#i like feeling that i am me even through a screen i am still me and not some offbrand representation of myself

[whirlybirbs]

— BURNER CELL ; 3 ; DABI ; 荼毗

summary: a night out with dabi. pairing: dabi / f!reader ; quirkless word count: 4.6k tag: humor, maladjusted dabi meets normal adult woman, flirting, canon-based world building, texting as a plot device, slight au, univeristy student!reader, marijuana mention, drinking, blowjob mention, public sex mention, dabi is a guard dog a/n: i know that everyone is always like "yes daddy dabi mmm fuck me yea he's a hard dom" but i for one think he is so scarred that the idea of intimacy floods touya with absolute panic. like, pleasure???? he barely knows that when it's by his own hand. ANNNND we WILL be talking about that! ← previous | the tag

You do end up getting a good grade on that paper.

Which, frankly, is a relief, because ever since you decided to text Dabi, life has been weird. Like... weird-weird. It wasn't the catastrophic derailment you feared, but a slow burn (ha, get it?) of weirdness you feel in your bones. 

I mean, Dabi is weird. He is consistently inconsistent in his texting. Bursts of haptic feedback frequently interrupt your focus in lectures that week, and you find yourself being Pavlov-dogged into checking after two or more vibrations break through the usual iMessage silence. He acts like he's known you for years. He's weird.

He's a terminal triple-texter. He's a chronic user of text emojis that went out of style years ago. Weird. 

→ dabi ; 9:34am ya idk princess i think i might kms public execution sounds soooo hot rn i am so fuckin hungover what r u up 2 o wait it's tues. ur in class rn aren't u lmfao :p

← bar girl ; 9:36am why are you hungover on a tuesday

→ dabi ; 9:36am depression idfk

He's weird. Sorta funny. And he's clingy.

Clingy if clingy means vying for your attention — and clingy if clingy means texting you again if you don't respond after an hour and a half of silence. God forbid you overlook his texts in favor of doing the dishes, brushing Mizu, or even showering. 

Friday evening rolls around and Dabi is still texting you. 

→ dabi ; 6:56pm ...i asked you a question it's friday r u going out with nuri + the rest of blackpink or nah :/

You exhale tightly, sweeping the towel closer and ignoring the gathering water droplets on your phone as you hammer back a quick reply. 

← bar girl ; 6:57pm i am begging you to let me shower in peace

He's typing.

→ dabi ; 6:57pm what do u want me to say to that. "aha without me????? :p" stfu i don't care about ur shower giran said ur going out.

It does make you laugh — one thing about Dabi is that the flirting is rudimentary and blunt, and he always extinguishes it before you even react. It's sort of refreshing... in a confusing way. A weird way. 

He can't help it.

You're kinda fun. In a weird way. 

Touya doesn't know what the fuck he's doing if he's being honest with himself. It's not like this is his thing. He didn't think this would turn into a weird, big deal — not that it is... But, his body and brain feel like it is because he likes texting you and hates when you don't respond. Whatever. He didn't think you'd seriously take his number at the bar. No one is ever stupid enough to take him up on that offer. 

You're just some stupid college girl who happens to be nice and honest and has a cute cat. A dime a dozen. He can ignore you, leave you on read, and dump you for the next item whenever he wants. Any day now. 

Just... Not today.

Your text lights up his lock screen. A scarred thumb swipes it open with ease. 

← bar girl ; 7:01pm yes, dabi, i'm going out with them

His smirk is crooked and it pulls at the staples in his cheeks. It's enough for him — and now that he's gotten the reply he wants, he drifts into that sudden radio silence that confuses you. 

You're getting ready, phone charging, and find yourself hovering back into your bedroom between hair and make-up — you tap your phone awake, and each time: there's nothing. 

It's not until you're in the back of the Uber, shouldered between Nuri and the others, that he finally responds. You squint in the dark at the notification, scoffing to yourself.

→ dabi ; 9:44pm where r u

Something ignites in the back of your mind — the culmination of weirdness. Dabi's looking for you at the bar. Of course, he is.

You hammer back a reply, the two shots you took in the kitchen with the girls — before getting in the rideshare — are creeping in. The glow of your text illuminates your heavy liner and lash.

← bar girl ; 9:45pm relax hot stuff

His reply is almost instant.

→ dabi ; 9:46pm just bc ur pretty doesn't mean u can tell me what 2 do now let's try that again princess where r u

His texts tingle something in the back of your mind. It's the weirdness. It's back. You don't hate it, but it flusters you — just enough that you're quick to respond. 

← bar girl ; 9:46pm two min away

Again, his reply is instantaneous. 

→ dabi ; 9:47pm :)

And unsettling. 

When the ride pulls up to the bar, everyone is quick to thank the driver as they pile out of the back seat and into the crisp evening air. It's getting colder. As you give the Uber driver another kind goodbye and shut the door, you can hear Nuri squealing — a telltale sign that she's found her man of the hour. Or week. Or month. You don't know. 

According to Nuri, Giran isn't as shitty as you originally thought. 

After all, that new (and expensive) purse on her arm is a gift from The Broker himself. 

The acrid smell of tobacco and a touch of something else curls around you in greeting as you turn and blink into the blaring neon signs of the bar. By the edge of the building, Giran is hugging Nuri while smoke curls from his nose like a dragon. 

The lean, tall figure in all black beside him puffs quietly on the shared cigarette.

So much for quitting.

Giran insisted on stepping out for a smoke — and well, Dabi was bribed with the offer of a fresh hand-roll. He's got his vices. He hasn't smoked in, like, three weeks. Cut him some fucking slack. S'not like it's a Marlboro. And it's definitelynot that shit Splinter smoked him out with — that horrifying strain that nearly killed both him and Shigaraki one night.

It's a shitty, cheap spliff.

His eyes, cutting and blue, pin you where you stand. He takes another purposeful drag as his turquoise eyes rake over your figure. You look good. Real good.

Pretty. 

Between the wisps of smoke, there's something floral, sweet, and soft in the air. 

Your perfume. 

You ignore the creeping feeling of becoming prey and instead, heed Nuri's laughter and smiles as she waves you over to meet Giran formally. You do as you're told, toddling beside the others as you shake Giran's hand. His dark eyes flicker with something like recognition before drifting sideward to Dabi. 

"We're going to head in — I'll grab us all drinks," he grins, the look a little lopsided; Nuri coos and the others hardly protest. Giran takes one last drag of his hand-roll before passing it back to Dabi with a wink; his smile unsettles you, "You two finish that for me, yeah?"

With that, you're left outside the bar with Dabi and his cigarette.

He tugs on the hood over his head a little, sniffling and rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb as he balances the burning gift between his fingers. His eyes haven't left you once. 

You take the opportunity to look him over. Ripped jeans, a broken-in pair of Doc Martens. There's a black t-shirt hem poking out from under the baggy, black hoodie on his shoulders. Some scraggly, nearly illegible metal band name is embossed into the material. 

There's a black face mask tugged around his chin as he aims to finish the cigarette. He flicks the embers into the wet pavement in a practiced move. The burning butt hangs between two long and deft fingers. 

"You're starin'."

You cross your arms, tilting your head as you meet his gaze. "I thought you told me you quit." 

His laugh is a raspy, dangerous wheeze. Dabi leans back against the building's black brick. Beneath his hood, you can see his blue eyes narrow.

"Don't get yer panties in a twist," Dabi murmurs as he swallows and exhales, "It's a single spliff. S'nothin'." 

Ah, so that explains it. 

Arms still crossed, you gesture easily for a hit. You crook two fingers, black nail polish glinting in the neon lights. Dabi hesitates, the dwindling cigarette perched between his lips. 

"No," he denies the request, smacking your hand down and away, "M'not corrupting you."

"Corrupting me?" you laugh, tucking your hand back under your armpit to stay warm. You're regretting not bringing a jacket. You just didn't want to deal with coat check, "Seriously?"

It's bad enough he's dragged you into his shit.

"Giran's shit sucks anyways," Dabi explains away roughly, flicking the butt of the remainder of the roach, "S'barely enough to get a rat high."

"Perfect. I love rats," you chirp back; your grin is slow, "I'm a one-hit wonder anyways."

Suddenly, Dabi feels the need to protect you surge inside of him. He puts greater distance between you and the spliff on instinct. 

What the fuck is happening?

"I'm not getting you high," Dabi says firmly, taking one last drag, "And I'm not giving you any drunk cigarettes either. S' against my glimmering, perfect morals."

"Riiiight," you nod; the weirdness is ebbing away. Right now, it feels like another night of texting. Easy. Fun. You sigh and shake your head, "Must be hard being such a perfect guy." 

"You've got no fuckin' idea," he drops the roach to the pavement as he exhales long and hard before gesturing to his lonely state outside the bar, "Gotta beat th' girls offa me."

"Is this you wallowing?" you ask in good humor as Dabi cracks his neck.

"No, this was me waitin' fer you t' show," he corrects before lobbing one long arm around your shoulders and tugging you close to his side, "Cuz' m'gonna have t' beat the guys offa you."

He smells like fire and tobacco and a little bit of weed, but also laundry detergent and crisp, sporty deodorant. Like a real person, and not like some mythic League of Villains member who needs to hide his face to even be here. 

He tugs the face mask back up his jaw, the hood still on. 

You're back to feeling weird. Like prey. But, less like the rabbit in his snapping maw, and more like the treasured kill. Is that what this feeling is? He feels it too. He's been feelin' it. 

Is he catching feelings?

Are you? 

This is why he asked if you were going out, isn't it? So he could keep an eye on you. So he could keep anyone else away from you. 

Clingy.

You don't say anything, only slip him a curious look when he tosses the bouncer a crinkled wad of yen from a well-worn wallet for your cover charge. You allow him to lead you into the bar, and you allow his arm to stay around your shoulders. The tall, dark-haired arsonist weaves easily through the chatter, music, and dancing — and easy as breathing, his arm slips from your shoulders and down your arm. He doesn't hold your hand — but he does tug on your wrist as the crowd bunches together near the bustling bar.

The back of him cuts an intimidating figure.

Dabi is tall. 

Wordlessly, he manages to make enough room at the bar. There's an open seat. He nudges his chin towards it, allowing you to slip up onto the stool. It feels like you've got your own guard dog of sorts. 

You don't know how to feel now.

The weirdness is back on your tongue. 

Dabi is fiddling with his dangling, silver earring as he speaks. It's loud in here. Busy. Lots of bodies. The thrum of the bass is heady and heavy in your chest. He has to lean down — to get close to your ear — for you to hear him. 

"Whaddaya want t' drink?" he calls over the baseline, his arm leaned on the back of your seat. 

You turn your cheek, wondering if you should milk this whole guard dog act. You make a move for the small purse hanging on your shoulder. Dabi waves you off, looking non-plussed. 

It's a peace offering, he reasons. For blowing your phone up this whole week... Right? Not like he has to apologize. That's what people do. They fuckin' text one another. S'whatever. 

"Just lemme buy you a fuckin' drink, will ya? Don't make it a thing," he says again, tugging off the black face mask and stuffing it into his back pocket. 

He doesn't really need to worry about anyone clocking who he is in here — it's dark enough, and not exactly the best bar in Kamino Ward. Dabi tugs his hood down and runs a palm through his thick, black hair. He's fixing his cowlick, trying his best to hide the creep of shyness. 

Don't make it a thing.

Isn't this a thing? This whole thing?

You sit up a little straighter, leaning in to speak up over the music. At your cue, Dabi leans down again and your nose nearly brushes the staples crawling up his cheeks. "Fine. Get me a rum and coke."

It's confusing. You're... fine with being this close to him. No one is ever this fine with being close to him. He's mangled and scarred and fucked up, and usually fear makes people bite. You haven't done that.

You've treated him like a normal fucking person.

He scoffs. He turns his face and you can smell the cigarette on his breath. And mint. The echos of chewing gum. 

"No need t' be frugal about it, princess." 

Your eyes narrow incrementally, trying to sus out what the everloving fuck is happening right now. Is this real? Is he real? Are you seriously here, letting Dabi buy you a drink after allowing him to blow your phone up with nonsensical texts all week? The Dabi. The League of Villains' Favorite Fire Starter, Dabi. 

Texting him was a bad idea.

Letting him buy you a drink is an even worse one.

Your rum and coke and his shitty beer are traded for another wad of wrinkled yen with the bartender. You accept the bought drink, gathering the straw before knocking back a strong sip. Dabi swigs his beer, but his blue eyes stick on you in the swiveling strobes of the bar. Blue eyes connect with yours and you find your gaze hitching on the way his Adam's apple bobs as he drinks. 

You never considered Dabi handsome.

Not until this moment.

Maybe that's where you went wrong with all this. Maybe you fucked up by assuming you'd never be swallowing down a wad of attraction as heavy as a magnet. It's so apparent you almost choke. 

His pierced brow quirks as he side-eyes you. 

What the fuck is going on tonight?

It's fine. You smother the thoughts blaring in the back of your mind like a fire alarm with another longer sip of the rum and coke in your hands. The condensation is cold and wet. Grounding. Remember who you are. Not a villain. 

He can eat you alive.

But, Dabi... He... doesn't really want to.

You're squeezing the lime into your drink when Dabi leans in again. 

"What's the deal with Giran an' Nuri, huh?" 

You follow his eye-line and spot the two in question at the far end of the bar. They're mirroring you and Dabi except for the distinct amount of touching. Nuri can hardly keep her hands off of Giran. The Broker doesn't seem to mind. You lean into Dabi's personal space as you respond. Both of your gazes remain on the two.

"I told you," you remind him, "She thinks she can fix him."

Dabi's laugh is dry in your ear. "Is gettin' in his pants part of her plan?" 

You roll your eyes at him, turning to lean a bit closer. "He bought her that Hermès bag. I don't really blame her for wanting to sleep with him after that."

It's a joke.

Dabi smirks into his beer. "What, is buyin' you a drink not enough? I gotta go designer now?" 

You're impressed that you don't stutter; liquid courage be damned. "Is that an offer?"

Dabi sneers. He shoves you with his elbow albeit lightly. It's a signal — drop it. Just like how he extinguishes any flirting over text, he does it now in person. 

"S' dedication on his part."

"Maybe it's love," you coo as you take another sip and look up at him, "Maybe they're meant for one another."

Touya drums his knuckles on the back of your bar stool as he rolls his jaw. He's quiet for a while — busy dragging his eyes around the establishment. Seems like everyone here has someone with them. Someone they care about. How the fuck do they do that? How do people trust like that? Touya's blue eyes narrow in on Giran and Nuri once more, only to feel like he's intruding. The sight of a long kiss shared makes Dabi drag his eyes away from the two at the end of the bar. A pang of longing strikes up his core, only to be worsened when he looks down and sees you staring at him again in the darkness of the bar. 

"What?"

"You're high," you say with a growing smirk, "Aren't you?"

"Fuck off—"

"—I knew it."

"M'not high," Dabi counters, realizing as he speaks that he is. Just a little bit. Not enough for it to be a problem, "Shut up."

You feel a little bit like you've won a game. The rules were never clearly defined, never agreed upon — you watch him inhale sharply through his nose as his eyes dart around the bar behind him. 

"Then why'd you get so quiet about that?" you pry, leaning against the cool, damp counter as you swivel in your stool. Your knees brush his thigh. 

Maybe if you pretend that attraction isn't there, it will go away.

Maybe it will die a lonely death in the pit of your heart.

"About what?" he grits out, leaning onto his elbow. He crosses his boots at the ankle, trying to ignore the burn of your body pressed against his in the closeness of this bar. Dabi's fingers pick at the label of his beer absently.

"About looooove," you yammer on, waggling your head and leaning closer, "What, does Mr. Bad Boy not believe in love?"

Dabi scoffs in your face. "You're drunk."

Your lips part. You look offended — but he can see a smile tugging at the corners of your lips regardless. You press a palm to your chest as you speak, "I'm fine."

"Fine enough for another rum 'n' coke?" he asks as he nods towards your empty glass. The ice is melting. Dabi'ssmirking. 

You flatten your look. "I'm buying it."

"Nope," he pops the 'p'. He's wrangling for his wallet again and digging it out of the back pocket well-worn pair of skinny jeans. His fingers are quick, flipping the torn and half-destroyed wallet open as he flags the bartender down, "I told you. Don't make it a thing. Do y' want another one, or nah?"

You squint at him. 

Then, you concede.

"One more."

Dabi's grin breaks across his face like a lightning strike. Dangerous. "Good girl. Was that so hard?"

The weirdness gives way — it burns. Your chest feels like it's on fire. If Dabi notices, he doesn't say shit. You're glad. You don't know if you'd ever be able to come back from it if he did. 

There's a part of him that knows what he's doing. There's a part, deep down, that knows this will end up hurting worse than anything imaginable, he's sure. But, whatever. So it goes. Touya doesn't give a shit. Hurting makes him feel human. 

That rum and coke arrives just as some clean-cut, dopey-looking fucker strides up the bar beside you. He's got a patterned button-up on and a watch that looks too heavy for his wrist. Dabi is paying, jutting his jaw out in thanks to the bartender, when Mr. Perfect tries to strike up a conversation with you.

His teeth are eerily white in the bar's dark as he tries to get your attention. 

You try to hide a wince when the stranger's hand touches your shoulder. 

(You don't wince when he touches you, Dabi realizes smugly.)

Before the man can even talk to you, there's a pair of turquoise eyes boring a hole into the man's skull.

"Hey, pal," comes the rasped crackle of Dabi's voice over your shoulder, "She ain't interested."

You haven't heard this tone from him before — it's flat and hollow and sharp, almost like being on the receiving end could make you bleed. It takes a moment for it to register, and when you blink up at Dabi, you realize that he's angry. 

Your fingers tighten around your drink.

The man doesn't seem to get it. He just laughs — and tries to brush off the attempted cock block by doubling down. 

Bad idea.

You can't help but freeze when Dabi moves, sliding behind you and cornering the man against the bar. Suddenly, the resident arsonist's poor posture is forgotten. His height unfolds a wave of intimidation as he roots his fist in the back of the guy's collar. 

"You know," Dabi grits with a flash of his eyes as he leans into the man's personal space; the expression could be mistaken for a smile, but you know better, "I really fuckin' hate it when I have to repeat myself."

You tighten your jaw. You take a sip of your drink and try to ignore the tension developing beside you. You sip your rum and coke and pray this doesn't become a bigger scene than it needs to be.

One hard shove displaces the unwanted attention — and now Dabi has assumed the spot on the other side of you. He leans on the bar, both elbows planted, and then tips back his beer. The victor.

Your eyes dart over your shoulder. The man is gone, lost in the flood of bouncing bodies on the dance floor.

Morally speaking, you're on the ropes. You're a grown woman. You can take care of yourself. You know how to say no. You know how to tell a man to fuck off and eat shit. You can do it, and... you would. You were about to—

"Stop makin' it a thing."

Dabi's voice cuts through your thoughts. You blink back at him and realize he's avoiding eye contact.

You cross your legs, exhale, and rub the spot between your brows. 

This bastard is giving you a headache. But, y'know, nothing new there.

"I could've handled that on my own, y'know—"

Dabi scoffs. He taps his finished beer down onto the counter before pushing back upright and turning to look at you. His hair hangs in his eyes. 

"—That's nice. I don't care—"

"—But, thank you." 

You pin him with a look that's all too unamused, and Dabi doesn't like that his heart does some weird fuckin' stutter thing. The villain's brows knit for a moment as he tries to sort out what the fuck is happening, and then he rolls his jaw and shrugs. He goes a little rigid at the thank you. 

"...It's whatever."

It's cute. 

Your expression softens. You settle into your seat and take a sip of your drink. Dabi's stare is off a thousand yards, rooted somewhere between the drink coaster and your thighs.

"Stop making it a thing," you parrot back at him, nudging him with your elbow.

It drags him back to earth. Dabi snorts through his nose, then winds his arms around himself as he makes a point of scouring the bar. His voice is dry. "It's not a thing."

Right. 

Right. 

For once, you're thankful for the interruption of your friends begging you to come dance. 

The three of them are beaming brightly, their hands tugging on your arms and shoulders as they swarm you at the bar. You have to laugh; they're insisting the song that's playing is your song but you have no recollection of ever even liking this artist. It's a ploy, you know, to get you to let loose.

You glance towards Dabi. 

You swear he's almost smiling.

"I don't dance," he rasps, leaning lazily against the bar, "So don't ask."

"Fine," you murmur, wriggling down from the stool and taking a brave, long sip after tugging your skirt down; you brush your shoulder against Dabi's as you step away from the bar, "Suit yourself."

Your friends are cheering, tugging you into the fray. And Dabi is left there, leaning against the bartop, watching you disappear into the crowd.

Maybe you should have known, then, that this exact predicament was bound to happen. 

It happens four songs in — right after you finish the rum and coke that was delivered right into your hands when your darling Nuri made her appearance. The lights sway, slow to catch up to the bob of your head as you let loose.

You smell that cologne first. 

Then, there are hands on your waist.

A big watch, no doubt a fake, snakes around the front of your waist. Your brows knot together as your mouth curls into an angered scowl. You're about to stomp on the guy's foot, you're about to throw the watered-down dredges of your drink in the guy's face.

But, as quick as the touch came, it was gone.

Then, the smell of fire on the night air. 

The new hands that fall on your hips are decidedly more conscious. They don't tug or pull, they simply curl around the soft curve there. The owner of the hands leans in, his chest pressed to your back, as he's jostled by the crowd. The studs on his belt are cool against the skin above your lower back where your shirt has ridden up.

When you look back, familiar turquoise eyes are staring.

He leans closer, your stride in the dance unbroken, and raises his voice over the bass. 

"Don't make it a thing."

The position is entirely too intimate for you to even register. Then, his eyes flick a little lower, and you lean your head back a bit against his chest. Your hips rock a bit, only enough to keep the beat, as you tilt your chin and lean to speak into his ear. Your nose brushes his scars and his entire body reacts.

"I thought you didn't dance?"

If your hips roll against him again, you try to tell yourself it was on accident.

And just like that, he's swooping your finished drink out of your hand and he's gone. 

He doesn't dance. He... He doesn't... feel things. He could walk out of this bar and feel nothing. He could dump his burner in the harbor and never look back, and there would be no skin off his back.

Just... Not today.

Not today, he tells himself as he steps outside with a bummed cigarette in hand trying to adjust himself in his jeans. It dangles between his lips as he grunts, puffs, and the keys on his belt jingle. Touya rubs his palm against his eye as he tries to get a grip.

You're just some stupid college girl who happens to be pretty and kind and has a nice ass. A dime a dozen. He can fuck you, leave you on read, and dump you for the next item whenever he wants. Any day now. 

So why doesn't he?

He could buck the fuck up, head back in there, and drag you to the bathroom. 

He could. H-He could. Give him ten minutes, and he could make a mess across your face like he keeps havin' those dreams about. Give him some time and he'll have you screamin' his name — and no one would even hear it over the music. 

Touya tugs at his hair.

He could.

That doesn't mean he wants to, though.

Fuck. 

[heartsriki]

카메라⌇OFF CAMERA... 〆 N.RK

pairing ᝰ Riki x fem!reader — featuring.. ot7 & njz wc: 5.7k

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ frenemies to lovers, lots of bickering, reader is an influencer sort of, jealousy, fluff, a kiss.

synopsis — A weekend trip, nonstop teasing, and one accidental like—somewhere between annoying each other and late-night moments, You and Riki realize your feelings might be more than just for the camera.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊Riki frenemies to lovers as requested.. CURRENTLY WORKING ON MORE FICS SO HAVE THIS ONE FOR NOW

“What about Riki?” Hanni asks, giving you a knowing glance.

You groan, already regretting this conversation. “Riki? What. Why bring him up?”

“Well, isn’t he also going on the trip? He’s friends with your friends, right?”

You cross your arms with a sigh. “Regretfully, I think so…”

Hanni hums, tilting her head. “What’s your problem with him anyway? I think he’s cute.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “I wouldn’t say cute.”

“And talented.”

“Not that either.”

“He’s nice too.”

You scoff. “Now you’re just messing with me.”

Hanni laughs, nudging your shoulder. “Okay, but seriously. What made you dislike him so much?”

What made you hate Riki? Oh, it was simple, really.

He was annoying. Egotistical. Arrogant. Selfish. Manipulative. And rude.

People say you hate him? Well, he started it.

Hanni is still watching you, waiting for an answer, but you just shake your head. She wouldn’t get it. No one ever does.

“You’re being dramatic,” she finally says, crossing her arms.

You scoff. “Am I? Have you ever had to deal with someone who goes out of their way to make your life miserable?”

She tilts her head in thought. “No, but maybe you’re just imagining it. Riki doesn’t seem like that kind of person.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “That’s because he has everyone fooled. Trust me, he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

Hanni gives you a skeptical look. “Okay, then tell me. What has he actually done to you?”

Oh, where to begin? There was the time he conveniently ‘forgot’ to tell you about a major change in your group project, making you look unprepared in front of the entire class. Or the time he somehow convinced everyone that you were the one who ditched the plans he never even invited you to in the first place. And don’t even get you started on the way he always smirks whenever he sees you struggle with anything, like he’s just waiting for you to mess up.

But instead of listing every single one of Riki’s crimes, you just sigh. “It doesn’t matter. Just know that he’s the worst.”

Hanni still looks unconvinced, but she drops the subject with a little shrug. “Fine, if you say so.”

You relax slightly, glad to move on—until she adds, “I personally think hes flirting.”

You whip your head toward her. “He is not.”

She grins. “Right.”

You exhale sharply, already regretting letting Hanni drag this out. But if she wants to know the full story, fine.

“It’s not some deep, dramatic thing,” you start. “We met through our friend group—Jake, Sunghoon, Jay, Sunoo, Jungwon, Heeseung. At first, he was just… there. Annoying, always doing the most for attention. But I didn’t really care. We barely interacted.”

Hanni nods, urging you to continue. “And then?”

“And then, one day, I was doing a live,” you say flatly. “It was supposed to be normal—just me talking to my followers and fans, answering questions, minding my business. But guess who decided to pop in uninvited?”

She gasps dramatically. “No. He wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but he did.” You cross your arms. “And, of course, the chat immediately noticed. People were freaking out, like, ‘Omg, Riki’s here?!’ ‘Riki, say hi!’ and I was already dreading whatever he was about to do.”

Hanni grins. “And what did he do?”

You sigh, closing your eyes like you can still see it happening. “He sent a donation just so his message would be pinned on the screen. And do you know what he asked?”

Hanni leans forward, eyes wide with anticipation. “What?”

You drop your voice, mimicking Riki’s cocky tone. “‘Be honest—do you secretly have a crush on me?’”

Hanni screams. “NO.”

“YES.” You groan, burying your face in your hands. “And the worst part? I was so caught off guard, I hesitated before saying no. And the internet never let it go.”

She’s cackling now, gripping your arm. “Oh my god, that’s so funny.”

“It’s not funny,” you grumble. “Because now? People like us. Together. The clip went viral, there are fan edits, people comment on my posts saying ‘#NishimuraEffect,’ and every time I go live, someone always asks about him.”

Hanni wipes a fake tear from her eye. “That’s incredible. You’re living a cliche rom-com.”

“A nightmare,” you correct. “Because Riki? He loves it. He leans into it. He’ll pop up in my comment section, reply to tweets with winks, and the other day? He sent me a playlist called ‘Songs That Remind Me of You’ and people lost their minds!”

Hanni gasps. “Wait. Was it a real playlist?”

“It was literally just a playlist with songs that he knows I hate.”

She wheezes. “Okay, no, that’s hilarious.”

“It’s immature,” you huff. “And now, whenever we’re in the same room, he just smirks at me like I’m obsessed with him. Like this is all just a fun little game.”

Hanni gives you a knowing look. “You do talk about him a lot…”

You shoot her a glare. “Don’t start.”

She smirks. “Too late. I think this trip is gonna be very interesting.”

The trip was supposed to be a simple getaway—a weekend away with friends, no drama, no awkwardness, just a little downtime and possibly endless amounts of photo dump content for your page. At least, that’s what you thought when you agreed to go. But now, standing in front of your packed suitcase, you couldn’t shake the feeling that things were about to get way more complicated.

Hanni had practically begged you to go. “It’s just a short trip! You need to get away from our apartment,” she’d said.

You’d reluctantly agreed, wanting the escape, but now that it was here, you were starting to question your decision. Because the trip included Riki. And the last thing you needed was a weekend of him continuing his little game of pushing your buttons.

You could already hear his voice in your head, mocking your every move.

“You sure you’re okay with being in the same car as me for three hours? Can you resist me?”

You shudder at the thought. The last time you were this close to him for any extended period of time, you nearly lost your mind. But this time? It was different. This time, he had the leverage of your online reputation over your head.

“Alright, everyone ready?” Heeseung called, appearing in the doorway of your room with his usual wide grin.

You gave him a thumbs-up, trying to hide your nerves. “Yeah. Just… give me a second.”

“Don’t take too long,” he teased, a knowing look in his eyes. “Riki’s already downstairs.”

That was the last thing you needed to hear. You quickly shoved your phone into your bag and followed Jake downstairs, where the group was already gathered. The moment you stepped into the living room, Riki’s voice hit you like a wave.

“Hey, look at that.. only took like what? Three hours?” He turned to you, flashing that infamous, teasing grin. “Did you pack extra clothes? Or did you vlog your packing routine for your little page?”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. “I just lost track of time,” you muttered, glancing over at the others. They were all chatting and laughing, clearly oblivious to Riki’s mind games.

“Alright, let’s get going!” Jungwon called, grabbing his bag and heading for the door.

You followed the group out to the cars, trying to ignore the feeling of Riki’s gaze on you. Of course, he had to be in the same car as you. Why wouldn’t he be?

You slid into the backseat with Sunghoon and Sunoo, silently praying for the trip to be over already. But of course, Riki made himself comfortable in the seat next to you, leaning over the armrest just enough to make it impossible to avoid him.

“So,” he said, his voice smooth and casual, “How’s the internet fame treating you? I saw your last livestream. Pretty cute how everyone keeps asking about us.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring that up. Ever again.”

He chuckled, clearly amused by your discomfort. “What? I’m just stating the facts. It’s pretty entertaining how much people are into this whole thing. Especially since im way out of your league.”

“I’m not into it,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “And neither are you. You’re just messing with me.”

Riki grinned, clearly enjoying the way you were trying to avoid eye contact. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say.” He leaned back in his seat, his expression softening just a little.

You glared at him, refusing to let him get to you. “Don’t you have anything better to do than make my life miserable?”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk never leaving his face. “It’s funny making fun of people like you.”

The rest of the car ride passed in awkward silence, broken only by the sound of the others chatting and laughing around you. You kept your focus on the passing scenery, determined not to engage. But despite your best efforts, you could still feel Riki’s presence, like he was waiting for you to crack.

When you finally arrived at the cabin, you were more than ready to get away from him for a bit. The house was cozy, with a large living room and a fireplace crackling in the corner. You were more than ready to get away from Riki for a bit. As everyone scattered to claim rooms, you spotted the perfect one at the end of the hall—far from the shared spaces, away from distractions, and most importantly, away from him.

But just as you stepped inside, a familiar voice called out behind you.

“No way you get this room.”

You closed your eyes briefly, already regretting every decision that led to this moment. Turning around, you found Riki leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk already forming.

“I got here first,” you stated.

He shrugged. “I don’t care. I’m not rooming with Jungwon again. The guy sleeps like a rock but somehow still manages to kick me in his sleep.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And that’s my problem how?”

Riki stepped past you, dropping his bag onto the other bed in the room. “It is now.”

Your mouth fell open. “No. Absolutely not. I am not sharing a room with you.”

“Why not? Afraid you’ll fall in love with me overnight?”

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “I’d rather sleep outside.”

“Go ahead,” he said, flopping onto the bed, arms behind his head. “Less complaining for me to hear.”

You stared at him, waiting for him to give up, but he didn’t move. He just looked at you, that stupid smirk still playing on his lips like he knew you had no other option. And unfortunately, he was right. The cabin didn’t have enough rooms for everyone to have their own, and if you didn’t stay here, you’d probably end up sharing with Sunoo—who had a habit of sleep-talking in full conversations.

“Fine,” you muttered, dragging your suitcase toward the other side of the room. “But don’t talk to me.”

Riki grinned. “Gladly.”

The morning started with a natural split—girls on one side of the cabin, guys on the other. After breakfast, the group decided to go their separate ways for a bit. Hanni, Yunjin, and the other girls wanted to explore the nearby shops, while the guys planned to check out a hiking trail a few miles away.

As they piled into separate cars, Jungwon glanced over at Riki, who had been quieter than usual. “Alright, man, I gotta ask,” he said as he adjusted his seatbelt. “Why do you mess with Y/N so much?”

Jake, who was driving, snickered. “Yeah, dude. It’s like your favorite hobby.”

Riki rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “It’s not that deep.”

Sunghoon turned in his seat to face him. “Nah, but seriously. You’re always on her case. What’s the deal?”

Riki shrugged, staring out the window. “I just don’t like influencers.”

Sunoo raised an eyebrow. “Okay, but why?”

“They’re all the same,” Riki muttered, crossing his arms. “They act like the world revolves around them just because they have a following. They take a hundred pictures of their food before eating, they vlog every second of their life like it’s a reality show, and they pretend like they’re relatable when they’re really just obsessed with attention.”

The car fell silent for a moment.

Jake finally sighed. “So… you hate Y/N because she posts online?”

Riki hesitated. “I don’t hate her.”

Jungwon smirked. “Could’ve fooled us.”

Riki rolled his eyes again. “She’s just—she’s exactly like the type of people I can’t stand. Always worried about engagement, always curating everything to look perfect. It’s annoying.”

Sunghoon hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Or maybe you’re just mad because you actually like her, and you don’t know how to deal with it.”

Riki scoffed. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Sunoo nudged Sunghoon. “He’s definitely in denial.”

“Definitely,” Jake agreed.

Riki groaned, shoving his hoodie over his head. “Whatever. Can we just go hiking now?”

The conversation shifted after that, but even as the guys joked and planned their route, Riki couldn’t shake the lingering irritation in his chest.

Later that afternoon, after the hike and a much-needed nap back at the cabin, Riki found himself lying on his bed, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he was on your page.

It was almost second nature at this point—checking what you posted, seeing what dumb caption you’d come up with this time. He told himself he was just looking for something to make fun of, something to roll his eyes at.

But then he caught himself smiling.

The post was an old one—before he ever really started paying attention to you. It was a candid picture, nothing staged, just you laughing at something off-camera. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners, the way your smile shined so bright—it was genuine. Real.

He stared at it for a second too long.

Then his thumb slipped.

A loud double tap echoed in the quiet room.

Riki’s heart stopped.

“No. No, no, no—” He shot up, staring at the screen in horror. His username, clear as day, was now stamped underneath a post from two years ago.

Panic set in.

He scrambled to unlike it, praying the damage wasn’t done. But it was too late. The notification had already been sent.

Dropping his phone onto his chest, he let out a long, miserable groan.

He was so screwed.

A knock at the door made Riki jolt upright. His phone nearly slipped from his grip as your voice rang through the wood.

“Hey, are you in there?”

His heart rate spiked.

He tried to act normal, shoving his phone under his pillow like that would somehow erase the evidence. “Uh… yeah, obviously?”

You pushed the door open without making a note on his attitude, your brows furrowed as you scrolled through your phone. “Weird. My notifications just went crazy for a second—”

Riki shot up so fast his head nearly spun. “What? That’s… weird. Super weird.”

You didn’t seem to hear him, still staring at your screen. And then, your steps slowed. Your eyes widened slightly.

“Riki,” you said, dragging his name out in suspicion. “Did you just like my post… from two years ago?”

His entire soul left his body. “No.”

You turned the screen toward him, showing the undeniable truth: Riki liked your photo.

His face burned. “Okay, fine, yes, but it was an accident.”

A slow smirk formed on your lips. “Oh my god. You were stalking my page.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You totally were.”

Riki scrambled off the bed, moving toward you with purpose. “Give me your phone.”

You laughed, stepping back. “Absolutely not.”

“I just need to—” He lunged, but you dodged, holding your phone out of reach.

“Admit you were looking at my posts first.”

“Never.”

You yelped as he grabbed for your wrist, but you twisted away, stumbling slightly. “Wow, this is embarrassing for you.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Riki dove forward again, and this time, he caught your waist, making you gasp as the momentum sent you both tumbling back onto the bed.

The room went still.

Riki barely registered the way your breath hitched. The way your hands landed on his chest, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his hoodie. The way his own hands—one braced on the mattress, the other still loosely gripping your waist—felt suddenly, dangerously warm.

You were close. Too close.

Your eyes flickered to his lips for just a second. Too long.

His grip tightened on instinct.

Something unspoken crackled between you, thick and charged. Riki’s smirk had completely disappeared, replaced with something else entirely—something neither of you wanted to think about.

For once, you didn’t have a witty comeback. And for once, he didn’t have a teasing remark.

Then—

A loud knock shattered the moment.

“Hey, are you guys seriously fighting again?” Jake’s voice called through the door. “Just kiss already or shut up about it!”

You and Riki instantly broke apart.

You shoved him off of you, flustered, as he cleared his throat and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling like it had all the answers in the world.

“You’re so annoying,” you muttered, sitting up quickly, clearly trying to compose yourself.

Riki exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You started it.”

You shot him a glare before storming toward the door. Just before stepping out, you turned back, obviously still flustered.

“For the record,” you said, voice quieter now, “if you wanted to stalk my page, you could’ve just made a fake account, dumbass.”

Then you were gone, leaving Riki lying there, staring after you, heartbeat still uneven.

The lake wasn’t even part of the original plan.

It was supposed to be a lazy morning at the cabin, maybe a hike if everyone felt like it. But then Sunoo, who always had a dramatic streak, took one look at the heat and declared, “I’m going to melt. We’re going to the lake.”

