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pboogerswbb · 2 days ago

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SO IT GOES - chapter 6

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, sexual content and language, being sick? overthinking? p being melodramatic Wordcount: 4.4K A/C: was feeling inspired :)) anyway pls be patient with me posting, i'm applying to schools rn!! anyway this went a direction i hadn't planned but... uhh... i have no excuses i was going with the flow. anyway enjoy x (also what a scare yesterday just hoping p is doing fine and i'm sure everything's okay!)

Before London

You need a ride to work tmr?

I don’t but thank you x

My eyes roam the texts as they had repeatedly since last night, trying to decipher each letter as if some ancient code I couldn’t understand. Is she seriously gonna be like that? Like she wasn’t the one who pulled me in. She kissed me. Why was she taking it out on me now? I don’t got time for this anyway, to be stressing about something like this.

I hadn’t seen Izara since Saturday, not at work, not in the apartment building, hell, I’d even gone to the gym every morning praying that she might show up but it was as if the girl had disappeared from the face of the earth. I knew she was avoiding me, and I guess she had reason but fuck, I thought she’d be better than that. Not a word since Saturday, other than those strange cryptic texts. Fine. Be that way.

“My favourite girls!!” Trey’s voice blatantly interjects my spinning thoughts as me, Arike, Satou and Lou are sat at a circular table, eating lunch. Not that I had been eating per say, more so poking my fork here and there trying to stomach a piece of chicken now and then. The heaviness in the pit of my stomach made it hard to eat at all.

I lift my eyes, hoping Izara would be trailing behind the man as usual. But it’s Ava instead, holding a notepad and taking quick steps to keep up. I mean I knew it wasn’t Iz before even looking up - there was an uncomfortable void of heels tapping against the hardwood as the pair approach us eagerly.

“Oh hey!” Lou smiles from her chair next to me. “What’s up?”

“So we were thinking,” Trey starts, leaning forward against the table. “If y’all could film some clips answering comments on your own since our dear Zari isn’t here.”

“Uh, where is she anyway?” I ask as casually as I can - though the way everyone’s heads snap to me tells me it was a feeble attempt.

Trey’s dark brown eyes study me for a while with an expression I can’t quite read before answering. “She’s home sick, poor girl.”

Bullshit. She’s trying to avoid me, I know it. I can’t believe it, I thought she would be more mature than this, than faking being “sick” just to get away from an awkward conversation with me. Why was she assuming how I felt anyway? Like the kiss mattered to me? Like I’d want more?

I mean all that was true. God did it matter and God did I want, no, need more. Much more. But she didn’t know that, so why was she assuming. I thought we were friends. You know what this is? Bad friendship.

“Oh damn, hope she feels better,” Arike answers for me, noticing the way I’m gone in my thoughts.

“Y-yeah for sure,” I mumble, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I’mma go to the weight room.”

I place the fork down on my half eaten plate harshly, getting up abruptly making my irritation quite clear to everyone around me.

“Paige you gotta eat a little more,” Lou encourages but I shake my head.

“Nah, m’ not hungry,” I murmur and take my plate back, preparing to take out my aggravation at some weights, ignoring the way Arike and the rest of the girls eye me as I walk away.

“So how are we feeling about the first game soon?” My dad’s voice echoes through the speaker but I barely hear him, pacing my apartment’s living room. Truthfully I hadn’t thought much about the upcoming game. I knew that was bad. That I should be ecstatic, or scared as hell, but I didn’t feel anything else besides the dread of what happened between me and Iz.

Matter of fact, I hadn’t been able to think of anything else but the way she looked all night, the way her green smoked out eyes twinkled at me, the way she threw her head back when she laughed at my jokes, when she pressed her front against me. The way her full breasts felt against my chest, the way her round ass felt under my hands. God, the whimper she let out when I squeezed it as gently as I could.

“Paige?”

“Uh what?” I mumble, ears burning, completely forgotten about the call with my dad.

“What’s going on with you?” His secure, steady voice asks, grounding me.

“Nothin’ dad,” I murmur, rubbing my eyes and looking out the window into the street, eyeing every dark haired woman just in case they were Izara.

“Paige Madison.”

I groan. I might be 23-years-old but my dad’s stern voice turns me into a teenager without fail each time.

“You’re comin’ to the first game still, right?”

“Yes, of course,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Why?”

“Nothin’, just miss you,” I mumble, coming up with an excuse for my low mood - though it wasn’t far off. Everytime I felt sad or anxious I just wanted my dad.

“I miss you too, kid. You know you just say the word and I’m there, okay?”

“No I know, I know. I’m just tired I think,” I sigh, my chest warming at my dad’s comforting words.

“Uh oh,” he starts. “Paige Madison… Don’t tell me.”

“Huh? Tell you what?”

“Is this about a girl?” He asks.

I pause, coming to a halt with my pacing. “Hu- I- What?!”

“You always say “I’m just tired” when you got a girl on your mind,” my dad laughs, doing a horrible impression of me.

“No!” I argue a little too fast and a little too passionately. “I mean, no. Just tired. Long practice.”

“Mhm alright,” my dad mumbles, an amused tone in his voice that irritates me in a way only a parent could. “So no girl?”

“No dadddd,” I whine like a teenage girl. “There’s no girl.”

I didn’t like lying to him. I wanted to tell him all about Izara. I knew my dad would adore that girl. He always said I needed a woman to keep me in check - Izzie did just that. But I also didn’t want to tell my dad about this girl knowing it likely wasn’t going to go anywhere, especially now that she had been hiding from me since our kiss.

“Okay dad tell Drew I said hi and I’ll play Fortnite with him tomorrow,” I say into the phone, ready to hang up.

“Okay kid, love you.”

“Love you dad.”

The silence is deafening, again. Like it used to be before I became friends with Iz. I felt alone, anxious, my head spinning with thoughts I couldn’t turn off. I thought she was mature enough to handle this like two adults. If she just wanted to be friends then she could just tell me, at least we could continue our friendship like that.

But usually when I kissed a girl, they didn’t run away like this. Quite the opposite. Did she not like the way I kissed? Was I off my game? Maybe the tongue was too much? Maybe she didn’t like my outfit. I’m a good kisser, I know I am. Good enough to get girls into bed with ease. So what is the trouble now? And I also know that that was the best kiss I had ever had. That our lips fit together just right. Fuck this girl had me going out of my mind. And now I just had to wait for her to reach out, it didn’t feel fair.

No. It wasn’t fair. Why did I have to wait for her? Who said I had to? Fuck that.

Too frenzied to even throw a shirt over my sports bra, I walk downstairs determined, knocking on Izara’s door angrily, preparing a speech of everything I’d been thinking the past few days: Look, Izzie, we’re both adults. You clearly think the kiss was a mistake. But avoiding me and acting like this is ridiculous and stupid and we don’t need to be acting like teenage-

“Paige?”

Izzie opens the door, voice weak and nasally. She’s in a pale pink pyjama set, hair up in a clip and nose red and irritated. She wasn’t lying. Definitely not. She is sick.

Quick, improvise.

“Uh, hey,” I mumble, my cheeks turning pink, her red eyes staring up at me reminiscent of Saturday night and the moments before our kiss on the balcony. “Trey told me you were sick.”

She chuckles, looking down at her dishevelled appearance and returns her gaze to me. “How did you know,” she jokes. She’s acting like nothing happened between us. How could she act like that? I guess it’s better than if she actually had been avoiding me.

“Was worried, haven’t seen you since… The party,” I say unsurely.

“Uh… Yeah. Crazy party huh,” Izzie says almost to herself. “Well, anyway, thanks for checking in but I’m perfectly okay. Just a cold and I think it’s passing.”

She begins to close the door but I grab it, holding it open.

“You been resting?” I ask concerned.

The girl shrugs. “Well at first but now I’m just getting bored so I’ve been doing some work from home.”

“Izzie…”

“What?”

“You gotta be restin’ if you’re sick,” I argue, which makes the girl roll her eyes.

“I’m fine Paige,” she answers, but I step inside.

“Let me in.”

“No, you’ll get sick,” she complains but I shake my head.

“I won’t. I’m built different.”

Izzie laughs, deciding it was pointless to try to argue and lets me in.

Her apartment is spotless as always, laptop open on her dining table with schedules and notebooks piled next to it. This bitch hadn’t been resting, no she’s been working and cleaning.

“Izzie!” I groan and close the laptop.

“Shoes! Shoes shoes shoes!” She yelps, voice breaking as she does.

“‘M sorry!” I gasp and take my sneakers off quickly, placing them neatly by the entrance. I feel her eyes fixed on me.

“Do you ever wear a shirt?” She asks, blowing her stuffy nose, which makes me let out a single laugh.

“Why, you want me to?” I ask confidently, easily falling into the same effortlessness as before.

My words make the girl blush. Perhaps the kiss wasn’t that bad? Fuck, I don’t know. Maybe I should just ask… Ask what?! If the kiss was good?! Bro… Get a grip.

“Well you’re going to get cold, it’s freezing here,” she tells me, turning away and walking to the couch where pillows are neatly arranged, an expensive looking blanket neatly folded on the armrest. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it definitely was not cold, that her apartment was scorching hot already making me sweat.

“Yo, you’re kidding right?” I laugh as I watch her somewhat pitifully curling up against the corner of the couch on her single throw pillow.

“What?”

“Iz, you’re sick!”

“Wow, thanks for rubbing it in my face,” she says nasally, blowing her nose again.

“Bro, that pillow is just sad! You need a nest,” I gasp, walking to her bedroom.

“Wait wait wait, it’s a mess in there,” she yelps, following after me. Mess, it is not. There is one hoodie on the bed, which is unmade. That’s it. I pull the heavy blanket off her bed, grabbing all four pillows and walking decisively to the couch with the dark-haired girl on my tail.

“What are you doing?” She asks as I begin to set up each pillow into a nest against the corner of the couch. She’s grabbing my arm and peeking at my actions from behind my back, clearly confused.

“I’m makin’ you a nest,” I explain, brows furrowing as I focus. This is serious business. “My stepmom does this when we’re sick.”

“A nest?” Izzie laughs.

“Yeah, get in,” I order, grabbing the girl’s shoulders and sitting her down. “Now lie back. Get comfy.”

Hesitating for a moment, Izzie curls up against the pillows as I place the blanket over her, watching as she gets comfortable with a smile on her face.

“There you go,” I coo, trying her forehead which is burning hot. “You have a fever Iz, I’m gonna get you some meds.”

“Paige, you don’t have to do this,” she sighs, looking up at me softly. I want to lean down and kiss her again. Instead, I bring my hand to her warm cheek, stroking it softly. She looks vulnerable, gentle for once. It made me want her even more.

“Lemme take care of you ma.”

She doesn’t comment on the nickname, matter of fact there’s a hint of a smile on her face when she nods.

“The cabinet above the microwave.”

“Got it,” I tell her, pretty much scurrying to the kitchen, gathering everything you could think - water, painkillers, nose spray, I even cut up some fruit for her. But when I return the poor girl is in her nest, cuddled up, fast asleep. It hurts my heart to wake her up, but she needs these meds in her.

“Iz,” I murmur carefully, brushing dark locks away from her face. She blinks herself awake, rubbing her face. Everything about it makes me want to wrap her in my arms and never let anyone close in case they hurt her.

“Fuck, I fell asleep,” she yawns. “I’m sorry I’m a mess.”

“You’re sick ma,” I remind her, sitting next to the girl on the couch and watching as she takes her medicine.

“This is so embarrassing,” she murmurs, sipping on the glass of water. Her cheeks are bright red, hair undone and eyes tired - I swear it’s the most beautiful I’ve ever seen her look.

“Izara,” I say sternly. “You’re sick, lemme help.”

“You’re gonna get sick too, and you have your first game soon love.”

“I’ll be fine, I got mad immune system powers.”

She giggles. “Immune system powers?”

“You heard,” I nod, fighting a grin. She coughs a little.

“Paige?”

Oh God. She’s gonna bring up the kiss now. I know it. I can feel it.

“Y-yeah?”

She takes a deep breath. “Can we watch Lady and The Tramp?”

“How are you already crying?” Paige asks with a giggle, leaning against the opposite corner of the couch.

“Lady as a puppy always makes me cry! How could it not?” I sniffle, wiping my nose, watching the scene where Lady doesn’t want to sleep in her dog bed, the poor puppy crying for her dad.

The blonde is chewing on an apple in her sports bra and black Nike sweats, muscles grown more prominent over her training period with the Wings, arms bigger, shoulders wider, outline of the muscles on her abdomen faintly visible even as she slouches.

“What kinda names are Darling and Jimmy Dear anyway?” She asks, dramatically frustrated.

“Paige, you’re slow,” I laugh. “Lady thinks those are their names because they call each other those as like, pet names darling.”

The blond thinks for a while, and then grins. “Oh.”

We both burst into a choir of laughter, though it feels rough against my scratchy throat. Still, I could feel the medication already making me feel better. Or maybe it was the company.

My mind had been a mess after I escaped the party. I felt embarrassed, childish even for running away like I did, leaving Paige high and dry. Once I woke up the next morning it was hard to figure out what truly happened and what was my mind playing tricks on me. But I knew the kiss really took place the moment I remembered it, the weight of Paige’s kiss a mere memory on my lips. One wouldn’t forget a kiss like that. It was impossible.

Getting sick had been a lucky coincidence, giving me time to think and take some distance from the situation. I found it impossible to figure out where my desire for Paige and desire for physical contact differed. I couldn’t tell if I was just lonely. Or if I really liked her. I never considered it, me having feelings (if you could call it that) for a girl again. But now as she sat there, looking like that, I wanted nothing but to get on her. To climb onto her lap and kiss her again like we had on the balcony. Without the drunken hue, just us feeling each other.

Even as sick as I am, the familiar burn and ache that always showed up around the blonde begins to grow between my legs, making me squirm. Fuck, maybe I did like her. All I knew I definitely wasn’t in a place to start anything - that no matter what this was it would have to stay casual. I haven’t gotten rid of the ghost of my past relationship. No, not at all. I could see it looming around every corner, peeking through windows, just right outside my line of vision. I wasn’t ready.

Paige’s hand comes over to my bare feet poking out of the blanket, bringing them to her lap and beginning to rub them almost as if subconsciously, like unaware of the entire thing. Except her cheeks turn red as she does. My entire body relaxes, and I let her. For almost half of the movie she massages each toe, the arch of my foot, my ankle, leaving goosebumps everywhere.

“I’m cold,” I complain, pulling my feet back under the blanket, feeling like a block of ice.

“I’m so hot,” Paige groans, now more invested in the movie, making small comments here and there.

“Lucky,” I groan which makes her snicker.

“Scooch,” The blonde tells me. Before I can resist she’s made her way under the blanket, into the nest, lying behind me and wrapping an arm around my waist. I fit in her arms perfectly, like I was made to be her counterpart, born to be in her arms like this, every curve of her body slotting with mine just right. My ass pressing into her, the blonde’s chin brushing against my shoulder, hot breath tickling against my ear nearly making me moan. Fuck.

“I- I thought you were hot,” I mumble, beginning to lose my composure.

“But you’re cold,” she murmurs into my ear, nose nuzzling into my hair as we keep watching the movie. Though I can’t concentrate. Even on my favourite movie. My head spinning too fast, speeding up even more when my pyjama top hikes up and Paige’s fingertips rub circles against my lower stomach, dangerously close to dipping into my pyjama pants.

“P-paige,” I almost whisper, my voice coming out breathy.

“Mhm?” The blonde’s voice is shaky too, a hoarse hum straight into my ear making me even wetter than I already am.

“You’re gonna get sick,” I remind her, my chest heaving.

“I’m good,” she breathes out, shifting a little, her head fitting just in the crook of my neck. Perfectly. “Are you?”

She’s asking for consent, I can tell. To dip her fingers underneath the band, to slide them into my panties. And God I want to give it to her. To let her have her way with me. The temptation is growing nearly impossible to resist.

“I-” I nearly say it. But then I shift to my back, to meet her gaze. Paige’s face is flushed, nostrils flaring as she breathes, hand remaining on my bare stomach. “How are you feeling about the game?”

“Oh, uhh,” Paige is taken aback, pulling her hand back to my dismay, bringing it to her jaw and rubbing it. “I mean, I haven’t really thought about it if I’m honest? I’m excited to see my dad and Dorka.”

“She went to Uconn with you, right?”

The blonde nods. “I mean issa big moment for sure, but I just wanna take it one day at a time.”

I hesitate. “Are you not nervous at all?”

She lets out a single laugh and looks around the room. “Nah I am. Just tryna keep my mind off it.”

I nod, understanding. I wish I could carry some of her worry, I could tell she was more nervous than she let on. But instead of talking I slide my hand into hers, which seems to comfort the girl more than words, her blue eyes locking with mine. She’s thinking, mulling something over in her head. I can tell.

“The party… Iz, I-”

“Shh,” I tell her before she can keep going, my throat going dry, the ache between my thighs nearly painful. I wasn’t ready to talk, at all. All I wanted was to feel it again, the weight of her lips on mine. So bad I felt dizzy.

“Nah, Izzie, c’mon. I think we both feel we-”

“Paige?”

“Yeah mama?”

“Kiss me.”

It makes no sense. But I don’t hesitate. Leaning down, my lips crashing into hers with such hunger it makes me uncharacteristically whine. My body is on fire, every inch burning up as our lips slide against one another, boxers growing damp quickly. My hand carefully holds her cheek, like the girl next to me might break. But to my surprise she pulls me on top of her by the back of my head.

I’m tasting for every inch of her, slowing down and taking my time, unlike that drunken mess on the balcony. Somehow this is even better, the kiss of the century even. Her body is cool to the touch, a sign of the fever going down. But I barely register, kissing her bottom lip affectionately, my hands holding her face. Izzie responds, her teeth pulling on my lip harshly making me groan. Her warm tongue brushes over it, soothingly.

I open my mouth further, my tongue meeting hers, other hand moving to the bare waist of the girl underneath me. I can’t believe this is real. That I’m kissing Izara. It feels like some type of dream, but the ache between my legs proves that every second is real. That she’s really underneath me. And If I’m feeling my core throbbing just from the kiss, I’m certain the dark haired girl feels something similar and the idea of my girl feeling such pain and not having it taken care of breaks my heart.

So my thumb dips underneath the band of her satin pyjama pants, feeling the lace of her underwear as it does. Zari lets out a shaky whimper, her eyes fluttering open.

“Paige,” she whines, brows furrowing.

“Yeah?” I ask breathlessly, leaning down to kiss under her ear which makes her squirm under my weight.

“C-can you keep your hands,” another moan as I suck on her neck, careful not to leave a mark. Izara didn’t seem like the type of woman you marked. “On top of the clothes.”

God she’s gonna be the death of me. But I oblige happily, pulling my hand back to her bare waist.

“Whatever you want Izzie,” I say between ragged breaths, making the girl moan as I keep kissing her neck. Izara’s hands wrap around my back, long acrylics scratching at the skin there.

“Shit,” I cuss under my breath, feeling like I might die or cum in my pants if I don’t get to have her. Still, I keep kissing her, fully aware what a privilege it was just to be on her like this. I do everything to try to stay composed, to keep my cool, to focus on putting on my best show as I return back to sloppily kissing her lips, shifting on top of her, my other hand beside Izzie’s face to hold me up.

As I move my hips, my knee presses into her core, against the sheer fabric of the pajamas making her gasp straight into my mouth. I repeat the movement with purpose now, and can feel the heat radiating off her, the fabric between her legs growing damp. She wants this just as bad as I do.

“Lemme keep going, please,” I whimper, brows furrowed and barely conscious of what is happening at this point. “Lemme help ma, won’t even touch you.”

Her face is contorted with need, chest heaving desperately.

“It hurts don’t it? Lemme help,” I coo, my lips wrapping around her earlobe and sucking softly. “Please.”

“Paige,” she whimpers, her body shaking with need. But I feel her shift, legs wrapping around my body. “Please.”

Oh God, I might actually cum in my sweats.

I kiss her all over, her neck, bare shoulders, mind spinning with need, my cunt growing wetter and wetter with every moan that leaves Izzie’s lips as I push my knee against her core, gently, so as to not hurt her.

