, no.

Sweetheart, you have no idea how wrong you are.

He holds you tightly as you crumble against his chest, your tears soaking through his shirt even harder than before. Each sob you let out is a blow to his heart; your cries cut deeper than any nightmare he’s ever endured. He scrambles for something to say, something that makes sense—something that won’t come out a tangled mess of incoherent feelings.

“Shhh, that’s not true,” he says softly, his voice steady. “Not true at all. Hey—c’mon breathe with me, yeah? That’s not true—I promise, it’s not—”

He had believed shutting you out would protect you, keep his past locked away where it couldn’t taint anyone else. Instead, all it had done was carve deep wounds in the present.

For a moment, he simply stands there, letting you pour out every emotion.

He soon comes to a realisation he hates—one he’s been avoiding, hoping he’d have more time to figure it out. But the way you’re clinging to him now, begging for just a shred of honesty, for something real.

He understanfs that the only way to keep you from spiraling further is to open the door he’s kept barred. He needs to give you a glimpse of the shadows lurking behind his eyes, prove that he trusts you enough to share even the smallest fraction of his past.

He has to try.

He inhales shakily.

Hoping to God this is the right decision.

“It was…” he begins, voice raw. “It was summer of ‘85.”

He’s started now.

Something small. Something safe—at least, safer than the rest.

Something true.

Your breathing stills, as if you’re trying to steady yourself. You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, tears still clinging to your lashes.

“What?” you murmur, confused. But you don’t pull away entirely, you stay close, your fingertips still curled in his shirt.

He nods, exhaling a trembling breath.

Here goes nothing.

“I—I was working the summer with Rob. At the old mall. First real job since graduation. It’s…where I met her.”

His eyes flick away for a second, remembering the cramped ice-cream counter, the corny uniform, and how it had felt like the biggest joke in the world back then. But at least it had been something to do, a way to prove he wasn’t just a washed-up high school jock.

You study him, eyes red but full of concern. He can practically feel your pulse racing under his palms, so he drags in another breath and forces himself to continue.

“It was a crappy gig, honestly. Couldn’t’ve picked something more humiliating if I tried. But hey, it kept me busy—got me out of bed in the morning.” He grimaces, remembering the bright neon of Starcourt, the endless swirl of customers. He presses his lips together, telling himself this is good, that he’s finally doing what you asked.

Show you something. Let you in.

“Got too close to something we shouldn’t have,” he says finally, voice low. “Way too close. Put our heads where they didn’t belong, and suddenly things were…real. They were really fucking real.”

He hesitates, haunted by the memory of secret corridors and muffled Russian transmissions. A slight tremor runs through him, and your hand comes up, brushing gently along his side as if trying to soothe the ache. He wonders if you can feel how tense he is, how his heart is pounding.

Probably.

“It was my fault, really,” he mutters, guilt stabbing at him. “I—uh—I encouraged it. All of us. There were four total—Rob, me, Dustin, Erica. I swear I’ve mentioned ‘em in passing.” He catches the slight nod you give. He’s mentioned Dustin especially, and you’ve always been curious about him. “They ended up moving away after everything. It got too much, and I—I almost lost…all of them.” His voice falters, the words scraping at his throat. “We nearly didn’t make it out in time.”

At the time, he could almost see the humour in it—some twisted, detached part of him had laughed. But, as time passed, the reality of what occurred settled in, sharper than he’d expected.

Being forcibly drugged had blurred the edges of his memory, warping everything into a hazy, disjointed mess. For a while, that had felt like a mercy. But then, piece by piece, the memories began clawing their way back. His doctor called it a trauma response—fragments resurfacing at random, triggered by nothing and everything all at once.

Only they never came back gently. They came in the dead of night, harsh and sudden, a flash of something new, something he hadn’t pieced together before. And with each fragment, the picture became clearer.

He had been closer to dying than he ever let himself believe.

“What do you mean?” you whisper, eyes searching his face. Despite your own heartbreak, you’re looking at him with such compassion it nearly topples the walls he’s built. It’s that look that finally pushes him to give a bit more.

“There was something going on down there,” he whispers. “Something we couldn’t understand—still don’t understand, really. Then the whole place went up in flames. You can read about it in the papers, see how they spun the story.” His eyes squeeze shut, images flashing through his mind: the deafening explosions, the collapsing ceiling. “It was…bad, angel. So fucking bad. I just—” His breath hitches, the memory closing in, “the stuff I saw…I can’t—. sometimes it’s all I see—”

He’s on the verge of unraveling, stuck in the memory of being beaten to a pulp, thinking Robin was gone, not knowing where Dustin and Erica had disappeared to.

It isn’t even the worst of what he’s been through, but it’s all he can manage right now. The rest stays locked away, too heavy, too unfathomable to put into words. He wishes he could give you more, lay it all out in the open, but even this small piece feels like pulling teeth.

Sharing it feels like exposing a fresh wound to the air. He’s terrified you’ll recoil. But instead, you rest your hand over his heart, fingers spread so you can feel how it thunders in his chest. He wraps you up in his arms again.

“I’m sorry I can’t… give you more right now,” he says, voice quivering. “I’m so sorry. I—I thought I was better, y’know? I’ve been trying.” There’s a hollow laugh buried under his words, tinged with self-loathing. “I just—it’s hard. I’m working on it, you gotta believe me—I’m gonna work on it, I want—”

Your eyes glisten as you cup his face, thumbs brushing against his cheeks, silencing him immediately. It’s only then he realises tears have slipped past his defenses—he’s crying, and he didn’t even notice.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, trying to soothe him, nodding to emphasise your words. “You’re okay.”

With tender caution, you lean up and brush your lips against his. It’s brief, but so warm. He kisses you back, just as softly, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he presses too hard.

Pulling away, he’s trembling all over, but there’s a new resolve in his eyes. The weight on his chest feels a fraction lighter.

“I—I’ll tell you everything someday—everything,” he manages, voice husky with emotion, and he means it. Every ugly memory engraved into his mind, the ones that refused to fade—he would tell you them all. “I swear. Just…not now. I can’t. I’m sorry. I want to, but I—”

You press a gentle finger to his lips.

This is a start, you are proud of him for this. It’s not a complete story, but it’s enough. You can work with this new information.

“It’s alright. Really,” you say, voice thick but kind. “Thank you for telling me. I know it’s hard, but you did good, okay? You did really good.”

He’s struck by how your tone is almost parental, like soothing a wounded child.

Strangely, it doesn’t anger him or make him feel weak—it only fills him with a sense of safety. And so he sags against you, letting your arms envelop him, letting himself be held.

“I really am sorry,” he murmurs. “About running off the other day. I don’t—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “I don’t know what happened. I just…I panicked.”

“It was a shock, and I get it,” you say softly with a nod. “But next time?” You arch a brow. “Please don’t run away from someone who’s trying to help you.”

He can’t help the short laugh that escapes him. There’s something genuine in your tone that loosens the last of the knots in his stomach.

“No, you’re right,” he admits, bending his head to meet your gaze. “I won’t.”

“Good.” Your lips twitch into a playful smile. “I’m not that scary, am I?”

“I don’t know,” he teases, leaning down, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You have your moments.”

You roll your eyes in mock offense, but before you can pull back, he slips a hand behind your head and leans in, capturing your mouth in another gentle kiss. He loves the way you smile against his lips, the tension around you both lifting like a receding tide. When he finally draws away, there’s a lingering light in your eyes.

“You’re not actually gonna leave… are you?” he asks quietly, trying—and failing—to hide the anxiety that accompanies the question.

“No. I’m not.” You shake your head, offering a smile. “Was just being dramatic.”

He exhales, relief washing over him. Good, he never would have forgiven himself if he had been the catalyst.

“That’s supposed to be my job,” he counters wryly, and you let out a laugh of your own.

When his gaze drifts to your scattered desk, his brow furrows.

“Is that his order right there?” he asks, tipping his head toward the pile of boxes and papers.

With a sigh, you slip out of his embrace and walk over, eyes lingering on the partially emptied contents.

“Yeah, he took it all out to check it right in front of me,” you explain. “I swear I gave him exactly what he wrote down, but apparently there was a miscommunication.”

He makes a sympathetic noise, stepping up behind you.

“Want help putting it all back?” he offers, hoping the simple act of assisting you might ease some of the tension that still permeates the air.

“Please,” you say softly, and that single word settles in his chest.

This is what he can do right now—help you, make things right, one careful motion at a time.

You both settle into the couch upstairs, nestling between his legs so your back presses snugly against his chest. His arm curves around your waist, the other hand drifting gently through your hair and brushing along your shoulders in soothing patterns.

His voice is soft, almost playful, as he rambles about his old job. It reminds you of stories he’s shared in passing, but never in such detail—like he’s finally letting you peek behind the curtain.

“You know, she actually made a whole tally,” he says suddenly, chuckling under his breath.

“A tally?” you repeat, turning slightly so you can glimpse his expression. There’s a hint of self-consciousness around his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“Yeah,” he confirms, voice warm. “Wanted to keep track of how many times I struck out with girls. Really hammered home that I was ‘off my game.’” He air-quotes the last words, rolling his eyes. The self-deprecating smirk on his face makes you giggle.

“Wow,” you breath out. “Did you manage to score a date at all that summer?”

“God, no,” he groans. The memory clearly makes him cringe. “The uniform made sure of that.”

“Uniform?” you ask, curiosity lighting up your tone.

This is gonna be good.

“I didn’t tell you about that part?” He sighs dramatically, tapping the back of the couch with his free hand. “It was a full-on sailor getup. Hat, shorts—everything.”