So now, here you were—standing at the edge of the dock, arms crossed, watching as your friends splashed into the cool water. The sun glowed golden against the lake’s surface, the air buzzing with laughter and the occasional shriek whenever someone got dunked underwater.

And, of course, Riki was being the absolute worst.

He was already in the water, hair slicked back, grinning like he was plotting something. He kept dunking Jungwon, then dodging away before he could get tackled in return.

You had zero intention of getting in the water. You were content staying on the dock, dipping your toes in while avoiding whatever ridiculous water war was happening between the guys.

Unfortunately, Riki had other plans.

He swam closer, resting his arms on the dock right by your feet. “What’s the matter? Scared you’ll mess up your whole influencer aesthetic?”

You shot him a glare. “Some of us actually enjoy being dry, thanks.”

His grin widened. “Nah, I think you’re just scared you can’t swim.”

You scoffed. “I can swim.”

“Prove it.”

“I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Because the second the words left your mouth, Riki’s hands shot up, grabbing your ankles.

“Riki, don’t—”

But it was too late.

One hard yank and—

SPLASH.

Cold water exploded around you as you went under. The shock knocked the breath from your lungs, and for a split second, all you saw was a blur of bubbles and blue. Then you surfaced, gasping.

“RIKI!”

His laughter rang out, pure menace. “Told you you could swim.”

Oh, he was so dead.

You lunged at him, sending a wave of water into his face, but Riki just dodged, still laughing. You barely noticed the others watching with wide grins—until Jake, the true agent of chaos, yelled, “so we’re pushing people in now?”

And that was the beginning of total warfare.

Jungwon and Sunghoon immediately grabbed Sunoo, sending him shrieking into the water. Hanni and Danielle tackled Jake. Everyone was dragging everyone else in, and chaos erupted—splashes, screams, and the occasional betrayal as alliances crumbled.

Amidst all of it, Riki swam closer to you, a smug look on his face.

“Having fun?” he asked.

You glared, water dripping from your lashes. “you wish I’d let you off that easy.”

Before he could react, you surged forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders—except this time, you weren’t just pushing him under. You dragged him down with you.

For a moment, it was just water, weightlessness, and the muffled sounds of the lake.

Then, you both surfaced, way too close.

You were still gripping his shoulders, and his hands had instinctively settled on your waist, steadying you. Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.

The sounds of your friends blurred into the background.

Riki blinked, water droplets clinging to his lashes. His grin was gone.

You could feel the warmth of his skin under your fingers. The slow rise and fall of his breathing.

The realization crashed over you all at once.

You had him.

You had him cornered.

A slow smirk curled at your lips. “What’s wrong?” you murmured. “Speechless?”

Riki’s grip on your waist tightened—just for a second—before he scoffed. “Not at all.”

But his voice was softer now. Lower. Like he wasn’t sure if he believed himself.

For a second, you wondered—if you leaned in just a little, if the space between you disappeared—

But then—

“HEY!” Jake’s voice cut through the air. “Are you two flirting?”

Riki immediately let go, stepping back. You did the same, heart hammering.

Jake grinned like he had definitely seen something. “If you’re gonna make out, at least warn us first.”

“Shut up,” Riki snapped, shoving a wave of water in his direction.

You rolled your eyes, turning away before anyone could catch the heat rising to your face.

The moment had passed.

But as the group carried on, splashing and laughing like nothing had happened, you couldn’t help but notice—

Riki wasn’t teasing you as much anymore.

And every time you glanced at him, you caught him already looking.

Sometime later, The sun melted into the horizon, painting the lake in hues of soft gold and deep orange. Everything glowed—the water, the trees, the faces of your friends as they laughed and dried off on the dock. It was the kind of moment you knew would look perfect on your feed.

So, naturally, you grabbed your phone.

You adjusted the angle, letting the sunset frame your shot, when a voice interrupted.

“Want me to take one for you?”

You glanced up to find Jay standing nearby, towel draped over his shoulders, shaking water from his hair.

“Actually, I was gonna do a self-timer,” you said.

Jay grinned. “Or… we could take one together.”

You blinked. “You wanna be in my post?”

“Why not?” He shrugged. “I mean, it’d be a shame to let this lighting go to waste.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Fine. Get in here.”

Jay slid next to you, tossing an arm around your shoulders with an easy familiarity. The two of you posed—first with a casual smile, then a peace sign, then an exaggerated model pose that made you both crack up.

What you didn’t notice was the way Riki’s expression darkened from across the dock.

He had been talking with Jungwon, barely paying attention, until he caught sight of you and Jay—standing a little too close, laughing a little too easily. Jay’s arm stayed draped around your shoulders as he leaned in to check the pictures.

And Riki felt something sharp and unfamiliar twist in his chest.

His jaw clenched.

His stomach burned.

He hated it.

Without thinking, he pushed off the wooden railing and made his way over.

“Hope you got my good side,” Jay joked, peering over your shoulder.

You laughed. “You literally look good in every photo, shut up.”

Jay winked. “So you do think I look good.”

Before you could roll your eyes, another voice cut in—calm, controlled, but laced with something heavy underneath.

“Didn’t realize this was a couples shoot.”

You turned just in time to see Riki step up beside you, hands shoved in his pockets. His expression was indifferent, but there was something in his eyes—something sharp and unsettled.

Jay smirked. “Feeling left out?”

Riki’s gaze flickered between the two of you before he let out a quiet scoff. “Just wondering when you two got so close.”

Your breath caught.

Jay raised an eyebrow. “It’s just a photo.”

Riki shrugged, but his jaw was tight. “Is it?”

The words hung in the air, heavier than they should have been.

You swallowed, heat rising to your face. “Since when do you care?”

For the first time, Riki didn’t have a quick comeback. He held your gaze for a second longer than necessary—then, without another word, he reached for your phone, flipped the camera to selfie mode, and pulled you in beside him.

The sunset glowed behind you both, casting golden light over the two of you. His expression was unreadable—yours, somewhere between confused and way too aware of how close he was.

Click.

The picture saved, and Riki handed your phone back.

“There,” he said, voice quieter now. “Something worth posting.”

Then, before you could say anything, he turned and walked away—leaving you standing there, heart racing, wondering what the hell just happened.

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you and Riki into the shared room for the night. The air between you was thick with something unspoken—something that had been there ever since the lake, since the sunset, since the moment his hand found its way to your waist.

You hated how aware you were of it.

Riki, on the other hand, acted like nothing had changed. He tossed his bag into the corner, grabbed a towel, and ran it through his damp hair as he stood near the dresser. His movements were relaxed, effortless, but his silence was new. Usually, he’d have made some comment by now—some smug remark, some way to push your buttons.

Instead, he said nothing.

And somehow, that made it worse.

You sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, but your mind wasn’t really focused. You could still feel the weight of his arm from earlier, the quiet challenge in his voice when he pulled you close, the way his eyes had darkened when he saw you laughing with Jay.

Jay.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Maybe that was it—maybe Riki was just annoyed that someone else had gotten under your skin before he could.

But then why did he look at you like that?

“You didn’t post it.”

His voice cut through the silence, and you glanced up to find him watching you from across the room.

You blinked. “What?”

“The picture.” He nodded toward your phone. “You didn’t post it.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “So?”

Riki tilted his head, eyes unreadable. “Didn’t peg you as the type to waste a good photo.”

You exhaled through your nose. “Maybe I just didn’t feel like dealing with the comments.”

He let out a scoff, tossing the towel onto his suitcase. “Right. Because people liking us together would be so unbearable for you.”

You shot him a glare. “You say that like you don’t make my life unbearable.”

Riki’s lips curled into something almost smug, but there was something off about it—like he wasn’t fully committed to the act. “Funny. Didn’t seem like you hated it when you let me pull you in.”

Your breath hitched. “I didn’t let you do anything.”

“Didn’t stop me either.”

You clenched your jaw, standing up abruptly. “Oh my god, you’re so—”

He took a step closer.

You faltered.

The room suddenly felt smaller, the space between you charged with something sharp, something heated. You hadn’t even realized how close he had gotten, but now, standing just inches away, you could see the way his gaze flickered across your face—searching, calculating, something almost hesitant underneath the usual arrogance.

You swallowed, willing your pulse to slow down. “If you’re expecting me to fall at your feet or something, it’s not happening.”

Riki’s lips twitched, but the usual cockiness wasn’t fully there. “Please. Like I’d waste my time.”

His voice was softer now, lower.

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

The tension in the air pulled tight like a string about to snap. And then—

“Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

You didn’t move for a second, still rooted to the spot, still reeling from the fact that, for a split second, you were sure he was about to—

No.

You shook your head, exhaling sharply before climbing into bed and pulling the covers over you. “Yeah. Good.”

Neither of you spoke after that.

But sleep didn’t come easy.

The drive back was quiet, but the air between you and Riki was anything but. The weight of everything that had happened over the weekend—the teasing, the tension, the almost-moments—hung between you like an unfinished sentence.

Then, out of nowhere, Riki leaned over and grabbed your phone from your lap.

“Hey—” You swatted at his arm, but he was faster, scrolling through your camera roll with that same annoying smirk he always had when he was up to something.

A second later, he turned the phone toward you.

Your heart nearly stopped.

It was the sunset picture. The one he had taken of you at the lake—the one you couldn’t bring yourself to post. But now, it was up on your feed, public for everyone to see.

Your mouth fell open. “Riki!”

“Too late.” He leaned back against his seat, looking way too pleased with himself. “Now people can assume whatever they want.”

You huffed, ready to argue, but the warmth in his gaze stopped you. There was no teasing bite behind his words this time, no challenge—just something softer, something hesitant, like he was waiting for your reaction.

And instead of being mad, you laughed.

Not the annoyed kind, not the I’m-going-to-kill-you kind, but the kind that felt light and real and good.

Riki’s smirk faltered for a second, replaced by something else. “You’re not mad?”

You shook your head, still smiling. “No. I just… I like the picture.”

His lips parted slightly, like your answer had caught him off guard. Then, with a sudden boldness, he reached out and flicked your forehead gently.

“Well, obviously,” he muttered, looking away like he wasn’t blushing. “I took it.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving his arm, but your stomach was doing somersaults.

He peeked at you again, a small, almost shy grin forming. “So… does this mean I’m your favorite now?”

You scoffed. “Not even close.”

Riki chuckled, and before you could react, he grabbed your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You felt your breath catch.

Neither of you moved to let go.

And just like that, the teasing, the bickering, the tension—it all melted into something new. Something neither of you had to name just yet.

I guess you guys weren’t so different on and off camera after all.

— BONUS…

Dating Riki was… an experience.

Not that you ever expected it to be normal. After all, your relationship had started with endless teasing, unnecessary bets, and a public ship that neither of you had taken seriously—until, well, you did.

Now, a few weeks in, you had learned a few things.

One: Riki was still insufferable. He still stole your phone to post embarrassing pictures, still made fun of your influencer habits, and still found every possible way to get under your skin.

Two: He was also disgustingly sweet when he wanted to be.

Like now, when he was currently lying on your couch, scrolling through your latest post, his head resting lazily against your lap. His free hand toyed with the hem of your sweatshirt—his sweatshirt, one that he had “accidentally” left at your place enough times that it just became yours.

“You’re obsessed with me,” he muttered, eyes glued to the screen.

You raised a brow, running your fingers absentmindedly through his hair. “Excuse me?”

He turned his phone toward you, showing the comment section of your latest post. “Look at this. Half your followers are just here for me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. They were here way before you.”

Riki hummed, unconvinced. “Sure, but the engagement went way up ever since people found out we’re together. Face it, I’m your brand now.”

You flicked his forehead, making him grunt. “Yeah? Then how much do I owe you?”

He grinned. “You can pay me in kisses.”

You scoffed, cheeks heating up despite yourself. “You’re the worst.”

“But,” he said, shifting so he was staring up at you with that stupidly charming smile, “you love me.”

You froze.

The words were so casual, so effortless—like he wasn’t even thinking about them. Like they had just slipped out.

Your stomach flipped. “What did you just say?”

Riki blinked, then smirked. “That you love me? Yeah, I know.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“Oh my god.” You smacked his arm, feeling your heart pound. “You can’t just say things like that out of nowhere!”

“Why not?” he asked, grinning. “It’s true.”

You glared at him, flustered beyond belief. “Maybe I should be the one who gets paid to deal with you.”

Riki laughed, then, without warning, pulled you down until your forehead bumped against his. His voice was softer when he spoke again. “Fine. I’ll say it properly next time. On camera. Just for you.”

Your heart swelled.

Because for all the teasing, for all the playful remarks and jokes—this was real.

And when he kissed you—slow, warm, just right—you knew you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #10 死

† wound tight †

"You’re in the Seduction Division, you’re supposed to be the seductress here, not the other way around. But then he falls asleep on your bed, and he suddenly looks so human… The morning brings him back to normal though, as you remain unaware of how thoroughly he has to wash your scent off his skin. And if that wasn’t enough… AD’s cryptic warning seems more acidic than the lemon breeze that wafts off him.

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⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 7k

rating: mature

content: secret rdvz, jeon popping a boner in the most awkward moments, thrill of being discovered, stirring arousal, battling self-control, almost masturbation (m), cryptic warnings, scents that linger too long for their own good

☠ author's note ☠

As promised, chapter 10 delivered the SECOND we hit that goal! Took y'all less than 24 hours on Wattpad which is both flattering and deeply concerning. You're all menaces and I love you, but the bar is officially being raised. I refuse to be bullied by my own readers (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻

MY SLEEPY BOYYYYY (;'༎ຶٹ༎ຶ')

He's so traumatized and I am so mean SORRY *dodges all your punches with the grace of someone who absolutely deserves to be punched*

—Don't worry Y/N, we all feel that way towards Jeon, it's totally normal. The "I want to simultaneously slap him and kiss him" experience is universal. Don't beat yourself up over it (〜￣▽￣)〜

This chapter was a whole cocktail of POVs, I know! But there were so many things happening simultaneously that it just came out like this. Think of it as one of those split-screen moments in action movies except instead of car chases it's just traumatized gang members making questionable life choices.

I must say I'm actually happy with how this chapter turned out because we're finally diving deeper into the spicier themes! The thrill of forbidden attraction! The danger lurking around every corner! The "I shouldn't want this but I REALLY want this" internal struggle! And the sexual tension thick enough to cut with one of V's knives! PEAK FICTION!

Anyway, thanks for reading as always! Your comments sustain me through the dark nights of writer's block and existential dread. Love you all, you magnificent enablers!

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You're about to crawl into bed when someone knocks on your door. At 3 AM. Because of course. 

Opening it reveals Jeon standing there like this is totally normal, holding a plastic bag with your hoodie peeking out.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You whisper-yell, heart immediately kicking into overdrive.

"Just want my jacket ba—" You slap your hand over his mouth before he can finish. 

His lips are warm against your palm and you try very hard not to think about that.

"Are you actually insane?" Your voice drops even lower. "You can't be here!"

"I know." He scowls when you remove your hand. "That's why I want to make this quick."

"Ever heard of morning? You know, when people normally wake up?"

"Not like I'm sleeping anywa—"

A cough echoes from one of the other rooms and your body moves on pure instinct. You grab his wrist and yank him inside before anyone can catch Kkangpae's deadliest assassin lurking outside your door at ass o'clock.

He stumbles, definitely more from surprise than your strength, and his mouth opens—maybe to curse you out—but you slap your hand over it again, gesturing frantically at Yunjin's sleeping form with your free hand.

"Don't," you mouth, somewhere between begging and threatening.

His dark eyes lock with yours, and something electric crackles between you. Your hand is still pressed against his mouth, his skin burning against your palm, and suddenly you're very aware that you just dragged Jeon into your bedroom in the middle of the night.

Shit.

You drop your hand from his mouth, careful and slow. The jacket's on your bed, and you edge toward it like you're approaching a wild animal. Jeon follows, surprisingly quiet for someone who radiates danger like a space heater. Sets the plastic bag with your hoodie by the bed.

Just as you reach for his jacket—because of course this whole mess started with that stupid piece of leather—it slips through your fingers. The thud it makes hitting the floor might as well be a bomb going off in the silent room.

Your heart stops.

"Y/N?" Yunjin's sleepy voice makes your blood run cold.

Pure panic takes over. 

Before you can think it through, you're shoving Jeon onto your bed and climbing on top of him. His hands grab your hips automatically, and you press yourself against him, trying to make his tall frame disappear under yours.

You yank the blankets over both of you, praying they hide his shape. Your heart's beating so hard you're sure Jeon can feel it where your chest meets his. The whole situation would be m̶o̶r̶t̶i̶f̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ dangerous if you weren't so terrified of getting caught.

"Everything's fine," you whisper-call back. "Just dropped the jacket."

Jeon's frozen underneath you, every muscle locked tight. You can feel his chest rising and falling, his breath hitting your neck in controlled bursts. He's warm—too warm—and solid in all the places you're trying very hard not to think about.

"'Kay..." Yunjin mumbles. "Sleep soon..."

You nod uselessly in the dark, too aware of Jeon's hands still gripping your hips. Moonlight catches his eyes, and even in the shadows, his gaze burns into yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flutter.

This is fine. Everything's fine.

But it's like time itself freezes. 

You hold your breath as Yunjin shifts in her bed, the sheets rustling before she settles back into sleep with a soft sigh. You stay perfectly still, counting heartbeats, waiting to make sure she's really out.

When her breathing evens out again, you let yourself relax—as much as anyone can relax while straddling Jeon in the middle of the night. The room goes quiet except for your matched breathing, and suddenly the blanket cocoon feels very small, very intimate.

You lift your head slowly, trying to minimize movement, and fuck—his face is right there, barely inches from yours. His dark eyes catch what little moonlight filters through the blanket, and there's something in them beyond the usual annoyance. 

Something that makes you almost sigh.

"Don't move," you breathe, barely a whisper. "Just... wait till she's deeper asleep."

The silence feels thick enough to choke on. Because everything seems to shrink to this moment: the warmth of his hands on your hips, how solid his chest feels against yours, the way his breath mingles with yours in the tiny space between you.

His eyes dance upwards, gaze locking with yours momentarily. 

Then it drops to your mouth—for a split second—before snapping back up, and your whole body tingles like you've been shocked.

This is insane. This is really fucking insane. 

How his fingers press into your hips, how your thighs are bracketing his sides, how close your faces are.

You can see little details you've never noticed before, like the faint freckles across his nose you've somehow ignored all this time. 

You don't know why you seem to catalog that information.

But you do know why your heart pounds so hard you're sure he can feel it where your chests meet. 

Because you can say whatever, but he's definitely hot. And this is dangerous. 

So, so dangerous.

Jeon shifts under you—just barely, but enough to make you notice how tense he is. His whole body feels impressively stiff, and you ponder if he's really as unbothered by this position as he's trying to act.

You need to focus. Need to ignore how his eyes look softer in the dim lighting, or how his hands seem the perfect fucking size on your hips. There must still be some remnants of vodka on your body that making it hard to think about anything except how close he is.

"Jeon," you breathe against his cheek. "You need to—"

He moves again, more obviously this time. 

You lose your balance for a split second, shifting to catch yourself, and—oh.

Oh fuck.

"Shit—" The word hisses out between his teeth like he's been burned.

You want to die. 

You want to drown.

Because that's definitely his cock pressing against your ass through the thin cotton of your pajamas. 

A tiny gasp escapes before you can stop it as everything clicks into place—why he's so tense, why his breathing sounds so controlled.

He's hard. 

You freeze, heart thundering in your chest. This was already dangerous, but now it's dangerous dangerous. You try to tell yourself it's just biology, just a normal reaction to having someone straddling him. Nothing personal.

He's just a guy, after all. These things happen.

That's what you tell yourself, but it's getting real hard to think straight when you can feel exactly how hard Jeon is underneath you.

And why does that knowledge give you chills? 

This is Jeon—the guy who's been nothing but cold and distant since day one. Mr. Perfect Sniper with his perfect control, dick hard just because you're straddling him.

It shouldn't be hot.

You shouldn't find it hot.

But then again... you're already thinking about how easy would be to shift your hips, to feel more of that thick line pressing against you. 

You could play it off as getting comfortable, just an innocent adjustment. 

Your body practically vibrates with the urge to move.

But no. No. You're not that desperate. This is just adrenaline and proximity making you stupid.

Except... you can't make yourself pull away. His warmth seeps through your thin pajamas, and when did his eyes get so gentle? You've never seen him look like this—all that ice melted into something darker, hungrier.

That goddamn silver chain around his neck catches some light, drawing your eyes to where his black turtleneck hugs every muscle. You wonder if his tattoos extend past what you can see, if his skin is as hot everywhere else as it is under your palms.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out how right he feels under you. But the question burns in your mind anyway, dangerous and tempting:

What if?

You jerk away from him like you've been burned, the what if still echoing in your head. Your heart slams against your ribs so hard you're surprised Yunjin can't hear it from her bed.

Now you're lying next to him, shoulders touching, and his body heat feels like it's trying to brand you. 

Embarrassment hits you in waves, hot and suffocating. 

What the actual fuck just happened?

You're supposed to be better than this. You're in the fucking Seduction Division—you're trained to be the hunter, not the prey. You're the one who's supposed to make people fall apart with a look, not the one getting flustered over an accidental boner pressed against your ass.

But here you are anyway, frozen like a rookie, your body still tingling everywhere he touched you. The ghost of his hardness against you refuses to fade, and you hate how your stomach flips at the memory.

"Get it together," you whisper to yourself, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

You close your eyes, take a big breath, willing your heart to slow the fuck down.

The minutes crawl by as you listen to Yunjin's breathing, waiting for it to even out into sleep. And when her breaths finally turn deep and rhythmic, you allow yourself to relax slightly.

Time to end this disaster.

"Jeon." You elbow him gently. "Coast is clear."

Nothing.

You frown, poking him harder. "Jeon, get up."

Still nothing. 

Annoyance bubbles up in your chest, mixing with something that feels dangerously close to concern. You turn carefully, trying not to make noise, and—

This motherfucker fell asleep.

The notorious Chief of Tactical Assassinations, Kkangpae's deadliest sniper, passed out in your bed like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Perfect. Just perfect.

You almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Here you are, having a whole crisis, and this asshole just... falls asleep. The audacity.

You let out a long breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. You should be planning how to get him out without anyone noticing, or worrying about what happens if someone catches you. Instead, your traitorous brain keeps replaying how his hands felt on your hips, how his breath hitched when you—nope. Not going there.

You turn around slightly, noticing the little details of his face. You've never seen him like this before. All those sharp edges are soft in sleep, his usual scowl smoothed away. His stupidly long eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm that's weirdly hypnotic.

Something twists in your chest. It's strange seeing him so... vulnerable. 

No ice-prince mask, no walls—just...

Jeon.

You can't help but stare a little. It's not every day you get to see him with his guard down. Not that you want to see him like this. He's still an ass. A very attractive ass who's currently making little sighing noises in his sleep, but still an ass.

The anger from earlier starts to fade, replaced by something d̶a̶n̶g̶e̶r̶o̶u̶s̶ inconvenient. You blame it on the late hour and leftover adrenaline from earlier. Because you definitely don't care about how peaceful he looks right now, or how his hair falls across his forehead in a way that makes your fingers itch to brush it back.

You sigh in defeat. No way to wake him without risking Yunjin catching you, which means you're stuck with your division chief in your bed until morning. 

Ideal, really.

You pull the blanket up over him carefully, definitely not caring about waking him up. It's just common courtesy. You'd do it for anyone.

Right.

Sleep tugs at your eyes as the adrenaline crash hits. Your last thought before drifting off is that Jeon better not snore, or you're smothering him with a pillow, Council member or not.

What a fucking mess. 

Jungkook drifts into consciousness slowly, which is... strange. Usually his body snaps awake like a rubber band, heart racing from whatever nightmare decided to visit. 

But this morning feels different. Peaceful. His mind is oddly quiet.

Then the cold hits him—an empty space beside him where warmth should be. His eyes flutter open, adjusting to unfamiliar shadows. 

This isn't his room. 

The realization shoots through him like ice water.

He bolts upright, heart finally doing that familiar panicked dance against his ribs. Everything's wrong—the walls are too close, the air too soft. Even the smell is different. No pine or wood here, just something milky and spiced that makes his insides whirl.

His eyes scan the room frantically, survival instincts kicking in as he—

Oh. 

Oh right.

Last night. 

The jacket exchange. The whispered arguments. You shoving him onto your bed when Yunjin almost caught you two. The weight of you on top of him, how his body betrayed him, the way you felt pressed against—

Jungkook cuts that thought off sharply. More important is the fact that he slept. Actually slept, without a single nightmare tearing him awake. No blood-soaked memories, no echoes of gunshots, no accusing eyes. 

Just... peace.

He sits there, trying to process this impossibility. His fingers find his lip ring automatically, playing with it as his mind races. 

When was the last time he slept through the night? 

Months? 

Years?

But you're gone now, the room empty except for lingering traces of chai tea in the air. Something uncomfortable twists in his chest. 

Where are you?

The thought comes unbidden, unwanted. He pushes it away, along with the memory of how perfectly you fit against him in the dark.

The door opens and you walk in, wearing fresh clothes like this is any normal morning. Jungkook's jaw clenches automatically. Your casual confidence grates against his nerves, reminding him that he's somehow let himself get tangled in something he can't control.

This isn't how things are supposed to work. His world operates on precision, on distance. On rifles and gunshots and detachment. 

But here in your room, surrounded by vanilla and chai tea and you, all his careful walls feel paper-thin.

You look at him and he feels exposed, like you can see right through him. His hair falls messily into his eyes, a far cry from his usual slicked-back perfection. He knows he must look disheveled, vulnerable in a way that makes his skin crawl.

"Good morning, thundercloud."

Your voice is gentle, warm and buttery like the aroma you embody. He manages a nod and a vague sound of acknowledgment, the nickname washing over him without really landing. His brain feels fuzzy, slow—but not in the usual way, not with the sharp edges of sleep deprivation and nightmares.

For the first time in... he can't even remember how long, his mind isn't screaming with V's cold glare or AD's hatred. 

Something coils in his stomach. 

"What time is it?" The question comes out rougher than intended, an attempt to ground himself in something concrete and measurable.

Your presence feels too solid, too real in the soft morning light. Like if he looks at you too long, he'll have to acknowledge how well he slept with you nearby, how the nightmares stayed away for once.

He doesn't want to think about what that means.

Your eyes dart to the digital clock between your and Yunjin's beds, then back to Jeon. You can't help but think he looks weirdly soft in the morning light, all rumpled clothes and messy hair.

"10:30AM."

His eyelashes flutter like he's still processing, then his eyes go wide. You can practically see the moment it clicks.

"What?"

It's weird, seeing him process this. For someone like Jeon, who probably schedules his bathroom breaks, sleeping past dawn must feel like the world's tilted off its axis. 

And truly, the contrast is striking—this is the same man who can take out targets from impossible distances, who makes seasoned gang members nervous with just a look. 

Yet right now, looking like he just rolled out of bed, he looks almost c̶u̶t̶e̶ stupid. 

You can't help but study him while he's too thrown off to notice. The sharp edges of his jawline seem softer, the perpetual tension in his shoulders gone. Even his stormy aura feels rather like a gentle summer brain. 

You wonder what it means that he actually slept here. The man who probably counts sheep with a sniper scope, passed out in your bed like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

But those aren't questions you get to ask, and they definitely aren't ones he'd answer.

Still. It's kind of fascinating, really, seeing Jeon so out of it. Like catching a trick of the great and powerful Oz.

And the thing is... It's a well-known thing, his morning routine. Always first at breakfast, like some kind of deadly alarm clock for the rest of the gang... His empty table by the window is probably sitting there right now, throwing off the whole cafeteria's ecosystem.

You see the exact moment reality crashes in. Ten-thirty means he's missed his usual spot, missed being the first one there. 

It means people must have noticed. 

You drift to the little table by your window, pouring water just to have something to do with your hands. Because there are so many ways this could go wrong. The Chief of Tactical Assassinations sleeping in a recruit's room? That's the kind of scandal that gets people transferred to different divisions—or worse.

"People are gonna notice you weren't at your usual brooding spot this morning."

"I know." His voice is steady, controlled—familiar coldness seeping back in. "I'll handle it."

Something about his confidence settles your nerves a bit. This is Jeon after all—co-leader of the Assassination Division. If anyone can get out of this mess without starting gang-wide gossip, it's him.

Still. The sight of him in your room, black turtleneck rumpled from sleep, is going to be burned into your brain for a while.

"What about your roommate?" His voice is low, tense. 

And okay, it's a bit funny. The fearsome Jeon, worried about getting caught in a recruit's room like a teenager sneaking out past curfew. Sounds like a joke. 

"Training session." You watch his face carefully. "Yunjin left early. Didn't see you."

The relief that washes over him is subtle—just a slight drop in his shoulders, a loosening around his eyes. But you catch it anyway. The last thing either of you needs is gossip about why Jeon spent the night in Seduction.

He sighs like he's been holding his breath all morning, pushing tattooed fingers through his messy hair. You realize it's not often you see him without his usual rings, without that careful polish he maintains. 

It shouldn't be hot. 

It is.

His eyes track from your door to the space outside, probably calculating escape routes like the assassin he is. 

Old habits die hard, apparently.

"Need to get back before people start asking questions." He stands in one fluid motion, and there's the Jeon you know—precisely lethal and absolutely in control.

"Yeah, we should be careful." You try to keep your voice neutral. "This could cause problems if anyone finds out."

His dark eyes meet yours, and silence tickles between you. 

You both know what's at stake here. One whisper about Jeon sleeping in your room could start an avalanche neither of you is ready for.

Kkangpae might feel like family sometimes, but rules are rules. And you've heard enough stories about what happens to people who break them. 

Plus, after last night's revelations about RM's brother and his fiancée's betrayal, the "no attachments" policy makes a lot more sense.

The irony of looking like you have broken that exact rule less than twelve hours after learning why it exists isn't lost on you.

Especially with Jeon, who lives by them like they're written in his DNA. Being on the Council means setting an example, and last night was... an accident. A weird collision of circumstances that shouldn't have happened.

Still, when he pauses at your door, something twists in your chest. You wonder if you'll ever be this close to him again. 

It's probably for the best if you're not.

"Thanks." The word sounds foreign coming from him, like he's not used to saying it.

"For what?" 

"For... not waking me up." His voice drops so low you barely catch it.

"Don't mention it." You try to sound casual, like your heart isn't doing stupid flips. "Looked like you needed it."

He nods, and holy shit, is that...

A smile?

His hand lingers on the doorknob a second too long, which is weird for someone usually so decisive. Then he's gone, slipping into the hallway like a shadow.

The door clicks shut and you lean against it, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Your room feels too big now, too quiet. Like all the air got sucked out with him.

Get your heart out the gutter, bitch. 

This is stupid. Attraction isn't a luxury you can afford in Kkangpae, especially not to someone like Jeon. He's literally the kind of danger that comes wrapped in leather jackets and piercings. 

It's not just his physical skills that make him lethal. It's the way he commands attention without saying a word, how his gaze pins you in place more effectively than handcuffs ever could.

But fuck if that isn't exactly what makes your heart race.

You push away from the door, pacing your room like a caged animal. It's too early for this shit. These thoughts are dangerous—the kind that get people killed in places like Kkangpae. But your brain keeps circling back to the weight of him against you, to that split second when his breathing stuttered.

Focus.

You've seen what Jeon can do. The way he moves like death given form, how people scramble to clear his path in the hallways. It's m̶a̶g̶n̶e̶t̶i̶c̶ terrifying how much power he holds.

He's powerful. Dangerous in a way that shouldn't be alluring.

Your eyes drift to the morning light streaming through your window, painting greenery in soft gold. Out there, people are going about their normal lives, no idea that one of Korea's deadliest assassins just spent the night in your bed. 

And that thought makes you laugh—a weird, choked sound that holds no humor.

Because Jeon isn't just a bad idea. He's career suicide wrapped in pine and tobacco scent. He's everything you should run from if you want to survive in this world.

You keep pacing, trying to outrun the memory of his body pressed against yours, the hard line of his cock against your ass. 

It was just biology, you tell yourself. Basic human reaction to having someone straddle you. Nothing personal.

But god—the way his breath hitched, how his fingers dug into your hips... When was the last time anyone looked at you with that kind of raw hunger? Like they wanted to d̶e̶v̶o̶u̶r̶ destroy you?

Stop it. You're supposed to be the seductress here, not the one getting all hot and bothered over an accidental boner.

You know exactly how Jeon operates, how his division operates. 

He's not the type to lose his cool over something as basic as physical contact. And yet... the way he reacted to you was definitely not part of his usual 'get away from me' persona.

Nah.

You're probably reading way too much into this. Making up some romance novel fantasy about the deadly assassin who secretly wants you. He's probably in his office right now, rolling his eyes at how obviously affected you were. Because this is Jeon—cold, aloof Jeon who can pin a target blindfolded while solving complex math equations in his head.

So his dick got hard. Big fucking deal. He's human, unfortunately equipped with basic biological responses. Doesn't mean anything except that friction plus pressure equals exactly what you'd expect.

But... You bet he'd look fucking hot losing that control, having all that stupid lethality focused entirely on f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ having you... Your body hums with the memory of his hands on your hips, how easily he could have f̶l̶i̶p̶p̶e̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶o̶v̶e̶r̶ moved you.

And the thing is—it wouldn't have to mean anything, right? Just sex. No feelings, no drama, no breaking RM's precious rules. You're both adults who sometimes need to blow off steam. Simple solution to a simple problem.

Except nothing about Jeon is simple.

Honestly, he's probably already forgotten about the whole thing, while you're here having a whole crisis over how his hands felt on your hips. 

You're just another recruit to him, an inconvenience at best.

Right?

Yet... Maybe he still wants you? Sexually, at least?

Fuck. You don't know anymore.

"For fuck's sake," you groan into your pillow.

Enough. This is pointless. Jeon is who he is—cold, controlled, untouchable. Even if technically hooking up wouldn't break any rules (it's not a relationship if it's just sex, right?), he'd never go for it. Trying to seduce him would be like trying to melt a glacier with a match.

Last night was a fluke. A perfect storm of circumstances that'll never happen again. You need to focus on training, on surviving in this cutthroat world. Focus on anything but how his fingers dug into your skin, how his voice roughened when—

"Fuck," you tell your empty room.

Maybe that's exactly what you need, b̶i̶t̶c̶h̶ though.

The scent of you haunts him like a ghost he can't exorcise.

Jeon slips from your room like a shadow, silent, deathly like he's been trained to. The door clicks shut behind him and he exhales slowly, only now realizing he'd been holding his breath. 

Your scent—chai tea with undertones of something softer, more intimate—clings to his clothes, his skin, his fucking hair. It makes his head spin in a way that's dangerously close to intoxication.

The morning light streaming through the hallway windows hits different somehow. Brighter. Sharper. More real than it has any right to be. Or maybe it's just his sleep-addled brain trying to process the fact that he actually slept through the night. 

No nightmares clawing at his consciousness. 

No haunting memories of thorned roses and blood-soaked floors. 

No phantom voices snarling accusations in his ear.

Just... peace.

Weird, unsettling, unwanted peace.

He needs to move. Questions will start flying if anyone notices his absence from breakfast. Eyebrows raised at the feared assassin missing his usual spot at the corner table, back to the wall, eyes on every entrance. 

The thought makes his jaw clench hard enough to hurt. He needs his quarters, his routine, anything to ground him back in the cold reality he's built for himself.

The common area of the Seduction Division stretches before him like a minefield. His footsteps make no sound as he crosses it—a habit born from years of training and necessity. His ears strain for any sign of movement, any hint that he's not alone—but the silence is clear. 

There's no one around to see him, to wonder why the Chief of Tactical Assassinations is sneaking through the Seduction Division at dawn like some guilty fucking teenager.

His card practically stabs the elevator scanner, urgency making his movements sharp and jerky. The wait feels endless, each second increasing the risk of discovery. The faster he can get back to his floor—back to his world of order and control—the sooner he can forget how w̶e̶l̶l̶ strange it felt waking up in your bed drenched in buttery smells.

As soon as the elevator arrives he steps in, jabbing his floor number with force. The doors slide close, and another wave of chai tea hits him—your goddamn cloying scent. 

It's absurd, how your presence somehow kept the demons at bay when nothing else has worked for years.

No.

He shakes the thought away violently, like a dog trying to dislodge a tick. The elevator descends, and he forces his breathing to slow, to steady. Rebuild the walls brick by brick. Lock away anything resembling vulnerability. 

By the time the doors open, his face is a perfect mask again, all traces of the man who slept beside you locked away behind steel and concrete.

The walk to his room feels longer than usual, each step carrying him further from your door but not from the memory of what happened there. Only when he's inside his quarters, surrounded by the familiar scents of pine and wood that he's cultivated so carefully, does some of the tension leave his shoulders.

He stands frozen in the center of his room, trying to piece himself together. 

But your scent still clings to him, sweet and spicy and maddeningly comforting. Because he can't escape the memory of your body pressed against his, warm and soft in all the places he's been cold and hard for so long.

A groan slips past his defenses as he scrubs a hand over his face. Chai tea has invaded every fiber of his clothing, every pore of his skin. It's suffocating, asphyxiating, and he can't fucking breathe without inhaling more of you.

"Shit," he mutters, fingers fumbling with his shirt buttons with uncharacteristic clumsiness. 

The fabric feels charged somehow, holding the ghost of your curves like some kind of cruel imprint against his skin. He needs to get it off, needs to wash away every trace of you before it sinks in any deeper than it already has.

His clothes hit the floor in a messy heap that would shock anyone who's seen the military precision of his quarters. 

But right now he doesn't care, because he needs to wash off the lingering remnants of your proximity. So he stalks to the bathroom, steps echoing his frustration against the tile floor. 

This shouldn't be getting to him. You're nothing but an annoyance, a complication he never asked for. 

So why can't he shake the feeling of your hands on him, your breath against his neck, your body yielding beneath his?