“P-paige,” she moans my name. My name.

“Ohh fuck,” I cuss, squeezing my eyes shut at the way her voice sounds, deep and gravelly, turning more high-pitched each time I grind my knee into her cunt.

“Let me get you right ma, please,” I beg breathlessly, shaking my head to myself trying to keep myself present. “Please, Iz, would do anything to fuck you,”

She’s speechless, whimpering desperately, but I can feel her muscles turning tense from the pleasure I’m giving her, legs shaking gently.

“Would be so good, just lemme eat that pussy,” I moan into her ear. “Gimme five.”

Pulling back, I meet her gaze. Her contorted face, dark brows furrowed and lips parted, green eyes blown out black. This is the most beautiful she has ever looked. Easily. Could look at her like this forever.

I can tell she’s considering, mulling it over in her head. Just as her lips part the ring of her phone interrupts the moment, the obnoxious sound blaring over the movie playing in the back. Of course. I can never have anything good. Just little tastes.

“Fuck,” Izzie mumbles and abruptly sits up as if suddenly thinking clearly. I climb off her, watching as she fumbles to find her phone.

“Here,” I catch it, handing it to her. It’s Kiran, her brother.

“Fuck, I promised I’d help him with his paper,” she groans, still trying to catch her breath.

“Uh, okay,” I murmur, attempting to catch mine, awkwardly shifting further on the couch, watching as the girl gets up and walks into the bedroom, closing the door behind her, leaving me there once again. Wanting more.

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#so it goes #lilas writing #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x fem oc #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers smut #wnba x oc #paige bueckers fanfic

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xxchumanixx · 1 day ago

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Beach Adventures

Pedro Pascal x fem!reader

Summary: Pedro takes the opportunity to fuck you at the beach.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ mdni!, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!), fingering, multiple orgasms (two), filthy talk, implied age gap (because, let's face it, we're all much younger than him), established relationship, porn without a plot

Word Count: 5.289

Authors Note: What. Did. I. Do. I don't know. But this video of Pedro? It sent me down a spiral I wasn't ready to be pushed down. This was living in my head rent-free since then, and i think it's time it does something for its stay! I hope you'll enjoy this. Never did anything for Pedro before, so this is kinda new. Also, it's been a while since I did smut, so, please, cut me some slack.

Enjoy!

You should have known he'd take that challenge - and succeed it.

Making you horny at the beach on your vacation? Yes.

Making you come on his fingers at the beach? Yes.

Fucking you at the public beach? Triple that yes.

Pedro sat in the reclined chair under the parasol at the beach, busy reading the book he had brought along for the Christmas holidays. You were sitting in a chair right beside his, bathing in the sun. He'd be lying if he said you weren't distracting him in your tiny swim suit.

You stretched a bit, the sun making you sleepy. "How's your book?" you asked, eyes still closed.

He chuckled softly at your comment, seeing as your eyes were still closed. Clearly you hadn't been paying attention to the world around you for a short moment. "It's alright. Very well written, but a little boring for my taste." he admitted, closing it for a brief moment just to admire the view of you in your swim suit. "How's... sun bathing going?"

You hummed. "Good." you said. "Though I'm sorry for the book. I know how excited you were about it."

He shook his head, waving it off almost immediately. He set the book to the side, turning his chair just a tiny bit to see you even better. "It's alright, babe. Can't like everything right?"

You hummed once more. "That's true."

His hand moved up onto your leg, running up and down your thigh absentmindedly. It was a very subtle move, but clearly, he was in need of some entertainment.

"Are you getting sun burnt yet? You've been laying there for a while - I'd hate for you to turn red later.” he mused.

You snorted under your breath. "I have some very good sunscreen." you told him. "Don't worry. I can still turn onto my front if you're scared, though."

He chuckled. Despite the fact he was enjoying the view of you lying there, he'd much rather see you on your stomach anyway. Less... distracting. "Oh yes, that would be much better. Don't wanna miss any spot while applying more sunscreen you know, gotta make sure everything is covered in SPF."

You hummed, turning onto your stomach. "You're absolutely right." you mumbled.

The sun felt so nice. It was a nice distraction from everything. Holidays meant no work, no events or galas to attend to. No dressing up, no socializing. Just Pedro, a couple friends, and you.

His eyes scanned you up and down, admiring your naked back and how the thin straps of your swim suit kept you from being completely exposed. Pedro didn't mind, he could easily pull those tiny strings...

He leaned forward, a small smirk forming on his face. His hand moved up and down your naked back, touching the smooth skin.

You sighed, relaxing into the chair.

He chuckled softly at your reaction, enjoying the fact he could get a reaction out of you just by touching your skin. He moved his fingers to the straps of your swim suit, pulling it a little.

"Would you mind if I took the straps off? So I could apply the sunscreen everywhere?" he wanted to know.

You repressed a snort. Right, for the sunscreen. "No, go ahead."

He smirked as you agreed. He was going to have a lot of fun here. His fingers moved around your body, pulling the straps off of it, exposing you almost completely. His eyes traveled up and down your body, taking in every inch of it in the process.

He grabbed the lotion, squirting a bunch of it into his hand, before slowly spreading it across your soft skin, covering you in sunscreen from the top of your neck all the way down your back.

"Pedro?" you mumbled his name. "Are we gonna go to that little bar we saw yesterday, later? It looked really nice."

He raised an eyebrow absentmindedly, his hands continuing to move across your body. He was just getting to your lower back now, massaging the sunscreen into your skin, not realizing you were talking at first until he heard you say his name once more.

"Hm?" He hummed, snapping out of the trance he had been in for the past few minutes. "Bar? Yeah, we can do that. I could use a few drinks and some music."

"Everything okay?" you asked, though you already knew what was going through his head. Being an actor meant for him being very busy and on the run most of the time, which left little time for... other activities.

Chuckling, Pedro leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lower back, not caring about the sunscreen he’d just applied there. He couldn't help it, you just looked so good, completely exposed for him to see and touch...

"I'm perfect, baby. Just got a little... distracted. That's all." He moved up onto his knees a bit, his hands slipping a bit further down your body. "We should go somewhere a little more... private, though."

You snorted softly. "Why?" you asked. "The sun's feeling so nice."

He chuckled, continuing to spread the sunscreen across your body, until he was on your legs. Once on the tops of your legs, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to one thigh and then the other.

"You know exactly why, baby.” he mumbled into your skin. “You don't need your thighs exposed to the world, not when I can take my time with you in private..."

"Didn't you do that this morning already?" you mused. The morning had indeed been... busy, causing you and Pedro to miss breakfast.

He hummed. Yes, they did do some... things earlier that day, but that felt like ages ago, and not nearly enough to satisfy him completely.

"I don't need a reason to enjoy your body again.” he gave back. “Or an excuse, for that matter. You should know that by now, mi amor."

"Oh, I do." you sighed. "Why do you think I brought this swimsuit?"

Snickering, he ran his hands up and down every soft curve of your body. “You mean this little thing?" He tugged on the fabric of your top, enjoying how little it covered. "I do love it. Almost too much, darling...”

You chuckled quietly at his words. "Yeah?"

He nodded, his eyes traveling the length of your body once more. "It looks so... good.” he mumbled dreamily. “Really reveals your curves. I love it." His hands ran up and down your legs now, taking his time to caress your smooth skin. His touch on your thighs almost lingered just a bit longer than necessary.

"I'm glad." you mumbled. "Picked it just for you, mi amor."

He hummed happily as you called him that, his hands now moving to the inside of your thighs and then up to the tiny fabric strip of your swimsuit in the middle. He tugged on it a little as if testing your limits.

"You're trying to kill me here, aren't you?" he asked.

You grinned softly. "Only a bit."

He chuckled, continuing to tease you with his touch. His hand reached over, picking up the lotion again, before squeezing some onto your thighs, spreading it across your soft skin.

"You're gonna end up going to that bar with a little... problem, if you keep this up.“ Pedro murmured.

You huffed. "What problem?"

Chuckling again, he continued to spread the lotion, moving further and further up your legs, until his knuckles were brushing against your bikini bottoms.

"Oh, I think you're smart enough to figure that one out, mi vida. Unless, of course, you want me to explain myself?"

"Please do." you breathed out, though knowing exactly what he meant. "Wouldn't wanna risk a misunderstanding."

He smirked, his hand moving just a little higher up and around your body. Then, very subtly, he moved his finger against the front of your bikini bottoms, pressing it right against the sensitive area there, not doing much, just touching.

"I think you know exactly what's about to happen if you push me a little further, darling."

You swallowed, heat rising up your spine. "You sure?" you asked, keeping your voice steady. "‘Cause I'm not."

He chuckled. You were testing him, challenging him. It excited him, though, knowing you wanted to see how far he'd go. He didn't mind showing you one bit.

"You're a naughty little tease." he breathed out, slowly applying pressure to your sweet clit with his finger, rubbing it gently and teasingly through the fabric, just to see your reaction.

You gritted your teeth, trying to keep your hips from moving. "Am I?" you asked. "And here I thought that part was yours, old man."

He smirked at you calling him old, knowing fully well by now that was only for the purpose of riling him up. He loved it.

"Old man? That ain't very nice, darling." He mused, rubbing over your clit a little rougher. He was trying to find your limits, testing your patience.

"Ain't it?" you breathed out, the slightest bit of strain to your voice. "Just stating facts. You're older than me, I was told to show respect to my elders."

He snickered. "Elders aren't the same as old men, mi amor.“ he said. „I don't think you're showing much respect here. Not with the way you're teasing me, at least.“

"Not doing it on purpose." you tried to defend yourself, though it was a clear lie. "Maybe a little."

He smirked, continuing to rub your clit. Slowly, but surely, rubbing a little faster every time he moved his finger. He loved teasing you too, just to see when you'd give in.

"A little? You're doing it on purpose entirely, mi vida. You love to tease me, and you enjoy every second doing it." he gave back, brows furrowing slightly.

You bit your cheek, a strangled breath leaving your lips. "Just tryna test your durability." you said. "Fifteen years aren't nothing, baby."

Pedro chuckled, continuing is ministrations on your clit before moving his fingers across the edge of your bikini bottoms, teasing you with the idea of slipping them underneath them. He knew you couldn't last much longer, but you knew he was just as weak as you were.

"Hmm, you mean you doubt my durability, darling? Is that what you're trying to say here?" His voice was low, his words barely above a whisper.

You bit your lip. "I'm just tryna look out for you, Josè." you said. "Can't have you getting bored with me."

He chuckled and bit his lip, leaning down and whispering in your ear. "Oh, I could never get bored with you. Not after seeing you like this, mi amor. So beautiful, so... desirable." Moving his fingers back to your clit, he added a little more pressure, just enough to send a jolt through your body. "And that's why you won't ever have me get bored in the first place.“ he added.

"Hngh- that's good to know." you pressed out, inhaling shakily. "You're being mean, Pedro."

He chuckled, his touch getting more intense the longer he continued. He loved to tease you like this, loved the way you reacted to his touch. He knew he was close to breaking you. All he had to do was push you just a little bit further.

"Oh, I'm being mean, am I?“ he mused. „Well, maybe you should've thought about that before you decided to tease an old man like me, darling."

You scoffed. "That's not fair."

He smiled, leaning closer to your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. "Not fair?“ he echoed, his hot breath fanning against your skin. „It's not fair that you tease me, knowing what it does to me. And it's not fair that you keep testing me, just to see where I break, when we both know damn well that you aren't lasting much longer either.“

You bit your cheek. "We're at the beach." you breathed out.

He smiled, whispering against your skin, his hand running the risk of pushing your bikini bottoms to the side once more, but not quite getting there yet. He loved the reactions he was getting out of you so far, he loved the way you breathed faster, the way you squirmed. He loved it.

"No one's nearby.“ he mumbled. „They're all more towards the entrance of the beach, mi vida. We've got the corner all to ourselves..."

You huffed quietly. "Still wanna go to that private place?"

Pedro pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his hand moving across the crotch of your bikini bottoms. He was testing your limits.

"A private place would be nice, yes." he whispered to you. "Or we could stay right here, see how far you'll let me go...“

You swallowed, heat rising farther up your body. "That was the purpose of the question, Pedro.“ you gave back, doing your best not to squeeze your thighs together.

Pedro’s fingers found your clit again, slowly beginning to move them in circles once more. He whispered into your ear, his voice low, rough.

„I just want you to admit it, mi vida... Are you desperate for me, darling? Do you need me as much as I need you right now?"

"Always, Pedro." you breathed out. "You know that."

He chuckled, gently kissing your neck again. That admission from you was more than enough for him. He knew you needed him just as bad as he needed you. Without warning, his fingers moved the fabric of your bottoms to the side, his fingertips brushing against your bare, sensitive folds.

"How much do you want me, mi vida?” he whispered. “You need my touch? Need it so bad you're letting me do this right here in public?"

You swallowed thickly, the wetness pooling between your legs intensifying. "Yes, Pedro." you breathed out. "So much."

He hummed happily at your words, pleased with your response. He pushed a single finger inside of you, though not moving it yet.

"You'll need to stay quiet for me, mi amor.“ he murmured. „We wouldn't want anyone to see us, after all. Could you do that, darling?"

You bit your lip, leaning your forehead against the backrest as you let out a strangled breath. "Sure."

Pedro chuckled, moving his finger slowly in and out of you, eliciting a broken moan to spill from your lips. His movement was steady, but he didn't want to rush things just yet. You had time.

"Are you sure you can stay quiet?“ he wondered out loud. „Because you're not being all too quiet right now, mi amor. Just imagine what the others would think if they saw you right now... You're not as good at holding in your sweet little noises as you think you are."

You breathed shakily. "Yes, Pedro." you mumbled as your spine seemed to liquefy to lava. "I can.”

He smiled, chuckling softly in your ear. He knew you couldn't, he knew you would break eventually. But damn if it wasn't fun to tease you like this. He pressed a kiss to your neck.

"We shall see, mi amor. We shall see..."

His finger kept moving, steadily getting faster and rougher as he went along. Continuing to listen to you for now, he paid attention to any noise, any whimpers, or even the smallest of moans you let out.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on your breathing. White hot pleasure nipped at your nerve endings, want and desire swirling through you.

Pedro knew what he had to do. He moved his finger faster, pressing his lips to your neck, moving up and down the sensitive skin there.

„That’s it, mi vida. Just focus on your breathing.“ he whispered to you, his movements not stopping anytime soon. „Good, good. Just breathe…“

You squirmed, feeling lightheaded already. „Pedro.“ you breathed out. „You’re not helping.“

„I know.“ he whispered, his lips pressed against the sensitive spot behind your ear. He was enjoying getting this reaction out of you, enjoying this game of his.

„But I want to see how bad you need Me. How bad you’re craving my touch.” He pressed a kiss to your neck again. „You’re holding out longer than I expected you to, mi amor. Maybe you deserve a little more?“

„Please, Pedro.“ you breathed out. For someone so innocent looking he clearly wasn’t.

He chuckled softly to your begging, amused by your submission to him. He hadn’t expected you to break that quickly. But now that he had you so desperate, begging him… Who was he to deny you, mi amor?

„You’re doing so good, mi vida. So good for me.“ he whispered to you, moving his finger inside of you faster for a second, before pulling it out and moving it up. He found your sweet nub again, rubbing against it before he started moving his fingertips in figure eights, adding pressure as he went.

You drew in a sharp breath, hips bucking almost automatically into his hand as more heat crept up your spine. You whimpered, desperately trying to keep quiet. Maybe it hadn’t been your best idea to do this out here.

He grinned against your neck, enjoying the reaction he got out of you. You were so perfect, so responsive to his touch. To him. He loved it, loved the way you bucked your hips into his hand, trying to get more, the way you whimpered so quietly, trying to keep it in.

„Shhh, mi amor. Remember you need to stay quiet. You don’t want the people nearby knowing what we’re doing.” he reminded you. As if he had to. “Do you?“

You huffed. Or the press. That’d be a headliner, though. Pedro Pascal fucking his younger girlfriend at the public beach. „I know...“ you groaned. Your hips already ached, the coil inside of you winding tighter and tighter.

„Don’t let out too much more noise, mi amor.” Pedro said, his tone almost a whine as his strong facade crumbled. “I don’t think I can hold out much longer if you keep whining and whimpering like that."

You whined on purpose, biting your lip, hard. Fuck! you thought. He was driving you right towards the edge of sweet bliss.

Pedro heard the whine, knowing that meant he was pushing you closer to the edge. He couldn’t hold back anymore, he was too excited and needed you just as bad as you needed him. He gently bit down on your exposed neck, hard enough to leave a mark, causing you to hiss.

„Hush, mi amor.” he whispered, tongue brushing over the mark. “We’re still in public. Hold back the cute little noises you’re making and I promise, I give you whatever you want later.”

„Please, Pedro.“ you whimpered, squirming underneath him. „Need you now.“

He chuckled in your ear, enjoying your begging. He was getting close to losing control, losing any sense of decency. But he wanted to get you off before he took care of himself, wanting to see you finish first. Hearing you whimper had him losing his composure, so desperate to do it right then and there.

You whimpered as he picked up the pace, leaving you trembling as you teetered on the edge, gasping for air. „Pedro,“ you breathed out. „I- I’m-”

He smiled as he heard the desperate way you were begging for him, knowing you were close, and he didn’t dare stop now.

„Shhh, mi vida. I know… I know you’re close, mi amor.“ he whispered soothingly, wanting to send you over the edge. „Don’t hold it back, mi amor. I‘ve got you. Let go.“

You squirmed, drawing in a shaky breath before you squeezed your eyes shut, covering your mouth with your hand as you came, violently clenching around nothing. Your body trembled, hips bucking wildly.

He could still hear the sweet little whimpers leaving your throat as you came for him. Just hearing you like that almost sent him over the edge on its own, his own breathing heavy in your ear as he helped bring you back down from the high.

„That’s it, mi amor. Good, good. You did so good for me, mi amor.”

You gasped for air, trying to steady yourself. Fuck.

He pulled his hand away, letting you catch your breath for a bit., moving his hands back up to your thighs. He wasn’t done with you yet. „You did such a good job holding back your sweet litle moans, mi amor.“ he whispered to you, leaning down and pressing small kisses to your neck. „Now I think you deserve a little more.”

You swallowed, wanting nothing more than for him to just fuck you into oblivion already. „Please...“

He pressed more kisses to your neck, his hands moving back to the edge of your bikini bottoms, tugging at them. „Please what, mi amor?“ he teased. “You need to tell me, darling. Use your words.”

„Please fuck me, Pedro.“ you breathed out, not caring how desperate you sounded. You’d go crazy if he wouldn’t be inside of you soon.

„There you go, mi amor.“ he mumbled, his lips brushing against your sensitive skin, fingers slowly pulling your bikini bottoms to the side once more, exposing you further to him. He loved the sight. He’d never get tired of it.

„That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.“ he mumbled, leaning down a bit, pressing a kiss to the top of your spine before moving his hands and cupping your ass, squeezing slightly.

Another sight he’d never grow tired of. He groaned quietly as you wiggled underneath him impatiently, your ass swaying with every movement. Yet he was just as impatient. Pulling his swimming trunks down enough to free his throbbing cock, he gave it a few pumps. He would have been lying if he said he hadn’t already been leaking into his trunks as he’d taken care of you. “You gotta be quiet, baby.” he mumbled, using his precum to lubricate himself.

„I’ll be quiet.“ you gave back. „I promise.”

„Good girl.“ he mumbled, positioning himself, before slowly and gently beginning to rub his aching length against your glistening folds, letting the friction build up for a few moments.

You suppressed a moan, inhaling shakily. He was riling you up and you loved and hated it.

He smiled, moving his hips just a bit faster.

„You’re being very quiet, mi amor.” he mused. “Are you actually serious about keeping your promise?“

„Yes.“ you breathed out, eyes fluttering. „Yes, mi amor.“

Humming happily, he moved his hips again, a subtle hint that he was going to push in, if you were ready. You pushed your ass further up, as good as it was possible in your position.

„I’m going to hold you to that promise, darling.“ he whispered, his hand gripping onto your hip a bit tighter.