“You…dressed as a sailor?” A snort escapes you, and you try to muffle the laugh behind your hand. “Please tell me you still have it.”

“Seriously? No. No I don’t. Think I’ll stick to sweaters, thank you very much.”

You twist around in his lap with a coy grin.

“Aw, come on. Might be a good look on you.”

He shudders theatrically, pulling you closer until you’re resting against him, torso to torso.

“Trust me, I looked ridiculous. The last thing I need is to relive that nightmare.”

You laugh and wind your arms around his shoulders. You were joking about his mishap now, that was a good sign.

“Fine, fine,” you acquiesce. “For the record, I like the way you dress. You have good style.”

He arches an eyebrow, fingers still sweeping through the ends of your hair.

“You think so?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. “Good luck ever getting your shirts back, by the way. I’ve already hidden a few in my room.”

He nods in surrender, before pausing as he recalls something that’s been playing on his mind.

“Wait—did you take the navy one?”

“Hmm, maybe.” You tilt your head with a sly grin.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, though his voice is tinged with amused affection. “I was looking for that last week! Next time, at least give me a heads up.”

You feign contemplation. “I’ll think about it.”

Before he can protest, you lean in and kiss him. It’s soft at first, the way your mouths just brush and part. You can feel the subtle hitch in his breathing as he savours the closeness, smiling against your lips.

The soft noise you make against his mouth sets his nerves alight, and he inches you closer to him by your waist—like somehow, if he just holds on a little tighter, it’ll anchor him to this moment. Your fingers tangle in his hair, a gentle pressure at his scalp, and he exhales a shaky breath into you, revelling in how you get him to respond so easily.

But then your hands slip lower, down his neck until they settle over his chest. It’s a featherlight touch, nothing that should spook him, yet he tenses anyway, that automatic flinch he hates so much. It’s barely perceptible—he’s skilled at hiding it—but you notice.

Of course you do.

You always do.

You pull back, just enough to search his eyes. He reads the hint of disappointment there, though you try to smooth it over with a soft smile. It makes his stomach drop, guilt surging through him.

Why can’t he do it?

After everything.

Why can’t he just let this happen?

Frustration burns in his ribs. Even in these moments, when his guard is down, his body still betrays him.

A sigh leaves your lips, and you shift as if you’re about to slide off his lap—ready to give him space and spare him discomfort. But he can’t let that happen, not when his heart is screaming at him for you to stay.

He grips your hips, halting your retreat, guiding you back into place. You hesitate, blinking at him, confusion filling your features. You don’t push further, though. You just wait, letting him decide what comes next.

His eyes skim every detail of your face, taking in the way your gaze stills, the way your lips part in question. He cups your chin, and the resolution settles in his chest.

He wants this.

He wants you, and maybe it’s time he truly showed it—no more half-measures.

“I…” He begins, slow and steady. “I want… you,” voice low with longing.

Your lips curve slightly, if he wants to play, you have no problem humouring him.

“You can,” you murmur softly, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “You have me.”

He swallows hard, shaking his head. You need to understand his distinction.

“No. I mean…all of you,” he clarifies, his eyes flicking between yours. “I want all of you… against all of me.”

The confession nearly floors you.

This was big—huge. You could see it in the way he spoke, the look in his eyes, the subtlety behind his words. He was really trying, and that alone was a massive step.

You wanted to tell him not to push himself, that he could take his time. But, god, you wanted him to take this step with you.

You were practically aching for it.

“You don’t have to,” you whisper, your words were true. “If this is because of today, I’m okay waiting. I don’t want you to rush.”

Don’t want him to do anything out of obligation.

He exhales, some tension uncoiling in his chest. He hates how scared he is, how part of him is still so damn nervous. But he also knows he’s ready in a way he’s never been before.

“I’m ready,” he insists, voice tinged with a plea. “Please, I… I want this. Want to do this with you.”

You nod—gentle, careful not to draw attention to his vulnerability.

“Okay,” you say quietly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his mouth. “We can do that.”

Your hands rise to frame his face, your thumbs just grazing the underside of his cheekbones. You kiss him once more, and he feels your acceptance, sweeping away the last thread of doubt.

He feels safe here. He feels safe with you.

He breathes against your neck, each kiss lingers, heavy with new meaning.

It’s yearning, it’s hesitation—it’s everything at once. Every emotion he can name, and even the ones he can’t, thrumming through him like a live wire. He’s pressed so close—chest to chest, thigh to thigh—that it almost feels like you share the same heartbeat.

He’s stalling, but you understand. You sense the anxious flutter in his chest, in his movements, the old wounds fueling his wariness.

You know he needs to be the one to cross that line.

He needs to be the one to make that final decision.

At last, he tugs lightly at the hem of your sweatshirt, lifting his gaze to yours in silent question.

You go first?

You respond with a small, encouraging nod, letting him see your readiness—and your patience. Gently, he helps you sit up on the bed, his hands sliding carefully along your sides, fingertips testing their welcome at every shift of fabric.

The tenderness in his touch sends a shiver over your skin, and you watch him exhale a slow breath as though reassuring himself this is safe.

Once the garment is off, he lowers you back down with a featherlight press, settling atop of you. His palm finds yours, lacing your fingers together, a tangible tether that seems to keep him grounded. Uncertainty dances across his expression, but he keeps going, letting himself hover in that intoxicating space between caution and desire.

They say anxiety can heighten pleasure, and right now, he’s drowning in both.

He shifts, adjusting to find a more comfortable position—not just for himself, but for you too. If this was going to be the night he laid everything bare, he needed to get everything else right.

No distractions. No missteps.

He pushes himself up, using the hand still linked with yours, but the second a sharp yelp escapes your lips, he freezes.

Shit.

Your wrist.

Your fucking wrist.

Instantly, he recoils, eyes going wide.

“Fuck—I’m sorry,” he blurts out, his voice shaking with fresh guilt. “I’m—I’m so fucking sorry.”

The weight of it all crashes down on him—the intensity of the moment, the last few days, everything piling on top of him until it’s suffocating. His breath stumbles, his grip loosens, and suddenly, the bed beneath him doesn’t feel so steady anymore.

“I… I can’t do this. I—” He falters, breaking under the strain.

His voice cracks, and you can see it happening—the spiral, the shame rolling over him in waves, dragging him under. But you won’t let him disappear into it.

Not after he’s come so far.

Not after he was so close.

You cup his face in your hands, grounding him, your thumbs brushing gently over his cheeks.

“Steve,” you say firmly, your hands steady as you pull his frantic gaze to yours. “Look at me—hey, look—”

His eyes finally meet yours, wide and scared, like he’s teetering on the edge.

“I trust you,” you say, voice unwavering. “I want this. Okay?”

You soften, letting the urgency slip into something gentler, something he can hold onto.

“Please,” you add, barely above a whisper. Desperate to keep him here, to stop him from retreating into himself. To keep him from running away again.

Your words seem to slice through his panic, and he inhales shakily, forcing himself back.

He can do this.

“Yeah,” he rasps at last, nodding. “Okay. Yeah. I’m… I’m good.” His breath comes in unsteady bursts, the aftermath of an almost-panic detectable in his voice.

For a moment, he just clutches the edge of his sweater, hesitating as if every muscle in his body wants to lock up. You can practically feel the anxiety radiating off him, a pang of sympathy tightens in your chest.

He’s really doing this.

Finally letting you see what he’s kept hidden for so long.

He starts to pull the fabric up, inch by inch, and you swear you feel the tension building inside yourself, mirroring his every move.

Your heart squeezes as you watch him close his eyes, the last of his self-preservation roaring for him to stop. You know exactly how hard it is for him.

It makes you want to reach out, to still his trembling hands. Tell him how well he is doing. But you stay put, giving him the space he needs to do this on his own terms.

Once the material is off, he holds it in a death grip, knuckles bleaching white, and your stomach twists with an ache of empathy.

He’s shaking.

You want to tell him he doesn’t have to be afraid anymore. That scars or not, you’ve chosen him, over and over. But you wait, letting him find his own breath.

When he finally lets the fabric slip from his grasp, you see him glance around, as though searching desperately for a safe place—somewhere to hide the proof that he’s now so utterly exposed.

Your throat tightens, remembering every story he’s told you, every time he’s mentioned wearing hoodies in July, never taking off his shirt by the lake, being careful not to stretch too high in public lest someone catch a glimpse.

How many years has he carried that weight?

He’s kneeling there, half-naked, and the rawness in his eyes makes your heart pound. He looks at you then—uncertain, vulnerable, like he expects you to recoil.

But you don’t. You can’t.

You want him to know that in your eyes, he has never been anything less than beautiful. His scars are part of his story, and you want to learn every chapter if he’ll let you. The corners of your mouth curve into a gentle smile, and you lift one hand, offering it wordlessly. He swallows, then edges closer.

You didn't flinch, after all.

He’s shocked to find himself questioning if he overreacted. From your lack of response, this really was nothing.

The thought is an unsettling, creeping realisation. It’s painful to admit that the words he’s been told so many times might actually be true. That he is—truly—his own worst enemy.

Maybe, it really was all in his head.

What he feels is grief. He doesn’t know what to do with it, doesn’t know how to hold the weight of the unexpected emotion. He is grieving every lost opportunity, feeling dejected as he is the reason he was held back.

You beckon him closer with a simple lift of your hand. It’s a small gesture, but it speaks volumes.

Come here. He’s not alone in this.

There’s a shake in his limbs as he crawls over you, and when your hands come up to rest on his shoulders, he exhales, trying to slow the roar of blood in his ears.