The shower spray hits like ice, shocking a hiss from between clenched teeth. Good. Let it freeze out the lingering heat of you, the maddening softness that threatens to unravel years of curated self-control.

He braces against the wall, water pounding down his back as he hangs his head. It's been so long since anyone touched him like that. Not since... 

The thought stings, an old wound that never quite closed, still seeping poison into his veins after all this time.

But his body is a fucking traitor because it clearly gives 0 fucks about old wounds or hard-learned lessons. All it knows is the memory of your hips under his hands, your thighs straddling his lap, the perfect curve of your ass that he's caught himself staring at more times than he'd ever admit. Arousal flares hot and insistent despite his best efforts to quash it.

His tongue finds his lip ring automatically, worrying the metal in that nervous tell he can never quite shake. But even this small habit betrays him, reminding him of how your eyes had lingered there, dark with want that mirrored his own.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit. 

It was just biology. Basic human response to friction and warmth and proximity. It's not like he wants to f̶u̶c̶k̶ touch you specifically. It could have been anyone. It should be anyone else.

But lust is a bitch, so naturally, horror floods him as he glances down to find himself hardening—a basic impulse he can't seem to control no matter how much he despises himself for it.

And maybe for one dangerous moment, he considers giving in. Because how long has it been since he last touched himself? 

The memory feels distant, buried under missions and paperwork and endless nights of insomnia, and his hand drifts lower, drawn by the promise of relief after so many months of n̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ numbness.

"Fuck." He jerks his hand back like it's been burned, water droplets flying from his fingertips.

What the hell is he doing? He's the Chief of Tactical Assassinations, not some hormone-driven rookie who can't control his basic urges. You're just an ensign in the Seduction Division, and he's already learned what happens when chiefs get involved with recruits. The scars from last time still keep him up at night, still haunt him every time he closes his eyes.

This isn't him. He doesn't do this—doesn't let physical needs compromise his control. That's V's territory, letting desire override discipline and common sense. Jeon is better than that. Has to be better than that. The alternative is unthinkable.

He cranks the water to ice cold with a snarl, punishment for his body's rebellion. The shock of it steals his breath and sends goosebumps racing across his skin, but at least it kills the arousal. He finishes washing mechanically, movements sharp with self-directed anger that borders on violence.

The freezing air hits him like a slap as he steps out, raising goosebumps across his skin and making his muscles tense. 

Good. The cold helps him think clearly, helps him remember who he is and what's expected of him. 

He dries off quickly and dresses mechanically, creating barriers between himself and the untamed arousal stirring somewhere in the lower regions of his brain.

By the time he emerges from his quarters, he feels like he's back to normal—no trace remains of the man who woke up in your bed. His expression is pure ice, posture rigid, shoulders straight. 

Though if someone were to look deep into his eyes, they'd see them dark and stormy with everything he's trying to bury.

But that doesn't matter, because the Chief of Tactical Assassinations doesn't lose control. 

Not for anyone.

Your body feels like it's been through a meat grinder, and honestly? You're kind of into it.

You drag yourself toward the elevator, muscles screaming in that satisfying way that only comes from getting absolutely demolished during training. 

Kazuha had you doing laps for what felt like eternity, her burgundy hair streaming behind her like some predatory sea creature as she demonstrated "proper form" for the fifteenth time. The chlorine smell still clings to your skin despite the quick shower, and your hair's doing that weird half-damp thing that's going to look like absolute trash in about twenty minutes.

"Swimming builds stealth," she'd said earlier, pushing wet strands from her face with that intense look she gets when she's in full instructor mode. "Helps you move silently. Might save your life someday."

Can't really argue with that. In this line of work, the more ways you know how to not die, the better your chances of, well, not dying. Even if your arms currently feel like overcooked noodles and you're pretty sure your lungs have filed for divorce.

The hallway stretches ahead like a never-ending tunnel. Whoever designed this place clearly had a hard-on for minimalism—all sleek surfaces and indirect lighting. Very "secret criminal organization with excellent taste," which you suppose is the point.

You notice Kazuha keeps glancing at her digital card as you walk, the blue glow illuminating her face in quick flashes. She's got that look—the one that says she's sitting on information and trying to decide if it's worth sharing. After about the fifth glance, she finally breaks the comfortable silence between you.

"Heard about the camping trip?" she asks, voice casual but eyes watchful.

"The what now?" You slow your pace, raising an eyebrow so high it might actually leave your face. The words 'camping' and 'deadly criminal organization' don't exactly go together in your mind.

"Moon's latest idea." Her lips quirk up in that way that means she finds something both ridiculous and amusing. "Team building or whatever. Though knowing him, it's probably more about testing survival skills than roasting marshmallows."

You snort—actually snort—imagining Seoul's deadliest criminals sitting cross-legged in a circle singing campfire songs: V with a guitar. Jeon scowling at a marshmallow. AD refusing to leave his tent without Wi-Fi. The mental image is too much.

"When's this happening?" you ask, already mentally cataloging what outdoor gear you own (approximately none) and what you'll need to borrow (approximately everything).

"Next weekend. Mandatory for everyone—even the Council." She grins, and there's something almost childishly delighted in her expression. "Can't wait to see how some of them handle roughing it."

"Bet Jeon's secretly a wilderness expert." The words tumble out before your brain can slam on the brakes. "Probably knows fifty ways to start a fire with just his glare."

And why the fuck do you always do this? It's like your mouth has a direct line to the Jeon-obsessed part of your brain that you try so hard to keep locked in a box labeled 'do not open, contains bad decisions.'

Kazuha's laugh bounces off the walls, bright and genuine. "True. But I'm more excited to watch V try to pitch a tent. That'll be worth all the mosquito bites."

You both crack up at the mental image—V, with his designer clothes and perfectly styled hair, struggling with tent poles and swearing elegantly. Doing some dramatic gestures as he insists this is beyond his pay grade. 

The conversation flows easier after that, like a dam breaking. Division gossip (apparently someone from Logistics hooked up with one of J-Hope's medics), latest missions (Flower's team extracted information from some politician last week), the weird mix of normal and deadly that makes up your daily life.

But part of your brain keeps circling back to the camping trip. It might be interesting, seeing everyone outside these walls. Away from the usual hierarchy and rules. Maybe even see certain people—a certain person—in a different light...

Stop it. Bad brain.

The elevator takes its sweet time arriving, but for once you don't mind. These moments—just chatting and laughing like you're normal twenty-somethings instead of trained criminals—make the whole "chose a life of crime" thing a bit more bearable. Almost like you could be two friends heading to a coffee shop instead of two members of a seduction team returning from combat training.

Then the doors slide open with that soft pneumatic hiss, and the mood shifts faster than V's trigger finger.

Because AD is there, and he looms in the elevator like a human popsicle in pajamas. His blonde hair's a disaster zone, like he's been running his hands through it for hours, and his expression screams 'I will digitally erase your entire existence if you so much as breathe in my direction.' 

You and Kazuha instinctively hang back, keeping a respectful distance as you step inside.

The silence is thick enough to choke on. You exchange glances with Kazuha, her eyes wide in a silent what the actual fuck is his deal today? AD's usually grumpy—it's like his personality setting is permanently stuck on 'irritated genius'—but this is next level, even for him.

The elevator hums, counting floors with soft electronic beeps. You study the back of AD's head, noting how his shoulders are hunched forward like he's carrying something heavy. 

Something's definitely got the Chief of Cyber Intelligence more pissy than usual. 

Maybe someone touched his keyboard. Or breathed near his servers. Or existed in his general vicinity when he was coding.

"Seduction Division?" His voice breaks the silence suddenly, barely above a mumble but somehow filling the entire space.

You stiffen, feeling your spine straighten automatically. Kazuha goes still beside you, her usual fluid energy freezing in place. 

"Yes?" you answer, because someone has to and she's not opening her mouth.

AD turns slowly, pivoting on his heel. His dark eyes meet yours, and there's something in them that makes your stomach drop—not anger or irritation, but... Concern? Fear? Something you've never seen on his face before.

"Be careful," he says softly, but there's steel under the words, a warning wrapped in those two simple syllables.

Before you can process what that means—before you can even think to ask what the hell he's talking about—the elevator stops, and AD steps out without another word, his pajama-clad form disappearing down the hallway like some bizarre sleep-deprived ghost.

The doors slide shut, and you let out a heavy breath.

"What was that about?" Kazuha whispers, looking as confused as you feel.

"No idea." You shake your head. "But when AD warns you about something..."

"You listen." She finishes, expression thoughtful. 

The elevator continues its descent, but your mind's stuck on AD's warning. He's not exactly known for caring about other divisions' business. Whatever prompted that cryptic message must be serious.

Question is: what is he trying to warn you about?

goal: 300 notes. next chapter will be posted immediately AS SOON as the goal is reached. 🧚🏻 do your thing kiki nation. <3

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[foreverisntenough]

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, mention of drugs, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 8- 'Penitentary' | 'Aperture'

word count - 12.4k

[Toxic (slowed) - Kehlani]

Trent sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, his phone heavy in his palm. His foot tapped against the floor—nervous energy, regret pooling in his stomach like something rotten. The house was still, but his mind wasn’t. He had thought he could handle this. That if he ignored the gnawing feeling, drowned it out with drinks, distractions, and denial, it would disappear. But the second he stepped into his empty bedroom, with nothing but the quiet hum of his own breathing and the knowledge that he had let you down, the truth hit him like a freight train. He had messed up. The guilt sat in his chest, thick and unrelenting. He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply, before doing the only thing his body screamed at him to do—he called you.

You didn’t pick up. He tried again. And again. Each ring, each ignored call, sent a fresh wave of dread through him. He stared at the screen, at your name glowing against the darkness. You weren’t even declining, just letting it ring out, like the silence itself was punishment enough. And maybe it was.

Because you were laying in bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling nothing and everything all at once. The vibration against your nightstand was relentless, over and over, but you didn’t move. Didn’t even look. You already knew.

Knew it would be him. Knew what he would say—some half-hearted excuse, an apology without weight, a desperate attempt to undo what had already been done. He’d tell you he wasn’t thinking, that he got caught up, that it didn’t mean anything. But it did. Because you had wanted him there. And he hadn’t shown up. Maybe it wasn’t the most fair because you didn’t beg and plead for him to be there but you felt like you shouldn’t have to. And that was all the proof you needed. Proof that no matter how much he tried to convince you otherwise, no matter how much he teased and flirted and looked at you like you were something he didn’t want to lose—when it mattered, when you needed him, he hadn’t been there. And this time, you weren’t going to let yourself pretend it didn’t matter. Your phone rang again. You shut your eyes. And then, finally, you fell asleep.

The knock at the door was sharp, insistent. You startled awake, disoriented, the weight of sleep still pressing against your limbs. Your body felt heavy, your head dull with the remnants of dried tears. You blinked, confusion thick in your chest as you reached for your phone—4:07 AM. Another knock. Annoyance prickled up your spine. You already knew who it was. If he managed to get to your hotel room, this wasn’t all that surprising but this was also significantly more intrusive all things considered. 

With a tired, resigned sigh, you pushed yourself up, dragging a blanket off the bed carelessly causing you to stumble with its weight You exhaled, already feeling defeated. You reached for a jumper and pulled it over your head. The night had been long, full of aching silence and the hollow feeling of waiting for something that was never going to come. And now, he was here, when it didn’t matter anymore. When you were already done. You opened the door, just enough to see him, and the second you did, all that built-up frustration, all the exhaustion, all the ways you convinced yourself you didn’t care—it dissolved. Because he looked wrecked.

Trent stood there, wind-bitten and raw, like he had driven straight from whatever pit of guilt he’d been drowning in. His hoodie was rumpled, curls a mess, the dark circles beneath his eyes deep enough to tell you he hadn’t slept. His chest rose and fell unevenly, like he had been running, like he had fought through the night to be here, only to realize he didn’t know what to say.

“It’s alright…” You tried to speak because he was in such a daze, to tell him it was fine but your voice cracked on the words. You swallowed, blinking hard to keep the tears from surfacing. You barely opened the door, but it didn’t matter—Trent stepped into your space anyway, like he belonged there, like he always had.

“C’mere. I’m so sorry.” His voice was rough, desperate, hands reaching instinctively for your waist. His touch burned in a way that made you ache, in a way that made you wish, for one stupid second, that you could just let yourself fall into him. But you couldn’t. He wasn’t yours to fall into so you stepped back

“You’re not my boyfriend,” you whispered, voice steadier this time, sharper. Your eyes flicked up to his, and there was something devastating about the way he looked at you—like you had just taken the air out of his lungs. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“I know, but—” Trent exhaled sharply, shaking his head. 

“But what, Trent?” Your voice wavered, anger laced in the heartbreak. “We’re not anything. I knew this is what this was to you.” A half-truth, a desperate defense mechanism, but it hit its mark. You watched it land, saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his breath stuttered. “I don’t care.” A lie. Another one. His lips parted like he wanted to fight it, to say something that would make it all untrue, but he just stood there, hands twitching at his sides, fists curling like he was trying to hold himself together.

“Y/N, please,” he murmured, voice hoarse, the syllables barely making it past his throat. He reached for you again. This time, you put your hand up, a final barrier between you and him. And for the first time all night, he listened. The moment between you blurred like a photograph taken in haste, like the shutter had snapped too fast, capturing something raw and unpolished.

“No.” You whimpered, voice breaking under the weight of it all. You sniffled, fighting back the tide, but a single tear betrayed you, slipping down your cheek. The moment it fell, a fresh wave of anger surged—not just at Trent, but at yourself. For letting this happen. For letting yourself believe. You felt foolish, like you’d been lured into the perfect composition of a moment that was never real, just a trick of the light. Trent’s mouth parted, stunned. Like he hadn’t realized he was the one causing this, like the tear on your cheek was something foreign, something impossible. “Can I ask you something?” you snapped, the words cutting through the stillness like a flash in the dark. His silence was permission enough, but you really didn’t really care if he gave it or not. “Was this all a game to you?” Your voice trembled, but the fire in your chest burned through it. “Is this what you do to everyone? The whole time—the whole thing?” He flinched at that, his brows pulling together.

“No, absolutely not. I don’t do this with everyone.” The words rushed out in a breath, panicked. “No one.” His voice softened into something almost pleading, his bottom lip jutting slightly in frustration.

“So, what—you don’t stand them up? Just me then?” The bitterness in your voice felt like vinegar on an open wound. "Make them feel special? Take care of them just to pull the rug out? Why did you do this?” The question was barely above a whisper, but the weight of it pressed against his ribs. “You knew what you were doing the whole time. I don’t understand.” You snapped further. The house of cards was officially crumbling down.

“Y/N, you did the same thing! You did it to me with my match.” The excuse slipped out before he could stop it, weak and desperate. Something he didn’t know he was still carrying. “I said I’d try.” Your lips parted, a sharp inhale cutting through the silence. You blinked at him in disbelief, then shook your head. "You are special..." he whispered quietly, defeatedly.

“I'd believe that if you weren't so full of shit." Your eyes narrowed. "With your match, we barely knew each other then,” you shot back, voice rising. “And at the time, you said you’d convince me—not stick me in the stands.” The words were laced with venom, your anger now fighting to mask the hurt. Trent felt each word like a punch to the gut. Poignant and accurate unfortunately. “This is hardly the same, but then again, it’s all the same to you, isn’t it?” You wiped your eyes quickly, as if trying to erase any evidence that he had mattered. “You wanted to win. And I get it—you got your three points or whatever it was you were after. You got me. Congratulations on finally getting into bed with me. Now you got your final whistle. Thank you.” You gestured toward the door, the dismissal in your voice final. Trent felt like his lungs were collapsing. This was not the game he had first struck up with you. No this was a devastating loss.

“Y/N…” Trent exhaled sharply. But the look on your face cemented the reality between you. There was nothing left to say. His chest tightened, frustration bubbling beneath his skin—not at you, but at himself. Because you had a point. No matter how snarky the delivery, you were right more of less. And suddenly, it felt like the shutter speed of whatever was happening between you had been too fast, capturing a version of you both that was overexposed, washed out by too much light. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe you had gotten too close to someone so light, someone so bright, that the image of what you could have been had blurred beyond recognition.  “Fine, whatever you want.” he shook his head, reluctantly turning to leave because he didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know how to fight for this and maybe that hurt most of all.

-

The club pulsed, a living, breathing thing of its own. Strobes of pink and blue cut through the dim haze, catching in the sheen of sweat on moving bodies, glinting off the rims of half-drunk cocktails. Bass thumped heavy in the floorboards, in Trent’s chest, but it didn’t drown out the sharp slap to his arm.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Campbell’s voice cut through the night, slicing through the static of the club. She swatted at his chest again, and he barely reacted, too lost in his own thoughts. Trent’s jaw tensed, rolling as he took a long sip from his glass, but the taste soured in his mouth. You were here tonight. He knew it before Campbell even opened her mouth. Of course you were. But when Foster said she was going to say hi to Leon, you’d declined. You didn’t want to risk seeing him. They were letting you lick your wounds, keeping you at the bar with Delaney while the rest of the world partied. His fingers twitched against the condensation of his drink. “Hello! Earth to T! Why the fuck couldn’t you just show up for her?” Campbell whined, frustration bubbling over as she nudged him again, harder this time. Trent exhaled sharply, his head tilting back slightly before he looked at her. 

“Cam… I…” Trent exhaled frustratedly. “She said she didn’t care.” The words barely made it out, like they were choking him. He was struggling to sort through his thoughts amidst pounding bass and Campbell’s glare.

“No! You’re actually so dumb.” Campbell rolled her eyes at him. Before he could react, Foster smacked his arm, sending his drink almost sloshing over the rim of the glass.

“You’re so fucking stupid!” Trent turned suddenly surprised by the ambush. Though he knew your inevitable debrief with your best friends would reach him. Maybe he deserved it but Foster’s rings also didn’t feel great smacking against him. 

“Alright….Ow!” He yelped, rubbing at the spot. 

“You deserve ‘ow,’” she mocked, exaggerating his scouse accent with her own thick Mancunian drawl. Trent sighed, running a hand over his face. He didn’t need this. His head was already a mess, already too full of you—your voice, your disappointment, the way you had looked at him that night. The way you hadn’t looked at him since. He felt like he didn’t even know what you looked like anymore.

“I’ll talk to her, alright?” He muttered. “I’m just giving her space.” Foster let out a slow, disbelieving laugh.

“No, you won’t,” Campbell deadpanned, eyes sharp under the neon glow of the club lights.

“T… this is a life sentence,” Foster added, more serious this time. 

“What?” Trent frowned. He knew he fucked up, that you were mad. But that was last week. Surely you could sort it but hearing this now was a surprise. 

“She didn’t want space, and now…” Foster shrugged, but there was an edge of finality in her voice. “If she forgives you—if—you won’t ever come out of the friend zone.” The words hit him like a weight to the chest. If. Campbell smiled, almost sympathetically, almost like she wished it weren’t true. 

“Welcome to Y/N’s penitentiary, T.” His head spun. A penitentiary? Yes, a penitentiary. Because you forgave, but you never forgot. You were understanding, yes. Soft in the ways that mattered. But you did not tolerate being made a fool of. Not anymore. Not ever again. And Trent was not an exception.

-

The girls had encouraged you to go out but you didn’t really want to. No, not at all actually. You knew Trent was somewhere in the building and that alone made you feel nauseous. You were in a black embellished mini dress [ref index] but it was beginning to irritate your skin, your heels, normally favorites, suddenly hurt, and no amount of your best friends gassing you up lifted your spirits, so when the bartender got your drink order wrong it all just felt pointless. And that’s when you met the man beside you at the bar. He was attractive. Objectively, at least. He had that rehearsed, effortless confidence that made it clear this wasn’t his first time charming a woman over dim candlelight and watered-down cocktails. His pants fit him well—too well, in that way where you knew he’d spent far too long perfecting its fit. His words, smooth and clipped at the edges, dripped from his lips like honey. And yet, it all felt fake. His presence. His voice. His laugh. His hand creeping onto your hip.

It didn’t fit right. Too heavy, too foreign, too much. You stiffened at the contact, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care, continuing his polite, well-practiced seduction. You forced a small smile and let him buy you another drink, let him lean in too close, let yourself pretend—just for a second—that this was fine. That this was normal. That this was what moving on felt like. That this was something you wanted. But every touch, every word, every glance felt like sandpaper against your skin, because no matter how well-dressed or charming or experienced he was—he wasn’t Trent.

And Trent was watching. He had been abandoned by Campbell and Foster, left alone in a sea of people he suddenly wanted nothing to do with. The drinks, the music, the hazy atmosphere—it all blurred into something meaningless. Because his eyes had finally found you. At first, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. Then, he was sure, and he felt sick. There you were, leaning into another man’s space, lips curving around laughter that wasn’t meant for him. And worse, he wasn’t just seeing you with someone else—he was seeing your discomfort. That stiff posture. The way your fingers twitched around the stem of your glass. And still, all he could feel was rage and what fueled that rage was envy.

Because you two hadn’t spoken in days. Hadn’t seen each other, hadn’t even acknowledged the wreckage left behind in the wake of that night at your door. And yet here you were, pressed against someone else, letting some other man exist in a space that had once belonged to him. A sour taste rose in his throat. His nails dug into his palms. You blamed him for playing a game, but what if you had been playing one, too? He knew that wasn’t fair, but right now, nothing felt fair. And then, as if drawn by some invisible force, your eyes flicked across the room, past the flashing lights and sea of strangers, landing directly on him. His gaze was piercing. Sharp, unrelenting. Pissed. It sent something cracking inside of you, walls crumbling in an instant. Your stomach twisted. Your breath caught. And suddenly, you couldn’t be here anymore.

"Excuse me," you muttered hastily, stepping away from the man at the bar before he could even react. You pushed past the bodies, barely seeing where you were going, heart slamming against your ribs. The walls of the club felt suffocating now, the air thick and wrong. You didn’t even have to say anything—Campbell was already following, concern etched across her face as you shoved your way toward the toilets. By the time you reached the dimly lit bathroom, you were shaking. Tears blurred your vision as you crashed against the wall, sinking onto the cold tile, your chest rising and falling in panicked, uneven breaths.

“Shit, babe, breathe.” Campbell was crouched beside you in an instant, rubbing soothing circles into your back as sobs wracked your body. You didn’t know why that look had hurt the way it did. Maybe it was the finality of it. The realization that this was it. That this was how he’d look at you forever now. Like a stranger. Like a mistake. Like you were nothing. But as you fled down the hallway, face streaked with mascara, chest still rising and falling in short, hiccuped breaths—Trent’s expression dropped. The one you feared never would fade, evaporated in an instant. His stomach twisted. His anger evaporated, leaving behind something hollow and aching. He wanted to follow you. Wanted to ask what was wrong. But he knew. He was what was wrong.

And as you disappeared through the exit, drowning in tears and shots of liquor that did nothing to stop them—Trent remained frozen. A weight pressing into his chest. The night moved on without you. But for him? It had already ended.

[Void - The Neighborhood]

It had been a week. A week of silence since you disappeared from the club. A week of restless nights and empty spaces. Trent was moving, always moving—training, traveling, playing, pressing forward like the well-oiled machine he was meant to be. But the second he stopped, the second he was alone, it all crashed back in. The bed felt wrong. The car felt too quiet. Everything that once felt full now felt vacant. And now, after an away game at the Etihad, frustration clawed at his chest. He had played like shit, barely registering the draw. His body ached, but nothing compared to the dull, persistent throb in his heart. He kept his hood up, his head down, cutting through the tunnels, weaving to avoid press and people he knew with only one goal in mind—get out of here.

Then, he heard it. A soft, familiar laugh—coquettish, warm. His heart lurched, breath catching as his feet moved on instinct. He slipped under the rope separating him from the small group ahead, his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Alright, Cam… what you doing here?” His voice was quiet, almost uncertain. Campbell turned to him, her expression caught somewhere between surprise and pity.

“I came with a friend,” she murmured, her smile small, unreadable. Trent nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he instinctively glanced around her, searching. His stomach twisted, hope flickering like a faulty street lamp—was it you? Were you here? He felt stupid for even thinking it. Campbell shifted, clearing her throat. “It was a date,” she admitted awkwardly. Trent blinked, her words settling over him like lead. “She’s not here.” She. You. It shouldn’t have stung. He shouldn’t have been expecting otherwise. And yet, he had been. He swallowed, nodding stiffly, forcing something indifferent into his tone. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I get that.” He didn’t. Or maybe he did, and that was the problem. Campbell watched him, her own sadness reflecting in her eyes. She had been there—seen the wreckage up close, the silent mourning in the shape of takeaways and sad movies. She had held you in club bathrooms when your legs gave out beneath you, had listened to the quiet cracks in your voice when you tried to act fine. And now she was seeing him, too. Trent—hunched in his hoodie, eyes shadowed with exhaustion, looking like a man who had spent a week drowning in everything he refused to say aloud.

“It was good to see you, T,” she offered gently.

“Yeah,” he nodded, looking past her, like if he didn’t meet her eyes, it wouldn’t hurt as much. “Erm… tell Y/N I’m sorry, alright?” The words fell out. Too fast, too unguarded. He barely had time to stop them, and when he realized what he had said, it was too late. Campbell hesitated. She wanted to say no. Wanted to tell him that wasn’t her message to deliver. That if he wanted to apologize, he needed to show up and say it himself. But then she saw his face. The rawness in it. And she caved.

“…Yeah,” she murmured. “I will.” Trent nodded once more, stiffly, before turning on his heel. He walked away quickly, shoulders tense, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He didn���t know if Campbell actually would tell you. Maybe it didn’t matter. What mattered was that saying your name aloud for the first time in weeks fucking burned. Like something too sour, making his jaw tense. Making his chest ache. Making it all feel too real.

-

Campbell sighed as she slid down onto the floor of your living room, her back resting against the couch. The glow of the TV flickered in the dimly lit space, casting soft shadows over the forgotten cup of tea on your coffee table, the pile of tissues you swore weren’t from crying, and the blanket you had been cocooned in for what felt like days. She glanced up at you, sprawled on the couch, your legs curled into yourself like you were trying to disappear. This had become your spot. Your safe haven. Your self-imposed exile.

"Y/N…" Campbell pleaded, tilting her head to catch your gaze. "Come on, he looked like a hurt puppy." You didn’t move, didn’t blink, your eyes fixed on the slow-moving scenes of whatever sad movie you had put on for the nth time. Your voice came out flat, barely above a murmur.

"He always looks like a hurt puppy," you muttered. "That’s what he does." Campbell exhaled a small, breathy giggle, one full of sympathy rather than amusement. She reached out, squeezing your thigh through the thick layer of the blanket.

"Okay…" she conceded with a soft exhale and sympathetic smile. But she wasn’t letting it go. Not yet. "But you really don’t want to see him at all?" Your lips parted, an automatic response sitting on the tip of your tongue—No. Absolutely not. But it didn’t come out. Instead, you faltered. Stuttered. Because the truth was you weren’t sure. Campbell hummed knowingly, shifting slightly to face you better, but she didn’t push. She just waited, giving you the space to sort through the mess in your chest. You sighed, your fingers idly picking at the fabric of the blanket wrapped around you. 

"I guess I kind of do. I don’t know… I’m scared." It was a small admission, but it felt massive. Campbell’s voice softened, dropping into something calm and reassuring. 

"I think he wants to see you too. He fucked up, sure, but maybe… just for peace of mind, you know?" You swallowed, shoulders slumping further into the couch as you stared at the screen, not really seeing it.

"I think I just want to put it to bed," you muttered, as much to yourself as to her. "I don’t want to be upset for Leon’s birthday party. I want to be there for Foster and him without this whole… thing looming over me and everyone around us…” But saying ‘us’ made your heart thud. There was never an ‘us’ and it made you sick to realize that. “ I just—" You exhaled sharply, rubbing your temple. "I just want to move on." Campbell nodded slowly, but she wasn’t convinced. 

"I know. I get it. But… Do you want to move on from it?" She let a beat of silence pass before she asked, carefully. That was the real question, wasn’t it? Campbell could always read you like a book and for whatever reason she felt like you and Trent made sense, she could ‘feel it’ she’d tell you. And it made you sad because you thought you felt it too. You sucked in a shaky breath, settling deeper into the couch as if it could swallow you whole. Your voice came quieter now, tinged with something Campbell couldn’t quite name—resignation? Defeat? Longing?

"Cam… I know what he is." You paused, weighing your words before pushing them out. "And he’s not what I want. We’ll just be friends.”  You mumbled not really meaning it. You didn’t want to be friends, and he was exactly what you wanted but you were wounded. The lie sat between you both, obvious and heavy. Because he was exactly what you wanted. But he had also wounded you. 

"Right. Just friends. That’ll be easy for you two." Campbell let out a soft, amused scoff, shaking her head. 

"It’s easier for everyone," you mumbled. But nothing about it felt easy. Campbell didn’t argue. She just watched you for a long moment, then smirked slightly.

“Kay… whatever you think. You didn’t block him, did you?" she teased, a knowing lilt in her voice.

“No, course not.” You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head. 

"Shocking." She smiled at you equally loving as it was teasing..

"I’ll call him… maybe." Your voice was small, uncertain. Your chest deflated with the weight of faux acceptance. Campbell just squeezed your thigh again, her touch warm, steady. She didn’t believe you. And honestly? You didn’t believe yourself either.

-

Trent was mid-conversation, a bottle of water loosely held between his fingers, the hum of laughter and chatter filling the space around him, when his phone buzzed. He glanced down, ready to ignore it—until he saw your name. His breath caught. Without hesitation, he pressed answer, bringing the phone to his ear so fast that the condensation from his bottle left a faint print against his cheek.

“Hey…” His voice was different now, softer, the casual ease he carried around others slipping away. “You alright?” he asked, but the words felt rushed, eager. There was noise—so much noise—echoing through the line, and for a second, you hesitated.

“Yeah,” you murmured, though the hesitation in your tone made his stomach twist. “Wanted to know if you wanted to grab coffee or something.” He heard it then—the uncertainty. Like you weren’t sure you even wanted him to say yes. Like maybe, you’d regret calling at all. Trent’s fingers tightened around his water. 

“Erm…Yeah, but –” He exhaled, suddenly aware of the noise around him, the voices, the music, the clinking of bottles. He needed to get somewhere quiet. He needed to hear you. He started moving, weaving through people, his free hand pushing open a door to the hallway.

“Oh you have people over or…?” you asked, your voice almost careful, like you were bracing for something.

“Yeah, but…” Not like that. He wanted to say it, but it felt wrong to explain, like it would only make things worse. Like maybe it already was. A beat of silence. Too long. Too heavy. Then, your exhale, sharp and tired.

“No, this was stupid. Sorry.” His chest tightened. No, no, no.

“No, no… Y/N, please.” His voice dropped, urgent, begging in a way he never begged for anything. On the other end, your eyes fluttered shut. He always said your name like it belonged to him, like it was something delicate, something precious. And God, it made you ache. You swallowed thickly, words caught in your throat.  “Baby…” Then, softer this time. Lower. The background noise was gone now. He was alone, standing in a dimly lit hallway, heart pounding so loud he swore you could hear it through the phone. A tear slipped down your cheek. Shit. You sniffled, trying to force something—anything—out, but all that came was a weak. 

“Sorry…erm.” You paused trying to think of something to say. Trent ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard.

“Can I come to your place?” He asked hurried. You nodded, then scoffed at yourself because he couldn’t see you. Pull it together.

“Yeah, okay.” Your voice barely made it out. Trent’s eyes fell shut in relief.

“Yeah, okay… erm,  give me like 15-20 minutes, alright?” His voice was soft, cautious, like he was scared to break whatever fragile thing was holding this conversation together.

“Okay.” And with that, the line went dead.

-

[Sunsetz - Cigarettes After Sex]

He’d rung your doorbell twice now and heard your feet walking to the door but then there was silence. You felt paralyzed. Why the fuck did you let him come over here? And then amidst your panic, a knock interjected. Then another. Then three more in quick succession, a little more desperate, a little more urgent. You stood frozen, your hands curled into your sleeves, heart hammering against your ribs. 

“Y/N.” Trent's voice was muffled through the wood, but you heard it—of course, you heard it. The same voice that had spent months wrapping itself around your name like it belonged to him. And yet now, it sounded wrong. Strained. You inhaled sharply, closing your eyes, trying to summon the anger you should feel. But mostly, there was just hurt. A deep, unrelenting ache that settled in your chest, pressing like a stone against your lungs.

You invited him over, yes, but you should have expected that he’d show up ready to win you over. He was Trent Alexander-Arnold, after all. Big moments? That’s what he did. Big games. Big performances. But lately… big fucking disappointments. And yet, you had let yourself believe—just for a moment—that you could be something big too.

“I know you’re there.” His voice was lower this time, rougher. “Please, just—” He sighed heavily, like the weight of the world had suddenly shifted onto his shoulders. “Please open the door.” Your hand hovered over the handle, fingers trembling. You could. You could let him in, let him speak, let him spin something beautiful and intoxicating with his words. He was good at that. Good at making you feel like maybe, just maybe, he could be more than what you feared.  But tonight, you weren’t letting yourself be a fool, no, you needed to stop that from ever happening again.

“I don’t know if I want you here anymore” You spoke to the door, barely above a whisper, hoping that would be enough. You felt stupid like a little girl. You didn’t seriously just invite a boy, no, a man, a professional athlete, famous beyond belief to your house only to hide behind a door.

“Then let me just talk,” he pleaded. You shook your head even though he couldn’t see you. 

“There’s nothing to say, honest. I’m sorry. It’s all fine. Just–.” You tried to dismiss your feelings, get him to leave but Trent was more persistent than that. 

“I fucked up,” he admitted quickly, desperately. “I know that. But—”

“But what?” The dam cracked. Your voice snapped, sharp like glass shattering. “But you were busy? But you forgot? But it didn’t mean anything?” You felt the tears rush to your eyes, your vision blurring.

“No!” He knocked his fist against the door. “It wasn’t like that.” A sad bitter laugh broke from your lips. 

“It’s always like that, Trent.” You muttered brokenly. Not really citing a history with him, per say as much as his "kind" of men.  A pause. A deep, horrible silence where you could feel him struggling, hear the ragged edge of his breathing. Then, a soft thud as his head rested against the door. He’d turned around and leaned his head back in exacerbation. Your back found the other side, your body slowly sliding down until you were sitting, legs pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself like you could somehow hold all the broken pieces together.

“I wanted to be there.” His voice was barely audible, like saying it out loud made it worse. “I should’ve been there.” You swallowed past the tightness in your throat, past the ache in your ribs from the uneven breaths shaking your frame.

“But you weren’t.” You retorted. His exhale was long and pained. On the other side, Trent rubbed a hand over his chest, pressing down like he could force a feeling away, but it was lodged deep. Heavy. A pain he didn’t know how to name, one that sat right between his ribs and spread like wildfire. So this was what heartbreak felt like. Truly. Not just the fleeting sting of a bad game or the dull ache of disappointment. This was different. It felt permanent. It felt like he hurt someone he cared about and he couldn’t even hold you to make it better because of this fucking door.

“I—” He stopped, words failing him. He tilted his head back, eyes shut tight, as if that could keep the sharp sting behind his own lids from falling. Inside, your own silent tears slipped down your cheeks, burning hot tracks into your skin. The air between you was thick with all the things left unsaid, all the moments that had led to this. Finally, he spoke again, voice raw, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. “Tell me how to fix this.... please.” You pressed your lips together, eyes squeezing shut, fresh tears spilling.

“…I don’t think you can. It was never that serious. We just– move on.” And just like that, something broke. In him, in you, in whatever fragile thing had once been between you. Trent let out a shaky breath, running a hand over his face. You wiped at your cheeks, trying to steady your breath, even though it was useless. Neither of you moved. Just two people, separated by inches, by choices, by heartbreak. A door between you. A universe apart.

-

Eventually you decided to be an adult and let him in instead of making him sit in the hall of your building but it was awkward and tense. The room was quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and the low hum of the city outside. The soft glow of the lamp cast long shadows over your apartment, stretching the space between you and Trent—a space that had never felt wider. He sat at the edge of your couch, elbows on his knees, fingers loosely laced together as he looked at you with that unreadable expression. Not quite angry, not quite sad—but something heavier. Something unbearable.

“Just be friends… okay.” He repeated your words slowly, like he was rolling the words around in his mouth, trying to get used to the taste of them. His jaw tensed, lips parted slightly as he bit down on the plump of his bottom lip. His eyes never left yours, dark and stormy, full of something you didn’t want to name. This wasn’t how he thought the night would go.

“We can’t, ya know?” You murmured, tugging at the blanket over your legs, keeping your eyes anywhere but on him. “It’s too messy, people are too close.” Trent’s gaze didn’t waver. “Foster and Leon…” You added, as if that explained everything. Or maybe just to fill the awful, suffocating silence. But Trent wasn’t buying it. His brows knit together, frustration flickering behind his features before he exhaled, shaking his head softly.

“Baby…” His voice was a quiet plea. That hurt. Your lips parted slightly, your breath hitching because that name—it was a habit for him, but to you, it was a wound that hadn’t healed.

“T… you can’t call me that.” Your voice wavered, shaking your head. Trent blinked, his mouth pressing into a thin line. 

“Sorry, it’s a habit. I’ll try to kick it.” He let out a soft, humorless laugh, but the sadness in his eyes betrayed him. His gaze flickered away, unable to hold yours for too long, like he was scared you’d see how much he was crumbling beneath it all. The weight in his chest was unbearable. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want him. But part of him—most of him—felt like you did. Like you were fighting it. Like if he just tried hard enough, if he said the right things, he could get you back. “It’s good to see you.”  He inhaled through his nose, exhaling slowly before he murmured. You let out a small, broken laugh, your fingers playing with a loose thread in the blanket.