With one final movement, he finally pushed inside, stretching you oh so deliciously. He moved his fingers back onto your hip to steady you, whilst he sank further and further into your warmth, hissing as your velvety walls clenched and fluttered around him in response.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with a gasp as he split you open. Fuck, so big. You would never get used to his girth, no matter how often he’d fuck you.

He listened to your reaction, enjoying the way you gasped with a small grin. He always loved to hear you like this, cherishing the moment he’d sink into you. He rarely did it fast, too greedy for the way you reacted, nearly sucking him in.

„Pussy’s so good to me.” he mumbled, his breath hot against your neck. He wanted this to last for a while, but he didn’t know how long he could hold out.

You shivered at his words, clenching around him. He hissed in return, huffing a breathy chuckle. He knew you did it on purpose, and damn if he didn’t love it.

Slowly, he started moving his hips, trying to be gentle and not rock the chair – or worse, topple it over. It wouldn’t have been the first time, yet he didn’t need it to happen right here where everyone could see.

He moved slow, wanting to enjoy this, every gasp, every whimper that left your lips. „You're so good for me, mi vida.” he breathed out, hips rutting into you a bit faster. “Pussy’s been made for my cock, huh?”

You clenched around him, sighing his name. “Only for you, baby.”

A soft moan left his mouth as he felt you clench around him once more. „So sweet and eager for me.”

He thrust a little harder, faster, effectively fucking the thoughts of other people possibly seeing you out of your head. Leaning closer, his chest brushed your back as he angled his hips to push deeper.

You moaned quietly, his name leaving your parted lips. „More, please, Pedro.” you whimpered.

He pressed a kiss to your neck, grinning against your skin as he heard you moan his name again. As you asked for more, he moved a little faster, his hand slipping farther down your body.

„That’s it, mi amor… Moan my name for me.“ he whispered, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. He could tell he was getting close already, but he wanted to be absolutely certain you were getting what you needed first. Not that he had any doubts that you were enjoying every second of this, considering your whimpers and sounds, but he wanted to make sure.

„Let me know when you’re close, mi amor. Want you to finish before me.“ he breathed into your ear, teeth tugging on it lightly.

You clenched around him once more at his words. Always so considerate. „I will“ you breathed out in a whimper. „Want you to come inside of me. Want your cum dripping outta me, Pedro.”

He moaned hearing your words. Hearing you telling him exactly what you wanted was just so damn exciting, so hot… it pushed him right towards the edge.

„Anything you want, mi amor.” he promised. “Will give you anything you want, mi vida. Anything you need.“

His movements were getting rougher now, not bothering to hold back from you anymore. He didn’t need to. He could trust you, he knew you wouldn’t give them away to anyone. He just knew. And that allowed him to forget about everything else, just focus on you and this moment right there.

„Do you need more, mi amor? Are you getting close, mi vida?“ he wanted to know.

You whimpered in return. „More, please?“ you asked. „Your fingers, please, Pedro. Can feel you twitching already.”

He growled against your skin, wrapping his arm around your chest, holding you firmly, so he could use his other hand for you. „That’s it. That’s my good, sweet girl. Asking for what you want, being so desperate for me. I like that, mi amor. I’Il give you what you need.“ he mumbled directly Into your ear, the words sending chills through your body as you listened to them.

„Move your lower half up for me a little, so I can take care of you, mi amor.“

You did as you were told, lifting your hips a little.

Pedro hummed happily feeling you move, giving him a better angle. He was pretty certain that nobody from the beach would be able to see anything from here, and he didn’t care either. All he cared about right now was you and that you needed him. His hand slid down your body, feeling down your stomach for a moment, until it was able to move the fabric of your bottoms aside once more. His fingertips found your sweet clit, rubbing over it in small, quick movements, wanting to please you. Sure, he could have taken his time, could have made you come on his cock alone, but he didn’t know how much time you had until someone would question what was going on under your parasol. He wanted to make sure you felt good, and make sure you’d reach your peek.

You moaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you gasped, hoping no one would hear you.

„Shhh, mi amor, you’re being so good.” he praised you. “Being so quiet. Such a good girl for me. But I know you’re close.“ He moved his hips a little rougher, moving them in a steady, quick pace now, matching his fingers. He was getting close, and he was starting to get desperate, but he never forgot about your needs.

Moving his fingertips in quick, small circles, he knew it would almost certainly send you over the edge. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to last, but he didn’t care. It was all about you, about making you feel good.

The pleasure was mind numbing, the way he fucked you always so good. It didn't take long for you to teeter on the edge.

You stiffened slightly in his hold, hiding your face in the backrest of the chair as the coil tightened, and you fell apart, desperately trying to muffle any sounds.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he heard you finally let go, falling apart for him. It was an amazing sight when he was able to make you finish, and he loved it. Just then though, he was unable to hold back. You clenching around him, your noises you tried to keep quiet… He finally gave in, coming inside of you, gasping into your ear as he breathed your name over and over again.

You whimpered, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Perfect, just perfect.

He pressed kisses to your neck, trying to catch his breath, still holding you against his chest. He needed you close, he just needed to feel you against him, needed to be close to you right in that moment. You grounded him like no one else did.

„I love the way you sound when you come for me, darling.” he mumbled, nuzzling his nose into your neck. “It’s so sweet and perfect. The sounds you make... I love them. I love every part of you…”

You smiled, still trying to calm your breathing „I love you, Pedro.“ you breathed out, exhausted.

He chuckled softly into your neck, holding you close against his chest and kissing your neck a couple times. „I love you too, mi vida. So much. You’re perfect.“

He slowly pulled out, pulling your bottoms back into place. As much as he would have loved to just stay there with you, he knew they eventually had to move. He had no intention of leaving you anytime soon though. He was happy here on the beach.

You whimpered involuntarily when he pulled out, sighing deeply as you sank further into the chair. „You’re too good to me, Pedro.“ you mumbled. „Leaving me full of your cum.“

He chuckled into your neck, loving how you spoke to him. He was already addicted enough to you, but hearing you using such filthy words... He pressed another kiss to your neck, his own breathing still a little heavy. „I’II always take care of you, mi amor. And I love taking care of you, especially in this way… I can’t deny you what you need, especially when I’m getting something out of it too.“

You huffed a chuckle. „Sounds just fair.“

He smiled, holding you in his arms, just enjoying the moment before anything else. „It does sound fair, doesn’t it?“ he mumbled. „There is one disadvantage to this, though.“

You frowned, turning your head so your cheek rested against the backrest. „What is it?“

He moved his head a little bit, leaning it against yours, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. „I'm not going to be able to let you wander around this beach again wearing just this without thinking of what I’m going to do to you in this seat again.“

#pedrohub #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal #pedro x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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cressidagrey · 16 hours ago

Text

Such A Mystery - Part 11

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby.

Warnings:

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 11 of 12!

Chapter 11

His sister's screams were bloodcurdling.

Charles had known that birth was a painful, messy affair, that it was never easy, but actually hearing his sister’s very real, very painful screams from the room beyond was a truly eye-opening experience. He didn’t know how women could survive this, frankly.

Arthur looked green around the gills, not helped by the white bandage on his forehead…which apparently had been the result of him fainting and being taken down by the corner of a hospital bed.

"I am never having kids," Arthur said, swallowing heavily.

"I am rethinking my family planning as well," Lorenzo said weakly. "I don't think I can stand seeing Charlotte go through that pain."

Arthur grimaced as another scream came ringing out from the room. “I think I am scheduling a vasectomy tomorrow,” he said faintly. “This absolutely confirms it as a good life decision for me.”

"I think that's the concussion talking," Charles tried to assure his brother, as another scream rang out.

On second thought…maybe Arthur was onto something.

And just at that moment, Colette's scream suddenly broke off. They froze—all of them.

Absolute silence rang through the room. Charles was afraid to even breathe. He had no idea what was happening on the other side of the door, and that terrified him. Everything had been going well so far, hadn't it?

And then a cry rang out.

A baby’s cry: shrill, a little indignant.

All three men let out their collective breaths in a sigh of pure relief.

The whole room was silent for a moment, as they processed the fact that their sister and her baby were alright.

“Oh, thank god,” Lorenzo said feebly. “I thought something awful had happened.”

“No kidding,” Arthur agreed. He sagged back against the wall behind him, his skin regaining a proper colour again, instead of the sickly green it had been moments before.

Charles leaned his head back against the wall, shutting his eyes for a brief second. It was over. Everything had gone alright.

Colette and her baby were both going to be okay.

"We are uncles now," Arthur said suddenly.

A beat of surprise. And then:

“Oh god, we are, aren’t we?” Lorenzo said.

“We’re uncles,” Arthur repeated a slightly shell-shocked look on his face.

Charles couldn’t help it. A smile broke out over his face, a very real, utterly ridiculous one that he didn’t have the energy to hold back. “We are, aren’t we?” he repeated Enzo’s words.

“This is absolutely insane!” Arthur said, a grin creeping over his face. “We’re going to be the coolest uncles ever.”

“I thought kids are overrated?” Lorenzo pointed out wryly.

“The most overrated,” Arthur insisted. “But I’m going to spoil our niece or nephew absolutely rotten.”

It took a little while longer, but finally, the door opened, revealing Max. He looked…exhausted. Absolutely beat. There were dark circles under his eyes…but a look of relief was on his face like Charles had never seen on his friend before. And yet, Max was grinning.

Looking happier than ever.

“Max,” Charles said, a little hoarsely. He wanted to ask how they were, he wanted to ask about the baby, he wanted to ask if Coco was alright. But all he could get out was Max’s name, his voice too thick.

"Come meet your niece," Max said simply.

He said the word ‘niece’ like it was the best thing in the world, and it made Charles smile. He straightened up, following Max into the room, Arthur and Lorenzo trailing behind him.

Coco was curled up in her bed, her hair messy, her face pale, but she was smiling, a weak little smile tinged with exhaustion but so very, very happy. And cradled against her chest was the baby, wrapped snugly in a little pink blanket.

Charles just sort of stopped dead in the midst of the room. Seeing his sister with her baby in her arms… it was like his brain had stopped functioning in the space of a moment.

All three brothers were silent for a long moment, just taking in the sight of them.

Charles felt a lump rise in his throat,and swallowed heavily.

Lorenzo was biting his lip, trying to keep the tears from welling up in his eyes. And Arthur was absolutely silent, all of the usual sass gone from his expression.

It was a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, as they all just stood awkwardly at the edge of the bed, just looking.

Finally, Coco looked up at them, and her smile widened faintly. “Well?” she asked. "Cha, don’t you want to hold your niece?"

His heart skipped, and he managed to pull himself forward so he could sit down on the bed next to her. “I get to hold her?” he asked, just to be certain.

"Of course, you do," Coco told him softly. "Here you go."

Charles could hardly believe it as Colette gently eased the baby into his arms, carefully supporting her head. And suddenly he was holding her, his niece, this brand new little life, in all of her tiny, delicate, vulnerable little glory, bundled up in a soft pink blanket.

"She's perfect," he said softly, swallowing.

She was so…fragile, in his hands. He hadn’t expected her to be that small, somehow. Charles smiled faintly, running his fingers gently over her hair. Her eyes were closed, and one tiny fist was poking out of the blanket.

"Does she have a name yet?" he asked his sister.

"I get to pick," Colette told him with a grin. "Given that Max named the cats after Monaco's nightlife."

Charles had to admit that was a fair point.

“What, you aren’t going to let Max name your daughter La Rascasse?” he teased Coco who just rolled her eyes. "What have you come up with?" he asked curiously, tearing his eyes away from his niece to look at his sister.

"If she was a boy, I would have named him Emilian Hervé after Papa," Colette said softly. "Sadly that doesn't work for a girl."

Charles smiled faintly at the mention of their father. Their father would have doted on this baby, he was certain. He would have spoiled her absolutely rotten.

"So I figured… somebody else needed to give their name for her," Coco continued. "I hope you don't mind."

"Of course, I don't mind," Charles assured her at once. Why should he? "Whose name did you use?" he wondered.

"Yours, you idiot, Cha," Coco told him, her voice soft. "Charlene Victoria Verstappen. We'll call her Charlie for short."

"Oh my god," Max's sister breathed somewhere behind him. "You.."

But Charles could only stare at his sister…could only feel the lump rise in his throat again. He swallowed hard. “You named her after me?” he asked with a waver in his voice, feeling like his heart might just explode in his chest.

"Of course, I did," Colette said softly. "You're my twin brother, why wouldn't I name my baby girl after you?"

Charles couldn't find any words to answer that with. He couldn't find any words at all. His eyes stung, and he couldn't look at her for fear he might cry. He looked down at the baby. His…god, his niece that was named after him.

He gently ran his fingers over her hair again, marvelling at her tiny, perfect little body. "Hello, Charlie," he said softly, his voice a little choked.

The baby didn't even stir, and Charles smiled, shifting slightly to support her more securely. He couldn't believe that his sister had done this, that she had named her baby girl after him. It made his heart feel like it was fit to burst straight out of his chest, made him try to blink back tears and fail horribly.

"Congratulations, you've made Charles cry," Lorenzo said from somewhere behind him, sounding a little choked himself.

Charles let out a noise that was half-laughing, half-crying as his brothers joined him at his side. "Shut up," he said, his voice rough with emotion.

"Not a chance," Arthur said as he squeezed in next to him to get a better look at the baby. Lorenzo joined him, peering down at the baby in Charles' arms with a strangely soft expression on his face.

"You gave her my name too," Victoria said weakly. Charles looked up at Max’s sister, not knowing what to say. It had sounded so obvious, so natural to hear Colette say it, that Charles had completely forgotten that Victoria shared the same name.

But she did.

"A sibling for each of us," Colette said simply. "Sorry, Enzo, Arthur. Maybe next time.”

“Nah, Arthurelle is a horrible name,” Arthur responded. “Totally see why you went for Charlene.”

Colette laughed, but it was a very weak, exhausted laugh. Charles couldn’t blame her. She must be absolutely wrung out.

And still as he looked at her...as her eyes met his, he could feel how happy his sister. How utterly in love she was with her daughter. How this was everything Colette had ever wanted, and it was right there.

"I am never driving you to the hospital again though, just so you know," Arthur said. “That cost me at least 30 years of my life.”

"But you did so well," Colette teased their younger brother. "Thank you for that, ma petite puce."

Arthur grimaced faintly, but he looked too tired and happy to actually bite back. Charles smiled faintly at all of them in turn.

Charles‘ eyes snagged on their mother.

"Well, Grand-Mère," he teased her. "How does it feel?"

For a long moment, their mother simply looked at the baby in Charles’ arms with an unreadable expression on her face. And then her expression slowly shifted into a smile. A true smile. A happy, proud Grandma smile.

“Your father would be so proud of you all.”

353 notes · View notes

aspenmissing · 2 days ago

Text

ARCANE: PREGNANCY

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ

6419 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɪɴꜰᴇʀᴛɪʟɪᴛʏ (ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ). ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇ ᴏ�� ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴛ (ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴏꜰ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ ʜᴀꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ꜱᴛᴏᴘ, ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ.

JAYCE

It had been a week or two since Y/N first realized she was pregnant. The realization had come as a shock, and though she'd kept it a secret, she had no idea how to tell Jayce. He had been busy with his work, his duties at the academy, and everything in Piltover that required his attention. She had just been trying to find the right moment, but it was harder than she'd anticipated. The news was life-changing, and she didn't want to burden him, even though she knew deep down that he would support her no matter what.

That morning, Y/N had run errands while Jayce stayed at home, catching up on his own work. As always, he had a few things to tidy up around the house — a rare moment where he was actually in their shared space, instead of off in his lab or at the academy. While sorting through some boxes under the bed that hadn't been touched in ages, Jayce kicked one of them over in an attempt to make space. It was one of those old cardboard boxes that Y/N had shoved there on a particularly busy day, not realizing what it contained.

Curious, Jayce pulled the box out from under the bed, his brow furrowing in confusion as he cracked it open. Inside, amidst old papers and forgotten mementos, were the unmistakable signs of something he hadn't expected — a pregnancy test, along with a paper that confirmed the news. Jayce's breath hitched as he stared at the test, eyes scanning the familiar words that he hadn't yet fully processed. The letter was clear, a confirmation that Y/N was indeed pregnant.

His heart raced, and for a long moment, he was paralyzed by the enormity of the situation. How long had she known? Why hadn't she told him? He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for not noticing, for not being more aware of what was happening. He had always considered himself a protector, a supporter, but now he felt as though he was falling short.

As he sat there holding the pregnancy test in his hand, he heard the sound of the door opening downstairs. Y/N’s voice floated up the stairs, and Jayce quickly placed the test back in the box, not wanting to overwhelm her.

Y/N walked in, her usual warm smile fading a little when she saw the tense look on his face. “Jayce?” she asked, her tone uncertain as she approached the bedroom door.

He was sitting on the bed, the box still resting beside him. “Y/N,” he began, his voice soft but full of emotion. “We need to talk.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She had no idea what was going on, but she could feel the weight in his words. She closed the door behind her, stepping into the room, her eyes glancing at the box on the bed. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice a little shakier than usual.

Jayce took a deep breath, looking up at her. The look in his eyes was a mixture of love, concern, and something else — something unspoken. He gestured to the box. “I found this... while I was cleaning.”

Y/N’s face turned pale as her gaze followed his hand to the box, and she instinctively felt her stomach churn. She knew what was coming. She hadn't expected him to find out like this.

She swallowed hard, gathering the courage to speak. “Jayce, I... I wanted to tell you,” she began, stepping closer, “but I wasn’t sure how. I didn’t know if it was the right time, and—”

“Y/N…” Jayce interrupted softly, his voice trembling slightly. He stood up and took a step toward her, gently placing his hands on her arms. “You’re pregnant.”

Y/N’s lips trembled as she nodded, feeling a lump rise in her throat. “Yes,” she whispered, her eyes filled with both fear and hope. “I found out a couple of weeks ago. But I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Jayce stared at her for a moment, the reality of it all sinking in. Then, without warning, he pulled her into a tight embrace. His arms wrapped around her like a protective shield, and he kissed the top of her head gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t know sooner. I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “But you don’t have to worry, Y/N. We’re in this together.”

Y/N blinked back tears, her arms wrapping around him in return. She had been so afraid that he wouldn’t be happy, that he wouldn’t understand. But his response was more than she had hoped for.

“I’ve just been... so scared,” she admitted, her voice muffled against his chest. “I didn’t want to burden you. You’ve already got so much going on with everything in Piltover. And I didn’t know if I was ready for this... for a baby.”

Jayce pulled back slightly to look at her, his hands gently cupping her face. His eyes were filled with nothing but reassurance and love. “We’ll figure it out, Y/N. Together. There’s no perfect time for this, but I know one thing — I want to be here for you, and for our baby. And we’ll make this work.”

Y/N couldn’t help but let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. Her heart was lighter now, the weight of her fears melting away in the warmth of his embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Jayce smiled down at her, his hands still gently holding her face. “You never have to thank me for this, Y/N. We’re in this together — all three of us.”

And in that moment, as the two of them stood together, embracing the new chapter in their lives, Jayce knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them as a family.

VIKTOR

It had been a few months since Viktor and Y/N had that heart-to-heart conversation. It was one of those difficult talks, where emotions were laid bare, raw, and vulnerable. Viktor, ever the stoic, had admitted his deepest fears—his illness, the mutations, and the possibility of passing it on to any future children. Y/N had been hurt at first, but understanding. She supported him fully, respecting his concerns, even though a small part of her longed for the family they could have had together. She never pushed him, knowing how deeply his fears ran.

But Viktor could see how much it pained her. He noticed the quiet longing in her eyes, the way she would sometimes linger on children in the streets of Piltover when they passed by. It tore at him, but he couldn’t shake the dread of what his illness could mean for their future. It was one of those battles inside him that he couldn't win, no matter how hard he tried.

Today, however, Viktor decided to take a short walk. It wasn’t about escaping the conversation—it was more to clear his head. The streets of Piltover were bustling with the usual activity, the gleaming buildings towering above him as the cool air filled his lungs. He walked with a slight limp, the click of his cane echoing in the otherwise busy street, but it was nothing Viktor wasn’t used to. The cane was a constant companion, the reminder of both his strength and his vulnerability.