“Do they still hurt?” you ask first. Your fingers ghost along one of the longer scars snaking up his side, and he sucks in a breath.

“No,” he manages. His throat feels tight, so he tries a reassuring smile. “They don’t hurt anymore.”

Not physically, at least. But the reminder of how he got them has always stung somewhere.

Your gaze fills with understanding.

“Can…can I touch them?”

Can I touch you?

He stiffens, pulse kicking into overdrive.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Of course you can.”

Even if he can’t understand why you'd want to.

You surprise him by sliding a hand to his rib cage, fingertips light but deliberate. The sensation makes him tense, then relax. It tickles into a new feeling, one he has yet to feel in an age.

Freedom.

Like some invisible chain has snapped, letting him feel your touch for what it is.

A sigh escapes him when you guide him down for another kiss, deeper this time, your free hand sneaking up to tangle in his hair.

There’s an exhilarating rush as he senses just how badly you still want him—how your hips roll against his, hands clinging to his arms, his torso, fingers curling into his marked skin.

You want this. You still want him. Nothing has changed.

It spreads through him, heating his entire form. You’re pulling him closer, practically begging for more.

It’s euphoric, familiar in a way that sparks memories of his younger self—before the world took a piece out of him. He’d felt invincible back then. And now, as you arch against him, nails grazing lightly along his spine, it’s like a piece of that bold, fearless boy flickers back to life.

Your pyjama bottoms slip off with his help, soft cotton pooling by the bed. He lingers for a second, mesmerised by the sight of you in nothing but your underwear.

He’s lucky. So fucking lucky.

A wave of gratitude swells, a fierce need to show you how seen and cherished you are in return.

His mouth travels over your stomach, up your ribs, scattering kisses like he’s leaving a trail of silent thank-yous. He finally shifts higher, he brushes his lips against your chest—hesitant at first, like he’s testing if it’s okay.

Then he grows bolder, his tongue and teeth teasing against sensitive skin, testing, exploring—soaking in every breathy sound you give him like a delicious reward. He pulls back just enough to glance at you, hair falling into his eyes.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, voice catching in his throat. His fingers find the clasp of your bra, and when he slips it free, he dips his head to kiss and taste at the newly exposed skin. There’s something liberating about the way you curl into him, spurring him on with each gasp.

“You’re… you’re so fucking stunning,” he breathes, His eyes flick up—just to watch. To take you all in.

“So are you.” You manage to speak, through the dizzying sensation of his mouth.

He huffs a laugh, he doesn't believe that for a second.

“You don’t have to lie to me, sweetheart.”

You already had him.

“Not lying,” you say, the sincerity in your flushed face makes his throat constrict.

It wasn’t a lie—he was gorgeous.

Unfairly so.

His hair, wild from your hands, framed his face in soft, unruly waves. His lips, plush and kiss-bitten, parted just slightly as he caught his breath. The sharp cut of his brow bone cast the faintest shadows over his dark, wide eyes, pupils blown with pure lust.

The marks on his body were plentiful, scattered like constellations across his skin—but so was his beauty. The slope of his collarbone, the freckle just above his stomach, the way his chest rose and fell in unsteady rhythm.

“You’re beautiful, Steve Harrington,” you insist, every syllable dripping with conviction.

It sounds so alien to hear the word beautiful tied to his name, but the affection shining in your expression doesn’t waver. A sudden prickle of tears flutters at the corners of his eyes.

You really meant it.

After you'd seen everything.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice thick, embarrassed at how easily you can unravel him. “I’m supposed to be making you feel good, not getting emotional.”

“You want me to stop?” You smile, leaning up to nip at his jawline.

“Never,” he whispers, shaking his head, pressing his forehead to yours.

He never wants you to stop wanting him.

Your underwear joins the pile on the floor, and then he moves to rid himself of his own jeans. He pauses at the button, a sliver of lingering uncertainty present.

He sees the look on your face—entirely filled with desire—it’s enough to banish the last thread of doubt. He shucks them off, letting them fall, then tugs down whatever’s left until he’s utterly bare before you.

He returns above you, his chest hovering over yours. He kisses along your throat, lips trailing heat as he cups your jaw. His fingers slip lower, skimming across your collarbone, down the curve of your waist, until they reach the soft skin at your inner thigh.

“God, sweetheart…” he murmurs, sinking his teeth gently into the spot where your shoulder meets your neck. “All this for me?”

Just at the sight of him?

He slides his hand further between your legs, groaning when he feels how soaked you are against his fingertips.

“Haven’t even touched you properly yet,” he adds, voice rough, thumb circling lazily in a way that draws a quiver out of you.

“Steve,” you plead, your legs fall open wider, begging for more contact.

It’s all he needs to hear.

“More?” He lowers his mouth to your collarbone, pressing a hot kiss there that makes you shiver. “You want more, baby? I’ll give you anything—just say it.”

“Want you inside me,” you manage, voice catching as your nails scrape lightly across his shoulders. “Please… been wanting for so long.”

Too long.

The words rip a ragged sound from his throat, a groan that vibrates against your skin. His mind swims with the idea of being inside you, everything else fading into white noise, but he resists—barely.

He’s torn, wanting to give you exactly what you’re begging for, yet desperate to watch you fall apart on his fingers first. His free hand frames your jaw as he pulls back just enough to see your expression.

After everything, he needs you to feel nothing but pleasure tonight.

No pain, no doubt, just this.

Just him.

“I can take it,” you plead, arching your back and pressing your core more firmly into his hand. “Please.”

“I know you can,” he brushes his lips over your cheek, peppering kisses across your face. “I know,” he soothes, stroking deeper, harder, careful but utterly entranced by your every reaction. “Just a little longer, baby. You’re getting there—I can feel it.”

He’s single-minded, pouring everything into his movements—no teasing, no hesitation—just a relentless focus on pulling you apart, on making you soak his hand.

Every whine tells him he’s doing it right. Every breathless whimper is his reward.

Your breath hitches, and your eyes flutter shut as you feel yourself coming close to the edge. He’s watching you intently, drinking in every flicker of bliss on your face.

It’s enough to unravel whatever composure he has left, but he’s determined to see you through this first. His thumb finds a sweet, sensitive spot inside, coaxing a sudden cry from your lips.

“Let me have it,” he begs as you clench around his fingers. “Then you can have me, alright? I promise. Gonna take such good care of you, angel.”

That final push does it. Your body seizes up, shuddering around his fingers as your climax hits. A breathless moan tears out of your throat, your face tipped back against the pillow. He murmurs your name, transfixed at how you writhe beneath him.

You cling to his wrist as the waves roll through you, and he eases you through it, pressing reverent kisses to your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he can reach.

He’s never seen anything so beautiful. It’s etched into his mind, this image of you, lips parted in bliss, your chest heaving with each ragged breath.

He barely has time to talk before you tug him into a fierce, urgent kiss, your lips parting under his as the aftershocks of your orgasm still tremble through you. He can feel it in the way your thighs quiver around him and the way you cling to his shoulders, desperately pulling him closer.

You need him as badly as he needs you.

“Ready now,” you urgently murmured against his mouth. “Need you—now—please.”

It’s almost painful at this point, having him so close.

“Okay,” he manages, voice husky. His hands slide to your hips, palms nearly trembling from how hard his heart is pounding. “Alright, sweetheart. You have me. Gonna give you what you want, yeah? Waited so long. Been so good for me—”

You have. In more ways than one, offering him patience and reassurance even when he hardly deserved it. Your fingers curl into his hair, tugging gently, and you say two words that make his stomach twist.

“Top drawer.”

He fumbles to reach over, pulling it open to find the box of condoms. He tears one packet open with shaking fingers, rolling it on before positioning himself over you again.

A groan spills from his chest as he drags the tip of his cock through your slick, letting himself feel just how soaked you are. His hips jerk involuntarily at the warm, wet pressure, a low rumble building in his throat.

His past doesn’t exist in this moment—there’s only you, wrapping your legs tight around his waist, urging him closer. The sensation of your ankles locking behind his back sends a jolt of pure desire down his back.

His eyes flick up to yours as he presses in—slow, savouring every fraction of an inch. A tightness gathers at the base of his spine when he feels the snug heat of your pussy welcoming him. You draw a sharp breath, a little gasp that sets him on fire.

He breathes hard, eyes squeezed shut as he basks in the electric bliss of being fully sheathed inside your walls. Every nerve in his body screams to move—to claim every inch of you and lose himself in the friction—but he holds himself still, chest heaving.

“Need you—” you whisper, voice hoarse. “Need you to move.”

He cups your face with one trembling hand, locking his gaze onto yours, the other hand planted by your head.

“I will,” he assures you, voice wavering on the edge of control. “I will, I promise—shit, just—gimme a moment, yeah?”

You can feel it—the way he is barely holding on, the way his breath stutters against your skin. This is a lot for him..

He just needs a second to process it, to believe it.

Your grip slides up to cradle his head, guiding him to rest against your shoulder.

“As long as you want,” you promise quietly, but you don't know how much longer you can take. His heart clenches at just how needy you sound for him.

He presses his forehead into your neck, inhaling the lingering scent of your shampoo and skin, before finally drawing back. The sensation of leaving your warm pussy and pressing back in again is everything he’s fantasised about—slow and unhurried, a deliberate, dragging friction that sends sparks dancing across his vision. A guttural moan tears from his throat at how good it feels, how perfectly you fit around him.

Christ, this was so much more than he ever imagined.

The moment he starts moving again—slowly at first, then steadily building rhythm—it’s like he finally surrenders to everything he’s been holding back.