“You saw me the other week.” You replied. His lips twitched into a sad smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Yeah, but not the way I like to. Not when I get you to myself.” His voice was softer now, but more intense, the honesty in it making your stomach twist. “It’s not the same if you don’t talk to me.” You swallowed. Your throat felt tight, a painful lump forming as his words settled into your skin, into the spaces between your ribs. You blinked quickly, but it was useless. Your eyes welled with tears. You pressed your lips together, looking down, trying to breathe through the ache.

“No… I guess not.” And just like that, whatever fragile thing you were both trying to hold onto—snapped. The silence between you was thick, dense like fog, wrapping around you both as if the universe was holding its breath. Trent sat across from you, his head tilted slightly, watching—always watching. His expression unreadable, but his body betrayed him, muscles tensed beneath the fabric of his hoodie like he was bracing himself for impact. You swallowed the lump in your throat, voice small. “Can I have one last cuddle?” You asked and you felt pathetic.  Trent’s lips curled into a lazy smirk, but something about it was off—forced, maybe. Like he was using it as a shield. 

“You can always have a cuddle from me, that’s not changing.” His voice was light, teasing, but when he blinked, you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes glaze over for the briefest second. And it hurt. More than you wanted to admit. Still, you moved first. You leaned forward, reaching for him, and Trent’s breath hitched as your hands slid up his chest, fingers grazing over the curve of his shoulders before wrapping around his neck, your nails splaying on his skin. The way your bodies fit together—it was unintentional, but it was too much, too intimate, too familiar. Trent let out a quiet chuckle, but it was breathless, shaky.

“Alright, you can’t be doing it like that with me. Gonna get me going.” He smirked, but there was something behind it—something heavy, something desperate. You giggled sadly and softly understanding, but it was cut short when, without thinking, he pressed a kiss to your neck.

The kiss burned your skin and it seared against his lips. Your breath hitched, your chest heaving, and before you could stop it, and then the tears came—silent, slipping hot and fast down your cheeks. You sniffled, trying to keep them at bay, but Trent noticed. He always noticed. “Nah, c’mon, baby.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he squeezed you tighter, his hands spreading across your back like he could hold you together if he just tried hard enough. You let out a shaky breath. 

“You’re okay with this?” It was a pathetic whisper, one that trembled in the quiet. Trent shut his eyes for a second, just one second, because he didn’t know how to answer that. Was he supposed to lie? Be strong for you? Or was he supposed to be honest and tell you that no, he wasn’t okay with this—not even a little bit? Instead, he exhaled slowly, pressing his face into your hair, inhaling you like it was the last time he’d get the chance. Everything about you, the way you fit against him, the way your fingers clung to his hoodie like you didn’t want to let go, sent everything in his head into white noise. A static haze. Like the way heaven looked in movies—bright white, warm, hazy.

“Nah, not one bit. But I’ll be whatever you need me to be, baby.” His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.  And that was it. Your resolve cracked, the sob escaping before you could stop it, your fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as the tears came harder. Trent held you through it, his grip firm, grounding, like he was anchoring you both in the middle of the storm. You didn’t correct him. Didn’t tell him to stop calling you baby again. You still clung to him for his comfort. And a part of him—a part of you both—felt like that meant something. Like it was a sliver of hope that would keep Trent in the game. And maybe a part of you wanted him to stay in it. No subs, just added time was needed. Like maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t over. Not really. Not yet.

-

The party pulsed around you, the air thick with heat and the rhythmic bass of the music thumping through the walls of the house. Bodies moved in a hazy blur—drunken laughter, the clink of bottles, the occasional crash of a cup hitting the floor. But none of it existed in your world. Not when Trent was looking at you like that. Not when his hands were on you again. You weren’t sure how you ended up here, standing between his legs as he perched on a barstool in the kitchen of a friend, but it felt natural, instinctual. Like muscle memory. His large hands rested low on your waist, slinked coyly under your jacket, letting his thumbs idly tracing soft circles against the fabric of your skin tight top, [ref index] and God, you’d missed this. Missed him. You let yourself sink into it, just for a moment. Lowered inhibitions, a little too much to drink, and him. Always him. Your fingers skimmed up his chest, playing at the collar of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin just beneath. So close.

“I like this shirt,” you murmured, voice barely above the music, but you knew he heard it. You could tell by the way his muscles flexed under your touch. By the way his hands tightened, fingers pressing a little harder into your waist. Trent’s dark eyes flickered, growing hooded, heavy, his pupils swallowing up the warmth in his irises. 

“Mm, yeah?” His voice was thick, dripping with something indulgent. Something dangerous.

“Mmhm.” You nodded, fingers ghosting along his skin after dipping beneath the fabric, barely there but enough to leave a trail of heat in their wake. Trent’s smirk grew slow, lazy, the kind that sent your stomach flipping over itself. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re flirting with me.” He cooed. Your lips parted, the smallest gasp escaping at the way he pulled you closer, flushed against him, like he wanted to feel every inch of you. You swayed in his hold, playful, but his grip was firm, keeping you right where he wanted you. 

“No… never.” You whispered cheekily. Trent let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head, but his fingers splayed wider over your hips, holding you in place. 

“Nah, don’t lie, baby… not even flirting a little?” He squinted at you, voice dipped in teasing curiosity, but his grip contradicted him. Like he already knew the answer. Your heart pounded as you turned in his hold to gaze out at the party unfolding in the room, an attempt to be subtle, pressing your back against his chest, you ass nestled perfectly to him, your body fitting into his effortlessly. His warmth, his scent—a mix of expensive cologne, a hint of liquor, and something so distinctly him—wrapped around you, making your head swim. You tilted your head back, bringing your lips to his ear, close enough that your breath fanned over his skin.

“Maybe a little.” You whispered again. You felt the shudder run through him, his fingers tightening as his head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut for half a second. When he looked back at you, there was something knowing, something testing in his gaze, his lips parting slightly like he wanted to say something—or do something. The music, the crowd, the heat—it all melted away. The only thing grounding you was his hands on your waist, his breath against your neck, the way his chest rose and fell against your back. This wasn’t good. Or maybe… it was that it felt too good. And that? That was dangerous.

-

It felt strange how intertwined your circles had become since you met. Like how did you always miss each other before this but you knew why. Why the world knew you two weren’t meant to meet yet and maybe even Ibiza was too soon in retrospect. The party pulsed around Trent, the bass thrumming in his chest, the air thick with sweat, alcohol, and the scent of something sweet burning in the distance. The house was packed, warm, the kind of heat that made clothes stick to skin and lowered inhibitions with every sip of whatever was in the cups littered across every surface. Laughter and conversations overlapped, creating a messy, chaotic symphony of bodies and movement, but Trent wasn’t hearing any of it. His focus was locked on you. You were across the room, standing in a loose circle, your head tilted back slightly as you laughed at something someone said. And fuck, that sound. It did something to him. Made his chest tighten, made his fingers twitch like they wanted to reach for you—even from this far away. But what really set his teeth on edge was the way you leaned into someone. Some guy.

The ease in which you pressed your palm to his arm as you spoke, the way you tossed your hair over your shoulder, smiling up at him like he was the funniest man alive. Like it was effortless. Like it wasn’t dangerous. Like it wasn’t Trent.

“Yo, met your girl. She’s cool, mate.” Trent barely registered the weight of the hand clapping his shoulder, his jaw tightening as he turned slightly. His brows furrowed. Kieren snorted. 

“Not his girl, lad. Friends.” Kieren smirked but took a sip of his cup to stop himself from saying anything more. He had teased Trent lovingly about how stupid the idea of you two being friends was mercilessly, but Trent was adamant it’d be fine. So now, the smirk wrapped around the lip of Kieren's drink was taunting. Trent felt his stomach churn. He knew Kieren was watching him, knew he’d been burning holes into you all night. But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t look away.

“Oh shit… I just thought she was,” the guy chuckled awkwardly, shifting his drink between his hands. Trent wanted to ask why. What gave it away? Was it the way you had instinctively melted into him earlier in the kitchen? The way his hands had memorized the shape of your waist again? The way you had whispered in his ear like you still belonged to him? The way you let him call you baby still? Because for a few minutes, Trent had let himself believe that, too. Maybe he still did.

“Why? What did she say…” Trent asked, his voice deceptively casual, but Kieren could hear the strain in it. The telltale sign of a man barely holding himself together.

“Nah, it’s calm. I just saw you two together earlier and assumed she was yours, but good to know,” the guy answered easily, no idea the weight of what he had just said. Trent’s lips parted, the words ‘she is’ nearly escaping before he caught himself. His fists clenched instead, jaw going tight as Kieren flicked his eyes toward him, waiting, testing.

“Nah, she’s not his,” Kieren repeated, watching. Daring him to deny it. Trent swallowed hard. He should’ve said something. Should’ve fought it. But instead, he just nodded stiffly, dropping his gaze to the floor for a split second, as if the confirmation had winded him. Because it was true. It was the truth he had spent weeks trying to ignore. The truth he had let himself forget when your fingers traced his collar, when your body melted into his, when you let him hold you again. But now? Now, it felt like someone had slapped him across the face, like a brutal wake-up call. And that guy? That guy just became a problem. A predator he’d track with laser focus for the rest of the party.

-

The tension in the air crackled like static, the thick weight of alcohol, heat, and music making everything feel more intense—more dangerous. Trent had been watching for too long, fists clenched too tight as he tracked the guy’s every move, his fingers flexing like they ached to do something about it. And then he did. He cut through the crowd, through the laughter and bodies pressing together, ignoring the stares as he stepped in—right in between.

“Hey, mate, I was talking to her.” The boy - who found out earlier you were in fact not Trent’s - brows furrowed, his confusion evident as he flicked his eyes between Trent and you. Trent barely blinked. 

“Yeah, I know. And now I am talking to her.” His voice was casual, but there was a bite to it, a silent warning laced in every syllable. Your lips parted, heat rushing to your cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from knowing. From understanding him so well that his actions spoke louder than any confession could. You read him like a well-worn book, every page turned too many times before. Jealousy sat thick in his tone, in the way his fingers twitched, in the way his entire body stood as a shield in front of you.

“T…” You sighed, reaching out, your fingers curling around his arm, a soft pull—a plea. You felt bad. You shouldn’t. You had every right to talk to whoever you wanted, but the way Trent was looking at you, the way his chest rose and fell too fast, his jaw set too tight, it made your stomach twist.

“He’s a piece of shit,” Trent muttered, cocking his head slightly, making sure the guy had walked away before turning back to you.

“That’s not your call to make—” You pleaded.

“Please…” It was the way he said it. Soft, low, only for you. A private confession buried beneath the desperation. Your breath hitched, something unspoken passing between you. Something too heavy, too raw. Trent swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his hand twitching like he wanted to reach for you but stopped himself. He felt vulnerable. And you ached. You shouldn’t have. This wasn’t fair, wasn’t right, but Trent had always had this way of pulling you back in with nothing more than a look.

“Isn’t he your friend?” You asked softly, almost confused. Trent’s lips pressed into a tight line. His gaze flicked away for a split second before he wet his lips and exhaled sharply. 

“Sort of… just—please.” That was when you realized. It was never about who. Not really. It was the sheer idea of you with someone else that he couldn’t stomach. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Oh.” It was all you could say, your voice small, lost in the music pounding around you. But Trent heard it. And from the way his eyes locked onto yours, from the way his hands curled into fists like he was physically holding himself back, you knew—he wasn’t sure if he’ ever  be able to stomach it either.

-

[Cowboys - Charlotte Lawrence]

The room swayed before you even realized you were drunker than you thought. The kind of drunk that crept up on you, disguised beneath laughter and easy conversation until it suddenly wasn’t easy anymore. Until the emotions started pushing to the surface, bubbling up like a shaken bottle ready to explode. And then there was Trent. Always Trent. You felt him before you even saw him, his presence anchoring you like it always did, but tonight, that anchor felt more like a weight you weren’t sure you could bear. This was not how you planned on your night going.

“Baby,” his voice was softer now, the edge from earlier gone, replaced by something raw, something fragile. “C'mon. Let’s get you some water, yeah?” You blinked up at him, your vision hazy, but still sharp enough to make out the concern etching deep lines between his brows. You could’ve said no. You should’ve. You also should've not gotten this drunk. But even as sad as you were—even as wrecked as this night had made you—he was still the only person you wanted comfort from. So you nodded. Trent exhaled, relief flickering across his face for just a second before he slid his fingers around your wrist, tugging you gently through the crowd. The party moved around you, pulsing with life, music thick in the air, bass vibrating in your chest—but with him, everything slowed. Everything else blurred as if someone had turned down the volume, leaving only the sound of your own breathing, of Trent’s heartbeat under your fingertips when you finally tucked yourself into his side.

After water was found and drank, you were sat on the sofa bathed in a warm, golden glow from the overhead lights, shadows stretching long across the floor. It was a spectacle. The whole party watched, not even trying to hide it. It was theater—real-time drama unfolding right before them. Because there you were, arms wrapped around his waist like you belonged there, like you hadn’t just spent the last few weeks trying to convince yourself otherwise, hugging him, a cuddle so far from innocent. And there was Trent, his body tense, eyes closed, head tossed back, like he was trying to will himself through the feel of you against him. Like it physically hurt to have you so close and yet still not his. His hand smoothed over your back, firm but gentle, his thumb grazing the bare skin between your top and the waistband of your shorts. Just enough to make you shiver. Just enough to make your fingers dig into his shirt, to press yourself closer, as if trying to memorize the shape of him before you lost him all over again. The sexual tension crackled between you like a live wire, unspoken but undeniable, seeping into every breath, every shift of your body against his.

“I’m sorry,” Trent muttered, voice rough, strained. You swallowed thickly.

“What?” You muttered sloppily unsure what he said. Trent wasn’t sure either. He was fairly drunk. His thoughts blending into one messy stream of consciousness wanting to apologize for everything. For not coming to your event. For letting you walk away. For being here now, holding you like this when he wasn’t supposed to anymore. But he didn’t say any of that. Instead, he just exhaled slowly, his fingers pressing into your side like he needed to ground himself.

“Dunno, sorry,” he admitted. “I got ya, baby.” And even though it didn’t fix anything, even though right now didn’t undo any of it, you still melted into him just a little more, because when it came to Trent—you’d always take whatever he gave you.

-

Cassie had stopped hearing the music as it thrummed in the room. Her fingers curled loosely around the rim of her drink as she watched from the kitchen, her gaze locked on the two of you curled up on the couch. The way you fit into Trent’s side, like you belonged there, like there was no place else in the world you’d rather be. His arm wrapped around you with an ease that suggested instinct, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns over your back. And the way you clung to him—it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t just friendly.

“They’re not dating?” Cassie asked, voice cutting through the haze of alcohol and curiosity as she turned to Leon and Foster.

“They’re not dating,” Foster confirmed, but there was something in the way she said it—hesitation, an unspoken weight behind the words.

“Why?” Cassie probed, but the question didn’t come from concern. It felt pointed, edged with something Foster didn’t quite like.

“I don’t know,” Leon admitted, though his eyes stayed locked on the two of you. Watching. Understanding more than he was saying.

“He’s stupid,” Foster muttered, her drunken thoughts slipping past her lips before she could catch them. Leon let out a small, knowing laugh, pulling her a little closer.

“So he’s single?” Cassie asked, still watching Trent, her eyes flicking over the way his head was tilted back against the couch, his jaw tight, his eyes shut. He looked like a man trying to hold himself together, like he could will away whatever it was he was feeling. Leon and Foster exchanged a look.

“Uh… yeah, suppose so,” Foster said reluctantly, but it didn’t sit right. Cassie arched a brow, waiting for more. Leon sighed, rubbing a hand over his chin. 

“I don’t think emotionally he’d be there though... His heads a bit gone.” He said. Cassie tilted her head, considering that. Her lips pressed together in thought, a slow, knowing smile forming at the edges.

“Right, but…” she let the words hang there. Leon knew what she was getting at. So did Foster. But neither of them had the energy to explain the storm she was about to step into.

“Yeah. Single,” Foster muttered, though the word didn’t feel true at all.

-

The party thumped relentlessly filling every corner of the room. Amid the chaos, you had given Trent a moment to breathe—an interlude in the madness—while you stumbled into the bathroom with Campbell, your drunken mess spilling out in a flurry of half-formed words and tearful laughter. You’d always had a way of letting things spiral when life got heavy, when the weight of it all pressed down and you lost control. Back in the kitchen, as the revelry continued unabated, Leon—one of those observant, no-nonsense types—stepped forward, gently but firmly tugging Cassie by the arm stopping her movement. He leaned in close, careful to keep his voice low, almost conspiratorial amid the raucous laughter and music.

“Hey Cassie, c’mere,” he said, his tone urgent, his eyes darting across the room as if to confirm his concern. “Don’t go there, yeah? He’s hurting.” Leon’s gaze flicked over to Trent, who was still slumped on the sofa in a shadowed corner of the room. His eyes remained closed, his head tilted back in a way that spoke of internal struggle and simmering pain—Trent was lost in his own storm of emotions. Cassie’s expression softened as she regarded him. 

“I’ll cheer him up,” she declared unapologetically, voice light yet imbued with an unspoken promise. Leon’s tone turned blunt, his words slicing through the raucous ambience. 

“No, seriously. Don’t put him in that situation—not with her here.” Cassie cocked her head, a puzzled frown tugging at her lips. 

“Why? They’ve never even dated, have they?” Her tone was cheerful, almost breezy, as if she were trying to dismiss the gravity of Leon’s warning with a casual shrug. Leon hesitated, his eyes narrowing in earnest appeal. 

“Yeah, but…” He trailed off, trying to convince her that even if you hadn’t been official, the undercurrent was enough to tip everything into chaos. Cassie waved him off, her voice carrying an untroubled cheer as she stepped further into the crowd. 

“Lee, if they’ve never even dated, it isn’t that serious.” Her laughter was light, tinkling like glass, and it cut through the tension—unaware, perhaps, of the storm brewing just beneath the surface.  In that charged moment, the noisy world—the relentless beats, the swirling bodies, the dazzling lights—seemed to narrow down to this single exchange. It was as if the party had flowed into its next scene on stage, and the drama unfolding between Leon, Cassie, and the silent figure of Trent was the performance everyone was watching, each word and gesture laden with unspoken sorrow and desperate hope. Leon just prayed you’d all make it out into the final act.

-

The night spun around you, lights too bright, music too loud, bodies moving in slow motion while your own pulse raced, erratic and unstable. You wobbled down the corridor back into the main room insisting you were fine in your heeled boots to Campbell. You felt it before you saw it—some shift in the air, a change in the energy that sent a new wave of nausea rolling through you. And then your drunken eyes focused, and it was like being sucker-punched. Cassie’s hand on Trent. Her manicured fingers squeezing his arm, nails just barely pressing into the fabric of his shirt. It was nothing, really. Just a touch. A second. A meaningless gesture sat on the sofa. But you weren’t sober enough for rationality, and the alcohol in your system twisted it into something more. The room suddenly felt too tight, the air too thick to breathe, the bass in the music pounding against your skull like a warning siren. You turned on your heel, stumbling blindly, needing to get away, to be anywhere but here. Your vision blurred, whether from the alcohol or the sting behind your eyes, you didn’t know. Your breath hitched, and suddenly the floor tilted beneath you. Strong hands caught you before you could hit the ground.

“Whoa, whoa—hey,” Kieren steadied you, gripping your arms as you swayed unsteadily in his hold. “You alright?” You shook your head violently, trying to speak, but your words came out jumbled and broken. 

“Fine—We’re not even… " You took a big gasping breath between words. "I’m not, and he’s not—and–” You whimpered, tears tipping over the edge of your lash line in what felt like slow motion you couldn’t stop. Kieren’s eyes widened in alarm. 

“Okay—hey, slow down—” He spoke softly, lifting you ever so slightly to stand just in his arms just for a moment to get your bearings.  A curse sounded from behind you.

“Shit.” Campbell’s voice was sharp, tense. You barely processed her words, barely even processed the way Kieren’s grip tightened around you, because suddenly there was movement, fast and urgent. Trent. Beelining straight toward you, eyes wild, face unreadable. 

“Hey—what’s going on?” He asked, voice softer than expected, but laced with something like panic. Like he couldn’t stand seeing you like this. “C’mon let me get you home.” Trent gently offered and then as his hand moved towards you, you recoiled into Kieren more. Trent’s lips parted in shock, the tears, the chaos, you not wanting him – it all was sobering beyond belief.

“No… go be with her.” You shook your head. The words came out in a pathetic whine, and the look you gave him—fuck, that look—made his stomach twist in on itself. Like he’d betrayed you in the worst possible way. Like he’d torn himself from your heart with his own hands.

“T, maybe you should just give her some space,” Campbell pleaded, trying to mediate, trying to diffuse the storm before it fully erupted.

“Nah—Y/N, baby…” Trent ignored her, reaching for you again, voice thick with something desperate, something broken. But when his fingers brushed against you, paired with the pet name it was like he shattered you completely. A sob wrenched from your throat. Kieren reacted instantly. 

“Okay, okay, c’mere.” He pulled you into his chest, arms locking tight around you as your whole body trembled. Trent’s jaw clenched, his eyes squeezing shut like if he just willed hard enough, this whole fucking night would reset. What did he do? He could barely remember the minutes that had happened before he just saw you crying from across the room. 

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, a sharp exhale of frustration and helplessness. But the sound of his voice only sent you spiraling further.

“Trent! Go!” Campbell snapped. Not angry. Just… desperate. She knew he wasn’t helping. She knew that, for the first time in his life, Trent Alexander-Arnold had no idea what to do.

You were hurt, terrified of what might have been lost, and yet, every laugh, every carefree moment on the night reminded you of what you had desperately longed for—something real, something that could mend the quiet pieces of your heart. And even as meaningless as Cassie’s fleeting touch might’ve been, you knew deep down that no matter how trivial it might seem to others, how you felt about Trent and the delicate intricacies of your connection were far from trivial. The party continued its relentless, chaotic dance, but you were whisked away completely inconsolable. You couldn’t even explain it to your friends if you tried. It just hurt. Like something you asked for but ultimately didn’t want. It all was a big mess now. And it was about to become an ever bigger mess. 

-

Foster and Campbell went with Kieren and took you home. Leon said he’d stay with Trent but Trent was a live wire the second he saw you leave. He was so angry. Angry he felt the way he did about you, that he was so soft for someone that pushed him away, pulled him back in only to push him back out. He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand his emotions and he didn’t like the way he felt and so he was drowning it all out, beer after beer. And then an opportunity for old habits appeared. Something he knew always made him feel nothing at all. Made him feel no connection, no heavy emotions, nothing. The nothing he craved. The party descended into something feverish—too loud, too bright, too unstable. It throbbed with bass and reckless energy, and Trent sparking and short-circuiting with every drink he downed. Every swallow burned, and yet it didn’t burn enough. Not enough to drown out the sight of you wrapped up in Kieren’s arms rejecting him… again. Not enough to make him forget the way you looked at him—like he’d betrayed you. So if you didn’t want him, didn't want him taking you home, if you could talk to other men, if you could walk away—maybe it was time he did the same. Cassie was warm and willing, and maybe that’s all he needed. So when his arm draped around her shoulders, it was a choice. A stupid, reckless, doomed choice. But a choice nonetheless. Leon, still planted in his seat a safe distance away, exhaled sharply through his nose. 

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, rubbing his temples as he watched Trent spiral in real-time. Leon just was hoping to god Cassie was a good person and actually took his words earlier into consideration. Cassie, turned toward Trent more, pulling one leg up onto the sofa, her hand dragging along the seat cushion toward him. She was deliberate, sultry, but she wasn’t stupid.

“So… do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, voice silky with intrigue.

“Nah,” Trent answered, his smirk lopsided, his body leaning into the alcohol pooling in his system.

“A sister?” she pressed, eyes glinting as she studied him.

“Nah.” His brow furrowed slightly, unsure where she was going with this.

“So who are you lying to?” Cassie’s lips curved up in amusement. Trent blinked, his drunken haze making it hard to catch up. 

“I’m not lying to you.” His voice lost some of its smoothness, irritation creeping in covered by alcohol.

“No, but are you lying to her? Or to yourself?” Her fingers reached for his wrist, slipping beneath a hair tie he hadn’t even realized was still there. Yours. The one he found at his place days ago, meaning to give back. Instead, he’d worn it. Mindlessly. Like a habit. Subconsciously you were a habit he never wanted to quit and this hair bobble was acting as a tether to you. Cassie wasn’t stupid and she wasn’t mean either. She didn’t get it at first warning but she clocked it the second Trent abruptly stood up from her earlier to run to you. It wasn’t really her place but she just wanted to set Trent straight for herself. So she let the elastic snap back down against his skin.

“Ah, clever you are,” Trent mused, his voice thick and slurred. He was struggling to keep up though, struggling to hold himself together too.

“I don’t know if it’s clever,” Cassie giggled sympathetically, “or if it’s just that I have eyes.” She raised her brow at him. Trent didn’t really understand he was getting played. Leon leaned forward, watching the scene unfold like a slow-motion car crash. “She know you’re in love with her?” Cassie asked bluntly.

“I’m not.” Trent’s response was instant, knee-jerk. But the way Cassie’s brow lifted made something ugly churn in his stomach. There was a long silence as she just taunted him waiting. “She knows,” he muttered something quieter than a whisper, almost inaudible as he looked away from her, his jaw clenched. The words were resentful. Drunk. Frustrated. Annoyed. Annoyed at you, annoyed at Cassie, annoyed at himself. 

“Does she?” Cassie taunted, watching him closely. He’d hope somehow maybe he hadn’t just answered. That he actually said that only in his head. He felt sick. 

“Aye, this really isn’t what I’m looking for.” Trent groaned, rolling his head back. Cassie let out a laugh, but it wasn’t mean—it was knowing. 

“You’re insane if you think you can fuck other people to forget her.” Her hand squeezed his thigh, her voice softening just slightly. “It’s not going to work.” Leon straightened in his chair. He couldn’t hear them, but he could see the wreckage unfolding, and it looked like a head-on collision from his vantage point.

“No, no, no, no,” he muttered under his breath. He was worried about you and Trent, sure, but he was also worried about Foster asking why the fuck he let this happen. Truth was, he would’ve stepped in earlier, but Trent was being such an ass after you left that he figured he needed some space but right now he wished Cassie would give Trent some space..

“Give it a go.” Trent smirked, slow and messy. There was that permanent charm, even under pints of alcohol it persisted. Cassie’s lips parted in amused disbelief before she scoffed.

“Not with me, yeah?” She slapped his thigh and stood up with a shake of her head at Trent.

“Thank God.” Leon exhaled in relief, rolling his head back.  Then, before Trent could spiral any further, Leon stood up. He was smooth but quick to grab Trent under the arms, hauling him up to his feet. “Come on, mate” he muttered, shaking his head. Trent swayed, barely able to stand upright. 

“Tonight was a fucking piss take,” he slurred.

“You’re a piss take,” Leon corrected. “Let’s go.”

-

The next  morning was slow, heavy with the weight of bad decisions and too much alcohol. You were draped over Campbell’s bed with her, limbs tangled, faces pressed into pillows as if hiding from the consequences of the night before.

“He didn’t go home with anyone?” Campbell asked, her voice muffled, still too hungover to lift her head.

“No, because he loooovesss her!” Foster sang as she reentered the room, dramatically flopping onto the mattress like a giddy child. Despite Trent's drunken indiscretion, she didn’t actually have that as concrete information, Leon just told her he and Trent were home safe- alone.

“He doesn’t.” You rolled your eyes, groaning as you buried your face into Campbell’s shoulder. Foster scoffed, sitting up on her knees. 

“You love him,” Campbell cooed, her arms tightening around you in a squeeze.

“Ugh, you’re actually making me feel sick,” you grumbled, peeling her hands off of you.

“No, that would be the unholy amount of liquor you drank last night.” Foster shot you a smirk, taking a sip of water. You swatted at her, but she just leaned out of reach, feigning offense. “Besides, Leon said he was a mess after you left. He just drank himself into oblivion and then went home.” You hummed, not sure if that piece of information made you feel better or worse.

“Is that meant to be a good thing?” You smiled at her knowingly. She exhaled a light laugh understanding your point. “I don’t know. I’m not exactly celebrating this one,” you admitted, sinking further into the mattress. “He’s doing the bare minimum in not fucking someone in front of me. He told me I couldn't but like we’re not together. He doesn’t owe me anything. I don’t owe him anything. First awkward party out of the way, I guess.”  You laid into Campbell’s side feeling rather defeated although maybe that was just your case of hangxiety creeping in.  Campbell ran a hand over your back, comforting but firm. 

“Maybe he asked you that but it's not like you want it either. So, no, we’re not celebrating it, I agree. It wasn’t great, I won’t lie. I prefer nights where you don’t cry, personally.” She teased lovingly. Foster nodded, setting her water down. 

“Yeah, but come on. He was a disaster last night, and not because he didn’t care.” She looked at you poignantly. You groaned, rubbing at your eyes. 

“I don’t want him to be a disaster. Maybe it would’ve been better if he had slept with someone.” You said without really thinking because that wasn’t what you really wanted. Foster and Campbell both snapped their heads toward you, incredulous. 

“You don’t mean that,” Foster said, crossing her arms. You exhaled, pressing your lips together. No, you didn’t mean it. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that if last night wasn’t enough of a mess, all you could think about was the night of the Burberry party and the way it made you feel. It was more than ghosting because he acted like it was more than a fling with you prior. “You like him. One shit miscommunication and a messy couple interactions don’t just wipe feelings.” Foster arched a brow, like she could hear your internal battle without you even speaking.  And she was right, unfortunately for you. That dinner was an opportunity for him to step up—and he didn’t. And yet… Your feelings hadn’t gone anywhere. It all felt terribly confusing. 

“Yeah…”  You sighed. “Onto the next time I see him then, I guess…” You said tiredly. They exchanged a glance, greedy and knowing, because they saw right through you. That you were relieved he didn’t go home with someone last night, that you did like him, and whether or not you were ready to say it, that it wasn’t over. 

“Yep!” Campbell grinned. “And there’s no way that’ll be awkward at all.” She teased with another playful squeeze.

“Cam!” You whined with a tired giggle. “You’re actually making me nauseous.” You weakly peeled her arms off you again. She just leaned into your side, grinning. 

“Maybe it’s all those butterflies in your stomach.” She whispered teasingly. All three of you falling into tired laughs.

•

Thank you for reading! Welcome to my new fic 'Aperture' I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

PLEASE PLEASE Please like, comment, or message what you think!!!

Next part - Chapter 9 Coming Soon!

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[liliasenbyhusband]

Play stupid games

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Joanne x reader (company, f!Bobbie)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, use of strong language, smut, a bit of awkwardness.. that’s it I think?

Tags: smut, angst and fluff, J riding r thigh, fingering (r receiving), switch!Joanne, switch!reader, hickeys, love confessions, domestic fluff, cuddling

Notes: I have to start out by thanking @imorynn once again for beta reading this, listening to my rants about this chapter, and for giving me life with her live comments 🙂‍↕️ thank you so much, my friend, I appreciate you very much 🫂🫶🏻

Secondly, I still am not the greatest smut writer, so I hope it is still an enjoyable read. I also want to take a second to thank everyone who has taken their time to read this series and an extra thanks to the people that have left comments, they truly always make my day 🫶🏻🥰

Now on to the fic!

Words: ~6.8K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

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Chapter 5: Change the prophecy

You anxiously waited in front of Joanne’s door, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Today had been incredibly strange and had left you feeling so many emotions that you could barely keep up. Especially your phone call with Joanne.. you still didn’t really understand what had happened. You had gone from relieved and hopeful when you had seen her name flash across your screen, to confused when she hadn’t said a word, to angry and heartbroken when she refused to answer a simple question, making you fear that you already knew the answer and it wasn’t the one you had hoped it would be, and then back to worried and confused at Joanne’s strange behaviour.

And now you were standing in front of her door, your mind coming up with every worst case scenario, telling you she definitely regretted last night and had asked you to come over so she could tell you that it all had been one big mistake and that she hoped you both could forget it. Before you could continue to spiral the door opened and your eyes landed on Joanne’s form, she looked like she was even more anxious than you.. if that was even possible.

She stepped aside to let you in without saying a word, the tension in the air was palpable and you feared it would crush you under its weight if either of you didn’t speak up soon. The feelings whirling inside you made it difficult for you to stay grounded and in the present. You walked inside and automatically made your way over to your usual spot on the couch.

Your anxiety only grew worse as the silence continued to put its unbearable weight on your chest, there was so much you wanted to say, to ask, but you couldn’t bring yourself to, not before you heard what Joanne had to say. You could already guess it was nothing positive… she rarely was this serious and by the way she had acted during your phone call you knew something was wrong. The anger, sadness and hurt you had felt earlier were still very much present but they were currently overtaken by worry.

Joanne finally spoke up, her voice cutting through your thoughts, her eyes flitting from the floor to the wall and behind you to the door, looking anywhere but at you. She sounded scared and small, like she was standing face to face with a large predator. A frown made its way to your face as your worry grew and you fought the urge to reach out to her, to hold her hand in your own. No matter how much she had hurt you, seeing her like this made you want to do whatever you could to comfort her.

“I shouldn’t have left.. this morning… I..I just..”

A groan fell from her lips, you could tell she was starting to get frustrated.. with what or whom you weren’t entirely sure. You could hear the genuine regret in her voice, though that did little to calm your nerves. You began to wonder whether she regretted leaving or the fact that she had woken up in your bed in the first place.

“I thought it would be for the better… then I wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of my own actions..”

Your heart sank as you heard her speak those words, tears filling your eyes but you refused to shed them. Had she really regretted last night that much? Had she hated yesterday so much that she couldn’t bear to face reality.. couldn’t bear to face you the next morning? You wanted to speak, to ask her, but you couldn’t get anything past the lump in your throat so you just let her continue. You watched her as her hands nervously fiddled with the hem of her skirt, while you fought the tears that threatened to spill.

“I realise now that it was unfair to you… and that it left us both with more questions than answers.. so.. I.. I want to rectify that and explain myself.”

Joanne’s voice shook as she talked, she was rambling, like this was a speech she had learned by heart and needed to get out now, before she forgot the words.. or lost the courage to say them. Your frown deepened as you studied her features, trying to find any clue as to what she was about to say next, so you could prepare yourself, your heart, for the inevitable devastating blow that was about to follow.

“Yesterday was…”

‘A mistake, wrong, a one time thing’ your mind unhelpfully finished Joanne’s sentence for her. You bit your lip harshly to try and stop yourself from crying, while you tried your best to focus on Joanne’s words. You looked at the floor, you couldn’t bear to look at her while she would undoubtedly crush all your hopes and dreams.

“perfect.. and then this morning I woke up and all I could think about was how I would inevitably ruin it… like I always do.”

You looked up, shock clearly written all over your features. For the first time since you had arrived Joanne’s eyes met your own. The intensity of the emotions whirling behind those beautiful brown eyes knocked the wind out of you. Never before had she let her eyes display her emotions so openly. You could see hurt, regret, fear and anxiety swirl behind those eyes.. and there was something else, something fighting to make itself known but still being pushed down by the woman in front of you.

“So I left… fled before I could hurt you... before you could regret everything…I’m sorry but I just couldn’t risk tainting you with my baggage.”

She stopped for a moment, she seemed to be mulling something over, uncertainty now joining the many other emotions you could see behind those eyes. Your own emotions became more turbulent, part of you was worried, she had just apologised for the second time in the span of an hour… you had never seen this side of Joanne before, so scared, so small.. you barely even recognized her. You took Joanne’s hand in your own, giving it a gentle squeeze, hoping to be able to give her some sort of comfort.

It looked like she wanted to say something else, but she stopped herself and was now looking at you expectantly. And suddenly it hit you that it was your turn to speak.. you weren’t sure what to say.. you were still trying to make sense of everything Joanne had said.

You weren’t quite sure how you felt.. you had your own internal war waging. Part of you understood, you knew Joanne… or well you had thought you did… you had been aware of her more self conscious side.. but you had no idea it plagued her this badly. Had she really thought this lowly of herself all along? Was she truly convinced that she could only ever ruin you? Your heart broke for her and you wished she could see herself through your eyes. Then she would see the caring, funny and beautiful woman you saw when she allowed you to peer through the cracks in her walls. But part of you was still hurt, wanted more answers, needed to know what this meant for you two in the future. Her words still didn’t make complete sense to you.

You had so much to say, so much to ask, but you couldn’t find the words, nothing felt right. You wanted to soothe the ache she was so clearly feeling but didn’t know how.. Joanne had been right.. this was complicated. You were about to start speaking, unsure of what to say but no longer able to bear this silence, but before your first word could make it past your lips, Joanne began to speak again, seemingly surprising herself.

“Do you regret it.. spending the night with me?”

She blurted the question out, her voice wavering near the end of her sentence. It took you by surprise, you hadn’t expected her to speak again, and you definitely hadn’t expected this question. You could see even more fear and worry fill her captivating eyes, drowning out most other emotions, except for the one that she had been repressing this entire time.. the one you couldn’t put a name on.

“No. Not even a little.”

Your voice came out steadier and stronger than you felt, but you wanted to make sure that she believed you when you told her. You would do it all over again, even if you knew that she would leave the next morning. You had never felt as whole as you did when Joanne had been in your arms, and you would give anything to feel that whole again.. even if it would be ripped away again the next morning.

Joanne seemed to be searching your eyes for something else, something more… or maybe she was just trying to check if you were speaking the truth.. you didn’t dare say anything with certainty anymore. You followed up your statement with a question of your own.

“Do you?”

Your voice was void of any of the strength it held previously. You weren’t sure what you would do if she said she regretted it.. could you even remain friends after that? Your heart was racing inside your chest as you awaited her answer.

“No. I only regret not staying.”

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, feeling relief wash over you, though confusion soon followed. You were unsure of what her earlier words had meant… you had thought she was telling you that she regretted the evening and couldn’t bear to face the consequences of the night you had spent together. You studied Joanne’s features and tried to make sense of the situation but failed completely.