As he passed a park, he spotted a young boy struggling to tie his shoe laces. The child was hunched over, a prosthetic limb attached to his left leg. The boy’s hands were shaking slightly as he fumbled with the laces, frustration evident on his face. Viktor slowed his pace, watching from a distance. He expected someone to approach the boy, maybe offer some help. But no one did. The people walking past just ignored the boy, too focused on their own lives to stop and lend a hand.

Viktor hesitated, his heart tightening at the sight. He knew all too well what it felt like to be overlooked, to be seen as different or fragile. But there was something in the way the boy carried himself—something in his attitude—that caught Viktor off guard. The boy was struggling, yes, but he wasn’t defeated. His face was determined as he attempted again to tie his laces, gritting his teeth but never backing down. Viktor waited, thinking that maybe the boy’s perseverance would inspire someone else to step forward. But when no one did, Viktor sighed and made his way over.

“Need some help?” Viktor asked softly, his voice gentle, yet there was a certain steadiness in it.

The boy looked up at him, startled but not fearful. His eyes scanned Viktor’s cane before meeting his face. “I got it,” the boy replied confidently, his lips curling into a small grin. “I just need to focus. It’s not so hard, you know?”

Viktor tilted his head, surprised by the boy’s confidence. “No one should have to do everything alone,” Viktor said, taking a step closer. “Sometimes, we all need a little help.”

The boy paused, then nodded, his hands still trembling a little as he finished tying his shoes. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes meeting Viktor’s again. “But it’s not about letting it stop you, right? It’s a hurdle. A hard one, but not impossible.”

Viktor’s heart fluttered at the boy’s words. There was something about the way he viewed his disability—not as a burden, but simply another challenge to overcome—that struck Viktor deep. It was a perspective Viktor hadn’t considered in a long time. For so long, Viktor had feared passing on his illness, his disability, to a child of his own. He had worried that they would see it as something to be pitied, something to be feared. But this boy—this child—had a strength that Viktor hadn’t realized children could have.

“I think you’re right,” Viktor said quietly. “A hurdle is just something to jump over.” He smiled gently at the boy, feeling a shift inside him, a sense of peace that he hadn’t expected.

The boy beamed up at him, clearly proud of his accomplishment. “Exactly! You just have to keep trying, even if it takes a few tries.”

Viktor chuckled softly, his mind racing. For the first time in months, the dread he had carried about his own illness, and what it might mean for a child, started to fade. He realized that with Y/N’s love, with his own understanding and strength, their child could grow up just like this boy—confident, determined, and ready to face whatever life threw their way.

The realization struck him like a wave, and Viktor suddenly felt lighter than he had in a long time. Maybe having a child wasn’t about protecting them from every hardship; maybe it was about teaching them how to face those challenges with grace and strength.

He turned, making his way back home, the cane tapping steadily against the cobblestones as he thought about the future. His steps felt more purposeful now.

When Viktor arrived home, Y/N was sitting on the couch, flipping through a book. She looked up at him with a smile, her warmth filling the room. “Hey, you’re back early,” she said, setting the book down and patting the space next to her on the couch.

Viktor stood still for a moment, staring at the floor, his hand resting on his cane. “Y/N,” he began, his voice steady but softer than usual. “I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation from before. About… the future.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, the same knot of worry tightening in her chest. “Viktor, you don’t have to—”

Viktor cut her off, holding up a hand. “I’m ready to try, Lásko. I’m ready to start a family with you.” (Love)

Y/N blinked, her breath catching in her throat. Her mind spun, processing his words. She wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly. “You… you mean it?” Her voice was trembling, full of disbelief and hope.

Viktor’s gaze softened, and he took a slow step toward her. “I’ve seen something today. A boy with the same struggles as me, but he didn’t see it as a burden. He saw it as just another hurdle to overcome. And I realized… our child won’t see it as a curse. With our love, they’ll know how to overcome whatever life gives them. I believe in us."

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes as she stood up quickly, her breath hitching in her throat. She rushed toward him, wrapping her arms tightly around his chest. “Oh, Viktor,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Viktor gently placed his cane aside, his arms wrapping around her in return, holding her close. He could feel the weight of the moment, the weight of their decision, and for the first time in a long while, Viktor felt something he hadn’t expected: hope.

Together, they would face the future—one step at a time, just like the boy had shown him.

JAYVIK

The topic of motherhood had always been a sensitive one for Y/N. She had come to terms with her infertility a long time ago, but that didn’t make it any easier to talk about. She hadn’t discussed it much with Jayce or Viktor; it was a topic that hung between them, unspoken, but understood. It wasn’t that she didn’t want children—it was more that she had accepted that being a mother wasn’t in her future. And though she had come to terms with it privately, it didn’t mean the idea of motherhood didn’t tug at her heart from time to time.

Jayce and Viktor knew about her infertility. They had been with her through the difficult conversations, through the quiet moments when she wrestled with her feelings. Both of them had been understanding, supportive, and kind, but Y/N couldn’t help but feel the emptiness at times, especially when the idea of raising a child came up. She had always dreamt of motherhood, of nurturing a little one, but the reality was different. Still, she cherished the love and connection she had with Jayce and Viktor, and that was enough—for now.

One crisp afternoon in Piltover, Y/N found herself walking through the busy streets of the Upper City, a faint breeze carrying the scent of fresh bread and the hum of city life. The grandeur of Piltover was on full display—high towers, merchants selling their wares, and children playing in the streets—but amidst it all, something caught her eye.

Two children, a boy around twelve and a girl of about seven, were weaving through the crowd with startling agility. The younger girl, bubbly and chatty, kept the attention of an unsuspecting shopper while the older boy, quick as a flash, swiped a few coins from the merchant’s stall. Y/N watched, intrigued, as the boy casually stashed the pilfered goods in his coat and slipped away, with the little girl trailing behind him, never once looking guilty.

Y/N’s lips quirked into a smile, admiring their street-smart energy. They moved with the kind of confidence that could only come from years of surviving the rougher edges of the world. It was clear they were looking out for each other, and despite what they were doing, there was something endearing about their partnership. The older boy’s protective nature over the younger girl, his quick thinking, and her carefree chatter—they made quite the team.

She decided to follow them from a distance, curious to see where they were headed. After a few turns and alleyways, they eventually reached a small abandoned building, a makeshift hideout. Y/N hesitated, watching them settle in, clearly alone—no parents, no guardians, just the two of them.

The boy caught her gaze as she stood at a distance. He narrowed his eyes, clearly cautious but not immediately hostile.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice gruff, but his stance more defensive than angry.

Y/N took a few steps closer, raising her hands in a peaceful gesture. “I just wanted to see how you two were doing. I noticed your, uh, skills in the marketplace.”

The girl, who had been picking at something in her hand, looked up with wide eyes and shyly glanced at Y/N. She fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve before speaking in a soft, hesitant voice. “We’re just trying to get by,” she murmured, clearly a little nervous about the encounter, but still unbothered by their situation.

The boy shot her a quick glance, before looking back at Y/N. “We don’t need any help. We’re fine.”

Y/N smiled softly, kneeling to their level. “I’m not here to force anything. I’m just offering food."

The two children exchanged a glance, and after a few moments of hesitation, the boy finally nodded. “Food’s always good.”

Without another word, Y/N reached into her bag and pulled out a couple of loaves of bread, some fruit, and a few slices of cheese. The children devoured the food quickly, barely speaking between bites. It was clear they were used to going without, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy.

Over the next few weeks, Y/N found herself coming back to the children regularly. She would bring them food, warm clothes, and the occasional book. Gradually, their wariness of her faded, though they never fully let their guard down. They had learned to survive on their own, and trust wasn’t something they gave easily. But over time, Y/N became more than just a stranger—she became a quiet presence in their lives, offering what little comfort she could.

Y/N knew Piltover was a city of opportunity, but it wasn’t always kind to the ones who didn’t have a place to fit in. The children reminded her of that—young, alone, and scraping by on whatever they could get.

One day, after a particularly long day in the markets, Y/N found herself thinking more about the two kids. There had to be a way to help them—Piltover had more to offer, and they deserved better than a life of pickpocketing and hiding out in abandoned buildings.

The next time she came to visit, she made a decision. She would take them back to her home, introduce them to Jayce and Viktor, and see if they could help these kids build something better for themselves.

When Y/N walked into the study later that afternoon, she was followed by the two children, who were a little more apprehensive than usual but still carrying themselves with a quiet sense of pride.

“Jayce, Viktor,” Y/N called out as she stepped inside, smiling warmly at the two men. “I’d like you to meet Mia,” she said, gesturing to the younger girl, “and Luka,” she nodded at the older boy. “They’ve been on their own for a while. I’ve been bringing them food and making sure they’re alright, but I think Piltover might be the place for them.”

Jayce and Viktor looked up from their work, both of them pausing as they sized up the two children. Viktor raised an eyebrow, his analytical gaze taking in the situation, while Jayce’s face softened with concern.

“They’ve been through a lot,” Jayce commented, his voice gentle.

Y/N nodded. “They’ve got a lot of potential. They just need a little guidance. I think, with some help, they could really thrive here.”

Viktor stood from his chair, walking toward the children. He regarded them for a moment before speaking. “You’ve been through more than most adults would care to face. But if you’re willing to learn, Piltover has room for you.”

Luka, who had been silently observing, finally spoke up. “And if we don’t want to?” he asked, his voice filled with defiance but not hostility.

Y/N crouched down to meet his eyes. “You’ll always have a choice. But I’m offering you a chance to build something better. Not for me, but for yourselves.”

Jayce offered his hand to Luka, who looked at it for a long moment before taking it, Mia following suit, though she was still a bit shy. Their hands were small, but their grip was firm, as if they were already beginning to understand the power of what they were being offered.

As Y/N stood back up, a sense of fulfillment washed over her. She had always wondered what motherhood might feel like, but now she understood—family wasn’t just about blood. It was about love, care, and making space for those who needed it most.

In that moment, with Jayce and Viktor by her side, she felt like they were building something together—something more than just a future for them, but for these children, too. And for the first time in a long while, she believed that family, in all its forms, was within reach.

VANDER

The past few months had been an emotional rollercoaster for Y/N and Vander. It was a topic that weighed heavily on both of them—one they had discussed openly and at length. The decision had been made to try for a child, but time and again, they found themselves coming up empty. The disappointment stung harder with each failed attempt, and each time, it seemed to take more from Y/N than she was willing to admit.

Vander, ever the strong and steady presence in their home, tried to offer comfort, his hand on her back or holding hers tightly in quiet moments, but even his unwavering support couldn't quell the sadness that began to weigh heavily on her heart. With each passing try, Y/N found herself retreating further into herself. She hated feeling this way, especially when there were so many children who needed love and care, but the dream of having their own kept lingering.

Vi and Claggor, of course, understood more than Y/N often gave them credit for. They had seen the way she had been quietly grieving, though she tried to hide it. It was clear that Y/N and Vander had wanted this, and though the children were young and maybe couldn’t fully comprehend the specifics, they could sense the tension.

Mylo, ever the oblivious one, simply couldn’t understand why Y/N seemed so upset. “Why’s she so sad, Vander?” Mylo asked one day, genuinely perplexed.

Vander paused for a moment, his heart aching as he looked down at his son. He knew Mylo wasn’t trying to be insensitive—he was just a child. "Sometimes, Mylo," he began softly, kneeling down to meet his son's eyes, "people want something that they can’t have, and it makes them sad."

"But she’s not sad because of us, is she?" Mylo asked, brows furrowed, still trying to wrap his head around it.

Vander smiled gently, his expression a mix of warmth and sadness. “No, son. Never because of you."

Meanwhile, Powder, ever the innocent and curious soul, had started to pick up on the shift in Y/N’s mood. She noticed how her mother figure’s smiles seemed more forced lately, how she spent more time staring out the window, looking distant. One afternoon, as Vander was sitting by the fire, Powder shuffled over to him, her small brow furrowed in concern.

“Vander,” she began, her voice small and unsure, “why is mama so sad all the time?”

Vander’s heart twisted at the question. He had been doing his best to shield the children from the weight of the situation, but Powder’s innocence had a way of cutting straight to the heart of things. He looked down at her, trying to find the right words.

“Well, Powder,” Vander started, his voice soft and steady, “sometimes people feel sad because they’re hoping for something, and it doesn’t happen the way they want it to.”

Powder tilted her head, trying to understand. “Is it because of us?” she asked, her voice tinged with worry. “Did we do something wrong?”

Vander quickly shook his head, his hand gently resting on her shoulder. “No, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just that sometimes, things take time. And sometimes, people just need a little while to feel better.”

Powder nodded slowly, not fully understanding but still trusting Vander’s words. She looked up at him, her big eyes filled with concern for the woman she loved so much. “Will she be okay?” she asked quietly.

Vander smiled gently, his heart aching for her innocence. “She’ll be okay, Powder. We’ll make sure of it.”

Powder stood there for a moment, her gaze lingering on the doorway where Y/N had been standing earlier. Then, as if an idea suddenly struck her, she reached up and hugged Vander tightly, her tiny arms wrapping around him with all the love she could give.

Vander held her close, feeling the weight of his own heart as he promised silently that he would do everything in his power to make sure Y/N found happiness again.

And then, the fifth time came.

Y/N had reached a place of quiet acceptance. After their last attempt, she and Vander had finally come to terms with what life had given them. They still had each other, and their love for the children they already cared for was enough to fill their hearts. They had made the choice to focus their love on the kids they had—Vi, Claggor, Mylo, and Powder—and make sure they had everything they needed. It was a quiet but powerful decision, one that gave them peace.

But life, as it often did, surprised them.

It was early one morning when Y/N felt the familiar nausea creeping up her throat. She dismissed it at first, thinking it was just another random bout of illness, but as the morning went on, it became harder to ignore. She ran to the bathroom, her heart pounding in her chest, and the moment she stood over the sink, she knew.

After taking the test, she sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the results in shock. It wasn’t just a glimmer of hope—it was real. The small blue line on the stick confirmed it. She was pregnant.

Her hands trembled as she stood up, the test still in her hand. She didn’t know how long she stood there, the weight of it sinking in, but eventually, she walked slowly to where Vander was, a mixture of disbelief and joy written all over her face.

"Vander," she called softly, her voice catching in her throat.

He turned from the window where he’d been looking out, the soft morning light playing across his face. He saw the look on her face and immediately felt a wave of concern rush through him. “Love? What is it?”

She didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she handed him the test, her eyes wide and hopeful.

Vander looked at it, his hands steady as he examined it, then slowly looked up at Y/N. His expression softened, a mixture of shock and something deeper in his gaze. “Are you... are you sure?”

Y/N smiled, a tear slipping down her cheek as she nodded. "Yes. I’m sure."

And in that moment, everything changed.

Vander crossed the room, his arms enveloping her in a tight embrace. “I’m so happy,” he whispered, his voice full of emotion. “We’re going to be parents again. I didn’t think it was ever going to happen...”

Y/N hugged him back, her chest tight with the overwhelming sense of joy and relief. “Neither did I,” she admitted, her voice thick with emotion. “But we’re going to be okay.”

Later that day, when the children came running into the room to greet their parents, they immediately sensed the change in the air. Vi looked at Y/N with a knowing expression, her arms open wide for a hug, while Claggor stood beside her, looking up curiously at Vander. Powder beamed, as if she somehow already knew what had happened.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Vi asked, her voice gentle. She could see the shift in her mother’s demeanour. Y/N just nodded, tears brimming in her eyes as she smiled.

“I’m more than okay, Vi,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "We’re going to have a baby."

Claggor’s eyes widened, and Mylo jumped up and down, excitedly. “A baby! That’s awesome!”

Vander looked down at Powder, who was staring up at him with wide eyes. She grinned, her excitement uncontainable. “Does this mean I’m going to have a little brother or sister?” she asked.

Y/N laughed softly, wiping away a tear. “Yes, Powder. You are.”

As Vander and Y/N exchanged a soft smile, surrounded by their children, a new chapter began for their family. One filled with hope, love, and the promise of a future that was theirs to shape. It wasn’t just the start of their journey into parenthood—it was the beginning of something even bigger. Something they had built together, with the love and strength of their family.

SILCO / JINX

The dimly lit office felt unusually still as you walked in, your footsteps echoing softly against the cold stone floor. The weight of the pregnancy test in your hand felt heavier with every step you took toward Silco’s desk. You placed it down gently in front of him, your fingers lingering on the edge as if unsure how to break the silence that stretched between you.

Silco was sitting in his usual spot, his gaze fixed on the papers before him. His sharp eyes flickered up at the sound of the test being placed on the desk, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. He didn’t need to ask what it was. His expression shifted, unreadable, as he slowly reached forward and picked it up, his fingers brushing against the plastic.

You stood still, your stomach tied in knots, watching him closely. Silco’s gaze was locked on the test, his lips pressed together as he processed the moment, his usual calm and control slipping into something else—a flicker of uncertainty that he quickly masked.

"Pregnant?" His voice was steady, though there was a sharpness beneath it, a controlled tension that spoke to the gravity of the situation.

You nodded, swallowing hard as you spoke, your voice quiet but firm. "Yes."

The silence stretched again, heavy, filled with the weight of his thoughts. He placed the test back on the desk, his eyes not leaving it as if trying to make sense of the new reality that had just been dropped before him.

"I wasn’t expecting this," he finally said, his voice still calm, though there was an undercurrent of something deeper. "This changes everything."

You could feel your pulse quicken as you shifted, unsure of what to say next. "I didn’t expect it either," you admitted softly, your gaze dropping to the floor. "I don’t know what to do, Silco. Can we even give them a life here in Zaun? Can I even give them a life with everything we’ve built?"

For a long moment, Silco remained silent, his eyes moving from the test to you. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, his posture thoughtful yet still unreadable.

"You know how I feel about children," he said, his tone quieter than usual. "They’re a vulnerability, a weakness. I never planned for this."

You hesitated, the uncertainty of your own feelings reflected in your voice. "I used to think I didn’t want children either," you confessed, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of the desk. "I thought it wasn’t in me. But... I think maybe it’s different now."

Silco studied you in silence, his gaze unwavering. His features softened slightly as he absorbed your words. "If this is something you want, if you think it’s right, then I won’t stand in your way. We’ll figure it out." He sighed deeply, his voice steady, though there was something almost compassionate in it that you rarely heard. "But we both know the risks. How easily everything could change."

You nodded, the weight of the decision pressing heavily on your chest. "I know. I just don’t know what it would look like... how it would change things between us."

His expression softened further, and he leaned forward, his eyes meeting yours with an understanding that made your heart skip a beat. "We don’t have to figure it all out now. Whatever you decide, I’m with you. We’ll face it together."

The words lingered in the air, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of certainty. The future, though uncertain, didn’t seem as daunting with him by your side.

The air between you and Silco was thick with unspoken words when a shuffle from the hallway broke the moment. A muffled voice, familiar and filled with unease, echoed through the room. Your heart sank as you realized Jinx had been listening outside. She knew something was off, and she was about to confront you both.

The door creaked open, and Jinx stepped inside, her usual manic energy subdued by the confusion in her eyes. Her gaze immediately flickered to the desk, where the pregnancy test lay, its presence now casting a heavy shadow over the room. The colour drained from her face as she processed what she was seeing, and her eyes flickered between you and Silco, realization quickly settling in.

"Y-You're pregnant?" she repeated, her voice small, barely above a whisper. Her gaze flickered to the test on the desk, and then back to you, her face contorting in an expression that was a mix of confusion, fear, and something deeper—hurt.

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words stuck in your throat. You knew what this meant for Jinx. She was no stranger to being pushed aside, forgotten, and replaced. Her unpredictable nature often led to misunderstandings, but the one thing you both shared was a bond, a strange and unspoken connection. The idea that she might think this would mean the end of that bond broke something inside you.