“Ah—shit,” he exhales, voice thick with need. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, and he grips your hips more firmly. “Feels so good—you—you feel so good.”

Your fingers weave through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. The action sends sparks skittering down his spine, and he can’t help the low, desperate moan that escapes him.

He already knows he’s gone, lost in the pleasure, but hearing you—the way you gasp and whimper whenever he thrusts just a bit deeper—only pushes him further.

“Steve,” you murmur, voice trembling with need. You tug at his hair, urging him closer, and he leans over you, chest pressed to yours. The heat of your skin against his feels like the most intoxicating thing in the world.

“Keep doing that,” he pleads. “Just—just like that—” He punctuates the words with a hungry kiss to your throat, then angles his hips in a way that makes you cry out. “So perfect for me. So fucking perfect.”

He’s never felt this drunk on pleasure before—like every stroke, every shift of his body inside yours, is rewiring his brain. It’s all he can do not to lose himself immediately, but he needs to last, needs to give you everything you’ve waited for.

His mouth begins running in a constant string of half-choked praise and filth, fueled by the steady drive of his hips.

“You… oh, baby—look at you,” he gasps, forcing his eyes open to watch your face contort with bliss. “Wanted to see you like this, wanted it so bad. God, you’re—”

A fucking dream.

You whimper again, arching beneath him as he thrusts deeper. Your nails dig into his back, leaving faint crescents that he’ll cherish like badges of honour.

Maybe if he fucks you good enough, you could leave your own marks, ones that he can look at with pride.

The sting of pain only sharpens the pleasure as he drops his forehead to yours, breath ragged.

“You feel—” he mumbles, voice disbelieving, like the words are just flowing out of him. at this point. “Like you were made for me—fuck, can feel you squeezing me—”

His hips stutter, then snap harder, like he’s trying to memorise this, make up for lost time.

“Jesus—so fucking stupid,” he groans, breathless. “Why did it take me this long? Why did I—when you—”

Your moan splinters into a soft sob of ecstasy, and that sound just unravels him further. His confidence surges, stoked by your every reaction. He slides one hand up from your waist to cradle the back of your head, gently tugging so he can devour your mouth. His kiss is open-mouthed, messy, all tongue and desperation.

“You like that?” he asks, voice laced with a giddy awe, as if he can hardly believe he’s the one pulling those sounds from you. “Tell me—tell me how good it feels.” His words spill out before he can check them, he needs to hear if you are as gone as he is.

“Feels… so good,” you manage, broken and breathless. “You’re so—God, Steve—deep.”

He laughs—he fucking laughs.

Pure, unfiltered bliss bubbles up from his chest, raw and unrestrained.

This moment, you—it’s all he’s ever wanted.

It’s fucking everything.

“Shit—you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He nips at your skin, pressing kiss after kiss along your throat.

Now that he’s had a taste of what he’s been missing, he never wants to let it go. Never wants this moment to end.

Your legs tighten around his waist, urging him deeper. There’s no space between you now, just the heated glide of your bodies. Each time he withdraws, he can feel the trembling in your limbs as you cling to him, pulling him right back in. And each time he plunges forward, a fresh surge of desire knots low in his belly.

He changes angle, dipping one shoulder slightly. The new position has him hitting a spot that makes you cry out his name, and he’s undone by it—his pace falters for a moment, overwhelmed by the sudden wave of ecstasy washing through him.

“Christ,” he mutters under his breath, the word breaking apart as he punctuates it with a sharp thrust. His voice is wrecked now, spilling over with pure need as he rambles, barely thinking, just feeling. “All for me, yeah? Fuck—show me. Let me hear you.”

His grip tightens, his movements growing rougher, deeper—chasing your pleasure like it’s the only thing that matters. Like he’ll only believe this is real if he earns it from you, if he can wring it from your body, pull it from your lips.

“Please—don’t stop,” you whimper, needing to take all of him.

His breath stutters, jaw clenched, losing himself in the way you beg for him.

“Not gonna,” His voice is wrecked, thick with heat, his control fraying at the edges. “I’ll give it to you, baby—”

He’d give you everything.

You nod frantically, hands sliding up to cup his face. Tears of pure bliss gather at the corners of your eyes, and he brushes them away with his thumb. He catches your lips in a sloppy, desperate kiss, tongue dipping into your mouth just as he drives his hips forward again in a relentless rhythm.

He watches your face, the way you bite your lip, your brows knitting as the pleasure builds again. His head spins because he’s the one doing this, bringing you right to the edge. Pride floods him, spurring him to keep going harder, deeper, until his thighs burn.

“Fuck, angel—gonna give you this whenever you want,” he can hardly believe the ragged edge to his own voice, how he’s speaking without filter, entirely guided by the euphoria coursing through him.

“Been so good for me—so fucking patient—” his words break apart with a shuddering gasp. “Not gonna make you wait ever again. You want this? You ask, alright? You fucking ask and it’s yours.”

You chase his mouth with yours, swallowing his words, your hands gripping the nape of his neck. He can’t tell whose breath is louder, whose heartbeat is pounding more fiercely. All he knows is that he’s dangerously close to the point of no return.

“That's it,” he coos, voice unsteady. “Let me see it again—you gonna show me?”

Your only reply is a shattered moan, your body tensing, then unraveling all at once as the pleasure crashes over you. Your walls clench tight around him, dragging a wrecked, guttural groan from his throat.

He thrusts again, pushing you both right to the edge and over, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. Heat coils tight, then snaps, a white-hot pulse of pleasure ripping through you, leaving you trembling beneath him.

Steve sees stars, fucking galaxies behind his eyelids as he loses himself completely. His hips stutter, his breath breaking against your skin as he buries himself deep, chasing the last aftershocks of your orgasm. He kisses you blindly, desperately, a hot, messy press of lips, as pleasure overtakes him—dragging him under, drowning him in you.

He lingers in the warm aftermath, breath coming in shallow pulses as he slowly, almost reluctantly, pulls away. His stomach lurches unexpectedly, and here’s a moment where he worries the spell might break now that he’s not entwined with you. But the blissed out smile on your face is a balm, telling him everything he needs to know.

He slips out carefully, skin still slick with sweat, and settles beside you on the bed. The rush of air against his torso feels strange—he can’t remember the last time he let himself be this naked in front of anyone. He mostly feels…peaceful.

He turns to you, propping himself up on an elbow.

“Hey, you with me?” He murmurs, voice a bit hoarse. “Was that…okay? I mean—I tried—” He trails off, cheeks flushing as if he’s embarrassed to be asking.

“Are you really asking me if that was okay?” You tilt your head, amused by his bashfulness.

“I just—” This is so lame, like a kid asking if he did a good job. “It’s been a while for me...” he admits, face reddening. “Wanted to make sure I did everything right.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips, and you reach out to trace a line down his arm.

“You did more than okay." You punctuate the word by pressing a light kiss to his jaw, feeling him exhale. "You were perfect.”

“Good,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut. He presses his forehead to yours for a moment, savouring the closeness. “I—I wanted to make you feel good.”

Wanted to prove that he could.

“Trust me, you did,” you say as you cup his cheek. “I’m probably gonna be thinking about this all day tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” His lips curl into a tentative smile.

“Absolutely. And the next week, too.”

A boyish grin spreads over his face, some tension easing from his shoulders. He eases off the bed, carefully removing the condom and tying it off, a bit awkward as he stands there stark naked. He holds it, looking around for somewhere to toss it before deciding on the small trash bin near your dresser.

Once it’s gone, he seems uncertain, his gaze shifting from his discarded clothes to you. He swallows, arms hovering at his sides.

“Um…” He gives a nervous laugh, cheeks stained pink again, unsure of what to do with himself. “I—sorry, I didn’t think this far ahead. Do I just…?”

God, he’s out of practise.

The corner of your mouth quirks up.

“Here,” you say, rolling onto your side and reaching for the closest thing at hand—his boxer briefs. You toss them to him. “Start with these.”

He catches them with a shy nod, pulling them on quickly. He’s still conscious of his body, but for the first time, he doesn’t feel the urgent need to cover them immediately. When he glances back at you, you’re holding his jumper out, an inviting smile on your face.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, stepping closer to the bed. But then he hesitates. “Actually… um… I—I’m good.”

He’d rather not put it back on if he didn’t have to—this was a workout in itself, both mental and physical. And honestly? He liked the way you were looking at him.

Your gaze lingered, hungry but soft, the way girls used to look at him when he was younger. You liked what you saw.

“You sure?” you tease, wiggling the material in your hand.

“Yeah,” he says simply. It’s a big thing for him to admit that he’s comfortable remaining bare-chested around you.

“In that case…” You slip the shirt on yourself, pulling it down over your body. It’s long enough to graze the bottom of your hips, and you can feel his eyes lingering on your legs. His warm gaze makes heat flood your cheeks.

“Looks better on you, anyway.” He laughs softly, that sweet, affectionate sound that never fails to tug at your heart.

Crawling back onto the mattress, you pat the spot beside you, and he settles in, letting you snuggle up close against his side. Your hand drifts lightly over his chest, gliding over both smooth skin and the raised ridges. To you, there was no difference.

The two of you just lie there in comfortable silence for a moment, the only sound present being the soft rustle of sheets. Eventually, you decide to break the hush.

“So…” you start, voice soft but teasing, a playful glint in your tired eyes. “You’re saying I can have you whenever I want now?”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he nudges his nose against yours.

“Within reason, sweetheart,” he smirks, but there’s nothing but warmth behind it.“But yeah,” he murmurs, tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin. “Whenever you want.”