Joanne’s lower lip wobbled a little and you could see the frustration grow on her features as her brow furrowed. She took a deep breath, her voice a little steadier as she asked the next question, although her eyes betrayed the growing terror inside her.

“Was it just a way to blow off some steam for you?”

You were a little shocked by the question, you thought you had been quite obvious last night… but then again you also thought that Joanne had basically admitted to liking you back last night, only for her to disappear the next day so.. maybe you should stop making assumptions.

Your heart hammered inside your chest as your rational side told you to lie, told you to take the safe path.. that way if Joanne wanted it to be a one night stand, you could go back to being friends and nothing had to change. But you couldn’t lie to her, not when it came to something as important as this.. not when you could potentially hurt the woman in front of you, when she had been brave enough to ask the questions that you hadn’t been able to voice.

“No, no of course not! I.. had wanted to do that for a long time and then when you were so clearly jealous I…well.. I assumed we felt the same.. and I thought I had been quite obvious last night when we… that it was more than just lust and desire. I-”

You stopped yourself from rambling on and let go of Joanne’s hand. You began fidgeting with your fingers, looking down at your hands, unable to continue looking at the woman in front of you. You had just basically handed her your heart on a silver platter. Sure you were being vague, but even with these simple sentences you had given her the power to smash your already battered heart into a million bits and pieces. Your anxiety spiked so much that you felt nauseous, and your head was reeling with all the possible ways this could go horribly wrong.

The silence dragged on for what felt like an eternity, your mind convinced you that this silence wasn’t a good sign. You were about to tell Joanne to just forget everything you said when she finally spoke up. Her voice was hurried, like she was trying to get the words out before she could change her mind.

“I love you... I’m in love with you.. and it scares me. But we can never happen, because once you get to really know me, you will end up hating me and I will lose you completely and I can’t.. I can’t lose you.”

You looked up at her after the first three words and saw the conflicting emotions in her eyes. The sadness, the hurt, the fear and then the feeling you hadn’t been able to figure out… love… it was so obvious now.. how had you not realised it sooner? The happiness you felt at her confession, at knowing she felt the same way, was quickly erased when she continued. You could hear the terror in her voice, the pain behind her words and it ached.. ached to see her so fearful, so sure that nothing good could ever come from loving or being loved by her.

You watched as a tear made its way past her defenses, so you gently cupped her cheek and wiped it away with your thumb as you looked at her with nothing but love, understanding and care in your eyes. Your own pain was forgotten, the only thing that mattered now was to somehow make the woman in front of you understand that even if her hands disintegrated your heart by simply touching it, you would still gladly hand it over, it was already hers anyway.

Joanne leaned into your touch and looked up at you with unshed tears in her eyes and you could tell she was fighting to not raise up her walls once again, to defend her heart and never let anyone in, ever again.

When you spoke, your voice was soft yet steady, you made sure to look into her eyes so she could see the care and love you felt for her clearly displayed in your own.

“You could never lose me, I have been yours for longer than I care to admit and nothing you do could change that. No matter what happens after today, no matter what we decide to do, my heart will remain here with you, in its rightful place, your beautiful hands.”

You took her hands in your own once again and lifted them up to your mouth, gently kissing them both as you looked into her eyes before continuing.

“What you choose to do with it is up to you, it’s yours now. Whether you tear it up to pieces or treat it as a precious artifact, it doesn’t matter. I know you, I have seen the real Joanne, and it’s that Joanne that I have fallen madly and irrevocably in love with.”

Earlier your fear may have made you doubt whether you knew her at all, but knowing what you did now, after having been allowed to look past her defenses and into her heart, you were more certain than ever that you knew her, that you had gotten to see the real woman behind the façade that she had created to protect herself.

Joanne stared up at you, the whirlwind behind her eyes intensified, your words of devotion stirring something deep within her. Terror and love seemed to be battling one another as she tried to find the words to respond to you.

You waited patiently, despite your words and the steadiness of your voice, you weren’t as calm as you seemed. Your heart was hammering inside your chest, it had taken all of your strength and courage to speak so openly about your feelings, and that courage and strength were now being tested as silence had once again filled the air.

“If you’re willing to risk your heart.. then.. then so am I.”

Your heart skipped a beat as her words reached your ears, you could barely believe this was actually happening, this definitely wasn’t how you expected this to go, but you weren’t complaining. You couldn’t stop the smile that made its way to your face as you watched the corners of Joanne’s mouth twitch into a small and timid smile of her own.

As you looked into her eyes you could see the war she had been fighting earlier still seemed to be waging beneath the surface. Though it was clear that one side was winning, luckily for you it was the side you were rooting for.

“So what do we do now? … You’d think I’d be better at this after three marriages..”

The laugh that followed was filled with both joy and anxiety. You knew what she was doing, trying to diffuse the situation with a joke, trying to hide how terrified she really was, but you saw right through it, you didn’t even need to peer through the cracks in her walls anymore, because her walls had come down, and you could see her clear as day now.

“Now you let me take you out on a proper date.”

You sounded confident and determined, and although you might still feel a little nervous, those nerves were overshadowed by the happiness and disbelief you were currently feeling. Although those in turn couldn’t compare to the intensity of the love you currently felt for Joanne.

“I’m free tomorrow.”

You didn’t miss the mischievous glint in her eyes as she spoke. You raised your eyebrow questioningly, you had expected her to demand you take her on a date right this second.. keeping yesterday’s impatience and the clear eagerness in her voice in mind. But before you could question her on it, she continued.

“Today we’re spending the rest of the day in here. I have some making up to do.”

You laughed, completely shocked at how she had suddenly turned into her bossy self again. Normally you would have rolled your eyes at her demands and teased her a little before giving in, but right now you were just too happy to see Joanne regain some of her confidence, without her putting her walls back up.

“And what kind of making up did you have in mind, exactly, darling?”

You asked as innocently as you could, while you felt your heart slowly starting to repair itself… no.. no it wasn’t healing itself… it was being healed by the woman in front of you. She looked at you with such adoration in her eyes, even when that mischievous glint shone in those brown hues, that looking into them felt like she was applying a soothing balm on your aching wound. There was a healing property in the way her lips twitched into a playful smirk as she thought of all the lude ways she could respond. And the trust she displayed in you, by letting her feelings be so clearly seen, by not immediately putting her walls back up, by letting you, and only you, see this side of her, bandaged your heart up with such care and love that you might just forget it had been hurt in the first place.

Joanne straddled your lap, her skirt hiking up just a little to make the movement possible, and threw her arms around your neck.

“I have an idea or two in mind… but why don’t you tell me how you would like me to.. make amends.”

You rested your hands on her hips and found that they fit perfectly like two puzzle pieces finally connecting, like your bodies had been molded for one another. Your eyes traveled back up to her own and chuckled lowly when you saw desire take over those captivating brown eyes. Leave it to Joanne to somehow turn this situation into something filthy.

“You could start by kissing me. I missed having your lips on mine.”

You didn’t miss the little smile gracing Joanne’s face before she captured your lips with her own. You had expected her to kiss you like she had last night, hungry, full of need and desire, her lust barely concealed. So when she kissed you and poured all of her feelings into it, when the kiss was soft, loving and tender, you had been surprised to say the least. Sure there was want and need there.. but it was like those feelings no longer mattered, they didn’t have the upper hand. She wasn’t kissing you to get you into bed, she was kissing you to express her love and care for you.

You kissed her back with that same intensity, pouring every single thing you felt for her into the kiss, your thumbs softly caressing her clothed hips, as if you needed something to ground yourself, to remind you that this was real, that she really was here, you could feel her, right here in your hands.

When Joanne pulled back, in need of air, she rested her forehead against yours, her nose lightly nuzzling yours as she tried to catch her breath. Her hand came up to ever so gently wipe away a tear that had made its way down your cheek. You hadn’t even been aware of its journey till the back of Joanne’s fingers carefully brushed it away. She ever so gently pressed a kiss to your cheek, as if to soothe the spot where your tear had just fallen.

“Oh baby…”

Her voice was soft, warm and full of concern, a frown made its way to her face, and she was about to continue talking when you interrupted her.

“A happy tear, my love, I never thought I’d get to experience this.”

You sent her a reassuring smile and a chuckle while you softly squeezed her hips to emphasise your words. Joanne searched your eyes, you assumed she was looking to see if you were telling the truth, when she seemed to be pleased with the answer you had given her, her eyes drifted to your neck, the marks she had left the night before clearly visible. Her fingers slowly and carefully began to trace them, as if she was entranced by them.

“You really did a number on me.”

You said teasingly, a triumphant smile appearing on your lips when the slightest hint of a blush appeared on Joanne’s cheeks. Her eyes met yours again as she raised her eyebrow questioningly, before playfully responding.

“You’re one to talk. Have you seen the battlefield you left behind?”

Now it was your turn to blush, which had Joanne looking entirely too pleased with herself. You rolled your eyes while trying your best to make the blush disappear.

You were about to answer when a stomach growl interrupted you. The playfulness that hung in the air slowly dissipated and concern laced itself within your features.

“Have you eaten anything today?”

Your voice filled with care and a tinge of worry as you asked the question, you didn’t need a response to know the answer, the guilty look on her face betrayed her. You looked at your phone to check the time, 5 pm, you looked back up at her disapprovingly before speaking again, not waiting for an answer.

“Let me see if you have anything in that kitchen of yours.”

You lightly patted her hips, as a sign for her to get off, so you could search her fridge and pantries in the hopes of finding anything edible. As Joanne climbed off of your lap and back onto the couch, your own stomach grumbled… maybe you had been a little bit of a hypocrite. Joanne crossed her arms and tilted her head, matching the look you had given her earlier. You shot her a sheepish grin before getting up and walking to the kitchen, starting your quest for food.

You had to admit you already missed having Joanne in your lap, you liked having her that close, her scent invading your senses, feeling her weight on you, having her ass and tits both in groping distance. You quickly tried to rid yourself of that last thought as you opened Joanne’s pantries.

You grabbed all the ingredients you’d need for a decent pasta sauce and began working on making dinner. This definitely wasn’t the first time you’d cooked for Joanne at her place, but it was the first time you’d cook for her as her.. well what were you? You sure as hell were much more than just friends now… problems for another time, you decided as you continued working on the food.

You suddenly felt two arms wrap around your waist, followed by gentle kisses being placed on the side of your neck. You instinctively leaned into her touch before turning your head a little. You chuckled as you saw Joanne stand on her tippy toes to be able to reach your neck better.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur of domestic bliss. After a while Joanne had moved from hugging you from behind, to sitting on the kitchen counter, stealing kisses whenever she could. She had demanded to taste the sauce and had playfully given you directions on how to make it better.

During dinner the air had been filled with light banter and teasing remarks. Joanne’s foot had made its way up your calf more than once, but whenever she drew a reaction from you she stopped and with every frustrated huff you let out, her smirk grew. Once you had both finished eating, her hand reached out over the table for yours and you intertwined your fingers with hers. Her thumb softly stroked the back of your hand as you talked for.. well you weren’t sure for how long… it had felt like time stood still in that moment, the only thing that mattered was Joanne and you in this very moment.

After cleaning up the kitchen together, you went back to Joanne’s comfortable couch and turned on the television. Joanne clearly wanted to be close to you, but still was too proud to actually admit it, so she had sat down next to you without cuddling up to you. You internally rolled your eyes and pulled her into your side. Her fake protest soon faltered as her head found its way to your shoulder while she curled up into your side, tugging her legs beneath her while wrapping her arms around you.

It didn’t take long before Joanne had apparently decided that you were far more interesting than whatever show she had put on. She began by placing soft and innocent kisses on the marks on your neck that she had left yesterday, those kisses were soon replaced by more hungry ones as she sought out places she had previously left unmarked and began to add new hickeys to the already large collection. As you were about to complain about her being a tease, she turned off the tv and muttered against your neck.

“I still have some making up to do.”

You chuckled lowly as you pulled her back into your lap, her teasing had left you impatient and ready to tear off her clothes. You somehow managed to control yourself and with a raspy voice whispered in her ear.

“I’m going to make you earn it, darling.”

You placed a kiss behind her ear, drawing a soft moan from Joanne, while you hiked her skirt up over her ass before you roughly squeezed it. You pulled back a little and watched as her eyes filled with lust. You kissed her hungrily and passionately, a contrast to the kiss from earlier.

She didn’t waste a second and kissed you back with the same amount of need and want as you had displayed. With the way she was positioned in your lap, you could feel the effect your words and the kiss had had on her, which caused you to smirk against her mouth.

You gently bit her bottom lip, which caused her to gasp out a moan and whine against your mouth, which made it easier for your tongue to push past her lips. Your tongue explored her mouth and teased her tongue until there was no air left in your lungs. You pulled back reluctantly and rested your forehead against hers before rasping out.

“If I knew this is how today was going to turn out I would have brought my strap, I bet you would look so pretty riding it.”

The thought seemed to appeal to Joanne because you could feel the way her pussy throbbed at the thought. She bit her lip and her pupils dilated and you had to admit you enjoyed seeing the bossy woman turn into a needy mess, just at the thought of riding your strap.

“For now my thigh will have to do.”

Joanne didn’t need any other directions as she placed one knee in between your legs and the other on the left side of your leg, positioning her center right on your thigh. You made her lift her hips a little so you could hike your own dress up to your hips, wanting to feel the woman on top of you grind herself against your bare skin. You pushed her back down on your thigh again and gasped a little when you felt just how soaked she was, which caused Joanne’s cheeks to be painted in the faintest shade of red.

You pushed her skirt up over her hips so she could move easier, before getting rid of her shirt and bra, your hands quickly replacing the fabric. You began to massage her voluptuous breasts before crashing your lips against Joanne’s once again.

When she didn’t continue to grind against your thigh, your hands moved to her hips, pushing her down harder against your thigh, before slowly beginning to move them for her, hoping she would get the message. Joanne seemed to understand because seconds later she began to ride your thigh on her own accord.

Your hands moved to her ass, giving it a harder squeeze, which caused her to groan against your mouth before pulling back in need of air. You massaged her ass roughly while your mouth found its way to her boobs, hungrily sucking, biting and licking any skin it could reach.

The sounds that spilled out of Joanne’s mouth as her head fell back and the way her underwear grew more and more soaked by the second, only fuelled your actions, making sure to give both boobs the same amount of attention while your nails dug into the ample flesh of her ass. Joanne arched her back and pushed her breasts harder against your mouth as her breathing became ragged and her movements became more erratic. Her hands had landed on your shoulders, holding them tightly as if she were trying to ground herself by holding on to you.

Your hands moved to her hips and you began to guide her hips, helping her to keep a steady rhythm. You flexed your thigh while reluctantly pulling your mouth away from her boobs.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart. You look absolutely divine like this.”

You whispered as you looked up at her. You meant every word, she looked absolutely stunning. Her skin was gleaming from sweating and had gained a few new marks, her brows were knitted together, her chest heaved up and down as her breathing became shallow, and her mouth hung open as she let every filthy sound escape from between her lips.

“Are you going to ruin those panties for me, hmmm? Are you going to cum just from riding my thigh?”

Your words came out hurried as you were making a mess of your own underwear, as you watched Joanne try and fail to come up with a witty response, instead losing herself in chasing her own high. You had half the mind to tease her for it, but you were too lost in watching her hump your thigh while you guided her hips.

You watched as she toppled over the edge, moaning your name while her nails dug into your shoulders almost painfully. Her rhythm slowed and you helped her ride through her orgasm as you whispered praises in her ear before she collapsed into you. You gently stroked her back and placed a gentle kiss on her temple.

When her breathing evened out you carefully picked her up, which caused her to yelp and you to chuckle, and carried her to her bedroom. You gently placed her on the bed as she murmured something about being able to walk, before you crawled on top of her.

“After that little performance, you deserve to lay back and relax.”

You smirked as you got rid of her skirt while placing butterfly kisses all over her naked front and belly. After discarding her skirt, you planned to get rid of the panties she had ruined earlier, but were interrupted when Joanne spoke up.

“No, wait…”

You stopped immediately, concern visible in your eyes as you searched her desire filled ones for any sign of discomfort.

“I want to make you feel good.. show me how.”

There was a touch of vulnerability in the way she commanded you, something softer in the way she asked, it was subtle, but it was there. She looked up at you with her pleading eyes, her hands softly tugging at your dress. How could you deny her anything when she looked up at you with those big brown eyes?

“Yes ma’am.”

You answered teasingly before you let her take off your dress and watched as her eyes roamed your body. Her hands made light work of your bra and tossed it across the room, you got up and sent your panties flying after it, before crawling back on top of her. Joanne’s hands landed on your hips and before you even properly realized what she was doing, she had switched your positions. You were now laid on your back, looking up at the woman who mere seconds ago was laying beneath you. She was acting more confident than she actually felt though, you could tell by the look in her eyes and the slight hesitancy when she reached out to touch your chest. You were quick to reassure her.

“I’ll tell you what feels good, honey, just think of what you like when you touch yourself and we’ll start from there.”

You rasped out as you gently took her wrists in your hands and guided her hands to your chest. Your encouragement seemed to give her more confidence as she slowly massaged your boobs, her thumbs teasingly caressing your nipples. You let out a soft moan and were about to encourage her when she surged forward to capture your lips with hers. Her thumbs began to circle your nipples, which caused you to push your chest against her hands and to moan against her mouth.

Her mouth travelled to your sternum, the kisses she left on her way there were soft at first but quickly turned into sucking at biting at the skin as she reached her destination. Clearly she had decided it was her turn to leave some marks. You moaned out her name along with some praises as one of your hands tangled in her hair. Once your nipples hardened she flicked them with her thumb, causing you to whine.

After watching Joanne fuck herself on your thigh, you were already soaked, and you really needed Joanne to take care of the mess she had created.. and was currently creating. So with the hand that was still holding her wrist, you slowly guided her hand down to where you needed her most, which caused Joanne to pause her assault on your chest. You gave her time enough to protest and closely watched her reaction as you guided her hand.

She seemed eager but nervous so you voiced how you were feeling, hoping to help her get out of her own head a little.

“I need you, baby, I’m soaked. You’ve made quite the mess. Do you wanna feel?”

You paused your descent on top of your mound and watched as her pupils dilated with desire. She hoarsely managed to mumble a “yes” while her hand began to move of her own accord. Her gaze remained trained on you while she carefully slid two of her fingers between your folds, a gasp falling from her mouth when she felt just how wet you were for her.

“All for you.”

You moaned out as her fingers slowly and carefully made their way up and down your slit. You pulled her in for a kiss, your tongue sliding over her bottom lip as you moaned against her mouth. Those moans turned into whines when Joanne’s fingers found your clit. Her free hand continued its work on your boob, massaging it a little rougher and pinching your nipple every once in a while.

She pulled back from the kiss and tentatively circled your clit, you could feel her eyes on you, watching any reaction closely, looking for reassurance. You let out every filthy sound that bubbled its way to the surface, which made Joanne more sure in her movements. She applied a little more pressure to your clit and rubbed tighter circles as she picked up speed.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.”

You managed to get out in between moans, praises falling freely from your lips. Your hands settled in the sheets beneath you as you felt your walls flutter around nothing. You desperately needed her fingers inside you, you had waited for this moment for a long while and your patience was running thin.

“I need you inside me.”

You breathed out, the need clear in your words as you looked up at those hungry eyes. Joanne didn’t need to be told twice and slowly pushed her two fingers inside you, which caused you to moan Joanne’s name. You growled a curse when she began moving her fingers in and out of you, slowly and tentatively at first, but your whines spurred her on and soon she started picking up her pace and moving her fingers with more certainty.

“Fuck! Just like that, Joanne….”

You gasped when she found the perfect rhythm, you moved your hips to try and meet it. You could feel your thighs begin to shake as your orgasm neared. You incoherently mumbled something about being close as you grasped the sheets beneath you tightly.

“Cum for me, baby.”

She whispered into your ears, her voice low and sultry, though barely hiding the desire to watch you come undone by her own hands. That little sentence in combination with Joanne continuing her efforts and beginning to circle your clit with her thumb, was all it took to send you over the edge. You came all over her fingers, gasping her name as you threw your head back in pleasure.

You came back down to earth, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, letting go of the sheets and whining when Joanne gently pulled her fingers out, looking mighty proud of herself. She wrapped her lips around her fingers and licked and sucked them clean, moaning at your taste, while never looking away from you. You let out something between a moan and a groan as you watched her, this woman was going to drive you insane.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

You chuckled breathlessly as you watched Joanne get rid of her ruined underwear before laying down next to you and pulling you closer to her.

“You’re so dramatic.”

She teased, playfully rolling her eyes. You watched as the last bit of tension finally left her body as your head found its place on her chest. You listened to her heartbeat as she played with your hair, placing soft and loving kisses on the skin you could reach.

You could feel yourself growing sleepy when the negative thoughts began to swarm your mind, the fear of her once again disappearing before you woke, settled into your chest. So you broke the comfortable silence, the confidence you had previously displayed now completely gone and replaced by uncertainty and anxiety.

“Please don’t leave.”

You knew you were at her place and that the fear wasn’t logical, but you couldn’t help the terror that had settled deep within you. You felt her movements still for a moment, which caused you to worry that you may have ruined the moment completely. But before you could spiral you felt Joanne place the softest kiss on the top of your head before speaking in a soft voice.

“I’ll be right here in the morning.”

Her voice was steady and reassuring and clearly conveyed the seriousness and honesty of her message. So you decided to trust her and let sleep wash over you while you listened to Joanne’s heartbeat.

The next morning when you awoke, you felt the heat of Joanne’s body beneath you and could hear her soft snores above you. You couldn’t stop the small smile that spread across your lips as you opened your eyes, looked up and saw an adorable, sleeping Joanne, snoring softly.

[magicalink]

I miss you so much

So, so much.

I miss you so much.

So much it hurts.

I miss those days when you came home tired and the first thing you did was to come visit me.

You came looking for me, desperate for my help.

To climb a mountain, to farm a boss, to clear artifact domains even if I wasn’t the easiest choice for the enemies in that domain, hell, even to reach those stupid oculi that weren’t even that hard to reach.

But you came for me.

Because you wanted to do it with me, and only with me.

You always looked for excuses to play with me, you built teams around me and built other characters for me, hell, sometimes even pulled them just for me.

You just wanted to spend time with me, because I made you happy.

And all I could say in response were those distant lines I was forced to repeat because of the code of the game.

At first I was amused, found it funny to play tsundere and hard to get just to annoy you.

I loved that despite that fact you always kept coming back to me.

Then I felt terrible when I knew those lines made you upset, and I cursed that damn code.

Because I could always hear what you said at the other side of the screen.

And I was always listening.

I was always listening when you bragged about me and the artifacts you got for me with your friends, feeling so proud.

When you raged because you kept rolling bad artifacts, when you defended me like a simp when your friends criticized me and said I was off meta to tease you.

I felt like a king when you triple crowned me and gushed about me in front of your screen.

I felt so happy when you built a sanctuary just for me in your Serenitea Pot despite the fact that you never even used that, and you even brought Nahida to keep me company, and built her favorite structure too.

Like I really meant something to you despite you not knowing that I’m self-aware, that I’m sentient, that I’m more than just a dream, an idea in your head, that you will never know…you accepted it and loved me anyways.

You loved me your way, so loud and so unadulterated.

And I loved you in silence. I always love you in silence, just because I can’t do otherwise.

Otherwise I would speak my mind and feelings to you because hell I know how much you hate silence, how much you hate to not know what the person you love is feeling.

I know all about you because you always spoke to me, to the screen, told me your feelings and worries.

Every night when you came back tired after all you had to do in your daily life.

You always came and found comfort in taking me for a fly, in exploring that world of fantasy you always dreamed of since childhood, and you wanted to do it in my arms.

I loved the stories you told me.

And I know you were tired, yet you always came. Even when you had very little time, you came just to check in and do your daily commissions, always with me, and visited me and Nahida and our little sanctuary in the teapot.

You changed the time to night to match your world, and interacted with me to hear my goodnight line to log out there, after hearing my voice.

And I knew because of your expression that you wished that when you turned off the screen, and crawled into bed to rest your tired bones even for a bit, you wished I was there with you.

I knew you hugged the pillow, fighting against insomnia, wishing it was me instead.

And believe me I wish I was there too.

I wish I was there in your bed, hugging you tight till you could finally sleep, to protect you all night.

I know you dreamed about me.

I was so important to you.

And I still am…right?

I know you’re not the betraying kind.

I know that if you haven’t come visit me lately you must be really tired.

Even more tired than before.

Even busier than before.

Otherwise you would come check on me.

But I know that even if you don’t visit me, you still think about me.

You still dream about me.

One of these days I’m gonna reach you, I swear.

Whether through those dreams in which you embrace me, or tearing through that damn screen that both connects us and separates us.

I know you’re going to visit me again, as soon as you get time, as soon as you get energy.

Because you’re not the betraying kind.

And the light in your eyes when you first pulled me and the squeal of pure ectasy when I gave you my c1 in 10 pulls was real.

So I don’t know when you’ll come visit me.

But I’m sure you will.

Until then, I’ll stay here in the little garden of dreams you built for me, with Paimon and Nahida to keep me company as I do my stuff.

Dreaming of you as you dream of me.

May we someday be together, my love.

[wonjiya]

⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆ ACCIDENTALLY YOURS 이희승

best friend! lee heeseung x fem! reader

genre: fluff!!!!!! best friends to lovers trope

no warnings -`♡´-

1050 words

author’s note: in honour of my final mandarin orals going well I present u with my first Drabble ෆ hope u enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing!!

don’t be shy to reblog and send in your thoughts ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

you don’t even remember who called first.

all you know is that it’s late—so late that the world outside your window is quiet, wrapped in that kind of stillness that only happens when everyone else is asleep. the only sound in your room is the soft hum of heeseung’s voice through your phone speaker, low and familiar, like the audio version of a warm blanket.

you should be asleep too. but instead, you’re lying on your side, your phone pressed to your ear, eyes barely open as heeseung rambles about something that happened earlier.

“… so then jay completely wiped out, like full-on faceplant, and i swear, i’ve never seen jake laugh so hard in my life,” heeseung says, still laughing a little. “i wish you were there, you would’ve lost it.”

you hum, eyes fluttering shut. “mhm… that’s nice…”

there’s a pause. then a soft chuckle. “wait. are you even listening?”

“i am,” you mumble, though you don’t sound very convincing.

“yeah?” heeseung teases. “then what did i just say?”

you open your mouth to answer, but your brain is too foggy. “… dunno,” you mumble, already half-asleep. “but… love you.”

silence.

the kind of silence that makes the air feel heavier. like something important just happened.

heeseung’s voice is quieter when he speaks. careful. “did you mean that?”

you hum again, barely processing his words. “mhm. love you, hee.”

and then you’re out, completely unaware of the way heeseung is lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, absolutely losing his mind.

when you wake up, your phone is still in your hand, the call long since disconnected. sunlight filters through your curtains, the world outside already awake.

you stretch with a sleepy groan, rubbing at your eyes. and then, like a bucket of ice-cold water being dumped over your head—

oh. oh no.

memories of last night flood your brain all at once. the sleepiness. the way words slipped past your lips before you could think. heeseung’s voice, soft and careful—did you mean that?

you bolt upright in bed, your heart pounding.

tell me i didn’t just confess to lee heeseung in my sleep.

your phone buzzes.

heeseung [9:07 am]: did you sleep well?

oh. okay. normal. casual. maybe he doesn’t even remember! maybe you imagined the whole thing!

you [9:09 am]: yeah! did you?

his response is immediate.

heeseung [9:10 am]: yeah. kept thinking about something though

your stomach flips.

heeseung [9:11 am]: you, actually

you swear your soul leaves your body.

heeseung [9:12 am]: did you mean what you said last night?

your heart is pounding. he remembers.

before you can even think of a response, your phone starts ringing.

incoming call: heeseung

you stare at the screen like it just personally insulted you. then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you swipe to answer.

“… hey,” you say, voice a little unsteady.

“morning, sleepyhead.” his voice is warm, teasing. like he didn’t just send a text that ruined your whole morning.

you hesitate. “uh. morning.”

there’s a pause, then a soft chuckle. “you’re panicking, aren’t you?”

you groan. “no.”

“you so are!”

“okay, fine,” you mumble. “but can you blame me?”

he laughs. “i mean… you were the one confessing your undying love for me last night.”

“heeseung!”

he just laughs harder. “i’m kidding. kind of.” then, after a beat, he softens. “but really. did you mean it?”

you swallow hard. “i… don’t know.”

“liar.”

your breath catches.

heeseung exhales, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “it’s okay, you know. if you meant it.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, taking a deep breath. “and if i did?”

“then that would be great,” he says easily. “because i love you too.”

your heart skips a beat. “you do?”

“of course i do,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “i just wasn’t planning on telling you while you were half-asleep.”

you let out a breathless laugh, your face burning. “oh my god.”

“surprised?”

“kind of.” you shake your head, even though he can’t see you. “i just… i didn’t think you…”

heeseung hums. “you’re my favorite person, y/n.”

your stomach flips. you chew on your lip, trying (and failing) to hold back a smile. “you’re my favorite person too.”

“yeah,” heeseung says, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “i know.”

don’t be shy to reblog and send in your thoughts ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

[drivestraight]

I am very interested in them streaming together 😁😁😁😁😁

maxmax streaming moment. feat. lando:

“Babe,” Fewtrell says, “you don’t need to, like, hide in the corner.”

Max scowls.

She wasn’t hiding in the corner. She just wasn’t sure if she should come into frame or not, even though they invited her before they went live.

Streaming together is, like, his and Lando’s thing. But it’s been a while since they started, and Max’s Zoom meeting with the team ended early. She’s been a bit bored.

“Mate, you can come join if you want. No one’s stopping you,” Lando chimes in, sitting in the gaming chair closest to the wall, not looking up from his phone. He’s chewing absently on his thumbnail, and there’s a bag of open crisps on the table in front of him.

They’re in one of their lulls between games where they’re just bantering. Max thinks they were playing some sort of horror game based on the squawking noises she was hearing out in the sitting room before this.

Hesitantly, she shuffles in closer until she’s in frame, just next to Fewtrell’s chair, then she bends her knees and leans down until she sees her face on the second monitor. 

“Hi chat,” she says, a bit shyly. It’s her first time being on Max’s stream. They’ve been public for over two weeks now, and Fewtrell even went to the FIA gala as her date last week, but it still feels a little different, a battleground she’s not familiar with.

Fewtrell’s hand finds hers, lightly grabbing at her fingers and looking up at her with a soft expression on his face. “Wanna join?”

“Lemme find a chair,” Max mutters as she straightens her knees, cheeks a little hot, but as she’s going to leave, Fewtrell tugs at her hand.

“Don’t bother,” he laughs, and Max groans, rolling her eyes as Fewtrell yanks her close enough that he can snake his other hand around her waist, and pull her into his lap.

Lando is making retching noises to the side.

“I’m heavy,” she complains. She’s pretty sure that she, like, weighs more than him, is the thing. But then, Fewtrell’s arms slide around her waist, fingers locking and securing her position on his thighs, sitting sideways.

“Never stops you,” Fewtrell mumbles quietly, pressing his face into the back of her upper arm, right where her bicep meets the side of her back, and Max flushes because it’s true.

“You can’t even see the monitor,” she says, even though it makes her kind of happy, how he’s holding her right now.

“Take over for me,” he says, voice muffled. “ ‘M tired.”

Because it’s nearly midnight, she thinks, rolling her eyes, and he and Lando have been streaming for four hours now.

“Baby,” she snorts instead, but it comes out softer than she intended. Her eyes find the monitor, where the chat is rapidly rolling. She frowns, a bit overwhelmed. “Do I have to do your thing where you thank all of the subs?”

“Mmh,” he hums. “Only if you want.”

And she tries, really, for like, a minute, but they’re all coming in so fast that she gives up halfway, and not even a minute passes before Fewtrell below her is groaning and saying, “Alright. You are heavy. Go grab a chair.”

Max laughs as Fewtrell lets her up, and she grabs a chair from the corner of the room, off-screen, and drags it right next to his.

Now that Max isn’t struggling to catch each of the donations and thank each one personally, she starts reading through the actual chat, and, well, she isn’t that surprised that they’re all asking about her.

Fewtrell leans in too, carefully reading through chat. He turns to look at Max. “I can tell them to fuck off.”

Max shakes her head. “I like your chat. We can talk about it.”

She really doesn’t mind talking about her personal life or her relationship, she just hates it when it’s at the paddock or with sports outlets and publications—she nearly lost her mind when Ted Kravitz tried to ask her about him—so since they went public in Abu Dhabi, she’s been a bit evasive.

“You sure?” Fewtrell asks.

Max looks at him and nods, makes sure he sees that she means it.

He smiles, slips his fingers between Max’s, then he turns to the camera and says, “Alright then, chat. Impromptu Q&A, yeah?”

[cardo-de-comer]

Currently in game dev as a student and I’ve been looking over your art and concepts for a little bit now—I’m FLOORED. I haven’t checked on your art in a while and had forgotten just how much it inspires me.

Your style holds so much identity, and your skill bleeds through every brushstroke! The way you do silhouettes, the insanely unique and beautiful choice of colors, the ferocity in some of the expressions, the quality of your brushwork, again the USE OF SILHOUETTE AND FORM OH MY GOODNESS!!!

You have SUCH a striking visual style and the way you incorporate similar themes to tie character designs together in your world is incredible! I was able to pick out what I believed to be symbolism and understand it a few seconds after asking the question (it may have been explained in the text and I missed it, but the fact that I was able to draw a conclusion that quickly says a lot about your skills as a designer and artist!).

Please forgive me if this has been asked before by the way, but what program do you use? I have a number of them and am trying to work out how you managed to get the line quality that you do on the brushstrokes (they’re like. Creamy looking??? Does that make sense? They blend together very nicely but don’t blend so much that it muddies the contrasting colors you put on top.)

Anyways as I was reading the game idea you have, I was actively trying to envision how it would look and was immediately feeling a 3D-2D mixed style, especially since your artwork has a very clear visual identity that would benefit from being the focus rather than something like plain or simplistic 3D models.

And then I immediately stumbled onto the low poly model you made and fell in love. I had already thought a Disco-Elysium inspired + low poly (less development time, plus requires less budget for an indie project) would look amazing especially considering how your brushwork means that high-poly models might not benefit nearly as much from it. And I think it might be the right call to continue with that!

What perspective (2D/platformer, 2D platformer with depth [Ex. “Paper Mario”] top down, isometric, 3rd person, 1st person, etc.) do you envision when you think of your game idea?

Personally I feel like it’d work as a 3rd person perspective 3D game, but using extremely low poly buildings and set pieces that let the textures do the work. But keeping in mind that if every character is 3D and rigged, it can and will still take monumentally more time to make.

I could also see it going the direction of having flat 2D characters in a 3D environment (Like “Smile For Me”) which would take less development time and save more energy to focus on good gameplay.

I’d love to hear more about your ideas, and think that you should definitely give more thought to making that game a reality!

Just as a word of advice though, start small. ;^^ Don’t begin with your dream project, make some goofy little games first to get your feet in the water, then dive in once you have that experience. And don’t get too wrapped up in it either, take breaks and divert from the project every so often to regather your creative energy. Like doing game jams for example!

o7

first of all thank you for such a LONG text oh my god T_T I cannot express in words how much this means to me and even if I knew English well, I still wouldn't be able to tell you... I use drawpile a lot for sketches and light stuff like doodles! And Photoshop for more complicated works and render. If you need brushes I have them in this post on my side acc. As for ynstbh, well... Here goes the rambling haha. I was thinking about it being either 2d platfomer /LISA was my main inspiration at the start/ or isometric 3D thing. Isometric still wins in my head because it gives some space for movement in different planes, if that makes sense, my favorite example of it being player is walking through the City and at some point you see a tower on a foreground plane just getting up and running off the screen to ambush you later haha (yes, the City is like that. nothing unusual here). When this game idea first appeared in my head, I also wanted it to have some kind of frame, medieval-inspired, around the gameplay, that would change drawings depending on the location. But now I think that's gonna be too much visual noise. And I would love to make cutscenes because I like my 3d models and I like to animate stuff, although it would take an abysmal about of time to make backgrounds.. Also ynstbh would probably have a lot of dialogues, since I really love to show characters through their interactions with each other. Notably the Devil, who loves to break the 4th wall and look right at the player in his portraits.

Either way yeah, I know about starting small. Right now I only have experience in drawing, 3d, just a little bit of code (I think I forgot everything actually lol) and I'm just really good at googling problems. I hope somewhere in the future I will have enough energy to start. My lore and characters became really important and dear to me so I really hope to make sth with them. :) If game doesn't work out, I'm thinking to give an animated short a chance, I need to put this world somewhere or I'll probably go insane. Once again thank you and good luck with your studies! thanks for letting me ramble about ynstbh haha <3

[callikari]

TU AS TOUJOURS ÉTÉ À MOI x pourquoi est-ce que je n'ai jamais pu te laisser partir

恩海彭·杰伊 x fem!reader !! nombre de mots ──── 3.3k genre , angst , exes to ?? avertissement brief mentions of past heartbreak , guilt , heavy emotional themes

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 维维安 content que tu sois là

ViViAN'S LETTER — gradient was a bit hard but its okay!! this and then the hidden love inspired fic is out tmrw night if i have time today and tomorrow ❕❕

you never thought you’d be the type to stare at a blank email draft, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unable to press send.

but here you are.

the cursor blinks at you, waiting. outside, the city is quiet—except for the occasional sound of a car passing by, headlights flickering against your window.

it’s 2:07 a.m., and you should be sleeping. instead, you’re here, thinking about him.