Jinx took a step back, her hands trembling as they fidgeted with the edges of her shirt. Her voice wavered, the insecurity leaking through her usual bravado. "I—I don’t... I don’t know what this means," she stammered, her eyes flickering between you and Silco, her words faltering. "You won’t need me anymore, right? I mean, you... You’ll have the baby now. You’ll have your family, and... I won’t matter anymore."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she quickly blinked them away, a brittle smile forcing its way onto her lips. "It’s fine," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I’ll just... I'll just go. It’s okay. I’ll stay out of the way. You don’t have to worry about me anymore."

A cold knot of guilt formed in your chest, and you moved toward her, reaching out to steady her. "Jinx, no. You’ll never be in the way. This—this has nothing to do with you being pushed aside." Your voice cracked slightly, but you fought to steady it. "I don’t want you to think you’re being replaced. You're not."

Jinx shook her head, her lips curling into a bitter smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "It’s always been that way, though, hasn’t it? People come, people go. You and Silco... you’ll have everything you need now. You don’t need someone like me. I’ll just mess things up." Her voice was barely above a whisper, as though she was trying to convince herself of the lie she was telling.

Silco, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of concern and patience, leaned forward, his voice cutting through the heavy air. "Jinx," he said, his tone more measured than before, yet carrying an undeniable firmness. "You think we would let you slip away so easily? You think you can just vanish because of something like this?"

Jinx didn’t meet his gaze, her eyes fixed on the ground as if she were afraid to hear what he was about to say.

Silco’s voice softened slightly, though still strong, like a quiet force. "You’re part of this—our lives. You’re not going anywhere, Jinx. You’re not a burden, and you’re certainly not going to be forgotten."

You stepped closer, placing a hand gently on Jinx’s shoulder, trying to convey the steadiness you wanted her to feel. "I don’t know what the future holds," you continued, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "But I do know that you’re a part of it. I don’t want to lose you. Neither of us does."

Jinx’s breathing hitched, and for a moment, it seemed like she might finally let the wall she’d built up come crumbling down. She glanced up at you, her wide eyes searching yours, as if she were waiting for a sign that this wasn’t a dream, that this wasn’t just some cruel joke.

"You’re sure?" Jinx asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her vulnerability laid bare. "You’re sure you don’t want to... forget about me?" She swallowed hard, her usual bravado replaced by the uncertainty that had been lurking beneath all along.

You nodded firmly, your hand tightening on her shoulder. "I’m sure, Jinx. You’re not a mistake. You’re not a burden. You’re family."

The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and Jinx stood there, her body tense as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then, slowly, her face softened, and the rawness in her eyes faded just a little. She looked at Silco, and then back at you, as though trying to reconcile the fractured pieces of herself that she had kept hidden away for so long.

After a moment, she cast a glance at the pregnancy test again, her voice still uncertain but with a touch of curiosity. "I don’t really know about this kid thing," she muttered, her words soft but full of confusion. "But... I can teach them stuff, right? Like... how to make cool things blow up?"

You laughed softly, the tension beginning to ease as Jinx’s mischievous spark returned. "Of course, Jinx," you said, offering her a reassuring smile. "You’ll be the best big sibling ever."

"Just... don't make the kid your partner in crime right away, alright?" Silco says, his tone unexpectedly gentle.

Jinx’s eyes lit up, her mischievous grin returning in full force. "Oh, no promises, Silco."

And in that moment, the storm seemed to pass. The air between you all lightened, and though the future was uncertain, you knew that you would face it together. As a family. No matter what.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #jinx x platonic!reader #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce talis x reader #jayce x y/n #viktor x y/n #viktor x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #viktor x you #vander x reader #silco x reader #jayvik x reader

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valalice · 2 days ago

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hear me out… combat training with rival!caitlyn where she gets all mad n frowny when you shit talk her so she pins you down on the mat. i’ve been thinking about this for WEEKS.

this is what i'm talking about !

you should've known better really, shit talking caitlyn kiramman of all people. but she makes it hard to somewhat tolerate her to a certain degree when she parades around like she owns the fucking place, her lean figure pin straight (perfect posture of course, nothing less expected of a kiramman), head held high (cassandra made it a point to instill the objective into young caitlyn's mind that you never let people persevere you as weak), and a cocky smirk that for some reason stays glued to her face at all times. she had every reason to be cocky—full of her self when she's the best at everything, everyone is either intimidated by her or adores her, and no there is no in between. you feel neither towards her, having the same prideful air about you, and there's no way in hell you'd ever adore her, you hate her, but again, hate does no lie between intimidated and adoration, it's the rotten third, born from pure animosity you have for her. it's something sacred really what you and her have, something so foolish, childish about your rivalry, but still serious in its own way.

you should've known your words would've been whispered right back into the ear of the heiress, too deep in the pits of blinded hatred to realize that kiramman has ears everywhere. and you know she knows when the next time the two of you cross paths her stare is more daggered than usual, and if your words hadn't sent the blue haired beauty into a frenzy, the laugh in her face upon seeing her had lit the spark, setting her ablaze.

you should've know caitlyn would come marching up to you like the prissy person she is and demand a combat match immediately, rolling your eyes at her temper and the shrill in her accent, she annoys you immensely by thinking she can get anything at her beck and call.

"can't you see i'm eating, kiramman?"

"i do. and i don't care. you talk shit, you're going to back it up."

"you're really looking to get another ass beating already?"

your words stung like a fist full of salt in a wound. the last match you two had, you won by a sliver, a tiny one, but you took the victory nonetheless. and it sends a tingly sensation down your spine, to the tips of your fingers, and then your toes to see the ever so barely noticeable twitch in her eye. but, of course you notice, you love seeing how you're able to get under her skin.

you should've known better than to accept that damn match, because now caitlyn has you pinned on the mat, struggling to think quick and reach for her weak spots to get you out of this position. you hate it, you hate her. but more importantly you hate how quickly she was able to pin you down, the swiftness and pure skill and talent (you'd never mutter these words out loud, even with a gun to your head) it took for her to pull off that move. it's all that damn excessive training with ambessa, you'd wander pass this very room time and time again heading the hits and grunts, caitlyn always overworked herself to the bone until she was able to get something right, and do it better. and you hate that when you opened your eyes from being slammed against the barely soft surface you were met up and close with gleaming cerulean eyes and that fucking smirk; it was in the moment you realized how close the two of you were, you always get this close but you're always too caught up with your motive of defeating her that you never took into account the compromising positions you'd put each other in.

"am i supposed to be getting my ass beat right now?"

should've spit in her face, but instead you're too stunned, focused on the knee slotted between your legs, pressing up against your pulsing heat. too focused on the wispy blue hairs fallen from her bun and how the usual sweat trickling down her eyebrow isn't there; she didn't even break a sweat. it takes a lot of restraint in you to not squirm beneath her, you won't give the satisfaction of seeing that (no matter how badly you want to sooth ache she's caused), you'll figure away out of this, eyes darting around to find anything's she any opening to free yourself or flip over, but you're too slow;

one.

two.

three.

the grip on you lessens when she's done counting, un-slotting her knee, and standing to her feet, gaze raking over your unmoved body, eyes swirling with gloat.

"i won."

and with that she walks out the room, no outstretched of a hand to help you off the matt, leaving you to lie there. she plays dirty.

you hate caitlyn kiramman.

#i hope this feeds into your thoughts mel :) did my best!#𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 alice writes.#caitlynྀི txt.#arcane #arcane x you #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn kiramman x fem reader #caitlyn kiramman x you #league of legends #wlw #lesbian

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viiolyns · 1 day ago

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abby anderson x reader

cw / somno. ass humping. kinda shit writing.

a soft moan slips past her lips as her small, perky tits press gently against your bare back; puffy, wet cunt grinding against the curve of your bare ass. you stir slightly, your eyebrows furrowing at the unexpected contact, but you don't wake.

you were asleep, and she found herself doing...this, she knew she shouldn't, but the urge was too strong to resist. she couldn’t wait any longer.

she hadn't seen you in weeks. recently, reports of infected had surged, with some even breaching the base's defenses. as a result, isaac had been sending groups out for extended missions, often leaving for weeks at a time. unfortunately, you were part of the last group chosen, and it had been nearly two frustrating months since you left.

frustrating for her and you, mainly her because she missed you like crazy, she loved you so much. you're one of the only people she had left in this fucked up universe. aaaaaaand because she couldn't fucking get off without you.

she wanted to deny the fact, she really did. and she tried, over and over, but nothing worked. not her fingers, not her pillow, not even the very few toys she had tried. nothing worked like you did, only you could make her come. it was humiliating, she couldn't believe she had been conditioned to need someone so badly. she was a grown woman not some child, and yet somehow you had found a way to have that much control over her.

now you were back, which was great. but you were exhausted, crashing almost the second you got back. barely giving abby any sort of attention beside a quick kiss and a promise to satiate her desires the next morning. but she needed more.

she needed you.

...even if this wasn't the right way to go about it.

her eyes are squeezed shut now as she pants, clit throbbing so hard it was almost painful. cheeks dusting a rosy pink as she heard the wet, sticky sounds coming from where you two were connected. shyness, humiliation even, eating away at her because she couldn't just wait a few hours for you to wake.

her nose was buried in your neck, breathing in your sweet scent with every shaky intake of breath. she bit down on her bottom lip, praying to whatever gods above to keep you asleep.

she eventually found a steady rhythm, pussy thinking first as she sped up, any self restraint she had long gone. your body racked with her harsh thrusts and, unfortunately for her, she didn't notice you moving just a bit too much.

"fuck." she whines, chasing that warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. her hand comes up to palm at her breast, squeezing and fondling herself as she imagines it was your touch instead of her own. she presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck, leaving a series of dark bruises behind.

she’s not being very subtle right now.

as abby moved on top of you, her toned muscles quivered with each movement, sending shivers down your spine. her breath came in shallow gasps, each one a high-pitched whine on her lips. it was clear she was close now, so fucking close.

her grip on you tightens, her blunt nails digging crescents into your thighs. that’s when you started to wake up.

“the fuc—abby?” your words cut through her impending orgasm and she freezes. it's when you start to shift some more that she finally starts to scurry off of you.

“i’m so-sorry…you were asleep so..” she muttered sheepishly.

“i was, yeah.” you grumbled, propping yourself up some, taking in the sight in front of you. she was fully naked, tank top hanging around her neck. her braid had come undone, loose pieces of hair framing her pretty face.

you sat up completely, turning to face her fully. your hand came up to cradle her face. “why didn’t you just wake me up, abs?” god, she was mortified. her eyes didn’t meet yours, ashamed of what she’d done. “you know you could’ve.”

she knew this. she nods weakly, attempting to ignore the intense throbbing between her legs, getting increasingly wetter at the sound of your thick, sleepy voice. "didn’t wanna wake you. i’m sorry, baby.”

poor thing…so weak and pathetic. she couldn't help herself. not when it came to her wants, her cravings. she needed you, craved your touch, your control. you could see it in the way her body trembled, her eyes begged. "you just can't get off without me, can you?"

she nods, unable to find any words.

"you want more, don't you?”

another nod.

you lay back down in your spot, eyes closing as you edge back into sleep. "go on then. clean my ass off when you're done."

booooooooo. boringggg and rushed ending. i forgot about this account whoops

#dem's work. ౨ৎ #abby anderson #abby x reader #abby the last of us #the last of us #abby tlou #tlou game #abby anderson smut #lesbian #wlw

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dollyase · 3 days ago

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Troubleshooting -S. Gojo

-SYNOPSIS: dealing with a failing marriage with husband!Satoru gojo

-CHARACTERS: Satoru gojo

-CONTENT WARNINGS: divorce, js a lot of angst ;(

As the hours of night ticked away, I looked at my phone once more to check the time. '1:54am' is what my screen displayed back to me. It would be a lie to say that I wasn't a little hurt or disappointed seeing that it was so late and my husband had not yet returned home. This wasn't the first time this had happened, no. This has been a regular occurrence, a feeling I was all the well familiar with.

He promised to be home early. He promised to always be there for me. He promised to present love to me for the rest of our lives, but then again, Satoru had promised many things that he had broken.

Love was one thing I hadn't felt from him in a while.

So deep in thought I failed to realize the keys opening the front door. Was I cursed or something? Where had I gone wrong to end up this way. I spent all of my youth years loving a man who did nothing but put me second in every situation.

I felt tears stinging, threatening to fall. I decided no more. I decided that I would no longer be trapped in this cursed cycle. I sat up and walked out of Satoru and I's shared bedroom. I knew what I had to do but my mind was dreading it. 'Had this hallway always been this long?' I thought.

No it hadn't. My mind was just creating illusions to distract me from the situation at hand, the situation I was dreading to approach. When I had finally reached the end of the hallway there he was. It looks like he was just finishing hanging up his coat and keys when he turned and noticed me staring. I must have looked empty because he immediately rushed over and embraced me with a loving hug.

'Y/n! I'm so sorry, I can explain I-' He started to say.

'Satoru I want a divorce.'

I mentally scoffed because as soon as those words left my mouth it seems that the regret and love he felt in the moment vanished as quickly as it came. His arms slowly dropped from around me as he stumbled backwards. His face looked like he had seen a ghost, like he had no clue where my change of heart came from.

Truth is I didn't feel love for him anymore, it stung to think this way but what more could I do? I'm not the one to blame when I had done everything to keep this marriage afloat. We sat there in silence for a moment, for the first time ever it seemed like he had nothing to say. No snarky remark, not even a beg in disagreement.

'I think it would have been better if we had just never met.' Those were my final words to him as I turned to go to the room that we once shared. It would be a lie to say I wasn't a little hurt or disappointed seeing that he didn't even attempt to fight for our marriage, our love.

But I guess this is for the best right?

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo angst #nanami x reader #nanami kento #choso x reader #choso kamo #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #gojo smut #nanami smut #choso smut #toji smut #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen

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reginamillls · 2 days ago

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"hate me" + bucktommy pls mwah 😌💖

Buck thought he could do this, see Tommy again and not be angry. But his ex is sitting at the back of the 118 ambulance, getting stitches from Chimney and Buck feels like his blood is boiling.

He should walk away.

Buck should just let it go, let Tommy go away and continue on with his life, just as Tommy wanted.

"Tommy-" Buck growls out, stalking forward. He hears Chimney mumble something to Tommy who is looking at him warily, before he squeezes Tommy's shoulder and leaves them be.

"Buck-" "What was that?" Buck hisses out and Tommy winces, looking away from him and back at what's left of the fire that their stations had both been called to. Buck crosses the arms over his chest and stares Tommy down. Tommy could be stubborn, that wouldn't have changed in the four months that they've been broken up, but Buck was positive he could out stubborn his ex.

"I did what I had to do-" Tommy tries, but Buck isn't having it.

"You got hurt!" Buck exclaims, gesturing to the fresh bandage on Tommy's arm where a piece of beam had fallen on him, going through his turn outs and giving Tommy a nasty gash that needed stitches.

The beam that would have hit Buck if Tommy hadn't pushed him out of the way.

"It happens," Tommy defends himself, but his voice is subdued. Buck huffs, but unlike Tommy who is looking away from him again, Buck takes his fill of the other man. The first thing he notices beyond the obvious injuries and the soot from their fire is that Tommy looks tired. Exhausted actually. The furrow from between his brows looks pained, and the bags under his eyes are dark against his pale skin. He's sharper too, like he's lost some weight.

Buck deflates a little, his righteous anger from earlier dwindling down to the fear he felt when he saw Tommy get downed by the beam.

The man did save his life.

"I'll get checked out at the hospital and go home, sleep it off." Tommy says and he starts to get up and what little color on his face goes away as he wraps his arm around his ribs.

"Sit down," Buck says and Tommy doesn't even fight him.

Sighing, Buck steps forward and gingerly lifts Tommy's arm to inspect what he believes now to be some bruised ribs at the very least.

"You don't have to stay," Tommy says. "No one would blame you. I can go back with my station."

"If you wanted that you shouldn't have risked your life for mine," Buck says, voice snipping. Tommy looks away again and Buck sighs. "I'm sorry-" "Don't." Tommy says, voice steely. "Don't apologize Evan,"

"So it's Evan again?" Buck says and Tommy huffs.

They're at an impasse.

"Look just-" Buck starts at the same time that Tommy says,

"You don't have to care."

Buck blinks, stepping back, and looks at Tommy with wide eyes, hurt by what he just said.

"Of couse I care," Buck says. "You got hurt Tommy, even if it wasn't for me I would still care."

"I'm the one who walked away- you, you shouldn't care about me anymore." Tommy says and his tone is carefully controlled, sounding like it did the last time they talked four months ago.

Buck knows this is how Tommy sounds before he runs away.

"Well if I can't care for you, what should I do?" Buck asks, ducking his head to get a better look at Tommy's expression. Tommy catches it and looks up, and Buck sees the cracks in Tommy's mask.

"Hate me," Tommy says, his eyes shinning. "You should hate me."

"I'm not very good at doing things I'm should," Buck says and he steps into Tommy's space. And in an echo of almost a year ago, Buck gently places his thumb on Tommy's chin and tilts it up.

"I could never hate you Tommy," Buck says gently and when a tear falls he wipes it away.

"Not when I feel the opposite."

#abi tag #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #my writing #totalnerdwrites

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honeyhae-svt · 2 days ago

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🎮One Between Two🎭

Part-Time Lover | JxW - masterlist

⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️: explicit content (18+): includes detailed smut, kissing, cuddling, soft domestic intimacy, polyamorous dynamic: reader x jeonghan x wonwoo in a consensual relationship, fluff overload: this is tooth-rottingly sweet, light teasing and humor between jeonghan and wonwoo, some light language (wonwoo’s deadpan sarcasm might slip in), and non-canon ending (i guess?) DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ smut warnings: kissing, threesome(?), oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex (fictional! not ideal IRL), rough sex (explicitly described thrusting, intense actions), overstimulation, desperate kisses, tension-filled build-up, power dynamics (m dom), creampie (fictional context), consent (implied and verbal), emotional vulnerability (expressed through intimacy), body worship and attention to physical details, breath play (heavy breathing, audible reactions), dirty talk, descriptive sexual acts (explicit descriptions of genital stimulation), post-coital intimacy (gentle moments after sex). wc: 15,655 ♪ playlist ♪: falling for you (SEVENTEEN), euphoria (jungkook - BTS), lover (taylor swift), candy (baekhyun), everything (michael bublé), day 1 (HONNE), love me like that (sam kim). a/n: we finally reach the story at its peak ! thankyou for everyone who has been with me 'til the very end ! please enjoy the last chapter of the story :]

You hadn't seen Jeonghan all day, and while the ache of his coldness still lingered, Wonwoo's quiet comfort had been a balm to your frayed nerves. He'd texted you after work, insisting on taking you out for dinner, just something casual to lighten your mood.

"Pick whatever you want," Wonwoo said, sliding the menu toward you. His easy smile was like sunlight filtering through a storm, and for the first time all day, you felt yourself relax.

The two of you settled into a quiet rhythm—small jokes, a few shared laughs, and the soft buzz of the diner around you. It was nice. Normal. But that fragile calm was shattered the moment you looked up and saw Jeonghan walking in.

He wasn't alone.

The woman on his arm was stunning, her laugh bright and effortless as she whispered something to him. Jeonghan's hand rested lightly on her waist, and his smile—sharp, confident, devastating—was one you hadn't seen in days. It was like watching a master at work, except now, the charm wasn't aimed at you.

Your heart sank, and you didn't realize you were gripping your fork too tightly until Wonwoo's voice pulled you back.

"Hey," he said softly, leaning forward, his eyes flicking between you and the new arrival. "You okay?"

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile, but you knew it didn't reach your eyes. "Yeah. Totally fine."

Wonwoo glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Jeonghan and his date. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he turned back to you, his expression unreadable. "We can leave if you want."

"No," you said firmly, your voice steadier than you felt. "We're staying."

It was a bold decision, one you regretted the second Jeonghan's gaze landed on you. His expression flickered for just a moment—surprise, maybe something else—but he quickly schooled his features into that same detached indifference you'd grown used to.

But what you hadn't prepared for was the deliberate way he led his date right past your table, pausing just long enough to acknowledge Wonwoo with a casual nod.

"Wonwoo," Jeonghan said smoothly, his voice like silk stretched too thin. His eyes didn't even glance your way. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Jeonghan," Wonwoo replied evenly, his tone polite but laced with tension.