You lift your hand, brushing your fingers over one of his scars, tracing the mark with a gentle touch. He sucks in a breath, but his eyes stay on you.

“Thank you,” you murmur, letting your fingers linger. “I know this wasn’t easy.”

He huffs out a small, self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head.

“You say that like it’s—I don’t know—like, it’s something groundbreaking.”

“Isn’t it?” You arch a brow.

He hesitates, then exhales, running a hand through his already-messy hair.

“I mean… it felt big,” he admits, voice lighter now, like he’s letting himself tease with you instead of retreating inward. “But, y’know… it’s just a shirt, at the end of the day.”

“Just a shirt?”

After everything, his casual dismissal shocks you—but you see it for what it is.

Progress.

He’s crossed this bridge, left the fear behind. He’s looking forward. This is another obstacle he’s overcome, another weight lifted, he’s not letting it drag him back down.

He smirks, catching your thought process, and shifts beside you.

“Okay, maybe a little more than that.” Then, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Only one other person’s seen me without a shirt in—damn—must be years now.”

That catches your attention.

“Years?” You blink at him.

“Yeah. And that was—” He winces slightly. “Well, I was in bad shape at the time, so not exactly a choice.”

Your heart tugs, but you don’t let the moment get too heavy.

“So what you’re saying is you chose me?”

He groans, dropping his head against the pillow, but he’s smiling now, genuinely.

“Jesus, you love making me say shit out loud, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, nudging him with your knee. “I do.”

He turns to face you more directly, his arm slipping beneath your neck, pulling you in close.

“Well,” he murmurs, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. “If I was gonna do this with anyone… I’d want it to be you.” His fingers trace absentmindedly along your spine. "Feels right with you."

Another short silence blossoms, but this time it’s a cosy, intimate one. Eventually, he clears his throat.

“So…maybe we should think about getting cleaned up?” He rubs at the back of his neck, a hint of bashfulness returning. “I’m kinda sweaty, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you respond, pressing a playful kiss to his arm. “You’re not the only one who’s all sticky. A shower sounds nice.”

He shifts, carefully easing off the bed.

“You wanna come with?” There’s a boyish hope in his voice that makes you grin.

You stretch lazily, savouring the soft slide of his jumper against your skin, your eyes raking over him appreciatively.

“Mm, you go first,” you say, giving him a teasing smirk. “I might need a minute to recover from all that.”

He chuckles, a pink flush creeping up his neck.

“Right… okay.” He stands up a bit straighter, seemingly buoyed by your banter. “Promise not to use up all the hot water.”

“Good luck,” you joke, arching a brow.

“I’ll try,” he fires back, a spark of mischief in his eyes. Then he leans down, planting a warm kiss on your lips. When he draws back, you catch a glimpse of that smile again. Pure elation.

A gentle hiss of water filters through the door. You can’t help but smile, thinking of how different things feel compared to this morning—so much tenderness in the air, so much more understanding.

Yet a nagging itch persists at the back of your mind.

You walk over to your chest of drawers, hand hovering for a second before pulling open the top. There, tucked under a few random receipts and spare pens, is the little notebook you began after he left you that morning.

You retrieve it carefully, flipping the worn cover open to the page where you’d scrawled names and details he’d let slip in passing. Fragmented hints you’d gathered as though building a puzzle from mismatched pieces.

Now, after the night you’ve just shared, you have new pages of context to fill in. You let the pen hover above the paper, then jot down the fresh details. Every shaky mention, every half-finished explanation.

You trust Steve—God, you do. But your anxiety over that horrifying scene a few nights ago weighs heavily on you.

Never again.

Never want to see him that petrified or feel that helpless.

You pause to reread what you’ve written. A swirl of scribbles, question marks, underlined phrases.

Starcourt, destroyed in a fire?

1985.

Summer job.

Got too close.… nearly didn’t make it out??

The pen taps lightly on the page as you consider how these clues might fit together.

Your heart twists with guilt. You are unsure if this is a betrayal.

But then you recall the sheer terror in his eyes, the bruises on your own wrist, the way your chest had constricted with helplessness when he ran.

You need answers—not because you doubt him, but because you want to be prepared to care for him better, to protect him if you can.

You push the notebook back beneath the clutter, hiding it away. You straighten your posture, letting a slow exhale chase the tension from your lungs. Reaching for the stray clothes on the side of the bed, you toss them into the hamper.

You do care about him—deeply. That care drives you now.

No more blind-siding nightmares.

No more dark corners you’re unprepared for.

Whatever he’s running from, whatever secrets linger, you’re determined to understand. Because ignorance, you’ve learned, doesn’t save anyone.

And you just hoped this was the safer option.

taglist: @daisy-is-a-writer @chiliwhore @kvroomi @just-lilita @negomi123 @catluver02 @tinythebunni @everythinghasafacee @irrelevantbutembarrassing @almostfullstarfish

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x you #steve harrington oneshot #stranger things series #teacher! steve harrington #teacher!steve harrington x reader #teacher!steve harrington #teacher steve harrington #steve harrington smut #stranger things smut

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monotonesmile · 2 days ago

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Can i request pregnant batsis who was dumped by her bf because he didn't want a baby. And the batsis comes back to the manor. She's younger than Dick and Jason but older that Tim and Damian. Damian doesn't know her. And she tells them they going to be uncels and Bruce a grandfather?

Batfam & Pregnant!Batsis!Reader

[Warnings: Shitty boyfriend, enough said. Some swearing]

[Fic Genre: Headcanons, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff]

[Notes: I’m not exactly the best at writing anything pregnancy related but ya gotta practice somehow! Also it’s headcanons because I needed a break from writing full fics for a second.]

————————————————————

You realized you were late on your period so, just to be precautious, like your father taught you, you bought a pregnancy test, and waited for the results, anxiously waiting as you paced around the bathroom of the apartment you shared with your boyfriend, and when you got the results back, so many emotions flooded you as you saw those two little red lines, you were pregnant.

You knew you should tell your boyfriend, so you waited for his return from work. When you heard the door shut, you called him to the living room, then handing him the, cleaned, pregnancy test, you were nervous for his reaction, you were hoping he’d be at least supportive and help you, but instead he glared at the test before tossing it away, and then told you either you get rid of it or you’re breaking up.

His response made your body run cold, you never expected him to give you such an unpleasant ultimatum, abortion or breaking up, and you did not want to give up the baby, you had been wanting to be a mother for a while now, and now he’s trying to take that from you? After you’ve told him so many times that you were ready to be a mom? The man you’ve loved and were ready to be with forever, told you to give up your child.

So, you told him “Fine, if that’s the case, then you’re over.”

You gathered your essentials, not looking at him even as your heart broke, carrying a bag with your electronics, some clothes, and other important items, you left the apartment, texting the man you viewed as a grandfather to pick you up, you’re coming back to the manor after breaking up with your now ex boyfriend.

You waited for a few minutes with your thoughts, only now had you begun to realize all the red flags in your ex boyfriend, he never seemed interested in anything you said, whenever you brought up marriage or having kids, he would dismiss you, maybe it was about time you broke up, it probably just saved you from a horribly toxic relationship.

You were taken out of your thoughts when the familiar car pulled up to the parking lot of the apartment complex, your mind lightening slightly as you got up and got into the passenger seat, met by the butler and the man you and your siblings considered a grandfather, Alfred.

You explained the situation on the car ride to the manor, you could feel the sympathetic gaze coming from the older man as you pulled up to the imposing building, knowing you’d have to tell your family, and you could already guess their reactions.

[Bruce Wayne]

Bruce was the first one you told after you got back to the manor, it felt…awkward to say the least, telling your father you’re pregnant, but while you still feared a similar reaction to your ex boyfriend, Bruce didn’t react that way, he asked if you were alright, if you were worried, or ready. The fact that he had immediately focused on your wellbeing made you feel so much better about this situation.

Bruce would absolutely be a helicopter parent after you told him about your pregnancy, he would take you to the doctor appointments, he’d check on you hourly to make sure any of the symptoms of pregnancy weren’t bothering you too much. He’d absolutely get you the best doctors Gotham has to offer, or even doctors from outside the gloomy city, he wants you well taken care of.

All in all, he cares about his daughter, and he is very excited to be a grandfather, even if it’s just reminding him of his age, but he would want to help with setting up a nursery for the baby, 10/10 grandpa, he would adore the kid. (He’d also keep them the hell away from vigilantism.)

[Dick Grayson]

Now Dick would be the second person to know, and he, much like Bruce, would make sure you’re okay with everything that happened, while he’s excited to be an uncle, he also knows you just with through a breakup, and being the ladies (and men) man, he would be the one to comfort you through it, he’d help keep your mind off it by using horrible jokes and puns, he’d just be happy to make you smile.

Absolutely the one to feed in on your cravings if you get them, you want pickles and chips at three in the morning? Nightwing is seen in a 24/7 store trying to pick which one you’d like more, the media has a field day with that.

He’s the one that’s going to hold you through all of your emotions, your hormones are all over the place and he’s not going to be phased, you’re angry? He'll be angry at whatever you’re angry at with you. Sad about something you watched? He will be holding you through the tears. He’s had so many girlfriends, he knows how it works now, all the emotions that are bubbling up to the surface, and goddammit he will not let his little sister down.

Just a little thing, he absolutely loves baby shopping, adores it, he wants to buy every single outfit and toy, and is very pouty when you say you can’t get everything. Still picks out a shirt that says “Best Uncle” for himself, he taunts his brothers.