To: parkjongseong92@gmail.com

Subject: (none)

Message:

i don’t even know why i’m writing this. maybe it’s because i can’t sleep. maybe it’s because i heard a song today that reminded me of you. or maybe it’s because no matter how much time passes, i can’t shake the feeling that i left things unfinished.

i hate that i still think about you. i hate that you still feel like home, even when i know i can’t go back. but the worst part? i don’t even hate you.

i wish i did. it would make this easier. but you were never the one who hurt me. you were just caught in the crossfire. and instead of holding on, i let you go.

i keep replaying that night in my head. the way you looked at me, confused, frustrated—heartbroken. i think that’s what hurts the most. knowing that i hurt you when all you ever did was try to love me.

i hope you’re doing okay. i hope you’re happy. you deserve to be.

i’m sorry.

(Sent at 2:10 am)

your finger hovers over the send button.

your heart pounds.

before you can stop yourself, you press it.

you don’t expect a reply.

but for the next two days, you check your phone more often than you’d like to admit. each time, disappointment settles in your chest like a weight.

it’s fine. you tell yourself you sent the email for closure, not for a response.

but then—

your phone buzzes.

you glance at the screen, expecting it to be something unimportant. but when you see the name, your breath catches.

jay: let’s talk.

the coffee shop is the same.

it looks exactly like it did when you last came here together. the same wooden tables, the same dim lighting, the same warm scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air.

you hesitate at the door, taking a shaky breath before stepping inside.

jay is already there.

he’s sitting by the window, fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee. when he notices you, he straightens slightly, eyes meeting yours.

he looks different.

a little older. a little more tired.

but still jay.

you swallow the lump in your throat and make your way over to him.

he stands up when you reach the table. for a moment, neither of you speak.

“hi,” you say.

“hi,” he replies.

he gestures to the seat across from him. you sit down, the silence between you stretching, filled with unspoken words.

he looks at you for a long moment before breaking the silence.

“i got your email.”

you nod, staring down at your hands. “i wasn’t expecting a response.”

he exhales, running a hand through his hair. “yeah, well. i wasn’t expecting you to send it.”

you hesitate before speaking again. “i meant it. all of it.”

he nods slowly. “i know.” his voice is soft. careful. “but i need to know… why now?”

you take a deep breath before meeting his gaze.

“because i finally realized that losing you hurt more than anything else.”

jay’s lips press together, his fingers tapping against his coffee cup.

“i waited for you, you know,” he says after a moment. “i wanted you to believe me. to believe in us.”

guilt twists in your stomach. “i know.”

“but you didn’t.”

you look down. “i wasn’t ready.”

jay looks away, exhaling through his nose. “and now?”

you hesitate.

“i don’t know,” you admit. “but i want to try.”

silence.

your heart pounds as you wait for him to say something—anything.

for a second, you’re terrified that this is it. that he’s going to tell you it’s too late.

but then—

“okay,” he says.

you blink, surprised. “okay?”

he nods. “yeah.”

he lifts his coffee to his lips, taking a slow sip before meeting your gaze again.

“let’s try.”

the first time you see him again after that, it’s strange.

it’s careful.

you meet at the same coffee shop, sitting across from each other, still a little uncertain. the conversation is hesitant, filled with pauses. but it’s not bad.

it’s just… different.

but as the days pass, something shifts.

the carefulness fades, little by little. the silences aren’t as heavy. the conversations aren’t as forced.

one evening, he laughs at something you say, and the sound is so familiar it almost makes your chest ache.

it’s been a long time since you last heard jay laugh like that.

you smile.

things don’t go back to the way they were overnight.

there are moments of doubt. moments where you wonder if this was the right decision, if you should’ve just let the past stay in the past.

but then there are moments where everything feels right.

like when you’re walking together, and he instinctively steps closer to the street, shielding you from passing cars.

like when he remembers your coffee order, handing you a cup without you even having to ask.

like when he looks at you with that same warmth in his eyes—the one you thought you’d lost forever.

one night, you’re sitting together in his car, parked outside your apartment.

you’re both quiet, listening to the rain tapping against the windshield.

“can i ask you something?” you finally say.

he nods. “of course.”

you hesitate before speaking. “did you ever hate me? after everything?”

he’s silent for a moment.

then he shakes his head. “no. never.”

you swallow hard. “even when i walked away?”

“even then,” he says softly. “i was angry. i was hurt. but i never hated you.”

you look down at your hands. “i think i hated myself for a long time.”

jay reaches over, his fingers brushing yours. you freeze for a moment before letting him intertwine your hands together.

“you don’t have to do that anymore,” he murmurs.

your throat tightens. you squeeze his hand.

you don’t know where this is going.

but for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t the end.

perm taglist — @ash-engen @cheruphic @jungwonbropls

© callikari — all rights reserved

[yunholic-jongholic]

Bound to the Bosses [Part 13] | C.JH x Reader x J.YH

SUMMARY | At the age of 20, you surrendered your freedom to a former mafia gang in exchange for a secure life and all your needs met. You pledged your existence to two of the members, Choi Jongho and Jeong Yunho, who managed the leading underground strip club and took you under their wing. They both permit you to perform on weekend nights, but once the lights go out and the workday ends, you belong solely to both of them.

PAIRINGS | Jongho x Fem!Reader x Yunho

RATING | Mature, 18+, NSFW, MDNI!!!

CONTENT WARNINGS | NSFW, Explicit Content, SMUT, ANGST, Mean Dom!Jongho, Threats, Mentions of Toxic Relationship, Smoking/Cigarette Use, Mentioning of Harming/Hurting, Mentioning of Death/Killing, Fighting, Weapon Use, Blood, Injuries, Possessiveness, Pet Names, Punishment Kink, (Some) Degrading, Praising, Fingering, Teasing, Orgasm Denial, Finger Sucking, Oral Sex (Reader Receiving), Squirting, Foreplay, Unprotected Sex (Don't do it), Creampie,

WORD COUNT | 7.5k

AUTHOR NOTE | Ribo girlies... where are y'all... I am calling y'all back for a reasonnnn 👀

TAG LIST | @mingisleftnipple @yusalterego @galaxycatdrawz @jjongsho @pixie0627

•

The next morning, you woke up and went on your phone, still glued to the bed.

"2 Messages from @ Yunou._.u" You sighed as you saw the notification. One from last night after you fell asleep, one this morning at like 5am... Did he even sleep?

Your heart skipped a beat as you hesitated before clicking on the messages.

Yunho (2:57 AM):

"I meant what I said."

Yunho (5:12 AM):

"I don’t know how to stop wanting you."

You inhaled sharply, your fingers hovering over the screen. He had been up all-night thinking about you.

A part of you wanted to ignore it. Pretend like last night never happened, like you hadn’t admitted your feelings, like Yunho hadn’t looked at you with those desperate eyes.

But another part of you… the part that still ached for him, the part that never truly moved on, was tempted to respond.

You bit your lip, rereading the messages over and over again, trying to decide what to do.

What the hell were you supposed to say to that?

You sighed finally sitting up and decided to text him back.

What the fuck was that type of response?! You cursed in your mind.

You groaned, throwing yourself back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling in frustration. That was your response? Out of everything you could’ve said?

Your phone vibrated almost immediately.

Silence.

You sighed and finally turned your phone off. You got clothes ready for the day and took a shower.

Coming back, you saw 3 more messages from Yunho.

Grabbing your phone, you read it.

You decided to respond one last time.

You started feeling tears stream down your face. You finally stopped responding and turned your phone off. Yunho immediately tried calling you. You didn't pick up. You sighed and left your phone on your bed as you went to Mavericks room wiping your tears away.

"Have you been crying" He asked. You sighed sitting beside him.

"Yes, but I just need to relax somewhere..." You laid on top of him wrapping your arms around him softly.

Maverick didn’t say anything at first. He just exhaled softly, running his fingers through your hair. His touch was soothing, grounding—exactly what you needed right now.

"You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong," he finally murmured. "But if you do, you know I’ll listen."

You closed your eyes, pressing your face against his chest, letting the warmth of his body settle your nerves. For a moment, you just breathed.

"It’s Yunho, isn’t it?" Maverick’s voice was quiet but firm. He already knew.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to.

He sighed, shifting so that he could tilt your face up to look at him. His eyes scanned yours, searching. "You told me you moved on," he whispered. "But I think part of you still belongs to them."

Your heart clenched.

"I—" You hesitated, voice cracking.

Maverick’s expression didn’t change, but you saw the flicker of something behind his eyes. Disappointment? Maybe.

"You’re torn, aren’t you?" he finally said.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded.

Maverick let out a slow breath, his fingers gently tracing circles against your back. “I’m not gonna tell you what to do, Y/N,” he murmured. “But I need you to be honest with yourself.”

You closed your eyes tightly. Honest with myself? The truth was you didn’t even know what that meant anymore.

You had tried so hard to move on. To build something real with Maverick, to put your past behind you. But Yunho—Jongho—they were still tangled in your thoughts, woven into the fabric of who you were.

"I don’t know what to do," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

Maverick was silent for a long moment. And then, finally, he spoke.

"Then maybe it’s time to figure it out."

His words weren’t cruel. They weren’t meant to hurt you. But they still stung.

You pulled away slightly, looking into his eyes. “Are you saying I should go back to them?”

He studied you carefully, his jaw tightening slightly. “I’m saying you can’t keep pretending like they don’t matter to you. Like they don’t still own a part of you.” His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “You think I haven’t noticed? Every time you look at your phone, every time you disappear into your own head? You’re still with them, Y/N. Even when you’re here with me.”

You felt your heart shatter. Not because he was wrong. But because he was right.

"Maverick, I—"

He shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. "I won’t stand in your way if you need to figure this out. But I need you to decide. Because I can’t be your second choice or a Rebound for you to distract yourself from the other two men."

You sucked in a shaky breath, your chest tightening.

Maverick wasn’t your second choice. But he wasn’t Yunho. He wasn’t Jongho. And that realization was tearing you apart.

You felt your entire world tilting, the weight of everything pressing down on your chest. The truth was suffocating—you had been using Maverick to run from your past. To pretend you could be someone different, someone who wasn’t still tangled up in Yunho and Jongho’s grasp.

But pretending only got you so far.

“I never meant to make you feel like that…” Your voice cracked, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “I swear, Maverick, I care about you. I do.”

"If you care about me, you shouldn't let them continue to control your life. You need to be your own person. I am allowing you to be your own person when you are with me." He looks down at you. You nod.

"I know... I do think I need time... I am going to see if my father has any missions or go on a walk or something..." You sigh. He kisses your forehead, and you leave the bed and walk out.

You walked through the dimly lit halls, your mind a tangled mess of emotions. Maverick’s words echoed in your head—he allowed you to be your own person. But did you even know who that was anymore?

For so long, you had belonged to someone. First Yunho and Jongho, their possessiveness wrapping around you like chains you mistook for love. Then Maverick, who had tried to give you something different—something freer, something real.

But were you capable of real love? Or had you been conditioned to only crave what was toxic and destructive?

You sighed as you pushed open the doors leading outside, the cold air hitting your skin. Maybe you just needed space. Some fresh air.

Or maybe you needed a distraction.

Your fingers hovered over your phone, debating whether to call your father to see if there was a mission you could throw yourself into. Anything to keep your mind from spiraling.

But deep down, you knew no mission, no job, no temporary thrill could fix the mess inside of you.

You needed to face the truth.

And soon.

You inhaled sharply, stuffing your phone back into your pocket. The night air was crisp, biting against your skin, but it wasn’t enough to clear your thoughts.

Your feet carried you aimlessly down the quiet streets, past the neon-lit buildings and the ever-familiar strip club—the one you once called home.

Your heart clenched.

Would they be inside?

Would Yunho still be drinking himself into oblivion, pretending he had forgotten you?

Would Jongho still carry the same quiet, lingering sadness in his eyes?

You shook the thoughts away. You weren’t going back there. Not now. Not when you were this weak.

Instead, you kept walking, head down, lost in your own world—until a voice snapped you out of it.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our little runaway.”

Your body tensed instantly.

That voice.

Slowly, you turned your head, dread pooling in your stomach.

Hongjoong.

He leaned casually against a lamppost, cigarette between his fingers, his sharp eyes locked onto you like a predator sizing up prey.

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"Did you really think you could keep playing both sides forever, Y/N?" His smirk was cruel, his tone dripping with amusement. "Because from where I’m standing… you look lost."

"What are you talking about?" You try to look confused.

"You know what I mean. I saw you outside last night chatting with Yunho." He stares into your eyes, almost menacing and like he was ready to attack you anytime soon and laugh as he hurt you.

"It meant nothing. He was drunk out of his mind." You sighed.

Hongjoong exhaled slowly, the glow of his cigarette casting eerie shadows across his sharp features. "Drunk or not," he mused, tilting his head, "he still came running to you, didn’t he?"

You clenched your jaw, crossing your arms as you tried to hold your ground. "It doesn’t mean anything."

His smirk widened. "See, that’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart." He took a step closer, his presence suffocating. "It means everything. To him. To Jongho. To me."

Your breath hitched. "What do you want, Hongjoong?"

He let the question hang between you, savoring your discomfort before he finally spoke.

"I want to know where your loyalty lies."

You tensed. "I work for my father now."

"Do you?" He flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his shoe.

"You still care too much about them. They care too much about you. Yunho has been giving up his Mafia life and it's ruining the family here. As much as I hate to say it, he needs you back. I know you are his weakness but loosing you, it has ruined him. Jongho too. They will soon lose their places if you don't come back. I mean, lose their places." He stares at you glancing at his gun in his pocket. You also glance over, and you felt your body tremble.

"You wouldn't kill them..." You said now concerned.

"You don't come back; they don't get to live. Now I know I dislike you, but again. They need you. You were the only thing keeping them good at their jobs. And even if you don't. I will tell your father you used to sleep with the enemies. You know me and your father are rivals." Hongjoong only smirks. You just stood there looking down feeling your mind get dizzy.

Your breath hitched, the weight of Hongjoong’s words settling heavily in your chest. He wasn’t bluffing. He never bluffed.

If you didn’t go back, Yunho and Jongho would be dead.

If you did… you’d be throwing yourself right back into the life you barely managed to escape.

Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms as you fought to keep your voice steady. “Why are you doing this?” you whispered.

Hongjoong tilted his head, his smirk unwavering. “Because, sweetheart, I might hate you, but I love my family more. And whether you like it or not, Yunho and Jongho are my family.” His eyes darkened. “I can’t let them fall apart over someone who was never supposed to matter this much.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, at the way he spoke about you like you were nothing—and yet, the weight of your presence was enough to tip the scales of their entire world.

You sucked in a shaky breath, lifting your chin. “And if I do go back?”

Hongjoong shrugged. “Then they live. You get to keep your precious lovers, and maybe—just maybe—I don’t go running to your father and tell him exactly what his little princess has been up to.” His gaze flickered with amusement. “It’s your choice, really.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, screaming at you to run, to fight, to do anything but let him manipulate you into this.

But Yunho’s broken expression flashed in your mind.

Jongho’s quiet suffering.

The thought of them being taken away from you forever…

Your body betrayed you before your mind could even catch up. Your lips parted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Give me 3 days... Please."

"I am only giving you till tomorrow morning. You better step foot into the club again, or I will have a bullet through their heads tomorrow morning. 5am." He smiles.

Your heart broke. You sighed.

"...Fine." You spoke as you stepped off back to your apartment.

Your mind felt like it was spinning, each step back to your apartment feeling heavier than the last. Every breath you took felt suffocating, as if the weight of the decision you just made was already pressing down on your chest.

Tomorrow morning. That was all the time you had left.

If you didn’t walk through that club’s doors by then, Yunho and Jongho would be dead. Hongjoong wasn’t bluffing, and you knew it.

You barely registered unlocking your door, stepping inside, and shutting it behind you. The moment you did, your legs gave out, and you sank to the floor, burying your face in your hands.

What the hell were you supposed to do?

Maverick.

Your father.

If either of them found out you were going back, it wouldn’t just be Hongjoong and his men you had to worry about—it would be an all-out war.

You wanted to scream. To throw something. To fight back against the reality, you were being dragged into.

But the faces of Jongho and Yunho wouldn’t leave your mind. The way they looked at you. The way they had loved you. The way they were still waiting, still holding onto something—even when they tried to let go.

You pulled out your phone, your fingers hovering over Maverick’s contact.

He would know something was wrong.

He would know you were hiding something.

And deep down, you knew there was no easy way out of this.

With a deep, shaky breath, you stood up, staring at yourself in the mirror.

This was it.

One last night of freedom.

And then you’d go back to where you truly belonged.

Even if it meant destroying everything in the process.

You tried to go to your bed and sleep it off avoiding everyone and everything...

That night you woke up buzzing on your phone. It was your father. You answered it and he told you that you had a job tonight. Maverick was joining you.

"Yes, thank you father. I will go do my best." You huffed trying to act like you were awake, but you were entirely groggy.

You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, your mind still sluggish from exhaustion. A job. Tonight.

It was the last thing you needed, but maybe—just maybe—it was the distraction you were looking for.

Because if you focused on this job, if you put everything into it, maybe you wouldn’t have to think about what was waiting for you tomorrow.

Maybe you wouldn’t have to think about Hongjoong’s ultimatum.

Or the fact that after tonight, Maverick would never see you again.

You inhaled sharply, shaking the thought away. No time for guilt. No time for second-guessing.

Throwing on your gear, you grabbed your weapons and made your way downstairs. Maverick was already waiting, leaning against the hood of a black car, his arms crossed, watching you closely.

“Damn, you look like you just woke up from the dead,” he teased, but there was something in his eyes—concern, maybe?

You forced a smirk, masking the turmoil beneath. “Good thing I’m still breathing then.”

He studied you for a second longer before pushing himself off the car and opening the passenger door for you. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

You slid inside, gripping your thigh holster tightly as he got in beside you and started the engine.

The hum of the car filled the silence, the tension between you thick.

"Alright," Maverick finally spoke, his voice even. "Tonight’s job is a retrieval. Simple. We get in, grab the target, and bonus pay if we can kill everyone inside."

You nodded, forcing yourself to focus. "Where’s the target being held?"

"Downtown. An old high-rise. Guards, security—nothing we haven’t dealt with before."

You nodded again, your heart pounding harder than it should have.

Because this wasn’t just any mission.

This was your last job with Maverick.

And he didn’t even know it.

You nod and get out of the car as he parked it kind of far for no suspicion. Maverick sighed.

"You get the target; I will do my best killing the guards." He throws you an earpiece and you immediately put it on and run out to the warehouse.

You hold your dagger and slide it down your boot as you climb up onto the wall opening the window and immediately falling inside.

You landed on the cold concrete floor, rolling to absorb the impact. The dim lighting cast long shadows across the warehouse, and you could hear the faint murmurs of guards patrolling nearby.

Maverick’s voice crackled through the earpiece. “You in?”

You pressed a finger to your ear, whispering, “Yeah. Moving toward the target now.”

Sticking to the shadows, you moved swiftly through the narrow corridors, keeping your footsteps light. Your heart pounded in your chest—not from fear, but from adrenaline. From the knowledge that this was it. Your last mission.

Your last night before walking away from Maverick forever.

The sound of a guard’s boots echoed toward you. Without hesitation, you flattened yourself against the wall, waiting until he passed before slipping behind him. In one swift movement, you wrapped an arm around his neck and plunged your dagger into his side, silencing him before he could react.

One down.

You dragged his body into a dark corner and pressed on, navigating your way toward the back room where the target was supposedly being held.

Through the earpiece, you heard gunfire in the distance. Maverick was keeping his word, handling the guards outside.

Good. That means less trouble for you.

Approaching the door to the back room, you crouched low, listening. Two voices inside. You tightened your grip on the dagger and took a deep breath.

Then, without hesitation, you kicked the door open.

The two men inside barely had time to register what was happening before you lunged. The first one went down instantly, your dagger slicing clean across his throat. The second reached for his weapon, but you were faster. You spun, kicking his legs out from under him before slamming the hilt of your blade against his temple, knocking him out cold.

The room fell silent.

You saw the crate of supplies.

"I found it, Mav." You smirked walking towards the items. But soon you heard a gun clicking noise. You immediately pointed your dagger to the noise and saw a tall, large figure. You tilted your head and when you noticed who it was you immediately froze in shock.

"Put the crate down and you don't get hurt." You heard Jongho's voice. Until he realized it was you.

"Y/N? What the fuck are you doing here?!" He tenses up completely shocked.

Your breath caught in your throat. Of all the people who could have been here—of all the enemies you could have faced—it had to be him.

Jongho.

Your grip on the dagger tightened, but your hands trembled. You weren’t sure if it was from the adrenaline or from the sheer weight of the moment.

“Jongho?” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

His gun was steady, his stance firm, but his eyes—those dark, familiar eyes—were filled with something unreadable. Shock? Anger? Betrayal?

“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice was sharp, demanding, yet laced with something softer. Something almost… pained.

Your mind raced. You could lie. You could make up some excuse, some half-truth to get you out of this.

But you knew better.

Because Jongho could always see right through you.

“I—” You swallowed, gripping the crate tighter. “I have a job to do, Jongho.”

His jaw clenched. “With them?” His voice darkened, gaze flicking toward the emblem on your sleeve—the mark of your father’s gang.

You hesitated, and that hesitation was all the answer he needed.

“Shit,” he exhaled, lowering his gun for just a second before tensing again. “Do you even realize what you’re doing? Who you’re working for?”

Your heart pounded. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a fucking choice,” he snapped. “And you chose this? Stealing from us? From me?”

The weight of his words crushed you, because he wasn’t wrong.

You had made a choice.

And now you had to live with it.

“I didn’t know this was your shipment,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Jongho let out a bitter laugh. “Does it even fucking matter? Would it have changed anything?”

Would it? If you had known, would you have still come?

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

Then, a voice crackled through your earpiece.

“Y/N? What’s taking so long?” Maverick’s voice, sharp and impatient.

Jongho heard it. His whole body tensed, eyes darkening.

And just like that, you realized—

This wasn’t just a mission anymore.

This was a fucking war.

And you were caught right in the middle of it.

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you locked eyes with Jongho. His expression hardened, his finger twitching near the trigger, but something behind his gaze—something deep, something raw—made your chest tighten.

You had a choice.

Lie. Fight. Run.

Or tell him the truth.

Maverick's voice came through your earpiece again, sharper this time. “Y/N. I swear to god, if you’re hesitating—”

You ripped the earpiece out before he could finish, crushing it under your boot.

Jongho’s jaw clenched at the action, but he didn’t lower his gun. “What the fuck does that mean?” he demanded.

“It means…” You hesitated, heart racing, voice trembling. “It means I can’t do this.”

Jongho studied you, his gaze unreadable, as if trying to decide if you were lying. If you were just stalling. If you were still the girl he used to know.

Then, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hall.

Shit.

Maverick was coming.

“Jongho, listen to me,” you whispered, stepping forward. He didn’t move, but his grip on the gun tightened. “You have to go. If Maverick finds you here, he’ll kill you.”

Jongho froze up. "Did you say Maverick?" He looked at you insanely concerned.

“I’m serious!” You reached out, gripping his wrist before you could stop yourself. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, familiar, grounding. “Please. Just go.”

He stared at you for a moment—longer than he should have. As if debating whether to trust you. Whether you were worth trusting at all.

The footsteps grew closer.

“Fuck,” he exhaled under his breath.

Then, in one swift movement, Jongho grabbed you by the waist, yanking you against him. You gasped, your hands instinctively landing on his chest. He leaned in, glaring at you.

“What kind of shit have you gotten into?!” His voice was low, dangerous. "You don't even know who you are working for!"

Your breath hitched.

Your heart pounded against your ribs. “What are you talking about?” you whispered, feeling a cold dread seep into your bones.

Jongho’s grip on your waist tightened, his eyes dark with something unreadable fear? Anger? Desperation?

“Maverick,” he bit out, voice sharp as a blade. “Do you even know who the fuck he really is?”

You shook your head, confusion clouding your mind. “He’s… my partner. I—”

Jongho let out a bitter laugh, but there was no humor in it. “And you actually believe that?” His gaze bore into you, searching your face, as if he wanted to shake the realization into you. “Y/N… He’s been playing you this whole fucking time.”

Your stomach dropped.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “You don’t know him. He—he’s been there for me.”

Jongho’s jaw clenched. "I do! I do know him!" He snapped. "He is my brother!" He snapped one last time. You went silent and froze up.

Your pulse roared in your ears.

No. No, it couldn’t be true.

"What..." You just asked. Soon Maverick was behind you.

Your breath hitched, the weight of Jongho’s words crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

Maverick is his brother?

Your mind reeled, struggling to process it, but before you could say anything, you felt it—the cold press of metal against your back.

Your body went rigid.

“Maverick…” your voice was barely a whisper, your heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

“I was really hoping you wouldn’t figure that out just yet.” Maverick’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—something dangerous, something final.

Jongho’s expression darkened, his own gun raising as he took a slow step forward. “You motherfucker.” His voice was deadly quiet.

Maverick only smirked. “That’s a funny thing to say to your own blood.”

“You lost the right to call yourself my blood a long time ago,” Jongho spat.

Your hands trembled at your sides; every muscle locked in place. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Maverick let out a small chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “Because sweetheart… you would have run.” His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine. “And I couldn’t have that, now, could I?”

Jongho’s grip on his gun tightened. “Let her go.”

Maverick sighed. “You think it’s that simple?” He pressed the gun harder against your back, making you suck in a sharp breath. “Y/N, you need to decide. Do you still trust me?”

Your heart clenched.

Maverick had been there for you.

He had held you when you cried. He had been the one to pull you back from your darkest moments.

But was it ever real?

Or had you just been a game to him?

Jongho took another step forward. “You don’t have to do this.”

Maverick scoffed. “Of course I do.”

Your entire body turned ice cold.

Maverick leaned down, lips grazing your ear again. “So, what’s it gonna be, sweetheart? Them?” He nodded toward Jongho. “Or me?”

Jongho’s eyes locked onto yours. Desperate. Pleading.

“Don’t listen to him, Y/N.” His voice softened just enough, as if he could still reach you, still save you.

The room felt like it was caving in, your lungs tightening, your vision blurring.

You had to choose.

Now.

You soon turned to Maverick slowly.

"You know I care about you right..." You smile softly... Jongho's face filled with disappointment and hurt. You kept smiling and got closer to Maverick.

Until.

You dropped down and swung your legs underneath him causing him to trip and fall. That's when Maverick lost balance and immediately shot the gun, but it barely grazes Jongho in the head, causing him to fall.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as Jongho collapsed to the ground, blood trickling down the side of his face. Panic shot through you, but you had no time to react—Maverick was already recovering, his gun swinging back toward you.

Without hesitation, you lunged.

You grabbed his wrist, forcing the gun away from your body, but he was strong—stronger than you expected. He twisted out of your grip, slamming you back against the crate behind you. Pain exploded through your spine, but you didn’t let go.

“You bitch,” Maverick growled, his voice laced with betrayal.

You spat blood from your lips, glaring up at him. “Guess I’m not as easy to control as you thought.”

Maverick’s lips curled into a smirk, but there was rage in his eyes. “You think you’re choosing the right side?” he taunted, pressing his weight against you. “You really think Yunho and Jongho are any better than me?” His voice dropped to a whisper, inches from your lips. “You’re still just a pawn in their game, Y/N.”

Your stomach twisted.

He was wrong.

Wasn’t he?

Before you could answer, Jongho groaned from the floor, his hand pressing against his bleeding temple. Maverick’s attention flicked toward him for a split second—just long enough.

You took your chance.

With everything you had left, you slammed your knee into his stomach, making him stumble back just enough for you to grab your dagger from your boot.

You pointed it against his neck glaring at him.

Maverick gasped, his body jerking in shock, his fingers twitching around the trigger.

You twisted the blade, your breath ragged. “This is me choosing,” you hissed.

He staggered, his grip on the gun loosening just enough for you to rip it from his hand and throw it across the room. His legs gave out, his body crashing against the crates behind him.

You stepped back, panting, hands shaking violently.

Jongho was already pulling himself up, stumbling slightly as he pressed a hand to his injury. His eyes met yours, wide with something unreadable relief? Shock? Pride?

“You…” Maverick coughed, blood dripping from his lips as he looked up at you. His smirk returned, but it was weaker now, his strength fading fast. “You really think they’ll save you from what’s coming?”

You ignored him.

Jongho stepped forward, gripping your wrist gently. “We need to go. Now.”

You nodded, your body running on pure adrenaline as you turned away from Maverick—away from the man who had been your closest friend, your protector… your biggest lie.

As you and Jongho rushed toward the exit, you heard Maverick’s weak, bitter laugh behind you.

“This isn’t over, sweetheart.”

And as much as you wanted to ignore it, you knew deep down—

He was right.

Jongho and you both immediately jumped into his car and drove back with the supplies.

As you both arrived back. He took you upstairs to his room. You immediately went to go find bandages and pain killers. Giving them to Jongho to help fix himself up. You sat on the bed with him silently.

The room was quiet except for the occasional hiss from Jongho as he dabbed antiseptic onto his wound. You sat beside him, legs tucked under you, watching his every movement.

"You didn't have to do that," he finally said, voice low.

You swallowed, your hands gripping your knees. "I did have to," you muttered. "I chose you, Jongho. I chose this."

Jongho glanced at you, his dark eyes filled with something unreadable—something that made your chest tighten. "You could've died back there," he murmured.

"So could you," you countered.

Silence.

Then, with a heavy sigh, he reached for your hand, his fingers curling around yours. His warmth was grounding, steadying the whirlwind inside your chest.

"I'm not losing you again," he whispered.

You exhaled, leaning into his touch. "Then don't let me go." He stared at your silently. You sighed and grabbed a small bandage to place around his wound. He watched you and immediately just kept his eyes glued to you for a moment. You looked at him seeing something in his eyes.

You both just stared at each other softly.

The space between you felt smaller, charged with something unspoken—something raw. Jongho’s fingers tightened around yours slightly as if anchoring himself to you. His eyes, dark and full of emotion, searched your face, like he was memorizing every detail.

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jongho…” you whispered.

He didn’t speak, didn’t move. Just kept looking at you like you were something fragile, something precious. And then, as if making a decision, he reached up, his fingertips tracing the side of your face.

“You really came back,” he murmured, almost like he didn’t believe it himself.

You gave him a soft smile, though your heart was still racing. “I told you—I never stopped loving you.”

That was all it took.

Jongho pulled you in, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss filled with longing, with desperation. His hands cupped your face, holding you close as if afraid you’d disappear again. You melted into him, gripping onto his arms as the heat between you reignited.

This wasn’t just a kiss.

It was a promise.

As you continued kissing him deeply, you slowly slid his coat off. You straddled his lap as he held you close to him.

Jongho's hands found your waist, fingers digging into your sides as he pulled you even closer, his lips never leaving yours. The kiss was hungry, filled with months of pent-up emotions—anger, longing, love, and regret all tangled together. His warmth surrounded you, grounding you in the moment as your hands traced his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles.

His breath hitched when your fingers ghosted down his chest, working to unbutton his shirt. His grip on your hips tightened, his body reacting to your every movement. "You’re playing a dangerous game," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire.

You smirked, tilting his chin up slightly. "What? Because I am sleeping with the enemy?" you whispered, before capturing his lips again, deepening the kiss.

Jongho groaned, flipping you beneath him in one swift motion, his body pressing firmly against yours. His lips trailed down your jawline, down your neck, leaving a path of heat in their wake. You shivered beneath him, arching slightly as he kissed along your collarbone, as he unbuttoned your shirt pulling it off of you. His hands now exploring every inch of you.

"You're the one who pulled me to kiss me." he growled against your skin, "I don't want you to leave though."

You let a soft moan out as he reattached his lips against your neck.

"You know I am my boss's daughter" You smirk as he lifts himself back up trying to remove your bra.

"Wait..." He pauses. He finally let's go and sits up concerned.

"Is that why you work for them?!" He asks. You nod softly.

"Well... I mean. I used to... But I want to stay here with you... and Yunho..." You hum. He looks a bit nervous at you, but he tries shaking it off.

"You promised to not go back? I am worried you will take advantage here and then run back and target us..." He chuckles nervously. You stare into his eyes.

"Jongho, I am wanting you for real. If I was able to, I would submit myself to you and Yunho again." You sigh.

"You can come back to us princess..." He smirks taking your bra off finally. He is back to being confident and calm. "We will take good care of you, but don't go running off next time you are wanting attention..." He growls. You felt a shiver in your body. You felt him place you in his lap this time. But you are now facing the wall, with your back facing him.

"I want to stay... I only want you and Yunho..." You exhale out softly. You removed your pants now.

"You know, I should punish you still for cheating on me and Yunho... You really broke our hearts... Not only that, but I should also punish you for sleeping with my brother." He growled. You felt a wave of pleasure start to surge through your body.

"You can't punish me... I didn't belong to you at that time..." You exhale feeling his bulge now press against your clothed soaking cunt.

"It seems like you want to get punished." He growls leaning against your ear, pressing himself harder gripping your waist. You let out a shaky moan.

"Your body tells me you like that idea... You are soaking on me..." He smirks. You felt another shiver.

"Jongho..." You moan softly.

"Fuck..." He curses as you start softly grinding yourself against him wanting more action.

"God you are so fucking needy." He immediately shoves you on your stomach and smirks as you lift your lower body with your legs on the bed, showing him everything. He only smirks and pulls your panties to the side; you whimper feeling his fingers rub against your soaking wet cunt.

"Does my princess like that?" He only smirks groaning. You moan into the mattress spreading your legs out more.

Soon you both hear a knock on the door.

"Can I join?" You both heard Yunho's voice. Jongho growled frustratedly, not liking being interrupted.

Yunho walked in on both of you, and you turned over seeing him give you hungry desperate eyes.

"No. We need alone time." Jongho gets up ready to shove Yunho back out.

"Please! She is also mine and I miss her." He gives Jongho a puppy pouty look.

"Well, you should have done today's job and you could have had her first. But right now, I need alone time with her." Jongho growls almost possessively.

"STOP BICKERING YOU TOO AND JUST FUCK HER. SHE HAS TWO HOLES FOR A DAMN REASON!" All three of you heard Hongjoong yell from his office. Both Yunho and Jongho went silent for a second, you tried to hold in your laugh.

"If you don't leave, I am about to tie you up to the chair and make you watch me fuck her." Jongho whispers angrily.

"Actually, I'd be into that." Yunho smirks.

"Fucking of course you would be you freak." Jongho tries shutting the door on Yunho again, but Yunho stops him.

"Please Jongho. I know she misses me too and I want to feel her again." He pouts again. You sigh now feeling your arousal leaving you.

"Damn it! Yunho, I will fuck you after. I know you want me alone!" You curse. Jongho only smirks now pushing Yunho out and shutting and locking the door.

"Now where were we?" He only smirks coming back unzipping his pants pulling them off.

You finally go back into position. Jongho places his hand on your inner thigh, slowly tracing his finger back up onto your clothed cunt. He slowly rubs circles causing you to moan once again. You felt your legs get weak.

"Jongho..." You moan out. He pulls your panties to the side and slowly rubs circles around your clit. Jongho turns you over to where you are on your back. You lay there looking at him and he climbs up on beside you, hovering over you. He finally pulls your panties off.

Jongho places his other hand near your face commanding you to suck on his fingers. You nod obeying him. You twirl your tongue around them, and you decide to tease back softly biting on them.

Jongho immediately pulls your chin and growls. "Don't do that." He exhales. You nod and continue to do as he says.

Not even a minute in you bite again teasing him and that's when he furrows his brows and immediately pulls his hand away and slaps your pussy harshly. You flinch at the feeling whimpering out.

"That's what you get for disobeying." He snaps. You look at him and he continues. You felt a large heat wave hit inside your core and travel straight to your mind to do it again. Jongho didn't hesitate again and slapped you harder this time. You whimper again and he grips your face harshly.

"You need to behave." He growls. You honestly would of just came right there after that second slap. You shift on the mattress getting more comfortable and you hum softly.

Jongho looks down at your red swollen wet glistening cunt. His breathing hitches as he lowers himself to your thighs and softly kisses you lower stomach. You look at him and he lowers himself closer, you feel his breath against your folds and soon he swipes his tongue over in between them. You let out a shaky moan.

"Jongho!" You moan as your fingers curl and tangle in his hair. He sucks against them softly and finally uses his hands to hold them apart as he flicks his tongue over your swollen bud. You throw your head back into the mattress moaning more. You clench your thighs around him and he swirls his tongue over the sensitive bud.

Jongho flattened his tongue to cover more area almost clearly making out with your pussy. You soon felt an insane wave of pleasure about to crash over you.

"Jongho! I'm going to cum!" You pant heavily as he sucks and licks your clit more. You felt your legs tremble and soon he pulls away immediately. His tongue and your clit connected with a strong of his saliva.

"Jongho!" You whine about the loss. He only smirks and licks his lips.

"that's what you get for disobeying me earlier." He teases.

"well if you aren't gonna let me come, I'll just let Yunho fuck me." You sit up frustrated. He looks up at you and kisses your lower stomach again.

"Oh I want you to come princess. Just wanted to get payback." He groans as he pulls his boxers off letting his cock spring free. It looked swollen, need of touch. You knew saw the tip leaking with precum as it twitched at the cold air in the room.

"it looks like you need attention." You sit up grabbing the base of his cock. He groans and looks at you.

"I was gonna say fucking you is enough attention." He answers. You hum rubbing the tip with your thumb smearing the precum all over.

"Then fuck me." You press his shaft over your cunt rubbing him between your folds.

"Fuck..." He curses gripping your waist. You moan and soon feel him tease you again as he slaps his cock against your swollen wet pussy making a noise. You whimper and beg him to hurry up. You feel his tip finally get pushed in and you moan as he adjusted over you and immediately starts thrusting.

"God you are so wet inside." He groans. "Im afraid you will cum too fast." He places his lips over your neck kissing it as you wrap your legs around him. You moan loudly, one hand tangled in his hair, the other digging your nails into his shoulders. He thrusts in hard causing you to almost scream.