The air between them crackled, an unspoken challenge hanging in the space between their words. You could feel it, thick and suffocating, but Jeonghan seemed utterly unfazed as he turned to his date with that same dazzling smile.

"Let's grab a seat," he said to her, his voice softening just enough to make your stomach twist.

You watched them walk away, your appetite vanishing as quickly as your resolve. Wonwoo's hand found yours under the table, his grip firm and reassuring, but it did little to soothe the storm brewing inside you.

Later That Night

Wonwoo insisted on walking you home, and for once, you didn't argue. The quiet streets were a welcome reprieve from the chaos in your head, but the tension between you and Wonwoo was impossible to ignore.

"You don't have to pretend," he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. "I know seeing him hurt."

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Wonwoo's eyes searched yours, his expression unreadable. "You don't have to lie to me," he said quietly. "I get it. I do. But you need to figure out what you really want—because this?" He gestured vaguely between the two of you. "I can't keep being your safe option."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. "That's not what this is," you protested, but even as you said it, doubt crept into your voice.

Wonwoo shook his head, his expression softening. "You don't have to explain. Just... think about it, okay?"

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps behind you made you turn.

Jeonghan.

He stood a few feet away, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his expression unreadable. For a moment, none of you spoke, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on all of you.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Jeonghan said finally, his tone cool but not unkind. "I just wanted to make sure you got home safe."

Wonwoo's jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything, his gaze flicking between you and Jeonghan.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. The two men you cared about most in the world were standing in front of you, and for the first time, you realized just how impossible this situation had become.

Back in your apartment, the silence was deafening. You sat on the edge of your bed, your phone buzzing with unread messages, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at them.

Wonwoo had texted you first, something simple and kind: "Let me know if you're okay. I'll always be here."

Jeonghan's message came hours later, shorter and colder: "We need to talk."

You stared at the screen, your chest tight. You wanted to scream, to cry, to throw your phone across the room and pretend none of this was happening. But instead, you just sat there, the weight of their words pulling you down like anchors.

The confrontation you'd been dreading didn't wait until the next morning. Jeonghan was waiting for you at your desk when you returned from a meeting, his suit jacket draped over the back of a chair, tie slightly loosened like he'd made himself at home.

You froze in the doorway, your hands tightening around the folder in your grip.

"Jeonghan," you said, unsure whether it was a greeting or a warning.

"Welcome back," he said smoothly, his smile disarming, but his eyes held that familiar glint of mischief. "Busy day?"

"Busy enough," you replied cautiously, stepping inside. "What are you doing here?"

He tilted his head, as if the answer was obvious. "Waiting for you, of course."

You set the folder down on the desk, keeping your movements deliberate. "If this is about work��"

"Close the door," he interrupted, his tone light yet leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated, but the weight of his gaze was enough to make you comply. The click of the latch sounded louder than it should have in the quiet room.

"I thought we didn't have anything to talk about," you said, forcing a casual tone even as your pulse quickened.

Jeonghan leaned back in the chair, his long fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. "Oh, we don't. But I was curious about something."

"Curious about what?"

"About you." He stood then, crossing the room in a few leisurely steps until he was leaning against the edge of the desk, his body too close for comfort. "And Wonwoo."

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression neutral. "What about him?"

Jeonghan shrugged, his smile teasing but his eyes sharper than ever. "Just wondering why you get so defensive whenever he comes up."

"I'm not defensive," you said quickly—too quickly.

His smile widened, and he let out a soft laugh. "Sure you're not." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial murmur. "So if there's really nothing going on, how about this—you and me. Dinner. Tonight."

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

Jeonghan straightened, feigning innocence as he smoothed his tie. "It's simple. If there's nothing between you and Wonwoo, then there's no reason you can't go out with me. Right?"

"Jeonghan..."

He held up a hand, cutting you off with a smile that was both charming and infuriating. "Relax, it's just a date. Unless..." His eyes sparkled with mock suspicion. "There is something you're not telling me?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The way he was looking at you—like he already knew the answer—made it impossible to find the right words.

Jeonghan chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're terrible at hiding things, you know that?"

His teasing tone stung more than you cared to admit. Before you could think, you blurted something out.

And before you knew it, you had said something you shouldn't have.

You hadn't planned to see Wonwoo that night. You hadn't planned anything, really—you just walked, trying to clear your head, until you found yourself at his door.

He opened it after the first knock, his brows furrowing in concern as he took in your disheveled state.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft and steady, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

You nodded, even though it wasn't true. "Can I come in?"

He stepped aside without a word, letting you slip past him into the warmth of his apartment.

You sat on the couch, your hands twisting nervously in your lap as he joined you, sitting close enough for you to feel the heat of his body but not so close that it felt invasive.

"What happened?" he asked gently.

The words spilled out before you could stop them—a jumbled mess of apologies and explanations, of frustration and guilt and confusion. Wonwoo listened quietly, his expression unreadable, until you finally ran out of words.

When you looked at him, his gaze was steady, but there was something in his eyes that made your chest ache.

"You told him we're just... friends," he said slowly, his voice measured.

You froze, your stomach dropping. "Wonwoo, I didn't mean it like that—"

"But that's what you said," he interrupted, his tone calm but firm. "Is that what you think we are?"

"No," you said quickly, the word tumbling out before you could stop it. "Of course not. I just... I panicked. I didn't know what else to say."

Wonwoo looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he leaned back, his arms resting on the back of the couch as he regarded you.

"Friends with benefits, huh?" he said, a faint, humorless smile tugging at his lips. "That's all this is to you?"

"No," you said again, your voice trembling. "It's more than that. You know it is."

"Do I?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Because it doesn't feel like it when you can't even admit it to him. Or to yourself."

You didn't know what to say. The truth was messy and complicated, and you were terrified of what it might cost you.

Wonwoo sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked away. "Maybe that's all we should be," he said quietly. "If that's what you want."

His words felt like a punch to the gut, and you reached out instinctively, your hand brushing against his arm.

"Wonwoo, please," you whispered, your voice breaking.

He looked at you then, his gaze softening just enough to make your heart ache.

"Then tell me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me what this is. What I am to you."

You stared at Wonwoo, the weight of his question pressing down on you like a vice. What was this? What were you to him? What was he to you? The answers tangled in your throat, too raw, too uncertain to speak.

But his eyes—god, his eyes—bore into yours, waiting, needing something real, something true.

"I—" you started, the words trembling on your lips. "You're..."

The pause stretched too long, and you saw the flicker of hurt cross his face before he masked it, leaning back just slightly, as if to protect himself.

"Forget it," he said, his voice quiet but firm, like a door closing.

"No," you said quickly, reaching for his hand before he could pull away completely. "Don't do that. Don't shut me out."

"Then say it," he said, his voice sharper now, frustration bleeding through. "Say something. Because I can't keep doing this—guessing how you feel, pretending I'm okay with whatever scraps you decide to give me."

His words hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and exposed. He was right. You'd been selfish, hiding behind your fear, letting the safety of ambiguity shield you from making a choice. But that safety was gone now, stripped away by the raw honesty in his voice.

"I care about you," you said finally, your voice shaking but resolute. "More than I should. More than I've let myself admit."

Wonwoo's expression softened, his eyes searching yours for the truth in your words.

"But I'm scared," you continued, the confession tumbling out like a broken dam. "I'm scared of what this means, of what I might lose. Of hurting you. Of hurting him."

The mention of Jeonghan made Wonwoo's jaw tighten, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned in closer, his hand coming up to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

"You're already hurting me," he said softly, his voice a painful mix of tenderness and resignation. "But I'd rather feel this than nothing at all."

Your breath hitched at his words, the weight of his vulnerability crashing into you.

"Wonwoo, I—"

He didn't let you finish. His lips were on yours before you could form another thought, the kiss fierce and desperate, like he was pouring all his frustration, all his longing, into you.

And you let him.

You kissed him back with equal intensity, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, trying to bridge the gap that had always been there between you.

But the moment didn't fade.

Instead, it deepened.

Wonwoo's hands slid down your sides, his touch firm but deep, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. He pressed you against the couch, his body warm and solid against yours, and you gasped into his mouth as the heat between you ignited, consuming every shred of hesitation you'd been clinging to.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with restraint, even as his fingers ghosted over the hem of your shirt.

You didn't answer. Instead, you tugged him closer, your actions speaking louder than words ever could.

The shift in his demeanor was immediate. The hesitation melted away, replaced by a hunger that matched your own. He lifted you effortlessly, guiding you into his lap as his lips trailed down your jaw, your neck, leaving a blazing path in their wake.

"You drive me crazy," he breathed, his hands exploring your curves with a deep feeling that made your head spin. "You have no idea what you do to me."

Your fingers tightened in his hair, a soft whimper escaping you as he nipped at the sensitive skin of your collarbone. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was a promise—a confession of everything he felt but couldn't say.

He lifted your shirt over your arms as he started nipping on your breast, his hand on the other. Pampering you with his affection so he can distract you from the mess you were dealing with. If that helps, then he'd do anything to get things off your mind—even if it's just temporary. This isn't like Wonwoo at all.

It wasn't long until you're whimpering on his lap as his cock twitches inside of you.

You were moving, with him helping you hump on him.

Wonwoo always had a way of getting you all breathless and... Naked.

You shifted, your arms around his neck as you kiss him. Not long, you got exhausted and Wonwoo had to take over. He took you to his room, cock stilled inside you as he drops you onto his bed—gently but urgent. He moved his hips to yours, kissing your lips all the way as his tongue brushes against your soft breasts. He can never get enough of you.

"Wonwoo," you whispered, his name a plea, a prayer, as your bodies moved in perfect synchronicity, the tension between you showing in the most intimate of ways.

"You're fucking perfect..." He muttered as he moved a little rougher than he intended to, his cock swarming in and out of your cunt.

His hand supported the back of your head to make you feel less tired and assured as he kisses your lips. His kisses were possessive and fast as his tongue finds yours.

When the two of you meet the ends of bliss, he cums all over you, painting your walls as you followed soon after, creaming all over his cock.

And for a moment, nothing else mattered.

Not the tangled web of emotions you'd woven, not the uncertainty of what came next.

It was just you and him, lost in a world of your own making, where every touch was a revelation, and every kiss was a declaration of the feelings you'd both been too afraid to voice.

Wonwoo had that soft spot that only showed when it came to you. He was never like this with anyone. You were simply too precious for him that he's suddenly afraid of losing you—scared of getting you off his hands.

You had his heart locked up and you didn't even know it.

But now, having you in his arms while the two of you just stay in the hot waters of the tub he had in his house, everything suddenly felt temporary—at least for him.

You turned to face him with your face all steamy, and you looked breathtaking as ever. Your arms found his neck as you leaned closer to hug him. His heart almost melted.

He held you closer, as you whispered sweet nothings to him. But suddenly, he just couldn't find those sweet genuine smiles of yours. It was given as a reflection of how hard things have been going for you. And he'd die for you just so you can find yourself at peace again.

"Use me all you want," he broke the silence. "I'll always be here no matter what."

You almost cried, biting your lips it almost bled. You hugged him tightly, too tightly that he pulled you even closer. He reached for your cheeks, cupping it before crashing his lips onto yours again. It was urgent, hectic, and was messy. But that didn't stop him from doing anything else.

Days have passed. It has been gloomy for you that even your viewers noticed whenever you were streaming. But their concern was making your heart a little lighter.

Personal life has always been separated from your gaming life. But right now, your lips kept slipping, suddenly spilling a tea you shouldn't even say.

Recently, youve only been streaming with either Vernon, Seungkwan, Hoshi, or Mingyu.

Who knew things would change just because of the stupid context "Love"? You blamed all the human feelings for eveything that has happened.

It was a Thursday afternoon when it finally broke. You were sitting at your desk, staring at the screen in front of you, but not really seeing it. Your thoughts kept spiraling back to Jeonghan and Wonwoo, to what you were doing, to what you wanted to do, but couldn't.

The door to your office creaked open, and your stomach flipped as Jeonghan stepped inside. He didn't bother knocking—he never did—but the way he closed the door behind him with deliberate care made your heart race.

"What now?" you asked, unable to keep the irritation out of your voice.

Jeonghan didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned against the edge of your desk, crossing his arms and letting his gaze sweep over you like he was sizing you up. "You look stressed," he said finally, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"I wonder why," you muttered, leaning back in your chair.

His smirk deepened. "Relax. I'm not here to scold you... much."

"Then why are you here?"

Jeonghan tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Oh, just wanted to see how my favorite coworker is doing."

You shot him a look, unimpressed. "Cut the small talk, Jeonghan. What do you want?"

He straightened, his playful demeanor softening into something more serious. "Fine. Let's skip to the point." He met your gaze, and there it was—that flicker of intensity that made it impossible to look away. "You and Wonwoo."

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. "What about us?"

Jeonghan's eyes narrowed slightly, but his tone remained deceptively light. "You're not very good at hiding things, you know. The way you look at him, the way he looks at you... It's cute, really."

"Jeonghan—"

"Don't worry," he interrupted, holding up a hand. "I'm not here to pry. In fact, I've got a proposal."

You blinked, caught off guard. "A proposal?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into that teasing, honeyed tone that always left you on edge. "If there's really nothing going on with him, how about you prove it?"

Your eyes narrowed. "Prove it how?"

"Go out with me."

The words hung in the air, and you stared at him like he'd just suggested robbing a bank. "What?"

Jeonghan grinned, clearly enjoying your reaction. "You heard me. Dinner. Tonight."

"Jeonghan, this isn't—"

"Let me guess," he cut you off, his tone turning playfully accusatory. "You're about to come up with some excuse. Busy schedule? Too tired? Or maybe..." His eyes gleamed with mischief. "You're worried Wonwoo might not like it."

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. His grin widened.

"Thought so," he said, stepping closer until he was leaning just slightly over you, his presence overwhelming. "So what's it going to be? Dinner with me, or another round of dodging questions you don't want to answer?"

You clenched your fists, your pride prickling at his audacity. "Fine," you snapped, standing abruptly. "Dinner it is. But only because I'm tired of you acting like you've got me all figured out."

Jeonghan's expression softened into something more genuine, though the smugness never fully left his face. "Looking forward to it." He stepped back, giving you space, but his voice turned teasing again as he reached for the door. "Oh, and wear something nice. I don't settle for half-effort, you know."

Before you could respond, he slipped out of the room, leaving you flustered, irritated, and strangely... intrigued.

The restaurant Jeonghan chose was exactly what you'd expect from him—classy but not overly extravagant, with dim lighting, soft music, and a menu that probably didn't have prices listed. You sat across from him, your fingers toying with the edge of your napkin as he ordered for the both of you, exuding the effortless charm that made people fall for him so easily.

"I could've ordered for myself, you know," you said, raising an eyebrow as the waiter walked away.

"I know," he replied smoothly, leaning back in his chair. "But I wanted to see if I got it right."

"And if you didn't?"

His lips curved into a sly smile. "Then I'd have something to tease you about for the rest of the night."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips. The banter was easy, familiar, and you hated how quickly it chipped away at your defenses.

Dinner passed in a blur of conversation and subtle glances, the tension between you two growing with every lingering look and accidental brush of fingers. By the time you stepped out of the restaurant, the cool evening air felt charged, and you weren't sure if it was the wine or Jeonghan's presence that had your head spinning.

"You're quiet," Jeonghan said as he walked beside you, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.

"I'm just... thinking," you replied, looking ahead.

"Dangerous habit," he teased, bumping his shoulder against yours lightly. "What's on your mind?"

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to him. His expression was relaxed, but there was something in his eyes—something that told you he wasn't as nonchalant as he seemed.

"Why me?" you asked finally, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Jeonghan stopped walking, turning to face you fully. "What do you mean?"

"You could've asked anyone to dinner. You didn't have to..." You trailed off, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his intense gaze.

"I didn't have to what?" he prompted, his voice soft but insistent.

"Push this," you finished, gesturing between the two of you.

Jeonghan took a step closer, his hand brushing against yours. "Maybe I didn't want just anyone," he said simply.

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart racing. Then, as if sensing your hesitation, he tilted his head toward the street.

"Come on," he said, his voice lighter. "Let's go."

"To where?"

"You'll see."

Jeonghan's home was exactly what you'd imagined: clean, stylish, and a little too perfect, like it had been lifted straight from an interior design magazine. You've been to his house before, but this one, it's a different one. You barely had time to take it all in before he was leading you to the living room, his hand resting lightly on your back.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, motioning to the couch.

You sat down, feeling all the suddenly uncharacteristically out of place. The air between you was heavy, and you weren't sure if it was the wine, the dim lighting, or the way Jeonghan was looking at you that made your skin tingle.

"You okay?" he asked, sitting beside you, close enough that your knees brushed.

"I'm fine," you replied, though your voice came out quieter than you intended.

Jeonghan didn't say anything at first. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face. The gesture was gentle, almost hesitant, and it made your breath catch.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You didn't. It always had to be like this.

The first kiss was soft, tentative, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away. But when you didn't, his hand cupped your cheek, and the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that left you breathless.

Before you knew it, you were pressed against the couch, his body hovering over yours as his hands roamed, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Every touch, every kiss felt like a question, and your answers came in the way you pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, his lips brushing against your neck.

"Yes," you breathed, the word slipping out without hesitation.

And with that, the tension that had been building between you for what felt like forever finally snapped. Jeonghan was everywhere—his touch, his scent, the way he whispered your name like a prayer. He took his time, savoring every moment, every reaction, until you were completely undone and naked beneath him.

Jeonghan had laid you gently on the soft, white mattress as his kisses to your neck become more heated, leaving his love bites all over the sensitive skin as if he knows what and where to kiss.

His hands did the same, gripping your breasts, thighs, name every sensitive spot you know, and he knows it.

He slipped two fingers in and was surprised—impressed it slipped in easily. He loves how wet and open you are for him. "So wet, for me?" Jeonghan teases as he pulls in and out with you squirming underneath him. He loves you, the way your vulnerable under him, looking pretty as he messes you up.

You moan loudly, and that's how he loves it. Your hands grip his shirt too tightly he starts to unbutton and undress himself for you.

He kisses your lips as if taking a shot full of love. The way he swallowed your muffled moans was intoxicating. He takes his time exploring you like he has before. Every touch, kiss felt wrong. But Jeonghan's touches were enough to blur your thoughts, sending you back to the bitter but sweetest reality.

"I can't lose you," was what he whispered, and it was enough to send you shivers down your spine.

Jeonghan's fingers were dipped deep inside your cunt as you clench around him, and finally, you cum soak and hot through his fingers. He licks them before he aligns his cock on your pussy before entering you completely slowly but surely.

He snaps his hips onto yours as you scream out his name. Jeonghan pins your arms over your head, his fingers intertwined with your as his head falls on your shoulders, his thrusts increasing its speed.

You hold onto his hand, his cock entering you in and out in the most blissful way, enough to make you whimper his name.

The room was filled with your lustful cries and skin-to-skin contacts, making the night long and... Loud but sweetly slow.

When it was over, the two of you lay tangled together on the couch, the room silent except for the sound of your breathing. Jeonghan's fingers traced lazy patterns on your arm, and for once, you didn't feel the weight of questions or doubts pressing down on you.

"You okay?" he asked again, his voice softer this time.

"Yeah," you replied, resting your head against his chest.

Jeonghan smiled, pressing a kiss to your hair. "Good. Because I'm not done with you yet."

You hadn't expected things to move this fast, but when you woke up to a text from Wonwoo saying, "We need to talk. Tonight," your stomach twisted in anticipation. Wonwoo wasn't the type to be vague unless it really mattered.

The evening came too quickly. When you opened the door, Wonwoo stood there, hands in his pockets, wearing that casual but disarming look that always made your heart skip.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice carrying a weight you couldn't quite place.

You stepped aside, letting him in. The familiar scent of him wrapped around you as he passed by, but you noticed how he didn't meet your eyes right away.

"Talk," you said, leaning on the counter, trying to sound steady despite the knot in your chest.

Wonwoo hesitated, running a hand through his hair—a nervous habit you rarely saw. "I've been thinking a lot lately," he began, his voice lower than usual. "About streaming, about us... about everything."