[Jason Todd]

Probably one of the last to know actually, he’s not at the manor a lot, so you’d have to tell him over text, and he would be breaking so many laws to speed his way to the manor because WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE PREGNANT AND YOUR BOYFRIEND BROKE UP WITH YOU BECAUSE OF IT!? Immediately offers to take care of your ex, he does not care, nobody gets away with that on his watch, he probably would still try it even if you said no.

Once he calms down, he will actually be around the manor way more often, he’s watching over you, probably the one that helps whenever you get morning sickness, or just, throwing up in general. He looms, a lot. It’s scaring people and no he will not stop, don’t bother asking.

He’s probably really good at giving massages, would be the one to help when you’re further along and your body is starting to ache and be sore, he would not want you to move around a lot. If he could, he’d carry you.

(Very huffy after Dick got the “Best Uncle” shirt, would buy a second one and write a number two on it.)

[Tim Drake]

God, this poor man is so tired and experiencing a system restart when you tell him you’re pregnant. I feel like Tim would probably just nod before disappearing into his room and immediately starts to do research on what you can and can’t eat while pregnant, and literally everything else, definitely becomes the most knowledgeable on the subject of pregnancy.

Tim would make you a mood board or something for the nursery, specifically of things you like. It's honestly kinda odd how he got everything so correct, but it’s definitely nice to have a physical idea of what you want to do for your baby’s room.

He probably made a layout of the nursery to your exact specifications and is so ready to build everything for it, crib, toy chests, a rocking chair? He’ll be the first to start building everything, his brothers would have to get there quick enough to help as well, they’d have you sit in so they know where to put everything.

[Damian Wayne]

Damian would also offer to take care of you ex, except he would make it a statement, as in, he will be going after your ex, you will have to stop him, he will commit to it, don’t test him, he’s protective over his family.

Honestly, he’s probably very confused, but he’s trying his best, he understands that you shouldn’t be doing anything stressful, so even in your early stages of pregnancy, Damian would literally take anything remotely heavy from your hands and carry it for you, it’s sweet, but he does it every. single. time.

Damian is going to fight Dick for that shirt, he’s going to be the favorite uncle, but when he can’t get the shirt from his older brother? He buys a different one, “Favorite Uncle”, Dick may claim to be the best uncle, but he’s going to be the favorite uncle, he’s taunting everyone with this fact.

[Bonus: Alfred]

Alfred is the only one that actually knows what he’s doing, he was there when Bruce was born, he knows how to help a pregnant lady, which is a much needed comfort for you.

You secretly bought him a “#1 Great Grandpa” shirt, he is going to wear it when you have the baby, he adores the shirt, even if he doesn’t wear it often, it’s special to him.

————————————————————

[Requests are open!]

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blakelywintersfield · 2 days ago

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I want to add two things to this:

Firstly, the insinuation that the medicated version of you is different from the unmedicated version of you is a false narrative. We are not 2D creatures. We are extremely complex beings. There are many "versions" of you and they're all you. The only way to actually become inauthentic is to literally have your brain destroyed in a matter that removes your entire personality (think: lobotomy). Medications do not do this. Drugs in general cannot do this unless they destroy a part of your brain. There are so many different things that make you the person you are (your likes and dislikes, your memories, your mannerisms, etc.) and no medication is capable of taking all that away. People will focus on the things they've "lost" and believe "I am no longer really me", when the reality is that it's simply what they were known for that was lost. And oftentimes what they were known for were the severe symptoms of their health issues.

As an anecdote, I was known for constantly being bitter about being alive to the point that I made it a joke. A bitter joke, but a joke nonetheless. "I can't die, the gods won't let me because I'm their favorite thing to point and laugh at as I suffer" was basically the attitude I was known for. On the surface, it was a bit, but the reality was I really wanted to fucking die and I was miserable waking up every single day.

To add to that, I was also known for sleeping. Constantly. I also made a joke out of that but I was genuinely tired 24/7. I never felt awake. I never felt rested. "Gotta get my quad shot coffee and three Red Bulls plus a Rockstar Energy for my Sleepy Bitch Disease" type deal.

I was also the alcoholic. I wasn't an aggressive or angry alcoholic so it didn't seem like a major problem to many, and I handled my alcohol well (only blacked out once, only threw up five times in the entire decade I'd spent drinking). My go-to spirits, my boisterous and jubilant behavior (around others), and my ability to drink people twice my size under the table and still be able to walk straight were key personality points for me.

All of these things practically defined me. Whenever I'd do DnD with friends, those traits were always key to my characters. These were the first things most people got to know about me. One could say they were the authentic me.

And they were killing me.

Sure, those were definitely authentic parts of who I was; I wasn't faking any of it, I wasn't putting on a show for fun. But they were unhealthy and actively inhibiting my ability to actually live my life in a fulfilling, meaningful manner.

Nowadays, the "Sleepy Bitch Disease", which is now officially diagnosed narcolepsy, medicated with a very heavily controlled substance. I still get sleepy, I still take a nap every now and then, and I can still sleep 14 hours straight, but I no longer need enough caffeine to kill a horse to get through the day. I no longer have to take two hours to wake up. I can get out of bed and be awake within 15 minutes. I no longer have to take a coffee break or get an energy drink every two hours. I'm no longer known for downing so much coffee that people question how I haven't had a heart attack.

Today, I'm no longer known for downing half a bottle of vodka just to catch a buzz. I don't do tequila shooters and go nuts. I'm not a rambunctious alcohol-pounding party boy who still can't get drunk enough to get past his self-esteem issues to tell the dude he thinks is cute "hi". (I would never be able to get that drunk, even now.)

And the chronic suicidal desire and the feeling that life isn't worth living are handled with medication and therapy -- which leads into my second point.

Sometimes medication isn't enough, which means to say that it can help, but you may need therapy in junction with medication. This is common if your condition is more severe (though all levels from mild to severe can benefit from the med/therapy combo). And most people who say "medication isn't for me / medication doesn't help" tend to be the same people who say "therapy doesn't help" as well, and are the same people who tried at most two different medications and talk-therapy.

Therapy is expansive. There is a wide array of therapy. And just like the doctors that provide medication, if you have a therapist and they aren't helping, find another! Look for therapists who specialize in certain conditions or certain forms of therapy! Look for different therapy groups! Try hybridized therapies!

Sometimes medication alone can help, and that's wonderful! And don't think that just because your condition is severe, you have to find a specialized therapy to help as well -- if medication does the job and you're able to live your life comfortably, that's good! But if medication seems to be only doing so much, on top of seeing about trying a different med, look into therapy as well. I hit a wall with medication with the chronic suicidal behaviors/ideation -- but therapy (specifically Dialectical Behavioral Therapy or DBT) helped me change my pattern of thought (along with teaching me coping and communication skills). That, alongside medication which helped on the chemical side (sorta; biopsychology is a complex study and the chemical imbalance theory is extremely simplistic but unfortunately the easiest way to explain medication) resulted in me being a happier, more productive person. And I don't mean productive in capitalist terms (well, kind of; I can actually hold down a job now) but I can actually write, and plan trips, and spend my whole day doing errands and going out and having fun! I couldn't do that before as the so-called "authentic" me. The friends I have who've been with me pre- and post-DBT/medicine all still love me, and the feedback has been unanimous: they're all happy to see me happy and healthy. None of them have hinted at me being fake, or not myself (and they would -- I've specifically asked that they watch for any behavior changes that seem out of the ordinary, just in case). I've gone off my meds before and it was always hell, every time. Your unmedicated self isn't more authentic than you medicated self. Your unmedicated self is your unhealthiest self.

Is the person using a wheelchair not being authentic? Is the person taking antibiotics to clear an infection not being authentic? Is someone with breast cancer undergoing a double mastectomy not being authentic? Change is authentic to the human condition, especially when that change is to better yourself and your life.

Stagnation is death. Don't be afraid of change. You will not lose your authenticity, just the chains that keep you down.

90s movies: Psychopharmacology is as good as a lobotomy. If you take pills to treat your mental illness it will literally murder your imaginary friends and you will become a boring, lotus-eating conformist drone.

Me after taking my meds: drives the scenic route home to see if there are any geese on the pond and does a little dance in line at the grocery store and comes home to throw everything in my fridge into a stew pot because I can finally taste food again while singing songs at my birds in which I replace all the instances of "she" with "Cheese" and doing a Dolly Parton impression on the phone to my sister

#medication #mental health #mental illness #sorry this ended up so long op i would've formatted things a little different but i'm on mobile #anyways as someone who was known their entire K12 career as the mini edgar allan poe (horribly overstated it was just extremely melodramatic #writings but the average county kid would equate ''sad and dreary and death'' with poe so i got that highly undeserved comparison i'm sorry #poe): medication and therapy are great! i can still write crushing‚ devastating works. but now i don't feel like that all the time as well!#AND i can write positive stuff! and it feels so nice! i can write happy endings! i can write bittersweet endings! i can write sad endings!#i can write fluff so sweet it'll rot your teeth out! i can write angst so crushing you'll question if i really AM in therapy!#but best of all: I CAN ACTUALLY FUCKING W R I T E #it's good to be wary of unnecessary medication. it's good to ask ''is this really needed?'' you don't want to be overmedicated!#but medication is not the enemy and it does not rob you of your personhood.