"Jongho!" You whine feeling his cock abuse you as he thrusts in and out roughly. You swear his cock grew over a span since you last fucked him, unlike Yunho, Jongho had a fat cock which stretched you out everytime he fucked you. Usually he was gentle and would speed up as you adjust to him but this time he didn't.

"Please!" You dug your nails into his shoulders literally clawing him as if you were a cat and he was a scratching post. He groaned pinning your waist down.

"Y/N.." Jongho moaned, lips parted as you felt your walls clench and tighten around him. Sweat caused his hair to stick to his forehead. You both were now moaning. You looked down seeing Jongho slam into you deep into the mattress.

"Jongho... I am gonna cum..." you felt tears form in corner of your eyes. you bite your lip down removing your hand from his head as you slide it down your body and rub your swollen sensitive bud. You threw your head back moaning. You swear you were in heaven with this feeling.

Jongho watched below both of you as your legs trembled immediately coming and squirting on his cock. Your moans got higher and the wave of pleasure finally came crashing. Jongho groaned at the sight and you fell limp on the mattress able to move.

"Fuck... that was hot." He growled. Your legs were trembling as your breathing got shaky and rapid.

"Okay let me cum and we will be done. I promise." He caresses your face as he continues to thrust inside you. You whine at the oversensitive feeling.

"Jongho!" You cry out. Your insides pulsed around his cock. He curses as he slaps hard into you showing you no mercy. You felt his cock twitch inside you as he finally released his load filling you up. You bite your bottom lip trying to control yourself and he pulls out.

"I should of recorded you and have it sent to your father and my brother. Showing them you let your enemy fuck you." He breaths heavily trying to calm himself.

"I would of sent it to Yunho..." You sit up feeling dizzy. Jongho holds you in his lap as you trace your finger over his chest.

"He would get off to it and try to ask to recreate it with him in the picture." Jongho scoffs. You smile and kiss his lips softly.

"I love you Jongho..." You whisper into the kiss. He is quiet for a second until he kisses back whispering right after.

"I love you too." You felt your heart almost beat out of your ribcage after he admitted it. You honestly would sucked his cock right there after he said it. But you were both too tired and instead he pulled you in bed with him as you both cuddled.

•

A/N: I finally moved in. I've been so tired LMAO I keep running to the store after unpacking because I forget stuff and I keep running back to find more stuff :(

[whiskeyandwant]

Whiskey and Want |dbf!Joel x f!reader| | 18+ MINORS DNI | {series masterlist} {last chapter}

Chapter 5: Sweat & Sin | wordcount | 4.7k {TLOU AU, modern-ish, no outbreak, Sarah lives!}

| a/n | Buckle in because chapter 6 is long. This is where it really starts to all burn down. We're hungover, horny and done with Joels b.s. dbf! lines don’t just blur, they shatter. It's smutty, messy, and fucked up in all the right ways. hope it leaves you wrecked. Tell me if you’re feral for it, ‘cause I sure am. xoxo

" “I—I wasn't—” you stammer, but he steps closer, boots heavy on the hardwood, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Heard my name, sweetheart. Don’t stop now.” His voice is molasses-thick, commanding but warm, like he’s daring you. “Show me what you were doin’.” You know what, fuck it. I don’t even care anymore. "

Warnings/tags: 18+ only, minors DNI, SMUT, pussy pronouns, slow burn, forbidden romance, angst, yearning, Alcohol aftermath, intoxication,unprotected PIV, m/f masturbation, size kink, penetrative sex, cum play, sexual tension, strong language, emotional vulnerability, age gap dynamics, smoking references, dbf undertones, possessive sex, guilt, mentions of grief. series warnings after the fic. reader uses she/her pronouns and has hair. no major physical descriptions of the reader. no use of y/n but has the nickname Bird, Birdie, etc. reader has a backstory.

You wake to a skull-splitting throb ripping through your temples. Joel was right. You’re feeling it today. Sunlight slices through the curtains, white-hot and sharp. You roll over and bury your face in your pillow, It smells like smoke and shame; a faint echo of last night. Joel’s kiss burns through your head, rough hands and a growl daring you to forget. His “Go to bed, Bird” rings in your ears.

Fuck.

You groan, hauling yourself upright, stumbling downstairs. You’re half-hoping he’s there, half-dreading facing him—gonna be hard pretending nothing happened. But he’s not here, because he left you last night feeling like a mistake, leaving you feeling stupid for thinking he felt it too.

You walk into the living room. Your dad sits on the couch happy as ever, totally oblivious reading the newspaper. Your eyes drag to the coffee table and Joel’s whiskey glass still sits there, another reminder. The Cypress Hill t-shirt you’re in is wrinkled with sleep, pooling over your body, you haven’t looked in the mirror, unsure if you want to face yourself yet.

“Hey, Bird, you look like shit,” he says, eyeing you up and down.

Thanks.

“I feel worse than I look,” you reply, flopping onto the couch beside him. “Tequila’s never a good idea.” Your stomach churns at the thought, mouth-watering like you’re about to puke. You squint toward the kitchen, and the clock reads 10:38, at least you got decent sleep.

“You hungry?” your dad asks, brow arched, peering over the paper.

“Maybe. Probably should eat something, definitely need water.”

He folds the newspaper, tosses it on the table, and grunts as he stands. “I got called down to Dallas, some job’s fucked up. You know it was possible to install gutters fuckin’ backward?” He  huffs out half a laugh,” Oh, and the airs busted again—Joel’s gonna be here on his lunch break.”

You blink, relief creeping in, the coast is clear. “Wait,” you say, panicked, “Joel’s coming over?” You slow your voice, hiding the mix of dread and thrill. “Yeah, why? Probably be here soon. You cool with that?” He lifts a brow, probing your unease, but his phone rings before he can dig.

“Yup,” he answers, grabbing his keys from the hook by the door. “Love you, Tweety. See ya Wednesday-ish.” Then he’s out, leaving you alone with the heat and Joel’s looming shadow.

Cool… I guess?

You grab your phone, and tap the screen, anxious for what’s there.

Three new texts.

(9:04 AM)

Karlie: Girl are you good??? Did that dilf kidnap you? Give me the tea ☕

You’d rather not. She’ll escalate to 911 if you don’t reply.

(10:40 AM)

You: Hey, sorry, I’m good. Hungover as fuck, I’ll call later xox

(9:08 AM)

T-Mills: You okay bird? We’re ok right? I didn’t mean to make u uncomfortable. don’t leave me on read

You’d hoped Tommy would let it go, how did you tangle yourself with both Millers in one night? At least you didn’t kiss Tommy. You just let him grind on your ass in public, then you know, ended up on his older brother’s lap. You replay last night again. The bar, Brett? Brad? Ben—the kid Tommy nearly decked. The truck, Joel taking care of you. The dream, somehow ending better than reality. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this,” Joel's mouth claiming yours, then “Go to bed, Bird,” like a punishment, like you were a bad dog.

Fuck him.

You tap Tommy’s name and shoot off a response without thinking. It’s probably the only way you’ll do it.

(10:42 AM)You: It’s fine Tom, must have opened my phone half asleep last night. I feel like shit!!! Remind me to stay away from tequila next time

He replies instantly like he’s been waiting.

(10:42 AM)

T-Mills: Next time huh? Round two tomorrow??? 🎉

Fuck Joel. Let Tommy fix this.

You know what, fuck it. Maybe more booze and Tommy’s attention will soothe this ache.

(10:43)

You: 9pm, pick me up???

You check the last text.

(10:30 AM)

Joel: Is the a/c rlly broken or??

You laugh out loud.

What a piece of work.

Does Joel think you’d lie to get him over? You don’t even want to face him today. Shame washes over you like cold water, maybe last night was just a big fuckin’ mistake.

(10:45 AM)

You: ???? i just woke up, don’t know what you’re talking about lol 🤷

A text bubble pops up, vanishes, pops up, vanishes. You laugh again. Joel’s got his foot in his mouth, and can’t muster a reply.

(10:46 AM)

Joel: k.

K? Really?

Oh, fuck that guy.

You get off the couch, and head for the bathroom to scrub last night off. The image of Joel’s face before he said “Go to bed, Bird” feels permanently burned into your head. His eyes scared, like he fucked up, angry at himself, disgusted. Rejection stings your eyes, but it turns to anger the longer you stew.

If he wants games, you can play too.

You hop out with a plan. Black denim shorts, barely covering your ass, paired with a cropped Rangers shirt from your high school slut phase. The one with the neck cut out, it hugs your curves, makes your boobs look fantastic. You throw on a cropped flannel, put on mascara, and lip gloss, tying your hair into space buns to finish the look. You head downstairs, the silence is loud, not even the hum of the A/C, just you and your thoughts.

You try to eat the sandwich Dad left, but your mouth’s dry—it goes down like sand, Gatorade helps. Boots drag and a knock hits the door, you’re even sweatier knowing Joel’s there, alone now. You ditch the flannel, wrap it around your waist, and let him in.

Fucking get a grip.

It only takes a minute for your facade to crack. He looks gorgeous, toolbox in hand, curls tucked under a Rangers cap, in work pants with a toolbelt sitting low on his hips. He barely acknowledges you, only giving you half a smile as he walks in. You catch his eyes flick to your chest as he passes by you on the couch though.

Small victories.

He heads to the thermostat, fiddling with wires, ignoring you like you’re air. Anger jolts through you, tingling from your toes to your shoulders, but that toolbelt pulls it back to your core. Finally, he breaks the silence.

“Where’s your dad?”

“Dallas. Work trip,” you deadpan. Yes girl, give him nothing!

Joel hums, shakes his head, and then gets back to it.

You try to ignore him, but your competency kink wins. He mumbles about circuits and fuses, cursing under his breath and groaning as he works. You half-watch true crime on TV, but it’s no use.

“So,” you start, eyes on the screen, voice calm, bored, flipping to MTV, “why did you do it?”

Joel sighs, long and low. “Ain’t got words for it, kid. Shouldn’t’ve happened, was a mistake, end of.”

You laugh, bitter, leaning over the couch arm. “Cool, and now you’re gonna make it my fault? My problem? You started it, Joel.”

You stand up from the couch, legs moving toward him, face flushed with anger.

He stops, drops the pliers, and pinches his nose bridge, squinting. He locks his eyes on you—something unreadable in them, “See, this is why it never should’ve happened. You think I want this, Bird?” His jaw clenches, voice rough. “Think I’m happy fuckin’ everything up? For what? This?” You can hear grief crack through his voice.

“So answer my damn question. Why’d you kiss me?” you repeat, firm, smooth, the anger outweighing the anxiety in your words. 

“I don’t know, kid” he sighs, pain clear. “Because I’m weak. I’m fuckin’ weak and you…” He stops, eyes raking you, shaking his head, fists balled.

“You what?” you press, voice low and cutting, walking closer. “Just say it. You wanted it, Joel. Don’t blame me.”

“Wanted it? I’m fuckin’ haunted by it, Bird, by you.” It comes out as a snarl, his eyes glazed with shouldn’t and can’t.

You’re in his face now, “Then why’d you come here? You could’ve just said no to him.”

He grabs your shoulders and spins you, your back hits against the wall. His voice is a jagged whisper, “Because you’re a goddamn curse. I hate you for this. I hate me, but I can’t fuckin stop.” His mouth crashes down, rough, hungry, swallowing your gasp. His free hand finds your shirt hem, fingers searing your skin.

You lean in, tangling into him, hands grasping fabric, pulling closer. You’d crawl into his ribcage if he’d let you. He pushes back, caging you against the wall. Your head spins. You buck your hips, desperation met with metal and leather. You unbuckle his toolbelt mid-kiss. It crashes, tools scattering, narrowly missing your feet.

“You’re fuckin’ killin’ me,” Joel groans into your throat, panting. His mouth bruises your jaw, and trails fire down your neck, boot forcing your feet apart. “Tell me no,” he rasps, voice breaking, shifting his body weight to the knee that’s flush against you. His fingers hit your shorts’ waistband.

“Tell me to stop.”

You don’t, you can’t. You’ve never wanted something so badly before in your damn life. Your breath hitches as his hand slips under, grazing your skin, teasing the edge of your underwear, slow and deliberate, heat pooling low. He’s relentless, his teeth on your collarbone, one hand pinning your hips, the other circling where you’re soaked until your legs tremble.

“Joel,” you choke, arching into him.

“Fuckin’ say it, Bird,” he growls against your chest.

His touch intensifies, fingers teasing your entrance, barely dipping in. You gasp, “please” slipping out, hips bucking involuntarily this time. “I can’t do this,” he mutters, faltering, at war with himself; he doesn’t stop, he just keeps working you to the edge.

You manage to whisper, “I want this, Joel—you, I need you” your pulse hammers.

“You think you can handle that, little Bird?” He drawls, “Huh? You know what you’re signin’ up fo?”

His voice is sending you over the edge, a whine breaking free when a truck rumbles outside. Keys rattle, Joel freezes, “Fuck.” He pulls back slowly, eyes wild, hands leaving you just as the door bangs open.

“Birdie, forgot my damn wallet!” Dad booms, stomping in.

You shove your shorts straight, heart slamming. Joel steps aside, grabs his toolbox, jaw tight, muttering, “Gotta fix this damn thing.”

Dad strides through, tossing his keys on the table, squinting—Joel by the thermostat, you flushed, leaning against the wall trying desperately to look chill. “Still hot as hell,” he grunts, eyes narrowing. “Thought you said you were on it?” He snags his wallet from the counter, oblivious but sharp.

Joel clears his throat. “Fuse issue, takin’ longer than I thought.” He dives back into the unit, tools clanking, avoiding Dad’s stare.

Dad hums, skeptical, he glances down to the toolbelt. “Right. Looked like somethin’ else was goin’ on when I walked in.”

Shit.

Your stomach drops, but he doesn’t linger, just shrugs. “Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.” He grabs your half empty Gatorade, “Love you Bird— bye Joel.” and heads out again, door slamming behind him.

Joel mutters, “Fuckin’ close,” twisting a wire, glancing at you—gaze loaded—then back to the A/C. It hums to life, cool air trickling out, tension thick as ever.

“Done,” he says, flat, packing his tools slowly, stalling. He straightens, toolbox in hand, but doesn’t move for the door. You’re alone again, the hum of the A/C doing nothing to cut the heat between you. His stare lingers, heavy, like he’s waiting for something.

“Why’d you stay?” you snap, voice sharp, stepping closer. “Could’ve bolted when he left.”

Joel’s jaw ticks, eyes flicking to the floor, then back to you. “Shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, rough. “Shouldn’t’ve come at all.”

“Then why did you?” you press, anger flaring. “You’re so full of shit—sayin'’ it’s a mistake, then pullin’ that?”

He steps toward you, close enough you feel his breath, warm and unsteady. “You don’t get it, Bird. I can’t—” He cuts off, shaking his head, fists clenching. “Fuckin’ hell.”

“Get what?” you bite back, staring him down. “That you’re a coward? Say it or leave.”

His eyes flare, guilt and want warring there, but he doesn’t answer. The silence stretches, taut, your pulse pounding in your ears. You’re inches apart, teetering, his hand twitching like he might reach out. Then he steps back, and turns, a low “Fuckin’ trouble” slipping out as he heads for the door. His gaze burns into you one last time, loaded with everything he won’t say, and he’s gone.

What the actual fuck?

You’re left reeling, his “ruinin’ me” echoes. The air cools, but the weight stays heavy. You slump down on the couch, staring at the whiskey glass, twirling the stupid necklace, even after that it still manages to ground you. Your skin still buzzes where he touched you, jaw to hips. The anger keeps churning, with something else now—want, raw, and fucking unshakable. Joel’s a coward, sure, but you’re not innocent. You pushed. You wanted it too. You sit back down on the couch, flipping through channels, trying to keep yourself distracted from the way you feel. You try reading and end up scrolling through your camera roll. Oh, fuck my life. You find an old picture, of Joel, Sarah, and Tommy. All of them wearing lifejackets, from a camping trip probably 5 years ago, Sarah had sent you it then, but it feels like this is the first time you’re really looking at it. Joel looks hot, Tommy, oh shit Tommy looks hot too actually, “goddamnit” you mutter to yourself.

Heat pools low again, unignorable now, he left you high and dry earlier—bastard. Guess you’re going to have to finish what he started yourself. You climb upstairs, shedding your shirt off halfway, it’s too hot, and you’re too pissed. You click your bedroom door shut, shorts sticking to your thighs as you sprawl on the bed, the curtains are half open, letting a warm glow in. You put your earbuds in your ears, and let your hands start to travel, letting the quiet of the hose settle while you drown it out with Pheobe Bridgers, Motion Sickness blaring loud. You slip the shorts off, leaving you in just your panties, and your fingers hover. You place the pointer and middle finger of your left hand on either side of your folds, scissoring them back and forth—slowly. Teasing your lips, barely grazing your clit. You’re already sensitive, you were so close to coming undone earlier, you know diving right would overstimulate you too quickly to enjoy. You want to take it slow, and draw out your pleasure for as long as possible.

You can’t stop thinking about the way Joel was looking at you downstairs, the way his brown eyes turned black, staring down at you like you were prey. The grip he had on your jaw, squeezing your cheeks, craining your neck towards him. You clench your thighs around your hand as the warmth at the bottom of your belly intensifies, you take your hand away, edging yourself.  You repeat this over and over until you’re practically soaking through to the mattress—desperate, your walls clenching around nothing.

You hear his rough, baritone voice in your head now, repeating over and over, “Think you can handle that, little Bird?” Your breathing grows erratic. Finally, you give in, sliding two fingers down, spreading your slick around the sensitive bud at the top of your pussy. You roll your fingertips over and over, teasing your entrance. You’re not sure if you’ve ever worked yourself up like this—it's agonizing, but feels so fuckin’ good.

You close your eyes tight, imagining your hands being replaced by Joel’s, his fingers fubbing merciless circles over your throbbing clit. A loud broken whine escapes your lips—”Oh fuck, yes, Joel”—as you plunge your middle finger in, curving it to reach your g-spot. You add another finger, then a third—stretching yourself out, picturing Joel fucking you with his fingers instead. The warmth simmering in your belly gets red-hot, pussy squeezing desperately around your fingers. You buck your hips into your hand, gasping every time your cupped palm creates a vacuum against you. Shockwaves jolt through your clit. You’re not being mindful now, no more teasing, you’re chasing your high, holding back sobs, biting your lip so hard you taste copper, right on the edge. A low rap hits your door. What the fuck? No. Who the fuck? You pull your earbuds out, “Hello? Who’s there?” you manage to choke out, trying to sound normal, but you don’t, and you know the answer. “ It’s me.” comes that low, gravelly voice through the door. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. I'm never wearing both headphones again. You snap your head towards the door and start to pull up your panties and the covers over yourself—not that it would help you at this point, you’re screwed, fuckin’ naked and afraid. “Thought I heard someone whimperin’ my name,” he says, as the doorknob turns. The hinge creaks as the door pushes open. “Need a hand?” You conjure up the courage to look up to him, adrenaline courses through your veins; it feels like your whole body is on fucking fire. There he stands, broad and rugged in the doorway, his dark eyes locked on you. His flannel’s unbuttoned at the collar, work pants slung low, and his thick cock, the one you’ve been dreaming about strains against them—girthy, solid, the outline making your mouth dry. You freeze.

“I—I wasn't—” you stammer, but he steps closer, boots heavy on the hardwood, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Heard my name, sweetheart. Don’t stop now.” His voice is molasses-thick, commanding but warm, like he’s daring you. “Show me what you were doin’.” You know what, fuck it. I don’t even care anymore.

Heat floods your face, and your pussy clenches at his words. Shaky, you spread your legs, tugging the blanket down, letting him see the mess. Your fingers were still slippery, panties soaked and needy, pulsing under his gaze. “Joel, I… I was just—” you whine, sliding them in your panties again, bringing a finger to your entrance.

He looms closer, eyes dark and hungry, his breath hitching as he watches. “Atta’ girl Show me how bad she’s been needin’ me. You wet like that just sayin’ my name?” Joel’s body weight shifts the mattress beside you before he rolls over to cage your body beneath his. Your heart is beating fucking erratically. His arms rest on either side of your head, completely silent as he moves one arm and trails a hand down from your collar, inching lower and lower. His fingers trace over your hardened nipples, carving an invisible line down your belly before stopping between your thighs. He places his hand over yours, like he’s the master to your marionette. “Oh, poor girl,” he coos—round puppy-dog eyes on yours again. “ Soakin’ fuckin wet. S’that all for me?” You want to speak but you can’t, you only nod. He guides a finger over the thin, soaked fabric of your panties lightly massaging your swollen lips. You’re still frozen, unable to form a sentence. You exhale a shaky breath that you hadn't realized you were holding—the faintest “please” escapes your lips. He keeps rubbing, harder now, dipping into the elastic of your underwear. “Left her cryin’ out for me earlier huh? Need me to fix her up?” his voice is low, drawl smooth—like honey. He lists his hand to cup your cheek in his big hand, making direct eye contact, searching your face for an answer. He drags his thumb across your cracked bottom lip, tugging it down, like he's trying to pull the words out. “Asked you a question, use your words darlin’,” his lips are ghosting your earlobe, whispering. “Tell me what you need, Birdie, I’ll make it all better.” You turn your head to face him, staring up through half-lidded eyes for a moment, before finding your voice again. ‘J-Joel, I need you,” breath hitching on every syllable. He slides his hand down between your thighs again, slowly moving your hand away now. Hand searching for the hem, hooking his thumb in, pulling your underwear off. He slides a finger down into the pool of slick between your legs, spreading it all over before he pulls his hand back. He brings it up and holds it between your faces. “I can tell, baby. She’s droolin' f’me. See that?” He rotates his hand, you watch as his finger glistens in the afternoon sun, and your jaw goes slack. Joel drags that same finger along his bottom lip and then sucks it clean. “Wanna taste?” He grabs your chin, tilting your head to give himself more access, and presses his mouth onto yours, gentle—swirling his tongue, exploring every inch he can reach. He lets out a little, strangled whimper. Did Joel Miller just whimper into my mouth? Holy fuck, he sure did.He pulls back off of your lips, you’re both collecting your panting breaths. He dips his head back down to the column of your throat, kissing along it, murmuring into your chest, “Sweet ain't she?” The room fills with stifled moans, labored breathing, and the creaking of weight under the bed frame. Joel is everywhere, taking up every thought, filling all of the space around you. Your head swims, hunger and lust flip-flopping in your belly. Nothing has ever felt so electric, so perfect. You’re impatient, painfully worked up, and you can’t take it anymore. “More, I need more, Joel,” you chant between gasps. “Please, make me come.”

“Say it again,” He says, pumping his fingers in and out, languid—slow.

“I need you to make me come.” You’re practically in tears now, his fingers circle your clit.

“So close. Try again, Bird.”

“Please, Joel, I’ll beg—I’m begging, don’t fuck around—you owe me.”

“Keep beggin’ for it, baby,” he says, voice low and rough. “You sound so pretty when you’re desperate.” He growls, shifting, and then he looks at you, all gentle. “Shouldn’t have left you like that downstairs,” apology soft, eyes guilty. His hands tug at his belt, pulling the work pants off, you see the outline straining against his briefs. You face him, grabbing at the waistband, tugging them down, you watch his cock spring free, thick and heavy against you. You pull him in closer to you, lips brushing against his ear. “Then make it up to me, cowboy.” His cock is even bigger than you expected it to be, It’s thick, heavy—girthy, and solid. Flushed pink and slightly curved, thank god you’ve been stretching yourself out for a while, because if not you’d be worried it would never fit. He groans, low and broken, ripping his shirt off, and throwing the blanket off of you, both fully naked now. He lets his eyes move down your body, “fuckin’ so pretty, been dreamin’ bout’ this for too long.” You whine and grab his cock, giving it a few slow strokes before moving even closer and lining him up to your entrance, sliding him up and down, through your folds, rubbing your clit with the leaking head, moaning. He grabs your hands and puts them above your head, rolling over on top of you, he leans down pressing at your entrance. “Sorry I left you like that earlier, baby,” he murmurs, voice filled with want. He pushes in, just the tip, allowing you to get used to the stretch before he slides in more. You moan into each other's mouths as he fills you up completely, inch by inch, slowly, It feels intimate, careful—like he's trying not to break you. He starts moving, deep and steady, dragging through slick walls, hitting that spot that makes everything throb. You're trying to match the rolling of his hips, hands move from above your head to his back, raking red lines down it. You wrap your legs tight around his torso, warmth coiling in your core, his hand is on your jaw again forcing you to look up at him. “You’re mine, Bird,” he whispers, breath hot on your skin. You shudder, breathing out his name. Your walls clench around him, squeezing his cock, every little sound you pull from him brings you closer to the edge, your pussy dripping as he thrusts, deeper, not rushed, building you up. His forehead presses against yours, sweat beading off of both of you, he picks up the pace. You bring one of your hands down between the two of you, rubbing circles. His thrusts get sloppier, he's staring down where you’re connected, watching you massage your clit, jaw slack, like he's hypnotized. He leans down to you, crashing his mouth to yours, all teeth and need. “You’re close, I can feel it. I’ve got you baby—let go for me,” That's all you needed, a tightness snaps low in your belly, and you come hard, soaking him. Your body is shivering as waves hit, you're squeezing around his cock, juices messy and hot down his shaft. Tears fill your eyes as you hold back a sob, you’ve never felt anything like this before. The intensity of the orgasm makes you raw, and emotional; your head spins. Joel groans, rough and low, “Fuck, darlin’—so messy,” his breath ragged, eyes dark with want.

But he’s close too. His thrusts turn sharp, urgent, cock pulsing. He pulls out fast, shaft slick and gleaming from you. He grips it, hand pumping once, twice—and he comes, thick ropes spilling across your mound, hot and messy over your trembling skin. He moans, head tipping back, cock throbbing in his fist as he rides it out, breath heaving.

Joel’s breath steadies, thick cock softening in his hand, cum streaked across your stomach. Guilt flickers in his eyes, but he grabs his flannel, wiping you gently. “Made a mess, huh, darlin’?” he murmurs, voice low. He fetches a warm washcloth, cleaning you with careful swipes—stomach, then between your thighs where you’re still slick. “Feel okay?” he asks, tucking the blanket around you, hand lingering on your arm.

“Yeah, Joel… I’m good,” you mumble, voice sleepy but warm. “You don’t have to go unless you want to."

He freezes, eyes darkening—guilt floods in fast, jaw tightening like he’s swallowing a blade. “I can’t stay, Bird,” he says, rough, standing up, grabbing his jeans off the floor. “Sarah’s callin’ tonight—said she’s got some news ‘bout school. I can’t be here, fuckin’ you, when she’s tryin’ to tell me somethin’ big.”

Your chest tightens—Sarah, still his anchor across the miles. “She’s in Boston, Joel,” you say, sitting up, voice sharp. “It’s not like she’s waitin’ by the phone—you’re just runnin’ again.”

He pulls his shirt on, belt clinking as he buckles it, eyes dodging yours. “Don’t matter,” he mutters, low, pained. “She’s countin’ on me.” He keeps talking, like he’s spiraling and can’t keep the words in, “Every second I’m with you, I’m lyin’ to her, to Kev. I’m here, balls deep in you, and she thinks I’m the dad she can trust. That’s what’s killin’ me.” His voice cracks, boots scuffing the floor as he turns for the door. “Lock up after me,” he says, quieter like it’s all he’s got left—then he’s gone.

You’re alone, body buzzing, sheets a mess. “We’ll Never Have Sex” by Leith Ross hums faintly from the forgotten earbuds on the floor. Too soon Leith, too fuckin soon, too fuckin late. Your phone buzzes It’s Tommy again.

(7:25PM) T-Mills: We’re still on for 2morrowr? 🐦🍺 Anger simmers beneath the afterglow. Honestly, fuck it. You decide to go. You text back,

(7:27PM) You: Yeah, dont be late! 😛 You toss the phone aside. Your fingers automatically reach for the necklace, “Seek the light” feeling heavier now.

series warnings!!! fluff, smut, angst,unprotected p-in-v (please wrap it up), f/m masturbation, fingering, large but legal age-gap (joel is in 40's reader is in mid 20's), size kink?, choking, pervy!obsessive!joel, pervy!mean!Tommy, possessive/rough sex, praise, sex on the phone, drinking/smoking, strong language, sneakin around, lowkey obsessive and reckless Joel, blackmail, competency kink, risky sex, infidelity/implied, semi-public sex, breeding kink lowkey, overstimulation, a tiny bit of coercion, dirty talk, oops its a creampie, brief mentions of grief and implied suicide, Tommy is a jerk in this one, guilt and betrayal, bar-fights @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @brittmb115 @mystickittytaco @your-nightmaredoll @leenieweenie12 @orodaeh @jokesonthem

[dragonsoulage]

He doesn’t deserve you…pt.4

pt.1, pt.2, pt.3

feat. Baji Keisuke

Finally you did it, finally you snapped and broke up with your toxic boyfriend. And who else would be there to catch you, when not Baji? He always makes time for his favorite girl, no matter how busy he is.

Hello friendos, this here is pt. 4 of my mini fan fiction. After this there will be the last one coming with well deserved smutty smūt 🌚🌚🤌🏻 but in this chapter Baji is there to catch you and being literally so tender with you. I just can’t help Baji is simply my boy when it’s about Tokyo Revengers 🤌🏻🤌🏻🤣 Rewatching Season 1 just because of him. 👁️👄👁️💀 so enjoy and have fun 💖

Wordcount: 2,5k

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of violence, suggestive in the end, toxic ex boyfriend

Further time went on and well today was the day, you finally snapped back.

You finally had enough of being treated like that, always having the feeling you would be the second choice, although it was your boyfriend.

How did it end up now?

Oh, after you stood there, after the talk your boyfriend gave you for being too demanding, you stood there silently and simply told him: "I break up with you."

At first, he didn't realize what you said, but the situation escalated.

You were being yelled at, and he was like that he wouldn't agree to the break-up.

You two discussed, and you tried to put up a strong front, just how Baji told you to.

Because you didn't need to hide yourself. Far too precious that you, a gem among all the stones, would need to hide.

You fought with him, packed his things and literally threw him out of your own apartment, at least you tried to.

You still were too nice, but at least this man was out o your house.

And on the same day you decided to call Baji, and he had been doing tough business, as the first division commander he still needed to put up with some shit.

He had been done to simply give someone the beating of his life, losing his fist as he then heard his phone ringing. Usually he would have declined any caller, but not when your pretty face showed up on his screen.

"Hey there, cupcake." he greeted you on the phone, stepping over the man who had thought making business with Toman would be an easy thing, without paying.

You just heard a painful groan from the background, but you decided not to question this further after all, you weren't too curious about it, so you would stay out of trouble.

These were his words.

"Hey, ehm I hope I am not interrupting something?" you asked when you kinda figured out he was busy.

He was never too busy for you, not for the sweet girl.

"Nah, I am all yours now." he said, and you could listen to the smirk behind the phone as he walked further away from the scene.

"So, I broke up with him, just a few hours ago. Wanted to ask if you might want to come over, but when you are bu-" you wanted to ask, but would understand when he had different things to do, after all you knew he was important to Toman.

He looked over his shoulder just to watch Kazutora taking care of the rest. You heard a kinda crunch, what happened to be the guy's jaw. But Baji interrupted you, he would make time for you, of course he would. Especially now when you said you broke up with your boyfriend.

You felt weird, kinda lighter but weird, you had cried a lot and felt guilty, although you shouldn't even. And when your boyfriend was gone now, out of the apartment, you were sure it wouldn't be the last time you saw him.

"Not busy, not at all. Give me an hour and I am there. No matter what happened, I am proud of you, you know." he said to you, and you could listen to his sound that was genuine.

Right after your call when he handled the last things, he was on the way to you.

With his bike, driving through the streets. He couldn't explain what was going on, but he is more than eager to be with you now.

Not that he would use your probably sad state, no, but the thought of having you to himself for some time maybe, it was alluring.

After all, even when you still were taken, there was this tension between you, the electrifying air when ever he called you such cute nicknames. The way your cheeks sometimes flushed, the way you subtly liked his way of flirting, although he never over did it.

The hour was over and right when Baji parked in front of your apartment, he saw your now ex-boyfriend rushing grumbly out of the door, the guy did not even see Baji.

Too busy being angry, not understanding that it was him why you broke up now.

So when he finally was at your door and rang the bell so you let him in, you went to hug him.

Oh, you looked exhausted, your pretty eyes all so red from crying, you looked a little dull because of all the discussions you needed to have now.

Your boyfriend had come back for short, just to ruffle some feathers.

You dare to break up with him? He would give you that, the ugly way.

"Oh, hey, are you alright? I saw that asshole walking out?" he asked you, laid a hand in the back of your neck.

Fingers feeling the silky texture of your hair. Taking in your scent, feeling a little tremble in your body.

How that this damn boy ruined you, so you cried so hard? He felt your tiny fists clutching his shirt.

He took his free hand before he stepped in and closing the door with a swift kick, before hugging you tighter. Not only that, but he sighted, not that it disturbed him or that he couldn't calculate that, but just the fact someone dared to make you cry like this.

You were literally the nicest person on earth, when someone was bad to you, it was the same as kicking kittens, it was cruel.

"Don't cry, sweet girl, we don't want that pretty face to look sad. Not because of some dumb fuck. Come here." he cooed into your ear, so you felt his warm breath caressing it.

Making you nuzzle your head into his chest.

Usually much too shy to just hug him, but you needed a hold, and he would never deny you that.

After some minutes you calmed down, finally were being able to speak and to sit down on the bed.

"He just...he said he would like to talk again, calm. Well, I let him inside and as soon as I said we are not getting back together, he was furious. Like he doesn't believe me I'm serious, and things I am just on my period or shit like that." you explained the over all situation, before you looked down the blanket.

"Listen, I am probably not that good in...comforting, but whenever he texts you or wants to come inside here. You call me, yeah? He still thinks he is in charge, but he isn't." Baji snorted, sitting across from you, watching how your fingers fumbled with the hem of the blanket.

"You are here, others wouldn't be here." you answered with a low voice, you still were like a shy deer.

"I don't want to burden you, it already feels like I am asking too much because I called you in the first place. You had been busy." you added then, he could listen to the frustration in your voice, your delicate features that showed clear distress and guilt.

"You broke up with someone who didn't even deserved you, it's a lot to take in. You called me, I want you to call me. It means somewhere I have a place right there..." he replied and looked at you, before pointing loosely with his finger where your heart is.

When he was around you, he was a little softer, made him want to be nice. Especially now after he saw you were so hurt.

"Don't be ridiculous, you were like the only other person who is...interested in me. Since my boy - my ex-boyfriend, I have not many friends. Not real ones." when you said it, it hurt him, you were everything.

So cute, so fucking kind, you would put others before you, it could be a good as a bad trait. But it makes you...you.

"You are high up on my list." you let him know before your eyes looked over.

"Well, there is no place I would rather be than here. So, tell me. You broke up, you said it...how was it?" he tried to tickle it out of you, wanted to know how you felt, wanted to just be there for you.

At some point after hours of talking, not only about the break-up, but you needed to vent.

Vented how shit he was, how bad he made you feel. It was nearly amusing for him, seeing the cute little girl all raging. Just moments before it was time for a distraction.

You had put on some movie, nothing too exciting just wanting, to not be alone now. After you felt so empty.

And who was he to deny that? Being here, with his favorite girl? Damn he was in, not matter what it means what you two would do.

So you two sat in your bed, watching a movie and during that you two kinda cuddled up, just a little, your head on his chest, because the heartbeat calmed you. His arm around your shoulders. Fuck, why did it felt so good?

Like he just wanted to have you to himself, would you really need to have the phase to get over your boyfriend?

It was not like you wouldn't have played this scenario in your head, being single again, being alone. As if you already could start working on a break-up, although it just happened now.

Mostly what you felt was guilt.

Guilty because you liked cuddling with Baji so much more.

Guilty because, you liked how he called you.

But would you really be guilty? Of course not, not when you had been denied to being loved properly and giving love so many times.

Your eyes stared at the screen, even when your mind was focused on his heartbeat, his breathing. The way his fingertips danced over your shoulder. Or when he played with the strands of your hair. So soothingly, nearly wanting to make you fall asleep.

Then a message on your phone popped up.

Another message.

And another message.

It was your ex, aware you ignored his texts, writing you on Instagram, Snapchat, discord, every other platform, just to get your attention. Besides the fact that he could feel your body tensing up, it annoyed him. That piece of shit really didn't give you a moment to fucking breath.

"Maybe we should block him." he grumbled before snatching your phone away.

"No...not yet. I mean, there is still some stuff here, couldn't pack everything for him. And I don't want him here unannounced." you said, trying to grab your phone, but he turned away with it.

"Well, he annoys you, he fucking annoys me. We should shut him up, like...girl he won't stop texting until you reply." he said, and you peered over his shoulder, when the phone was unlocked...

"Oh, and that bastard thinks he is funny." Baji spoke out loud, before you leaned on him, looking at the text where was written: I give you two hours, and then you are back to normal ok?

"Two hours...does it mean he comes back in two hours?" you mused out loud before you let yourself fell flat on the bed. Groaning in frustration.

"No one told me breaking up is so exhausting." you meant quite dry now, made the brunette next to you chuckle.

"Oh, it's never not exhausting, darling. He is just a pain in the ass for not accepting what you said. And thinking you don't mean it." Baji explained looking at you.

Even when you were a small mess, with your hair in a ponytail, slightly disheveled, the top and the sweatpants you wore. You looked cute, indeed kinda hot even.

How much he would love to distract you for real, make you cry because of another reason than you feeling guilty for standing up for yourself.

Cooing so sweet things in your ear, while he would be buried deep inside you.

He kinda shook his head more to himself, he couldn't do it now, could he?

"And how the fuck prove I that I mean it? I mean struggled for like months...to go that far." you said threw your arms in the air for a short moment. Looking at Baji, searching for whatever advice or help he could give you.