You folded your arms, unsure where this was going. "And?"

He exhaled sharply, like he'd been holding it in for days. "I think I'm done with it. At least for now."

Your brows shot up in surprise. "Done? With streaming?"

"Yeah," he said with a shrug, but his tone was anything but casual. "I've never liked all the attention anyway. I just wanted to play games, have fun... but now it feels like it's not mine anymore. It's everyone else's." He glanced at you, his eyes softening. "And I don't want that for you either. You're caught in the middle of this mess—me, Jeonghan, the fans... all of it. It's not fair to you."

"Wonwoo..." Your voice trailed off, unsure of how to respond.

He took a step closer, his hands brushing against yours. "I'm not saying I'm giving it up forever. But right now, I want to be here for you. No distractions. No streams. Just... us."

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. This wasn't the teasing, sarcastic Wonwoo you were used to. This was him, raw and unfiltered, laying it all out.

"You don't have to do that," you whispered, your throat tight. "You've worked so hard for this."

He smiled faintly, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "And I'm willing to work harder for what matters more."

You stared at him, speechless. There was no witty comeback, no sarcastic quip that could deflect the sincerity of his words. All you could do was nod, the lump in your throat refusing to go away.

Jeonghan wasn't distant. If anything, he was still Jeonghan—unpredictable, frustratingly charming, and always one step ahead. But he was careful, too. He knew how to give you space without making you feel abandoned. And somehow, that was worse.

He'd still show up at work with that easygoing smile, cracking jokes like nothing had changed. But his gaze lingered longer now, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to solve a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out.

So when he showed up unannounced one night, leaning against your doorway with his hands in his pockets, it shouldn't have surprised you. But it did.

"Jeonghan?" you asked, blinking.

He tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Expecting someone else?"

You rolled your eyes, stepping aside to let him in. "What do you want?"

He walked in like he owned the place, his usual air of confidence making your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

"I've been thinking," he said, his tone light, but there was an edge to it. "About us."

You froze. "Jeonghan, I don't think—"

He cut you off with a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Relax. I'm not here to pick a fight. I just..." He trailed off, his expression softening as he looked at you. "I just want to understand."

"Understand what?" you asked quietly.

"This," he said, gesturing between you. "You and me. You and Wonwoo. You're acting like you have to choose, but... I don't think you even know what you want."

His words stung because they were true.

"Jeonghan, it's not that simple," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"It never is," he replied, stepping closer. "But I'm not going anywhere. I need you to know that. I'm here, whether you figure this out tomorrow, next week, or next year."

You stared at him, your chest tightening. "Why?"

He smiled then, that infuriatingly calm smile that made you want to scream and melt at the same time. "Because you're worth it."

His words hung between you, and for a moment, the world stopped. You didn't know what to say, so you didn't say anything. But Jeonghan didn't seem to mind. He just stood there, his presence a steady reminder that, no matter how messy things got, he wasn't giving up on you.

Not yet.

You weren't expecting the night to spiral the way it did. It started innocently enough—Seungkwan coaxed you into coming over with promises of a chill evening filled with karaoke and snacks, just like old times. But somewhere between the third glass of wine and a round of ill-advised shots, everything unraveled.

Seungkwan was tipsy but still his usual lively self, cracking jokes and commanding the mic. Hoshi, however, stayed seated off to the side, his eyes flicking to you every now and then with a quiet, worried intensity.

It wasn't like you to let loose this much. And Seungkwan wasn't one to miss the signs.

"Y/N," he called, his voice cutting through the haze of music and laughter. It was softer than usual, more serious. "What's going on? You've been... off lately. Talk to me."

You blinked at him, the alcohol buzzing in your veins making everything feel surreal. The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

"I'm falling apart, Seungkwan," you said, laughing bitterly. "And I don't think you even know half of it."

That got his attention. He leaned forward, setting his drink down as his playful expression melted into concern. "Then tell me," he urged. "We're not letting you sit there and spiral alone."

You hesitated, but the weight you'd been carrying was too much to hold back anymore.

"It's them," you admitted, your voice trembling. "Jeonghan and Wonwoo. One minute they act like I'm nothing, and the next, it's like I'm their whole world. I don't know how to keep up. I don't even know who I am anymore."

Seungkwan frowned, his brows knitting together as he processed your words. Hoshi, who had been silent until now, leaned in slightly, his sharp gaze softening.

"Then why are you letting them do this to you?" Seungkwan asked gently.

"I'm not letting them," you shot back, though your voice cracked. "I don't know how to stop it. I don't know if I even want to stop it. I—" You paused, shaking your head as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. "I love them both. And it's tearing me apart."

The room fell into a heavy silence, save for the faint hum of the karaoke machine. Seungkwan exchanged a quick look with Hoshi, one of those unspoken conversations that only close friends could have.

"Alright," Seungkwan said, breaking the quiet. "Let's settle this."

You blinked at him, confused. "Settle what?"

"Let's see who actually cares," he said, pulling out his phone. "I'll call Jeonghan. Hoshi can text Wonwoo. We'll see who shows up first. No excuses, no games."

"What?" You stared at him, horrified. "You're not seriously going to—"

"Oh, I absolutely am," he interrupted with a smirk, though his eyes held an edge of seriousness. "If they're worth your time, they'll come. And if they don't? Well, then you have your answer."

Before you could protest, Seungkwan had already pressed dial, and Hoshi was tapping away on his phone. Your stomach churned, the weight of what they were doing sinking in.

The ten minutes that followed felt like an eternity. The alcohol in your system dulled the edges of your anxiety, but it couldn't erase it. And then, the doorbell rang.

Seungkwan's face lit up with mischief as he sprang to his feet. "Contestant number one," he announced, heading for the door.

When he opened it, Jeonghan was standing there, his expression unreadable. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, and something flickered in his gaze—concern, maybe even guilt. He stepped inside without a word.

"Y/N," he said quietly, crossing the room to crouch in front of you. "What happened?"

Your throat tightened, and you looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm fine," you mumbled, though your voice betrayed you.

"You're not," he said, his tone softer now. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Talk to me."

Before you could respond, the doorbell rang again.

Hoshi grinned as he glanced at his phone. "Wonwoo," he said simply.

When Wonwoo stepped inside, his gaze immediately found yours. His brow furrowed as he took in your tear-streaked face and Jeonghan's presence by your side. The tension in the room thickened.

"I'm here," Wonwoo said, his voice calm but laced with urgency. "Are you okay?"

Jeonghan rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate as he turned to face Wonwoo. The air between them crackled with unspoken rivalry.

"She's fine," Jeonghan said coolly, though the way he hovered near you said otherwise.

Wonwoo's jaw tightened, but he didn't take the bait. Instead, he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "Y/N, what's going on? Why are you like this?"

The weight of their stares was too much. You buried your face in your hands, your voice muffled as you finally broke. "Because I love you both, okay? And I don't know what to do about it!"

The room fell deathly silent.

Jeonghan's usually composed demeanor faltered, his eyes widening ever so slightly. Wonwoo, on the other hand, looked like he'd been punched in the gut.

"I didn't want this," you continued, your voice trembling. "I didn't want to fall for both of you, but I did. And now I'm stuck. I don't know how to choose, and I'm scared—scared that if I pick one of you, I'll lose the other forever."

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Y/N..." he began, but his voice trailed off. For once, he seemed at a loss for words.

Wonwoo stepped closer, his expression softening as he crouched beside you. "You don't have to figure this out tonight," he said quietly. "But you can't keep tearing yourself apart over this. Let us help you."

You looked between them, your heart aching. You wanted to believe his words, but deep down, you knew this was only the beginning.

Seungkwan and Hoshi stood off to the side, watching silently. For once, even Seungkwan didn't have a joke to lighten the mood.

The night had started with laughter, but it ended with a truth none of you were ready to face.

After the bombshell of your drunken confession, a heavy silence settles over the room, stretching between you, Jeonghan, and Wonwoo. Seungkwan and Hoshi exchange uneasy glances, clearly sensing the gravity of the situation, but they wisely retreat, leaving the three of you alone to navigate the emotional fallout. The weight of your words lingers in the air like a storm cloud, thick and impossible to ignore.

You're not sure when the idea began to form in your mind. Perhaps it's the alcohol still coursing through your veins, or maybe it's the stark realization that you can't choose. You can't bear the thought of losing either Jeonghan or Wonwoo—not now, not ever. Deep down, your heart knows what you've been avoiding all along: it doesn't have to be just one.

Despite the tension crackling between the three of you, you somehow end up outside in the cool night air. Jeonghan leans casually against his car, his eyes closed as he takes a slow, measured breath. Wonwoo stands a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set in quiet thought. None of you speak at first, the silence stretching painfully long.

It's Wonwoo who finally breaks it, his voice quieter than usual but firm. "We need to figure this out."

Jeonghan's eyes flicker open, locking onto Wonwoo's. There's something unreadable in his gaze—hesitation, confusion, maybe even anger. But there's also a flicker of something dangerous, something bold. "I agree," Jeonghan says evenly. "But we're not treating this like a game."

Wonwoo's lips twitch into a smirk, though it carries a dark edge. "So what, then? We leave her alone to figure it out on her own? Pretend like none of this matters?"

Jeonghan's jaw tightens, and his voice sharpens. "That's not what I said. But I'm not rushing into something that could hurt her even more. She's confused—"

You take a step forward, your heart pounding in your chest. "I'm not confused," you interject, your voice trembling but resolute. "I'm scared. But I know what I want."

Both men turn to you, their gazes intense, waiting. The words catch in your throat, but you force them out. "I want you both. I can't pick. I'm sorry, but I can't."

Jeonghan pushes off the car, exhaling sharply. He glances at Wonwoo, a hint of disbelief coloring his features. "So, what now? Are you seriously suggesting we share her?"

Wonwoo doesn't flinch. "Why not?" he says simply. "You and I both care about her. She's not some prize to fight over, Jeonghan. She's part of both our lives, and we've been acting like we don't know it."

Jeonghan stares at him, his expression shifting from shock to something more thoughtful. A humorless chuckle escapes him. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

Wonwoo's gaze doesn't waver. "I've been serious for a while. We've been dancing around this, and I'm tired of pretending. She wants us both, and I'm not going to act like that's not real."

For a moment, Jeonghan says nothing, his attention drifting to you. His gaze softens, though his words remain cautious. "This isn't how I imagined things... but maybe you're right. It's messy, but what choice do we have?"

The tentative understanding between the two men feels fragile, like a thread stretched too thin. But it's there, and for the first time, the tension seems to ease.

Jeonghan turns to you fully, his eyes sharp but tinged with vulnerability. "You really want this? Both of us?"

You nod, your voice steady despite the whirlwind inside you. "Yes. I know it's not fair, and it's not simple, but I want both of you. I can't choose. I won't."

Wonwoo steps closer, his voice dropping lower. "Then we need to make this work, but it has to be real. No more games, Y/N. No lies. We have to be honest with each other, all of us."

Jeonghan joins him, standing close enough that you can feel the warmth of his presence. "This isn't some fantasy," he says, his tone serious. "It's not going to be perfect. But if we're doing this, we're all in. No second-guessing, no turning back."

You swallow hard but nod. Relief washes over you, mingled with fear and hope. "I'm in this with you both. But I need to know... that you're both okay with this. That you're not doing it because you feel sorry for me."

Jeonghan's lips curve into a faint smirk, his familiar teasing edge returning. "What do you think, Wonwoo?"

Wonwoo's gaze doesn't waver as he looks at you, his expression dark and unreadable. "I'm in," he says softly. "For you, Y/N. I'm all in."

Jeonghan places a hand on your shoulder, his touch firm yet gentle. "Then we'll figure this out together. It won't be easy, but we'll make it work. Just... no more running, alright?"

You nod, tears pricking your eyes as a strange, fragile hope takes root in your chest. This wasn't what you had expected, but somehow, it feels like the start of something real—messy, complicated, and raw, but undeniably yours.

You wake up groggy but surprisingly refreshed. The events of last night come rushing back, and you half expect to be greeted with awkward silence or heavy stares. But instead, when you shuffle into the living room, still in Seungkwan's borrowed sweatshirt, you're met with the smell of coffee and the sight of Jeonghan and Wonwoo quietly talking.

Jeonghan looks up first, his smile soft but mischievous. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

Wonwoo snorts, sliding a cup of coffee across the table toward you. "You were out like a light. We almost thought you'd never wake up."

You groan, plopping down onto the couch and cradling the mug. "Don't remind me. I'm never drinking that much again."

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. "You say that every time, though."

You shoot him a look but can't help the small smile tugging at your lips. "Shut up, Hannie."

Wonwoo leans back in his seat, his expression softer than usual. "We should talk," he says, his tone calm but sincere.

Your stomach flips, but before you can spiral into panic, Jeonghan chimes in, his voice surprisingly light. "Don't worry, no drama this time. We just want to make sure we're all... on the same page."

You nod slowly, taking a sip of your coffee to buy yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. "Okay," you say finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

Wonwoo leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "We meant what we said last night. About making this work. But we also realized..." He hesitates, glancing at Jeonghan for support.

Jeonghan picks up where he left off, his voice unusually gentle. "We realized we haven't been making things any easier for you. If anything, we've been selfish—fighting over you instead of being there for you. And we want to change that."

You blink, your chest tightening at their words. "I... I don't know what to say," you admit.

Jeonghan smiles, that familiar spark of teasing returning to his eyes. "You don't have to say anything. Just... maybe don't get drunk and confess your love for us in front of Seungkwan and Hoshi again."

You groan, burying your face in your hands as Wonwoo chuckles quietly. "Oh my god, I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"Absolutely not," Jeonghan says, his grin widening.

Wonwoo's expression softens again, his voice lowering. "But seriously... we're here for you. No matter what."

You peek out from behind your hands, meeting their gazes. For the first time in what feels like forever, the tension is gone, replaced by something lighter. Something warmer.

And as the three of you sit there, laughing and teasing like old times, you can't help but feel a flicker of hope. It's not going to be easy, but maybe—just maybe—you can make this work after all.

It started innocently enough. Or so you thought.

When Seungkwan invited you over for a "relaxing game night," you foolishly believed him. Of course, he conveniently forgot to mention that Jeonghan, Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Vernon would also be there. By the time you arrived at his place, Hoshi was already setting up snacks, and the two men you were desperately trying not to think about were seated on opposite sides of the couch, a safe but glaringly obvious distance apart. Mingyu was lounging on the armchair, flipping through a magazine with the kind of carefree attitude only he could pull off. And Vernon? Well, he was eating snacks in the corner, casually looking like he had nothing to do with the chaos about to unfold.

"Ah, you're here!" Seungkwan beamed, practically dragging you inside. "Now the fun can really start."

You hesitated at the doorway, your gaze flickering between Jeonghan's easy smile and Wonwoo's quiet nod of acknowledgment. Something about their presence together felt... combustible, but you pushed the thought aside. You were here to have fun. Totally chill, non-dramatic fun. Right?

"Sit, sit!" Seungkwan ushered you onto the couch—right in the middle of Jeonghan and Wonwoo. You froze, hyperaware of how close their knees were to brushing yours.

Mingyu, sensing the awkward energy in the room, chimed in from his chair. "If you need a distraction, I've got a full buffet of snacks over here."

You gave him a grateful look, but it didn't help. You were already sitting too close to the two men who made your heart race in completely different ways.

Hoshi, sensing the awkward energy in the room, clapped his hands together. "Alright, first game: Charades!"

Charades started out harmless enough, with Hoshi miming a bird and Seungkwan pretending to be a dramatic fainting prince. But then Seungkwan upped the ante.

"Jeonghan, your turn!" he said, his grin far too mischievous for comfort. He handed Jeonghan a card, and you watched as the older man's eyes lit up with amusement.

Jeonghan stood, rolling his shoulders like an actor preparing for a big scene. Then he got down on one knee, placed a hand over his chest, and—with exaggerated flair—pretended to confess his love.

The room erupted in laughter, but your face burned as Jeonghan's gaze lingered on you just a second too long. "Did I nail it?" he asked, smirking as he returned to his seat.

"A little too convincing," Hoshi teased, elbowing you. "What do you think?"

You sputtered, "I-I mean, it was fine!"

Mingyu looked entirely too entertained. "Yeah, I think Jeonghan might've just volunteered for 'Best Actor.'"

Wonwoo, who had been watching silently, finally spoke. "Fine? I think he overdid it."

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. "Overdid it? Or are you just jealous you didn't get the card?"

"Jealous?" Wonwoo scoffed, leaning back with an infuriatingly calm expression. "Not really my style."

Vernon, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, jumped in from his snack corner. "Oh, please. We all know Jeonghan would do anything for the spotlight."

Seungkwan clapped his hands before things could escalate further. "Okay, okay! Next round! Wonwoo, you're up!"

If Jeonghan's over-the-top confession wasn't bad enough, Seungkwan somehow convinced Wonwoo to serenade the group during Truth or Dare. And not just any song. A love song.

"Oh, come on," Wonwoo protested, but Seungkwan's relentless enthusiasm won out. Grumbling, Wonwoo picked up Hoshi's acoustic guitar and strummed a few hesitant chords before starting to sing. His voice, low and rich, filled the room, and you couldn't stop the shiver that ran down your spine.

It was intimate, almost too much, as if the song was meant for you and you alone. By the time he finished, the room was dead silent.

"Well, damn," Jeonghan finally said, breaking the tension with a low whistle. "Didn't know you had it in you."

Vernon leaned in and whispered to Mingyu, "What do you think? Do we need to hire him for the next concert?"

Mingyu grinned. "I vote yes. But only if I get backup dancer status."

Wonwoo shrugged, his gaze flicking to you briefly before he set the guitar down. "It's just a song."

Just a song, sure. But the way your heart was pounding said otherwise.

The night wore on, filled with more games and Seungkwan's relentless teasing. But the final blow came when Seungkwan, clearly buzzed on soda and his own chaos, leaned forward and grinned wickedly.

"So," he said, his tone far too casual, "who's the better kisser? Jeonghan or Wonwoo?"

You choked on your drink, coughing violently as Hoshi burst out laughing. "Seungkwan, what the hell?!"

Jeonghan's eyes sparkled with amusement, while Wonwoo's expression darkened. "Really, Seungkwan?"

"What? It's a valid question!" Seungkwan said, feigning innocence. "We're all friends here, right?"

You buried your face in your hands, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. "I am not answering that."

Jeonghan, ever the instigator, leaned closer. "You don't have to say it. I think we all know the answer."

Wonwoo's jaw tightened. "Do we? Because I'm pretty sure we don't."

Vernon, with his usual deadpan humor, spoke up. "Honestly, I think everyone just needs a cold shower."

Mingyu practically snorted from his chair. "You're not wrong, man."

Hoshi, practically in tears from laughing, waved his hands. "Okay, okay! Let's call it a night before someone actually dies."

You groaned, vowing to never let Seungkwan plan anything ever again. But as you glanced between Jeonghan and Wonwoo, both of whom were now glaring at each other, you couldn't help but wonder: how the hell did your life get this complicated?

That evening, after everyone had left you alone with both Jeonghan and Wonwoo, the atmosphere shifts. It's quieter, more intimate, as the three of you settle on the couch. You're sandwiched between them, their presence comforting but charged with unspoken tension.

Jeonghan's hand brushes against yours, his fingers lingering before he takes your hand fully. You glance up, meeting his eyes. They're soft but searching, as if he's trying to read every thought running through your mind.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath catches, but you nod. His lips are warm and familiar, moving against yours with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. When he pulls back, you're left staring at him, your thoughts a whirlwind.

Then, you feel Wonwoo's hand on your back, steady and grounding. You turn to him, and his gaze holds a quiet intensity. He doesn't ask, but his hesitation is clear, giving you the choice. When you lean toward him, his lips meet yours in a kiss that's different but no less meaningful. It's slower, deeper, like he's pouring every unspoken word into it.

When you pull back, you realize you're holding both their hands. The moment is electric, filled with a newfound understanding. They're not competing anymore. Instead, they're focused entirely on you.