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rafes-slut · 3 days ago

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can u write sm abt rafe making reader use a stuffie to keep quiet while theyr doing the deed in her bedroom? pretty please 😋

Silencing You Softly

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x You

Warnings: Smut, explicit sexual content, use of a stuffed toy for muffling, slight exhibitionism risk (house full of people), dirty talk, teasing, dominance, overstimulation, soft/dom!Rafe undertones, minor choking, possessive behavior, oral (f receiving), aftercare. 18+ ONLY

The house was never quiet. Not once. Not with people constantly around, coming and going — Topper’s laugh echoing through the halls, Sarah’s voice carrying from downstairs, the bass of some speaker vibrating the walls every damn hour of the day. Rafe’s place might’ve been big, but privacy was rare. And somehow, even knowing that, you ended up here — tangled in his sheets, your legs wrapped tight around his waist, gasping his name way too loud for anyone’s comfort.

“Shhh, baby,” Rafe murmured against your throat, breath hot, voice low and dangerous. “You want them to hear you?” His hand clamped over your mouth, but it did nothing to stop the moan that slipped through the cracks of his fingers.

You felt his smirk, that cocky little twitch at the corner of his lips as he pulled back, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with mischief. His blonde hair was messy, sticking to his forehead, and he looked feral — like he was thriving on the risk, on the idea of someone hearing the way he had you unraveling under him.

“I can’t help it,” you whimpered, already teetering on the edge again, your body slick with sweat, back arching into him as his hips rolled slow but deep. “Feels so—fuck, Rafe—”

He didn’t stop. Just drove into you harder, the rhythm relentless, each thrust hitting so deep you could barely think straight.

“Yeah?” His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place like you could escape him — like you’d ever want to. “Too much, huh? My needy girl can’t stay quiet for me.”

You shook your head, lips parted, your eyes fluttering shut, but then—

“Uh-uh. Look at me,” he growled, hand trailing up your stomach, palm splaying over your throat just enough to make your breath hitch. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. You gonna wake the whole damn house like this?”

A broken moan slipped from your mouth, high-pitched, desperate, and Rafe paused — just for a second — leaning over the side of the bed.

You barely registered what he was doing until he grabbed your favorite stuffed animal — the little plush bunny you always brought with you when you stayed the night. Your face flushed immediately, heart racing.

“Rafe—”

He grinned, teeth catching his bottom lip, eyes glinting with wicked intent. “Told you I’d find a use for this one day.”

Before you could protest, he shoved it gently between your lips, the soft fabric muffling your next moan as he thrust back into you hard, making you cry out around the stuffed toy.

“There we go,” he purred, watching you with possessive satisfaction. “Much better. Quiet for me now, yeah?”

Your hands gripped his arms, nails dragging down his biceps as you nodded, eyes glazed, body burning.

Rafe lost it then, picking up the pace, fucking you deep into the mattress while your muffled moans filled the room, the sounds of skin meeting skin echoing despite the loud music downstairs. He watched every reaction, every twitch, every helpless buck of your hips, and he loved it — loved how loud you were for him, how desperate you sounded even with your mouth stuffed full.

“You’re mine,” he groaned, sweat dripping down his chest as he leaned down, kissing your neck, biting at your ear. “No one gets to hear you like this — just me.”

You nodded again, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure, and when you came, it hit like a wave — sudden, intense, your whole body shaking. Rafe fucked you through it, whispering filth against your skin, your muffled screams only fueling his need as he chased his own release.

When he finally collapsed on top of you, breathless and flushed, he reached up to pull the stuffed animal from your mouth, tossing it aside with a satisfied smirk.

“You’re so fuckin’ loud, babe,” he muttered, brushing hair from your sweaty face, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. “Good thing you’ve got me to keep you in line.”

You couldn’t even speak, your voice hoarse, your limbs jelly, but Rafe didn’t care. He gathered you into his arms, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, the wild heat of moments ago settling into something quiet, something tender.

“You alright?” he whispered, voice softer now. “Was I too rough?”

You shook your head, resting your cheek against his chest, still trying to catch your breath.

Rafe’s arms tightened around you, fingers trailing lazy circles on your back. “Next time,” he murmured, lips at your temple, “we try it without the house full of people… but I’m keepin’ that stuffie close, just in case.”

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wordsofwhimsy · 2 days ago

Text

𝘚𝘏𝘈𝘛𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘌𝘋 𝘈𝘍𝘍𝘌𝘊𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕𝘚 - 𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛 𝘖𝘕𝘌

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark x Reader | Sinister!Mark x Reader

Warnings: Alluding to sexual content

—Synopsis—

All surviving Variants have been brought to the Main Universe as a means to help defend and protect Earth.

It’s understood that if they try to indulge in any of their past, evil behaviors they will be promptly sent back to the wasteland universe.

The reader only ever developed a romantic relationship with Mohawk!Mark and Sinister!Mark in their respective universes, but died as a causality of battle in Mohawk!Mark’s timeline.

Being that Sinister!Mark is one of the strongest variants, the GDA obliged his condition of only cooperating with them if he was allowed to bring you to this universe, too.

To avoid using the same descriptive terms over and over again I'll be using "M.Mark" to refer to Mohawk Mark, and "S.Mark" for Sinister.

The rain was pouring outside in thick sheets, drenching everything in its path. Inside your house, however, the air felt colder than the storm. The dim lighting cast the room in an orange glow, illuminating where you sat on the couch as you fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve. You tried to muster up the courage to speak.

Mark sat on the opposite side of the room, his gaze distant, unfocused. His body language was closed off, rigid, as though he was physically there but mentally somewhere else. He hadn’t looked at you directly in what felt like days. Every attempt you made to break the silence seemed to fall flat, as though he was unwilling—or perhaps even incapable—of offering any kind of comfort.

“Mark…” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve been trying to talk to you. I just… I need something. Just a little reassurance.”

He didn’t react. Didn’t even glance your way. His gaze remained fixed somewhere outside the window, as though the storm outside was far more interesting than you.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the emptiness in the room pressing down on you. “I don’t understand. You used to be…” you trailed off, feeling the words die in your throat. What was the point in continuing? The man you once knew, the one who was obsessed with you (almost overwhelmingly so), the one who would hold you like you were the most precious resource in the world, the one who placed you on a pedestal—he was slipping further and further away. Now, all that remained was this cold, distant version of him.

Finally, he spoke, though it wasn’t to comfort you. His tone was flat, dismissive. “I don’t know what you want from me. To be honest, you’re being kind of unbearable right now…”

Your chest tightened, and the sting of those words cut deep. You had long since stopped expecting the tenderness you once shared, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. You couldn’t understand it—how could he treat you like this? You wanted to reach out, to get closer to him, but he kept you at arm's length. The affection you sought, the closeness, the connection—it was all gone.

“I’m not asking for a lot, Mark. I just need you to… to care,” you whispered, almost pleading, your voice cracking at the end.

Mark’s gaze flickered to you, but it was detached—like he was looking through you rather than at you. “I care.” The word came out choked in his throat, as if physically hard for him to say. “But I’m getting a little tired of this pity party you’re having. We’re fine.” His voice was as sharp as ever, the bite in his words unmistakable. The cruel indifference felt like a slap.

You fell silent, swallowing the lump in your throat as you stood up, unable to stay there in that house any longer. You couldn’t bear to watch him, to feel like you were begging for scraps of affection that never came. You turned and walked toward the door, the weight of your heart dragging with each step.

What had happened to the love you once shared? Was this the person he had become? The person he had always been inside, buried beneath the façade of warmth and charm?

The back of your eyes acted like a projector for all your dearest – and now must painful – memories. You could vividly see Mark coming home from the chaos, his body battered but triumphant, filled with the kind of energy only someone who’d just carved their name into the world through violence could have.

His eyes would burn with intensity, always wild, always searching for something. And when he found you—always so sure of himself, so sure of you—he would pull you close, like a soldier who’d just returned from battle, needing to feel grounded. His hands would roam over your skin, not tender, but with that fervor only he had. His lips would press against yours with an almost sense of praise—a deep, guttural, obsessive need to remind you that you were his. You are mine. You are perfect. You are an extension of me. he would breath against your skin like a mantra between kisses.

There were moments when his touch made you feel like you were his greatest victory, like all the destruction and bloodshed that had led him to you was worth it. His devotion was all-encompassing, his adoration warped, twisted into something you could never quite explain, but it made you feel important. Needed. He praised you in way that was strange, almost as if he were talking to himself, as if you were a reflection of all that he had conquered. You didn’t question it. This was your reality. This was all you knew.

He was the one who built everything around him with iron fists. And you—you—were right there with him, watching him burn his way through life, loving him with a devotion that matched his own distorted sense of self-worth. You couldn’t imagine anything different. You wouldn’t have even wanted to.

But now... now, everything just felt wrong.

Ever since Angstrom had torn you from your reality, and you – along with all the other variants of Mark – were forced to live in this universe, things had changed. You could see it happening—the subtle changes that had crept in over time, the way his eyes lost their spark when he looked at you, the way his voice started sounding distant, hollow, as if the weight of his own mind was too much for him to carry.

He didn’t come home in a frenzy of passion anymore. He didn’t need to be reminded that you were there, that you were his. He didn’t praise you like he once did. His words—once so filled with unyielding confidence—now felt like empty echoes. He didn’t need to – couldn’t – conquer the world anymore, and it was as if the absence of that fire had drained so much from him. As if the very air around him had turned cold, and with it, you felt the chill, creeping into the corners of your own heart.

He rarely got to fight anymore. Couldn’t carve a path through the world to show the power he held. He wasn’t allowed to in this universe, the threat of being sent back to the wastelands always looming overhead. And you know that was tearing him apart. It hollowed him out from the inside. The man who once stood at the center of every battle, the man who demanded the world kneel before him, could no longer reign supreme.