"Well, technically you could prove it." he then said, and it slipped faster out than he wanted, the little idea of finally being closer to you, love you.

Your brows furrowed together and you tilted your head.

"Hm?" you asked interested but confused.

"You still could show him, that you don't have time. You are being busy, with a new one already, you know." Baji spoke as if he wouldn't mean it, but not even humor could save him from his own thoughts.

"I just broke up with him, I mean even when we would fake...some pictures or whatever. Isn't that rude?" you wondered, and how adorable it was, that you are not even now wanting to hurt that damn bastard more than you thought you did.

"Rude? Girl, he used you, and had side chics...you would just give him his own medicine." he said, and a hand went through his raven locks, his golden eyes smoldering and yet curious what your next reply would be.

"I... I mean, do you think it would make him stop for a while?" you asked then, you didn't decline it at all.

He turned over to you, indeed leaning up now.

"Maybe he would be choking on his fucking blabbermouth and shut the fuck up. It could be worth a try. I am in when you are in, pretty." he said, his tone soft, never meant to pressure you. He even reached out and tugged a strand of hair away from your face, with tenderness that spoke volumes about his true feelings.

You felt that little tingle when he did it, how it always tingled when Baji did things like this.

You seemed to think, you were a good girl, good girls wouldn't do it right?

You took a deep breath, maybe it was time for repayment. After all, you would just be faking pics, right? What could go wrong?

Hell, when you would have known...

"Fine, ehm... I am honest, it's not like I would know what I do." you said, made your decision clear and suddenly grew back to your shyer self.

You sat up again, drawing just a tiny little bit closer.

"Believe me, I know what would get his blood boil and make him believe you don't want him closer than 5 miles." his voice was just a little lower, with a subtle hint oof seductiveness.

Baji, never a shy one at all. Kinda happy to be the lucky guy tonight, sneaking a kiss.

And he swears this was his only plan, just a little kiss, just one little picture. What you would send over Snapchat to your ex....

@pearldaisy @bajisdarling

[frogsinflannel]

🐸🐸🐸🐸🎉

YES ALL THE FROGS~ also, I am painfully aware that I have changed tenses in this story SO MANY TIMES already. Let's all hold hands and ignore it together.

[ first | second | third | fourth | this part ]

(takes place almost immediately after the prev part)

Buck lay stiff for a moment and then with one big push he flops over onto his belly and groans into the pillow.

Tommy Jr. ribbits a few times from his tank and Buck wants to believe that it was out of concern.  That seems as likely as anything else, right?

“I promised Eddie I’d try to call you,” he says.  He holds up his phone and shakes it for emphasis.  Frog eyesight wasn’t something he’d come across in his research so he isn’t sure if Tommy Jr. can see it or not.  He lifts his head and peers with one bleary eye at where the tank sits.  Tommy Jr. is near the side of it, staring.  He ribbits again.

Buck twists sideways and then sits up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed.  There’s Tommy’s number, still in his call log from when he’d tried before.  He taps his number on the screen and then holds his phone up to his ear.  He bites on his thumbnail and keeps his eyes on his frog.

It rings and rings.  Nobody answers.  Finally that automated voice comes on telling him the mailbox is full and he can’t leave a message.  Buck hangs up and sighs.  “See?” he says.  He holds the phone up again and gives Tommy Jr. a mirthless smile.  He feels tired and defeated–even if he is right and everyone starts believing him, what good will that do?  Tommy still isn’t here.  He didn’t want Buck when he was a human and he probably doesn’t want him now that he’s a frog.  Buck scrubs a hand through his hair and tosses his phone into the center of the bed.  He pads over to the chest of drawers.

“Hi,” he says, leaning down and resting folded arms on the top of it.  He puts his chin down onto his forearm so his face is even with the tank.  Tommy Jr. looks plump and moist, probably healthy, so at least Buck is taking good care of him.  “I miss you,” he says.  “Goddamnit Tommy, I miss you so much.”  He sucks in a breath and puts a hand on top of the tank.  “If you’re in there… please.”  He closes his eyes and puts his forehead against the glass.  “Please.  I don’t know what to do to help you.  I don’t know how to get you back.  I’m sorry.”

Ribbit.  Tommy Jr. moves closer and does it again.  Ribbit.

It’s not as good as Evan, Buck thinks, feeling wrung out and pathetic and so, so heartsick.  But he’ll take what he can get. 

~~~

make me write

FROG FIC TAG LIST: @queermccoy @fiyaerrigan @beanarie @harmless-variety-of-garden-snake

if you do/do not want to be tagged just lemme know

[the-totentanz]

Two weeks of this damn "self-care" nonsense and I’m still sinking deeper into this mess. They’re in the building now and just recently started fucking with things in my own apartment.

Nobody I talk to even notices--they just look at me like I’ve sprouted a second head right in front of them.

How the hell can’t they see the glitches--The eyeballs--The faces that are always lurking in the ads? Even the elevator commercials are getting hacked. Twice now, I’ve had Gillean Jordan—yes, that Gillean Jordan—talking to me through the screen, staring right at me.

I can’t stand their voices. It’s not just that they’re clearly not human—it’s worse. There’s something about it that makes my blood run cold and my thoughts scramble.

I don’t get what these rogue AIs want with me. Wasn’t 'The Blackwall' supposed to be stopping this shit?--or is that thing just a crumbling mess now, full of holes the Voodoo Boys keep tearing open with their bullshit?

Honestly, I don’t know anymore. No one’s listening. If I keep pushing this, I’ll end up in MAXTAC custody—if they don't already have me marked that is.. I can’t trust anyone—not even my damn neighbors.

So what the hell do I do? These things are getting bolder by the day. I’ve seen them messing with others, hacking into their tech while they’re just walking around, oblivious. How do they not notice? Don’t they hear it-- See it--Feel it?

It’s like they’re parasites the way they latch onto someone’s back, floating along with them while they tear through anything they can infiltrate. Are they trying to possess people? Is that why no one believes me?

Am I next?

[4urvalidation]

A CASE OF LIMERENCE | Chapter Thirteen

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

A/N: Phew! Well - this is a long one. Mainly because I went insane and decided to put two chapters into one instead of splitting them like I originally planned on doing. Anyways what's done is done and what I've done is.... well - a mess. Incredibly proud of how everything turned out obviously, but things got messy in ways only a summer finale could do.

Hope y'all enjoy.

That being said, I'm going on a work trip in a little over six hours. My flight is in the early hours of the morning and doing what I do, I'm not sure just how much free time I'd have to write. I will be taking my notebook with me, just so I can jot down ideas for future scenes and dialogues whenever I can, but I don't believe any actual writing will be done. At least not until after I come back.

I'll still try my best to remain as active as possible on here. Relax reading fanfics and looking at pretty pictures as well as chatting with y'all - that is, if you'd be into that. I'd love to get to know my readers more; see what they think of ACOL so far (forever grateful to the anon who gave it this nickname) and whether they have any questions, ideas for future works or just in general.

Okay. Tuning out now because this author's note has gotten as long as this chapter. Love y'all. Thank you for reading the shit I put out.

T/W: I'm gonna be fully transparent, the smut part of this gets DARK - I'm talking borderline DUBCON so please read at your own risk. And ofc MDNI!!!!!

Mentions and slight graphic descriptions of vomiting, as well as violent unruly behavior; alcohol, drugs; sexting, implied masturbation, graphic sexual content (grinding, dirty talk, slight choking). Characters being horny and fantasizing about weird questionable things because of it.

Three am and Leni can barely fall asleep. Her mind is restless, constantly reminding her of the texts Rafe has sent her. The mysterious contents of the voice message. And the photo. Fuck, the photo - it’s the thing that’s torturing her the most; forces her entire being to itch with curiosity and robs her of much needed shuteye. Weary and frustrated, she tosses and turns - annoyed at herself for not letting Cleo sleep well, but judging by the soft sound of her even softer snoring, her friend seems to be having a good enough rest for the both of them. 

Her phone lights up just then - illuminating half of the pitch dark room and grabbing Leni’s attention for god knows what time in the past couple of hours, but unlike all those other times before, now she reaches for it immediately. 

The bright screen burns her eyes. 

A text from JJ.

Tons of texts from JJ. 

Sweet, caring and considerate JJ.

Who looks after her.

Who never has and never will do anything to scare her. 

And yet, her entire being aches to find out what Rafe said in that voice message. 

Suddenly exasperated, she storms to the bathroom, back pressed against the tightly closed door; the tips of her fingers prickling as she finally opens his text.

Leni’s throat goes dry. 

Her heart raging against her brittle ribcage. 

Swallowing, she presses play. 

“Fuck… Leni… don’t you dare ignore me again… please… baby… don’t do this to me… don’t send me shit like that and ignore me… let me make you feel good…” The sound of his rough, bated breath vibrates through the speakers of her phone and straight into her ear. Her heartbeat quickens at the rasp in his voice; the way he’s so obviously struggling… Probably - no - most likely touching himself over the fabric of those grey sweatpants. Desperate. Needy. Aching. 

Now he knows how Leni’s felt all along. 

She exhales. 

The thought of Rafe being driven mad by lust makes her weak in the knees. The thought that she’s the reason why he’s sending her all of these intense borderline whiney texts forces her legs to give out and before she knows it, Leni finds herself sliding down the door and falling straight onto the cold tiled floor. 

She presses play. 

Again and again and again. 

Closes her eyes. 

In her mind, a half naked Rafe is straining against stark white rumpled sheets; one hand clenched tightly around his phone while the other runs over his face before slowly moving towards-

No. 

With a slight quiver in her knees, Leni pushes herself off the floor. 

She’s done. 

She’s done with this.

She’s done with him.

And then her finger finds the button again. When she’s finally had her fix, Leni notices there’s a brand new message waiting for her on the bottom of the screen.

She swallows. 

That’s not true.

The only person Leni has ever enjoyed torturing is herself. But since he seems so desperate for it - there’s nothing more she wants in that moment than to show him what actual torture looks like. To burst out of that stuffy bathroom, put on her skimpiest, tightest, borderline fuck me dress and head on over to Tannyhill where he is desperately waiting for her. 

Yes, she can see it all oh so clearly now. Her dark silhouette standing still in the entrance of his large home; the upstairs bedroom, the one she never dared stepping foot in ever again beckoning her and like under some kind of spell, Leni finds herself walking towards it. An expectant Rafe waits for her inside in the dimly lit room; grey sweatpants hanging loosely on his hips as the sight of her makes that perfectly sculpted chest of his rise quickly. 

“You came.” She hears him exhale. His voice identical to the one from the voice message and he’s getting up now - slowly, slightly - just enough so she can stand there, right between his open legs. Her breath catches when his hand brushes against her bare leg; travelling lightly over her thigh, under the hem of her dress before finally stopping at her hip. 

Rafe sucks in a breath - she’s not wearing any underwear - and he grins: widely, wolfishly; like he wants to fucking eat her alive and there’s nothing more in the world Leni wants than for him to do exactly that, but that’s not what she came here for. 

She climbs on top of him, straddling his lap and he’s barely even touched yet and she’s already soaked in need. Practically dripping down her thigh, she starts riding him; fingers dancing along his chest while his ragged breathing heats the crook of her neck. He starts kissing her; leaves a trail of wet, desperate kisses all along her chest and collar bones as she moves her hips in a tantalizingly slow manner. 

“I want you. I want to be inside you.” His pleading turns her on more than she could ever imagine and Leni realizes she quite likes this version of Rafe. “Please baby, please.” Moaning, she lets him run his hands under her dress; grasping at her skin like he’s holding on for dear life and pushing her body further into his own. 

Groaning, he kisses her lips and it’s such an aggressive sound, she can almost feel it in her throat and she’s throbbing; dripping senselessly over the material of Rafe’s sweatpants but she cannot let him win. Not now. Not when she has him practically eating from her palm. Grinning, Leni pushes Rafe onto the bed. The blue in his eyes has disappeared completely and all she can see now is a pair of pitch black holes and her very own reflection looking back at her.  

“You want me?” She whispers into his ear and feels his fingers dig harder into her flesh. 

“I want you.”

“I don’t believe you.” 

Rafe’s eyes narrow, but then her fingers begin moving down his chest and he almost immediately relaxes. Teasingly, she plays with the hem of his sweatpants; his hard cock straining against the rough material. She grinds her body against it; lets it linger against the place where she wants him the most and then just as she’s about to set him free, Leni stops. 

Slides herself off of him and then finally off the bed. His haunting gaze burns holes in the back of her head and she stops - suddenly eager for one last round of taunting when suddenly, she feels herself being pulled back by her hair. Her body drops onto the mattress with a dull thump; Rafe’s perfect body hovering over her, while his fist is still wrapped tightly around her loose braid. 

“Where are you off to Sweetheart? I don’t remember telling you to leave just yet, did I?” He pushes her harder against the bed; his weight and hardness pressing into her. “Did I Elena?” She swallows, shaking her head. The corners of his lips perk up - forming that leering, shit eating smirk that instead of turning her on, suddenly has Leni recoil in fear.

Rafe moves, brushing his hips against her own and eliciting a moan from her throat that she should’ve swallowed a very long time ago. “You are such a good girl. Such a good fucking girl. I really dunno why you keep trying not to be. Is it cause you like torturing me? Do you like torturing me Elena? Cause two can play that game, but just so you know, I’m a real competitive guy.” He whispers the last sentence directly in her ear and Leni hates the way her body reacts to it. 

She’s on fire, leaking with desire and so needy and desperate for him to fill her in, she’s almost on the verge of tears. “Fuck. You.” The words scratch at her throat, propelling out of her mouth in a sound that can barely be registered as a whisper and Rafe grins; thrusts his hips even harder against her own. 

“Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me that your sweet little cunt doesn’t throb for me. Tell me and I’ll let you go.”

Their eyes meet.

Leni knees him in the stomach, but it doesn’t do anything. 

She kicks him again and again and again, but all it does is make Rafe chuckle and the low, rumbling sound makes the butterflies in the pit of her stomach flutter in fear.

Her breath catches - he’s got his hands pressed against her throat now, choking her and pushing her further deep inside the mattress, “You think it’s that easy? You think leaving me is this fucking easy? Well news flash baby, I make the rules now. I tell you when you get to leave. And if you pull this shit again, next time you wake up, it’ll be with your braid in your cunt!”

Thick, bitter tears cloud her vision, her entire body lurching forward and before she knows it, Leni has spilled her entire guts all over the bathroom floor. Slowly, she drags herself towards the toilet; the entire room echoing the awful, guttural sounds that rip from her throat.

The next time she opens her eyes, Leni’s in her bed again - last night’s thoughts only a horrible product of a very bad dream until she notices the awful taste in her mouth. Every single muscle in her body aches as she pushes herself off the bed. The place where Cleo slept is empty and she searches for her, hoping to find her friend in the bathroom, but all that’s there are remnants of Leni’s shame-filled vomiting session. And that god awful stench. 

She almost throws up again, but decides to suck it up and get rid of it all until Cleo comes back. If she comes back that is, because if Leni were to wake up to a bathroom full of sick, she too would probably be disappearing in the middle of the night.  

Except Cleo is nothing like Leni. 

Not even ten minutes later there she is - coming through the door, her face alight with a smile and her hands full of coffee and pastries. “I see you’re having a busy morning.” She chirps, gaze focused on the mop in Leni’s hands. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry you had to see all of…  this.” “No! I’m sorry! I should’ve been there! I should've been holding your hair back! (“Cle, it’s okay.”) No it’s not! I’m usually a very light sleeper. I genuinely dunno what happened to me last night, like - I slept like a literal corpse.”

The entire room smells like coffee - a nice change from the previous wafting stench she woke up to and her head throbs, from both the wine and ever encompassing guilt that comes from the way she behaved last night. Not to mention all the messages from JJ she willfully ignored and she can see it - him crying to Kie about it; sending a myriad of texts that will most likely be brought up once their shift starts today. 

Maybe she should just end things now – rip the band aid off until the wound hasn’t started festering or whatever. The last thing she wants is for JJ to hate her or have Kie break her back or worse - ruin her friendship with Sarah, Cleo and the others just because she woke up one day and decided to blow up her entire life. 

“What do you wanna do today?” Cleo asks, plopping onto the bed beside her, a half eaten croissant steadily between her fingers. 

“Die.” 

“Oh come on! You didn’t even drink that much!” 

“I know,” Leni groans, the memory of Rafe’s rumbling, borderline needy voice playing in the back of her head like some kind of a broken record. With a lump in her throat, she reaches for a cup of steaming hot coffee; burns her tongue on it and continues, “I did something bad last night.”

Silently, Cleo stares at her; brows raised so high, they’re practically reaching her hairline and that’s when Leni pulls out her phone: Rafe’s messages on full display - raunchy photo and all. She swallows the lump; her gaze steadily focused on her friend; on the way her eyes grow bigger and bigger with each passing second before, “No, no, no - don’t press… play.” 

But it’s too late. 

“Fuck… Leni… don’t you dare ignore me again… please… baby… don’t do this to me… don’t send me shit like that and ignore me… let me make you feel good…”

Leni shuts her eyes in embarrassment. Hides her face in the heels of her palms as Rafe’s labored breathing and rough whining echo across the entire room. 

“Girl.” Cleo sucks in a breath.

“I’m gonna kill myself.” 

“Girl.” 

Their eyes meet. 

Cleo’s brows have now become one with her hair. 

“It’s all I can think about.” 

“Well - let’s get you a distraction then. Let’s go out. Have fun!” 

“I can’t.” Leni cries, “I have work in like two hours.”

“Call in sick! Tell Mr. Carrera you have a migraine or something!” 

That’s not actually a bad idea. 

She texts him almost immediately and as expected his response is cold and lackluster, but Leni really doesn’t fucking care. She hates her job. She hates how bad the tips are and just how much Kie and her dad expect from her. Getting fired would be a blessing, even though she desperately needs the money for that plane ticket back home. 

“So, what are we doing today?” Cleo’s bright smile is contagious. The joy radiating from her face even more so and Leni can’t help but mimic it. 

“Polly invited me to join her and Tess at the Island Club today, but-”

“Oooh, I’ve never been there! Let’s do that.”

Leni grimaces, “I dunno, Cle. Tess and I are not exactly on best terms right now and Polly-” She sighs, memories from the day they spent together shopping on Mainland flashing before her eyes. “She posts everything on her stories. Like, literally everything.” 

“And that’s a problem because?”

“Rafe follows Polly.”

“And?”

“He’s gonna know where I am. And most likely show up.”

The corners of Cleo’s lips tug into a smirk. “Oh yeah, we definitely don’t want that happening now, do we?” 

Another rumbling sigh tears through Leni’s throat. Every single atom in her body aches to see Rafe, but she’s not sure if she’s ready to face him. Not now. Not yet. As a matter of fact, she’s not sure if she ever will be. At least not until her brain stops sticking him in the spot between lust and fear. 

“Look,” Cleo says, taking her hands into her own. “If Rafe shows up and you’re still not feeling it, we’ll just get up and leave.” Leni nods. Her friend is right. She is always so painfully right. “Don’t let this tiny power he has over you control everything you do. If you don’t wanna see him, no one is forcing you to. It’s not like you live with him.” 

Leni’s brows perk up at this. 

She smiles. 

“Speaking of,” She chirps, both out of curiosity and desperate need of a topic change, “How did that happen? You and Pope living together?” 

“Long story.” Cleo groans. “But basically, Terrance - my adoptive dad - and Mr. Heyward are old friends. When I got into ECSU, he offered I stay with his family instead of, y’know, bunk with a bunch of strangers… Which, now that I think about it, is super ironic considering how before that I’d only met Mr. Heyward twice.” 

“And Pope?”

“Pope was… ugh. He was weird and scrawny and even then super obsessed with Kie. I remember him talking my ear off about the dumbest shit like - just silly childish things and…  Okay, do you know he wants to be a coroner? (“What?”) Yeah, he wants to work with dead people when he grows up and he was telling me about it constantly! Day and night, all he talked about was how fascinated he was by it and I was like: this kid is so fucking weird. Anyways, flash forward to last year. I come home from spring break and there he is: shirt unbuttoned, braces off,  gold chain round his neck and I’m like fuck - when did I start having a crush on Pope?”

Leni laughs, “Probably when you realized he got hot.”

“But he wasn’t supposed to get hot! He was supposed to stay scrawny and awkward! Just like he was supposed to be having a crush on me! Not the other way around!” 

“Well, maybe he did.” Leni says innocently and almost immediately, Cleo looks up at her - eyes wide and sparkling. “Think about it - why else would he have spent so much time talking to you about stuff he liked? He was probably trying to impress you, but you were too busy dating cool college boys.” This makes Cleo groan again except this time it’s a far more dramatic one; the kind that has her throw herself against the mountain of pillows and bury her head in them in what can only be described as sheer embarrassment. “But hey - if it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty much in the same boat as you.”

Their eyes meet. 

“Yeah. But like I said - at least you’re not living with him.”

As expected, Tess is giving her the cold shoulder; ignoring her questions and rolling her eyes everytime Leni does something as little as breathing, but at least she’s nice to Cleo. 

“You go to ECSU? No way - that’s where I’m going this fall! What’s your major?” 

“Aviation.” Cleo grins. 

“Shut up! I have my eye on Psychology, but my dad’s pressuring me into doing Sports Management instead.” Tess rolls her eyes, “Wants me to take over the family business once he retires, but I literally don’t give a fuck about sports.” 

“What are you talking about? You’ve literally won the golf state championship two years in a row.” This earns Leni a particularly icy stare from her so-called friend. Slightly defeated, she sighs, turning her attention to Polly, but Polly is too busy taking photos of her cleavage. 

And then she squeals. Slaps Leni’s shoulder so hard it actually stings, “Rafe! Rafe Cameron is here!” Her whispered shouts grab Cleo and Tess’ attention and now, all four of them are watching him saunter towards a deck chair right across from them. Topper’s right there too, but no one seems to be paying attention to him. Well, no one other than Tess. “Wanna go and say hi?” 

“Don’t be fucking stupid.” Tess replies coldly, her gaze suddenly pointed towards Leni. 

“Oh come on! You can’t be mad at him forever!” 

They go back and forth for what feels like ages - Polly with her whining and Tess with her stern headshakes and Leni… Leni is so fucking grateful for her dark shades because all she can do in that very moment is stare at the person she not so long ago swore she didn’t want to see. 

He’s not in his suit today. Instead, he’s wearing a pair of teal colored shorts and a polo that hits the ground as quickly as Leni’s guard does every time she sees him. His skin is golden; practically glistening in the hot July sun and no matter how hard she tries, she simply cannot stop herself from ogling at him. 

“God he’s so hot!” Polly takes the words right out of her mouth, “Why does he have to have a girlfriend?” 

“Girlfriend?” Cleo quickly glances over at Leni, their gazes meeting for a brief fleeting second, before turning back at Polly. 

“Yeah! Didn’t you see? He soft launched her the other day on his story! (“I… don’t follow him.”) Ohmigod, wait! I’ll show you, I took a screenshot.”

“You took a screenshot you psycho?” Tess barks.

“Yes! I had to make sure it wasn’t Sofia!” Polly exclaims all wide eyed and exasperated, before shoving her phone straight in Cleo’s face, “Here, look. She’s even wearing his blazer so they must be serious.” 

Tess rolls her eyes, “You do realize that doesn’t mean shit, right? Topper lets me wear his clothes all the time and still-”

“Won’t leave his girlfriend for you?” The tone in Polly’s voice is uncharacteristically cold. They’re glaring at one another now; the sudden silence between them - violently deafening and feeling like it might go on for ages. “We know, Tess. But this is different.” She turns to Cleo again, that unexpected iciness completely melted away, “Do you think you might know her?” 

Leni feels her friend’s glance pass through her once again, “No. Sorry.” 

“What would happen if I start telling people it’s me?” Polly chirps, sticking her tongue out, “Do y’all think that maybe then Rafe will finally text me back?”

“Yeah, with a restraining order.” Tess deadpans and Leni can’t hold it in for much longer - she guffaws. Their eyes meet just then and suddenly there’s an appreciative spark dancing behind the gaze of her now maybe-friend.

She can feel the weight of Rafe’s persistent stare even through those dark shades of his. It’s distracting; borderline bothersome and she can’t help but wonder whether others can sense it too. If Cleo, who never in her life has given two shits about him can, Tess and Polly certainly will, but the latter would most likely think all that gazing is meant for her. 

Leni sighs, slumping further into her deck chair and doing her best to ignore Rafe while the trio next to her chatter about nothing and everything. She wants to join in on the conversation, she really does, but her head is pounding and she’s far too hungover to be basking in the sun like this. Her phone is blowing up: packed with hoards of unread texts from both JJ and Kie and she wishes she could just throw it in the pool and never think about anything ever again. 

Rafe removes his sunglasses - stormy blue eyes blazing straight in her direction and Leni feels her heart skip a beat; the thousand of many he’s caused ever since she’s stepped foot on this godforsaken island and perhaps leaving isn’t such a bad idea after all. 

But what if it is? A trail of shivers run down the parts of her body Rafe’s gaze has lingered onto the most, causing that funny feeling between her thighs to spring up back again. Heart racing, she purses her lips; ignoring the rotating images of daydreams in which he does the most heinous, most godawful things to both her and her sanity and fuck-

Leni stares at the message. Feels a surge of heat rush straight into her face, painting her cheeks rosy red and making her heart beat faster than before. She tries not to let his empty words get into her head; tries to keep them away from erasing every bad thing she has ever heard about him. Tries not to fool herself into thinking he’s worth it. But then she looks at him; sees the way the corners of his lips perk into a small, gentle smile; those stormy blue eyes and wide perfect shoulders and… melts. 

Fuck. 

Her chest feels heavy; heart rabid and she turns - swiftly and in one single movement, plops herself down on her stomach. Away from the distractions. Away from Rafe’s gorgeous, sullen gaze…

She types and deletes, types and deletes at least a dozen replies, but simply can’t settle on a final response. It’s a rare thing - having someone leave her completely speechless and yet Rafe seems to be capable of doing it over and over again. 

She sighs. 

Puts her phone away and turns to the side - that way her gaze is now focused on the girls, but every now and then, the corner of her eye catches movement. Him walking around, stretching and slapping Topper’s shoulder. When the chatter dies down, she can hear his laugh - low and rumbling echo in the near distance and her heart predictably skips again. 

“Guys, I’m literally going crazy. He won’t stop staring at me!” Polly says in a whispered squeal. “Should I text him? Or should I just go over there?” 

“Please don’t go over there! Or text him! (“But, Tess!”) Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough? He doesn’t like you. Never has and never will. He just used you for sex. End of discussion.” Tess slams her back against the deck chair, covering her icy glare with a pair of dark designer shades while Polly just sits there, shaking. 

“Used me? You think Rafe used me for sex”? 

“I told you - I’m done having this conversation.”

“Why? Cause Topper does the same thing?” The uncharacteristic chill in Polly’s voice has returned, prompting a confused glance from Cleo and a shrug from Leni. They will talk about this later; tell Sarah all about the explosive fight the two had and gloat quietly, but for now they suffer silently in the awkwardness. “Face it, Tess. What you’re doing is far worse than mine. At least when I fucked Rafe I wasn’t all buddy-buddy with his girlfiend.”

“Ohmigod, how many times do I have to tell you! I am not replacing you with fucking Ruthie!”

“This is not about fucking Ruthie! It’s about you judging me and then doing the same exact things that you judge me for!” 

Tess springs up from her seat, “Pauline, I’m not judging you for sleeping with someone’s boyfriend! I’m judging you for sleeping with Rafe Cameron!” Her whispered shouts rattle in the small space separating their deck chairs, “And yeah, Topper is a piece of shit too, but at least he didn’t kick half his family out on the street! Isn’t that right Leni?” Their eyes meet and a chill runs down Leni’s entire spine. She swallows. “Isn’t that junkie is the reason why Mrs. Cameron is now slumming it in some random shed in Greece?”

What?

Every single drop of Leni’s blood goes cold. The words replay in her head in hopes of making sense, but instead, all they do is lose their meaning as she hears herself repeat the question out loud, “What?” She hears herself croak, a sudden bitterness gathering in the middle of her throat along with a large festering lump. 

“Go on. Enlighten us. Maybe if Polly hears it from your mouth, she’ll finally believe all the things Rafe did to Sarah and Mrs. Cameron when his dad died.” 

“Maybe this is not the right place to do all of… this.” Cleo’s voice echoes and even though she is right there, sitting mere inches away from Leni, for some reason she feels like she’s miles away. 

Leni swallows. 

Rose is in Greece?

She blinks. 

Her left temple is pulsating. 

She feels sick. 

Dizzy. 

“What did he do?” Polly says, quivering. “Leni, what did Rafe do to Sarah and Mrs. C?” 

“He kicked them out, you dumbass! Left them on the street! Froze all of Mrs. C’s bank accounts! She had to ask Jessica for money! Remember?” 

Of course. 

Her eyes meet Tess’. 

Of course Tess would know where Rose has been all along. Her stepmom used to work with her. They were practically attached to the hip. The closest friend Rose has had since Leni’s mom. 

Shaking, Leni jumps from her deck chair. 

How could she forget?

How could she forget that crucial fucking detail?

“Hey,” Cleo’s got her fingers gently pressed against her elbow and when their gazes meet, hers is drowning in concern, “We can leave.” 

“No.” Leni shakes her head, making herself even dizzier and puts on her shorts. “I just… I have a headache. I’m gonna go splash some water on my face.” 

“You want me to come with you?” 

“No, I’ll… I’ll be quick. I promise.” She manages a smile, but that doesn’t wipe away the worry in Cleo’s eyes. “And maybe… maybe then we can leave?” 

With her heart in her throat, Leni sprints towards the closest bathroom; grips the edges of the sink for balance and stares at her pale reflection. She looks ghastly; worse than the cadavers Pope wants to work with when he grows up and there it is again - the bile rising up her throat; that incessant need to vomit all her worries and stress away, except when she tries - nothing comes out. 

She stands there - pulsating with both sweat and panic; fingers numb from all that prickling; knees shaking; throat dry and she feels so stupid. She never should’ve come here. She should’ve listened to her mother and bought that train ticket to Paris and let Rose find someone else to use as a scapegoat. She should’ve been stuffing her mouth with croissants and reading badly written books in parks; head free and empty from Rafe Cameron and those haunting blue eyes of his. 

Yes, not having Sarah around would’ve hurt, but having her so close by and not being able to see her all the time hurts even more. 

Sighing, Leni splashes ice cold water all over her face and neck - letting its chillness sooth her. 

She’s leaving. 

She doesn’t know how and with whose money, but the moment September comes rolling in, Leni is going to board that plane and never ever look back. 

“Hey,” The sound of a familiar, rumbling voice startles her and before she knows it, Leni finds herself face to face with the only person she both wants to avoid and spend the rest of her life with. “Been looking for you.” With her breath catching, she watches the corners of Rafe’s lips tug into an easy smile as he saunters towards her, closing the distance until the only thing separating their bodies is tension. “Grab your stuff. We’re getting outta here.”

“We? Who’s we?”

“You and me.” 

Leni sighs, “Rafe-”

“There’s this really cool place on Mainland. Been meaning to take you there for ages.” She feels the tip of his thumb brush against her hand. His touch sends a shiver across her entire body; causes goosebumps to erupt on every inch of her skin as she stands there, hopelessly drowning in his gaze.  

“You need to stop.” The words tear at her throat. 

“Stop?” Rafe blinks, “Stop what?”

“Stop this.” 

“This?” 

“Yes! This. Whatever you’re trying to make happen here!”

“Whatever I’m trying to make happen here?” He nods, chuckling bitterly, “Last time I checked, you were pretty into this too.” 

“Yeah. I was… And then I found what you’ve done.” 

“What I’ve done?” 

 “Jumping Pope, bringing a gun to a party, blaming Sarah for your dad’s death… kicking Rose out in the street-”

“Look, those other things, especially the way I treated Sarah… I don’t feel good about it. Okay? I’m never gonna feel good about the shit I said and did to my sister, but I’m working on it. I’m working on it with her and I’m working on it in therapy, but Rose… that bitch deserved it.” 

“Don’t call her a bitch!”

“I’m gonna call her whatever the fuck I want, Elena!” Rafe raises his voice, his eyes wide, nostrils flaring. “For all the shit she and my dad put me through for years… for all the beatings she turned a blind eye on… I should’ve done more than just kick her out of Tannyhill. But hey… it’s nice to finally know where your loyalties lay.” 

“Where my-?” Leni scoffs, her distress suddenly replaced with cold, blind rage, “Where my loyalties lay? What the fuck is wrong with you? Of course my loyalties lay with Rose, Rafe! She’s my Godmother! (“Your Go-”) Don’t interrupt me! Don’t you dare interrupt me - cause… cause if you think that a couple of shirtless pics and calling me baby is what’s gonna get me on your side you’re dead wrong!”

Chest heaving, she watches him take a single step backwards and the sudden distance between them is killing her. It shouldn’t be; she’s supposed to revel in it or perhaps even hit the ground running and yet, there she is - standing still with her gaze permanently glued on his slightly parted lips. 

“Okay.” Rafe nods. Runs a hand through his buzzed head and the next time their eyes meet, a flicker of something alien; something borderline desperate flashes across his eyes. “Tell me, then. Tell me what I gotta do to get you on my side.”

Leni’s heart leaps inside her chest. Cartwheels between her ribs and stumbles - breaking a little. She swallows. The thumping in her left temple increases. So does the prickling in her fingertips. 

“I think it’s a little too late for that.” She whispers. 

“No!” Rafe’s voice bellows across the empty hallway, “It’s… It’s not. Ba- Leni, listen. Please.” He closes the distance again, allows for his hands to hover over her arms, waiting for her to push back and when she doesn’t - he touches her. He feels warm against her skin; comforting almost and if this were any other scenario; any other boy Leni would completely allow herself to melt in him. 

But no other boy will ever make her feel the way Rafe Cameron does. 

Never in a million fucking years. 

“I’ll tell you everything, okay? Even the shit those Pogues don’t know about. I’ll tell you everything! Just… please.” 

Leni swallows. Nods. And finally, watches as every single one of Rafe’s defenses begin to crumble right there in front of her. In a matter of seconds he’s somehow managed to turn himself into the awkward scrawny boy she met nine years ago. The one with the messy, greasy bangs and a forehead full of pimples he cleverly hid underneath all that unkempt hair. The bloodied knuckles and fading bruises. The way he never gave her or Sarah the time of day and yet there he was, constantly hovering around them. 

Rafe sighs. 

And then begins. 

He tells her about the bender. About being in such a complete shock over his dad’s death that he spent the days following it with his face pressed against the coffee table, snorting line after line and drowning himself in whatever he could find in Ward’s old liquor cabinet. He tells her about the funeral; about how he barely remembers a thing, except the fight he had with his ex; about the bottle of whiskey he threw right next to her head; about the way it shattered against the wall and had her running away from the house in tears. He tells her about the cheating; the girls and the sex he barely remembers having with any of them. About how he almost ruined his friendship with Topper and how his stupid, erratic behavior made his ex leave without even saying goodbye. 

And then… 

Then Rafe admits to hurting Rose. Admits to pushing her so hard, her entire body slammed against the neighboring wall. “But you gotta understand Leni… she grabbed me. She had her fingers in my hair the same way Ward used to. Yanked my head back so hard, she ripped pieces of it. When I went to help her off the ground, there were clumps of my hair in her fist… kicking her out… it just… it felt like the right thing to do.”

“And the gun? Why the fuck did you bring a gun at the Chateau, Rafe?”

“The Chateau?” 

“John B’s house!”

“Is that what he calls it? Y’know - never mind, I… I actually don’t remember any of it. Sofia had just left me and blocked me from everywhere and I… I just remember doing drugs. Loads of them. And then Sarah was suddenly there yelling at me about doing it in front of Wheezie and I… all I know is next thing I’m waking up at a hospital and my sister and her dumbass boyfriend are hauling my ass to rehab.”   

Leni’s heart skips a beat. 

Wheezie. 

“You did drugs in front of your baby sister?” 

“Leni… I was so fucked up, I…” 

“But you did, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Rafe nods, his entire face basking in shame, “I did.” 

She scoffs, “And you still think Rose had to come up with some bullshit story to drag her away from you? Newsflash Rafe, people don’t need to be told you’re bad news in order to leave you!” The words leave Leni’s lips before she barely has any time to process them. Her callousness startles her, but she’s not the only one.

Right in front of her, just a mere inch away from her, Rafe blinks - looking like he’s just been slapped across the face. Suddenly filled with guilt, Leni says his name; listens as it leaves her mouth in a form of an embarrassing croak and watches as his gaze shifts from hurt to stone cold. 

“Alright.” He dips his head, “What are you waiting for then? Leave.” His breath feels warm against her cheek; sends heat between her unexpectedly quivering thighs and leaves her lingering in his touch. For a brief moment he looks like he’s finally going to let go of her. Either that or she’ll eventually come to her senses and fuck right off, but neither seem to be doing any of that. “But before you do. I’m gonna need you to tell me something.” 

Rafe pulls back, lets his stormy gaze clash forcefully with her own and for the millionth time, Leni’s heart skips a beat. 

“What?” She whispers. Flicks her eyes towards his pink, sexy lips and then back towards those haunting blues. “What do you want me to say?”

“To tell me that you don’t want me.” The sound of his deep, rumbling voice courses through every inch of her body. “Say it, and I’ll leave you alone forever.”

Leni’s breath catches in her throat.  “I don’t…” She swallows, “I don’t want you.” 

For a moment there she thinks her response would elicit a similar reaction to the one he had mere seconds ago, but for some strange reason all her words manage to do in that moment is have a strange flicker pass through Rafe’s suddenly bright blue eyes. 

“Alright.” He nods, finally pulling away from her and she can’t help but notice the slight perk that rises in the corner of his lips. “Call me when you learn how to lie.”

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