He couldn’t suppress the world anymore. He couldn’t conquer. And without that, there was a vacancy inside of him that no amount of praise or love from you could fill.

You wished you could fill that emptiness for him, but it wasn’t your place. And, maybe, it never was.

You knew it wasn’t your fault. Hell, you knew it wasn’t even his fault; not really, at least. But the fact remained: your relationship wasn’t the same. And as much as you tried to hold on to the echoes of what you’d had, every day you felt it all slipping through your fingers.

And it hurt. Some nights, like tonight, more than you could bear.

You wondered if when he looked at you now, he still saw the person he once admired—or if he just saw another casualty of the war he could no longer fight. You wondered if the love you gave him, the love you thought was unbreakable, was crumbling into dust.

And you wondered, in the silence, if it could ever be changed.

Unknown to you, one of Mark’s variants – the one that sported a mohawk – had been floating just above the house, seemingly unphased by the heavy rains. He had heard every word, felt the crushing weight of the emotional distance between you and his counterpart, and something inside him snapped. The heartbreak of seeing you treated that way when in his universe, you had been everything.

He watched as you stepped out into the downpour, clinging tightly to your red umbrella as you walked down the street. Mark, without thought, took this opportunity. His boots landed with a heavy thud on the front doorstep slowly pushing the door open. Inside his counterpart barely flinched, his eyes flickering over to the doorway before narrowing slightly. He didn’t need to ask who had come in. He already knew.

“You don’t deserve her,” M.Mark’s voice was low, filled with an intensity that was hard to ignore. He stepped forward, his fists clenched at his sides as he kicked the door shut behind himself. His eyes bore into S.Mark, filled with frustration, grief, and a deep, aching anger. “I don’t understand how you can just treat her like that. How can you not appreciate her? After everything? After all the time you’ve spent with her? How could you just shut her out like that?”

S.Mark didn’t move, his eyes locking onto M.Mark’s with the same cold indifference. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his posture relaxed, as though he wasn’t even fazed by the accusation. “You don’t know anything about me, or what I’ve been through,” he said in a flat tone, clearly unbothered by the confrontation. “She’s fine. She’ll get over it. You’ve got no claim on her, Mark. This one doesn’t belong to you.”

The words sent a surge of anger through M.Mark. His eyes blazed, chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. His voice cracked with frustration as he stepped closer. “You don’t know the first thing about love, or sacrifice. You don’t understand how lucky you are to even have her, and you’re throwing it all away because of whatever twisted, cold version of love you’ve convinced yourself is normal.” His fists clenched harder, the tension between them palpable, the air so thick with emotion it would suffocate the average man.

S.Mark’s expression remained unchanged, but there was a coldness in his eyes that betrayed a flicker of annoyance. He uncrossed his arms, standing up slowly, deliberately, his body language suddenly more menacing. “You think you have any right to lecture me? You think your pain means anything to me?” His voice dropped an octave, the words laced with venom. “You’re nothing but a ghost in this world. You’ve already lost. You’re just a sad version of a man who couldn’t even keep the woman he loved alive. And now you think you’re in a position to tell me how to treat her? How to live my life?”

The words were cruel, meant to provoke. But M.Mark didn’t flinch. He took another step forward, his chest heaving with every breath. His eyes narrowed into a cold fury that seemed to burn right through S.Mark. “I don’t give a fuck what you think. If you cross the line with her I will fucking kill you.”

The two of them stood there, face to face, inches away from each other, the weight of their anger and frustration practically radiating off them. There was a feeling that at any moment the calm veneer between them would shatter into a violent explosion. M.Mark was just a hair away from pushing S.Mark to the edge.

But then, the door opened.

You stepped back inside, eyes cast down at first as you shuddered from the cold rain, shaking off and closing your umbrella. You froze when you finally lifted your gaze, seeing the two of them standing inches from one another. You quickly became acutely aware of the silent, threatening tension, and although lost on the details, the look on their faces told you more than enough.

You felt your stomach churn, a sickening wave of confusion and dread washing over you. What the hell had happened? Why did it look like they were seconds away from coming to blows?

M.Mark’s gaze flickered to you, his face softening for a brief moment. But that softness quickly turned to something deeper—something more painful that you couldn’t understand.

For him though, it was a flash of a memory of you – the one that had made his world turn just with a flash of your smile – and the overwhelming longing he had to reach out and grab you. But you were not with him. Not in this life, here. You were not his.

With a single, almost imperceptible shake of his head, M.Mark stepped back, his eyes avoiding yours as if the weight of what he was feeling was too much to handle. “I can’t do this,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

Your body seemingly acting on its own accord you found yourself moving slightly closer to him, confusion and hurt rising in your chest at the sight of his pained expression. “Are you alright?” Your voice was soft, filled with a tenderness that could smother.

He didn’t look back, his shoulders tense as he walked toward the door. “You deserve more than this,” he muttered almost bitterly, his voice filled with something that was equal parts regret, sorrow, and anger.

With that final remark he stepped out into the storm, rocketing into the sky with unhidden frustration.

“What happened?” you asked quietly, the words stumbling out. “Why was he here?”

Your Mark barely looked at you, his face still cold. “It’s nothing,” he said dismissively, as if the whole confrontation had meant nothing at all. “It’s over. Don’t worry about him. The guy’s got issues.”

You wanted to say more, but before you could form the words Mark took a step closer, his eyes darkening with something you knew all too well—an edge of something physical, something he always used to silence the tension between you two.

“You done with your little hissy fit now?” His voice was low, almost predatory, and his words felt heavy in the space between you. “Because I’m ready to make you feel good again.”

You flushed at his words, a wave of embarrassment and heat sweeping over you. This was the only language he spoke anymore. It was the only thing that ever seemed to break the cold distance he had put between you. The reality of it hit you like a slap—this was what he had reduced your relationship to.

Your heart thudded heavily in your chest as he moved toward you, that same practiced smirk curling at the edge of his lips. He wasn’t asking, not really. His gaze said it all—he was in control, and you were meant to follow. And you, desperate for any semblance of affection from him, would trail him like a shadow.

He stepped past you, his hand brushing against your arm, leading you down the hall toward the bedroom, the tension from earlier still lingering between you like a heavy fog.

But there was nothing left to say. The door clicked shut behind you, and the world outside continued to storm. And ignorant to you, but of course not to Mark, his counterpart had never truly left. He still lingered in the sky above the house, his stare burning into the shingles of the roof as if it would collapse beneath the weight and give him a clear view of you. His fists were clenched at his sides, the muscles in his arms taut with tension. He shouldn't be there. He should be gone, away, anywhere but there. But his body was fixed in that point in space, the pull of something dark and twisted keeping him anchored.

Inside the room, he could hear it—the unmistakable sound of you and him. The other version of him. The version whose world was still illuminated by your light, the one who hadn’t been left in this world with nothing to remind him of his own identity. The one who still had you. Mark's breath hitched, his stomach twisting with something he couldn't quite name. It wasn’t anger, not at first. It was something deeper. Something visceral.

The sounds from inside the room flooded his ears. Your voice, soft and breathless, calling out in pleasure. That’s what did it. The way you sounded so free, so open with him. And then S.Mark’s low growl, his deep, commanding voice that was all confidence, all power. Mark’s jaw clenched, his throat going dry as he turned his head away, as if that would shut out the noises.

Every gasp, every sigh from you made his skin burn, his fingers twitching and reaching out slightly, as if he could feel you beneath his own hands.

That was supposed to be his praise, his obsession, his touch. The things he once gave you in his own twisted way. The things he once thought were proof of his love. But this? This was wrong.

His jaw clenched so hard it ached, and yet, he didn’t move. The sounds of you—his you—and him—the other him—seeped into his mind, poisoning his thoughts, grinding into his chest until he couldn’t breathe. His heart beat so loudly, so painfully, that he could barely hear the noises inside the room. But they were still there, like a hammer driving deep into his skull.

This isn’t right. This shouldn’t be happening.

But it was. And no matter how much he told himself to leave, to escape the twisted knot in his gut, his body betrayed him. He was completely frozen in place, listening. Listening wordlessly to you with him. The sound of you unraveling under the other Mark’s touch, under his control. And it sickened him, but he couldn’t make himself stop.

There was a rawness to it. A harshness in the way S.Mark’s voice filled the room. The way he demanded you. The way he didn’t ask, didn’t plead. He took. He had you, and you—you—were giving it to him, freely, openly. There was no hesitation. There was no fear. Only him.

Marks fingers curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms as if he could physically hold back the rush of emotions threatening to tear through him. It should be me, he thought, his mind a swirling mess of anger and confusion. It’s supposed to be me.

The sound of the bed creaking, the rush of breaths becoming more frantic, more urgent, rips him from his thoughts. His stomach lurches, the bile rising in his throat, but his body betrayed him again. He stayed. He listened. Every sound pulled him deeper into the dark, twisted pit of jealousy and rage that churned inside him. He hated this. Hated him. Hated the way he felt so small above that house, listening to what felt like the final unraveling of everything.

The weight of the silence between his breaths is deafening. He should’ve left. He should’ve stormed away, broke everything, anything to stop this feeling, to stop this moment from ever happening. But he didn’t.

Instead, Mark stayed motionless. The heat of your pleasure mixing with the sickening taste of his own jealousy, the taste of losing you but knowing this you had never been his to begin with.

And even as the noise inside the room escalated, even as the sounds of your pleasure rose higher, Mark still couldn’t force himself to leave. His fingers trembled, his chest tightened, but he stayed. Stayed until it was over, and every shred of sanity was torn from his mind.

→ 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙏𝙬𝙤 ←

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