Jeonghan's arms are steady as he lifts you off the sofa, cradling you effortlessly. His gaze never leaves yours, a quiet intensity in his eyes as he carries you toward the bedroom. You barely notice Wonwoo following behind until you feel his hands on you, tugging at the hem of your shirt as soon as Jeonghan sets you down on the edge of the bed.

"Wonwoo," Jeonghan murmurs, his tone half a warning and half amusement, but he doesn't stop him.

Wonwoo works with quiet precision, pulling your shirt over your head in one swift motion, leaving you bare to their hungry eyes. You shiver under the weight of their attention, but before you can feel self-conscious, Jeonghan is there, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your lips.

"You're perfect," he whispers against your mouth, his voice low and reverent, as if every word is a vow.

Wonwoo's hands glide over your shoulders, down your sides, his touch firmer, more deliberate. His lips trail along your neck, sending a jolt of heat through your body. "You're ours," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and possessive, making your pulse race.

Jeonghan pulls back just enough to catch your dazed expression, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Do you want this?" he asks, his voice gentle but edged with a raw need.

You nod, breathless, your hands finding their way to Jeonghan's hair and Wonwoo's arm, pulling them closer. "Yes," you manage to say, the word barely above a whisper, but it's all they need.

Jeonghan smiles, a slow, wicked curve of his lips, before he leans in again, kissing you deeply. Meanwhile, Wonwoo's hands make quick work of the waistband of your pants, sliding them down with agonizing slowness, his fingertips leaving trails of fire in their wake.

The bed dips as Jeonghan pushes you gently back, his lips never leaving yours, while Wonwoo's hands and lips continue their exploration. Every touch, every kiss is unhurried, as if they're taking their time memorizing every inch of you.

"You're stunning," Wonwoo murmurs, his voice thick with admiration, as he shifts to press kisses lower, his hands spreading warmth wherever they touch.

Jeonghan's hand slides up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak, drawing a gasp from your lips. "She's perfect," Jeonghan agrees, his voice soft but filled with awe as he glances at Wonwoo, a rare moment of unity passing between them.

Wonwoo was already eating you out, Jeonghan swallowing every moan coming out from those pretty lips of yours. Wonwoo's tongue entered you and it made you arche your back just a little until Jeonghan puts you in place. You were practically breathless as Jeonghan's lips travel to your neck to leave more marks on you.

Never in your life would you have expected such an outcome like this. But before you could even process anything, Wonwoo was overstimulating you. You squirmed, but Jeonghan made sure to keep you in place.

"W- wait..." You cried out as you squirt for the second time. But Wonwoo doesn't stop. Your head fell on the pillow behind you, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you whine and whimper.

They work in tandem, their movements coordinated and seamless, as if they've silently agreed to worship every part of you together. Jeonghan's lips claim yours again, his kiss slow and consuming, while Wonwoo's mouth and hands draw moans from you, the tension in the room thick and electric.

When Wonwoo finally pulls away from your soaked cunt, he puts his fingers in before you can even have any time to catch your breath. Jeonghan pulls away and watches the younger mess you up and do all the work. With your swollen lips, messy hair, and having Wonwoo mess you up was quite the sight for him. He wouldn't imagine anyone else do you like this, but why is he rock hard on seeing you in a state like this.

Wonwoo wasn't very different from Jeonghan, you looked too hot and pretty being all vulnerable for them like this. It makes him want to give the whole world to you.

You pant as Wonwoo's fingers enter you in and out fast, Jeonghan smirks beside you, holding your hands and watching your every reaction. It didn't matter if you looked pathetic being watched, it was this moment that had you distracted from everything.

Wonwoo was first to have his dick inside of your cunt, with your back facing him, whimpering as he humps himself into you. You were arched down on the bed, Jeonghan's thumb grazed your lips as you opened your mouth for him. He slowly shoves his cock in you until it reached your throat, almost making you gag, but with Wonwoo's hard thrusts behind you, your moans vibrated on Jeonghan's cock, making him grunt to the feeling.

"Shit... She's fucking... Tight.." Wonwoo grunts as he feels your pussy clench around his cock. Jeonghan has his hand through your soft flocks, guiding your head, having you bob over him.

"Are you gonna cum?" Jeonghan manages to let out. Wonwoo huffed, muttered a messy 'yes' as he blows a one final thrust before cumming, painting your walls beautifully with his hot load mixing with yours.

Jeonghan follows right after, cumming into your mouth. You swallowed everything before falling down onto the bed, covering yourself up with the blanket nearby. Jeonghan holds his hand out to your head, brushing your hair with his fingers while Wonwoo grabbed a wet towel nearby.

The older tugged at the blanket you were holding but you were holding onto it too tight as if your life had depended on it. "Oh come on, princess, come out, we'll just clean you up."

Wonwoo smiled before sitting at your side. "Are you alright, Y/N?" It's his tone that made you want to be eaten by the bed right then and there.

You shifted, catching your breath before replying a stubborn "I'll clean myself."

Jeonghan sighs softly, brushing his fingers through your hair, his touch featherlight as he watches you bury your face in the pillow. "Alright, princess, take your time," he murmurs, his tone gentle, a stark contrast to the tension that had filled the room moments ago. He doesn't push you, instead shifting to sit beside you while Wonwoo presses a damp towel against your shoulder, the warmth grounding you.

The silence between the three of you feels comfortable now, no longer heavy with hesitation. Wonwoo leans down, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispers, "We'll take care of you. You don't have to do anything else."

His words, so quiet and sincere, stir something deep inside you. Slowly, you loosen your grip on the blanket, letting it slip down as Jeonghan and Wonwoo exchange soft smiles. They aren't in a hurry—there's no rush to shatter the fragile, vulnerable intimacy that lingers in the room.

Jeonghan is the first to move, his hands gently guiding you to sit up. He wraps the blanket loosely around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth before leaning in to press his lips to your forehead. "You're beautiful like this," he whispers, his eyes soft and tender as they meet yours.

Wonwoo nods in agreement, his gaze never leaving your face. "We'll make this night unforgettable for you," he promises, his voice steady and full of conviction.

They take their time, helping you clean up and settle against the pillows before climbing into bed on either side of you. Jeonghan props himself up on one elbow, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm, while Wonwoo presses a kiss to the curve of your shoulder, his warmth seeping into you.

"I think we broke her," Jeonghan teases lightly, his voice tinged with humor as he nudges you gently. The corners of his mouth curve into a smirk, but his eyes remain soft, a quiet adoration evident in his expression.

You manage a small laugh, the sound easing the tension in your chest. "You think?" you reply, your voice hoarse but laced with a teasing edge.

Wonwoo chuckles, his fingers finding yours and lacing them together. "Maybe we should slow down," he says, his tone warm and full of affection.

But Jeonghan shakes his head, leaning in close enough for you to feel his breath against your cheek. "Not unless she tells us to," he murmurs, his lips brushing over the corner of your mouth in a ghost of a kiss.

You take a deep breath, the weight of the moment pressing against your chest, but not in a suffocating way. It's grounding, like they're anchoring you to them. You nod slowly, meeting their eyes. "I don't want this to end," you admit, the words spilling from your lips before you can stop them.

Wonwoo smiles, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "It won't," he promises softly.

Jeonghan presses a kiss to your temple, his voice a low murmur against your skin. "Then let us show you just how much you mean to us."

The night unfolds in a blur of soft whispers and lingering touches, their movements unhurried, as if they're memorizing every detail of this moment. There's no rush, no urgency—only the quiet, steady rhythm of shared breaths and the warmth of their bodies pressed against yours.

They take turns holding you, their touches soothing and reverent, as if you're something precious, too delicate to be rushed. Jeonghan's lips trace over your collarbone, his hands warm against your skin, while Wonwoo's fingers weave through your hair, his voice low and steady as he murmurs sweet nothings that make your heart ache in the best way.

Hours pass, but it doesn't feel like enough. By the time exhaustion pulls at you, your body relaxed and your mind hazy, you're nestled between them, their arms wrapped protectively around you. Jeonghan presses a kiss to the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair. "Sleep, princess," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the room.

Wonwoo's hand rests over yours, his thumb brushing idly against your skin. "We're not going anywhere," he promises, his voice a soothing balm that eases you into sleep.

As you drift off, cocooned in their warmth, you realize that something has shifted—not just between them, but within you. There's no going back, but in this moment, you're not sure you'd want to.

The faint sound of keyboard clicks filled the cozy apartment, punctuated by the occasional hum of the game loading screen. You sat cross-legged on the couch, cradling a mug of tea as you watched Wonwoo focus intently on his monitor. His glasses rested low on his nose, and his hoodie sleeves were slightly pushed up, revealing the veins in his arms.

“Are you almost done?” you asked, your voice soft but impatient.

Wonwoo smirked without looking back. “Five minutes. I’m almost at the save point.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against the cushions. “You’ve been ‘almost done’ for the last twenty minutes. If you’d told me this was going to turn into a date with your PC, I’d have stayed home.”

That earned a laugh from him, low and warm. “You are home,” he countered. “And besides, I remember someone saying they like watching me play.”

“I said I like playing with you,” you shot back. “Not being the third wheel to your Overwatch teammates.”

His head turned, and the mischievous glint in his eyes made your stomach flip. “You know I can’t stream you. You’re too competitive. They’d think I was getting bullied live.”

You threw a pillow at him, and he caught it mid-air, laughing as he finally shut his game down. Wonwoo stretched, his movements unhurried as he made his way to the couch. He slouched beside you, his head resting on your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You want to play?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“No,” you replied, setting your mug down. “I want your undivided attention, gamer boy.”

“Undivided, huh?” He chuckled and shifted, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer. “You’re demanding tonight.”

“I get you for six hours tops,” you teased, though there was no bite in your tone. “I have to make the most of it before Jeonghan steals me away again tomorrow.”

Wonwoo’s smile softened at the mention of Jeonghan, but there was no jealousy in his eyes—just a quiet understanding. “That’s fair,” he murmured. “But for now, I’m not letting you go.”

The next morning, Jeonghan was already dressed and sipping his coffee when you arrived at his office. He glanced up from his phone, his lips curving into a knowing smirk.

“You’re late,” he said, setting the phone down.

“I’m on time,” you corrected, placing the takeout bag on his desk. “And I brought breakfast, so maybe don’t start the day with complaints.”

Jeonghan opened the bag, his eyebrows raising at the sight of the pastries. “Fancy. Did Wonwoo pick these out?”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Is it that obvious?”

“It’s his favorite bakery,” Jeonghan replied with a shrug, biting into the croissant. “He’s got good taste. I can’t fault him for that.”

The playful edge in his tone made you squint at him. “What? No snarky comment about me spending the night there?”

“Why would I?” He leaned back in his chair, a casual air about him. “I got you all day. I’m not greedy.”

You raised a skeptical brow. “Not greedy? You called me three times yesterday to ‘check in.’”

Jeonghan’s grin widened, unrepentant. “What can I say? I miss you when you’re gone.” He reached across the desk, his fingers brushing yours. “But you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

Later that evening, as you headed home, you were caught off guard by Jeonghan and Wonwoo’s playful conversation in the group chat.

Jeonghan: She didn’t text me back last night, so I assume you hogged her attention? Wonwoo: You got her all day. Don’t be greedy, hyung. Jeonghan: Touché. But I did buy her coffee yesterday. So, you owe me. Wonwoo: I’ll send you my leftover ramen.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you read their messages. Despite their differences, there was an unspoken balance between the three of you—a connection that somehow worked without tipping into chaos

The hum of Jeonghan’s suitcase wheels rolling across the marble floor broke the silence in the apartment. He paused at the doorway, turning back to you with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay while I’m gone?” he asked, adjusting the cuff of his blazer with meticulous care. His tone was calm, almost nonchalant, but the faint crease between his brows betrayed his unease.

You crossed the room to him, your hands deftly straightening his tie. “I’ll be fine, Jeonghan. It’s just a couple of days. Plus, Wonwoo’s around, so I won’t be lonely.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, though his gaze lingered on yours. “I’m not worried about that,” he murmured, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch was deliberate, like he was memorizing the feel of you before the distance set in. “I just hate leaving when things are good.”

“You act like you’re gone for months.” You smiled, trying to lighten the mood, but the look in his eyes made your chest tighten.

“Sometimes a few days is enough to miss what matters,” he replied softly. His words hung in the air, laced with meaning.

Your smile faltered for a moment before you pressed a kiss to his cheek, grounding the moment. “Don’t worry about me. Just focus on your meetings, and I’ll focus on making sure Wonwoo doesn’t eat ramen every night.”

Jeonghan huffed a laugh, the crease in his brow finally easing. “Good luck with that. He’s stubborn.” He rolled his suitcase toward the door but stopped one last time, turning to face you.

“I’ll make it up to you when I’m back,” he promised, his voice quieter now, like he was speaking to himself as much as to you.

“Deal,” you said, watching as the door clicked shut behind him.

The apartment felt emptier in the silence that followed, the faint scent of Jeonghan’s cologne lingering in the air. You exhaled, pressing your palm to the closed door as a bittersweet ache settled in your chest. It wasn’t unusual for Jeonghan to leave, but the gaps he left behind always felt bigger than you expected.

The sound of your phone buzzing snapped you out of your thoughts. You grabbed it off the counter, smiling when Wonwoo’s name flashed on the screen.

Wonwoo: What time should I come over? You: now. i could use some company Wonwoo: On my way. Bring snacks? You: Obviously.

Half an hour later, you were curled up on the couch, a bag of chips balanced precariously between you and Wonwoo as he flipped through movie options on the TV.

“So,” he said, settling on an action flick, “Jeonghan’s off to be CEO of the year again?”

You nodded, taking a sip of your drink. “It’s just a couple of days.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “He doesn’t like being away from you. Not that I blame him.”

The casual way he said it sent a flutter through your chest, but you rolled your eyes to play it off. “You’re not going to get all sentimental on me, are you?”

Wonwoo smirked, reaching over to steal a chip. “Not my style.”

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the sounds of the movie filling the room. But as the night wore on, you found yourself leaning into Wonwoo’s shoulder, his warmth seeping into you like a quiet reassurance.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice low, “he’s lucky I’m not the jealous type.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, your lips quirking into a smile. “And why’s that?”

Wonwoo glanced down at you, his dark eyes holding a glimmer of something unreadable. “Because sharing isn’t easy. But I think it’s worth it—for you.”

Your breath hitched for a second, and you quickly looked away, your heart pounding in your chest. Wonwoo didn’t push the moment, though. He simply adjusted the blanket over your legs and went back to watching the movie, leaving you to sit with the weight of his words.

A few nights later, the soft click of keys echoed through Wonwoo’s small office. He was seated at his desk, his brows furrowed in concentration, the faint glow of his monitor illuminating his sharp features. The sight of him, so absorbed in his work, was oddly comforting—and yet you couldn’t help but feel the distance it created.

Leaning against the doorway, you crossed your arms with a playful smirk. “You know, I could’ve gone home if you were going to work all night.”

Wonwoo didn’t look up right away, his fingers still typing as he replied. “And let Jeonghan win? Not a chance.”

You laughed, stepping into the room. “It’s not a competition, Wonwoo.”

Finally, he glanced up, his lips curving into a small, tired smile. “Maybe not for you. But he gets you all day, and now I’m stuck with deadlines. Feels like the universe is playing favorites.”

Shaking your head, you placed a steaming cup of coffee next to his keyboard. “You’ll survive,” you teased, leaning down to press a light kiss to his forehead. “But since you’re so busy, maybe I should let Jeonghan take the next night shift.”

Wonwoo groaned, his hands darting out to grab your waist before you could escape. “Not so fast,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with mischief. In one fluid motion, he pulled you onto his lap, his arms locking firmly around you.

“Wonwoo!” you gasped, startled, but a laugh bubbled out as you found yourself face-to-face with him.

His dark eyes glimmered with amusement as he tilted his head, resting his forehead against yours. “If I’m losing time to work, at least let me make the most of the time I do get.”

The warmth in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. Your hands instinctively rested on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your words.

“And yet, you’re still here,” he countered, his voice softening as his fingers traced gentle circles against your lower back.

Your cheeks warmed under his attention, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned in, brushing your nose against his before capturing his lips in a tender kiss.

The first touch was light, almost hesitant, but it quickly deepened as his hands tightened their hold on you. He kissed you like he’d been waiting all night for this moment—slow, deliberate, and unyielding.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, earning a quiet hum of approval from him. The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the quiet hum of his computer and the warmth of his embrace.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were slightly breathless. Wonwoo’s eyes lingered on you, his lips quirking into that familiar, shy smile that always made your heart flutter.

“Stay,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You rested your forehead against his, your fingers brushing along his jawline. “I was planning to,” you murmured, a playful grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Good,” he replied, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Because Jeonghan’s already winning too much.”

You laughed softly, settling into his embrace as his arms wrapped around you securely. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he teased, the exhaustion in his expression melting away as he held you close.

For the rest of the night, neither of you mentioned work, deadlines, or Jeonghan. Instead, you stayed curled up together, savoring the quiet moments that belonged only to the two of you.

The following night, Jeonghan returned from a late meeting, his steps heavy with exhaustion. As he entered the dimly lit apartment, the sight of you curled up on the couch instantly melted away the day’s stress. A soft blanket was pulled around your shoulders, your head resting against the cushions as the faint glow of the TV flickered across your peaceful face.

For a moment, Jeonghan simply stood in the doorway, his tie slightly loosened and his briefcase still in hand. His gaze softened as he took in the scene, his lips curving into the faintest smile.

Quietly, he set his briefcase down and slipped off his jacket, draping it over the back of a nearby chair. He walked toward you, his footsteps light, and knelt beside you. Reaching out, his fingers brushed against your cheek, feather-light, as if afraid to wake you.

“You didn’t have to wait up,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with affection.

Your eyes fluttered open at his touch, and a sleepy smile graced your lips. “You work too much,” you murmured, your voice groggy yet teasing. You shifted slightly, making room for him on the couch.

Jeonghan sighed as he sat down beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. The warmth of his embrace was comforting, his scent familiar and grounding. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment. “It’s not forever,” he promised in a quiet murmur. “Just a busy week. But I’m glad you’re here. It makes coming home… easier.”

You nestled closer against his chest, your head resting in the crook of his neck. “Wonwoo said the same thing last night,” you muttered sleepily, your words muffled against him.

Jeonghan let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he gently ran his fingers through your hair. “That guy gets you all night and still complains about deadlines.”

“He doesn’t complain,” you countered with a small laugh, your hand sliding across his chest to playfully nudge him. “He just… misses me.”

Jeonghan’s arms tightened around you slightly, his voice dropping to a low, tender murmur. “So do I.” He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your temple, his lips brushing against your skin as he added, “But seeing you happy makes it worth it. Even if it means sharing.”

You tilted your head up, your nose brushing his cheek as you gazed at him through half-lidded eyes. “You’re too sweet, you know that?”

“Sweet?” Jeonghan echoed, his lips quirking into a playful smirk. “Don’t tell Wonwoo that. He already thinks I’m too soft.”

You laughed softly, your fingers reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. “I like you soft,” you murmured, leaning in to press your lips against his.

The kiss was gentle at first, slow and unhurried, but it quickly deepened as Jeonghan’s hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you closer. His other hand rested on your waist, his touch firm yet tender. He kissed you as if he were pouring all the words he couldn’t say into the moment—his longing, his gratitude, and the way you made him feel complete even after the longest of days.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing softly, your foreheads resting against each other. Jeonghan’s hand slid down to intertwine with yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Stay like this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You smiled, your fingers squeezing his hand lightly. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

Jeonghan sighed in contentment, pulling the blanket around the both of you as he leaned back against the couch. With you in his arms, the weight of the day seemed to disappear, replaced by the quiet, undeniable joy of having you by his side.

Despite their contrasting schedules, both Jeonghan and Wonwoo seemed to adapt effortlessly to the arrangement. When Jeonghan’s workload picked up, he would send short but thoughtful texts throughout the day to remind you he was thinking of you.

Jeonghan (text): Boardroom’s a nightmare. I hope Wonwoo’s treating you right tonight. You (reply): he ordered pizza and fell asleep halfway through the movie. typical. Jeonghan: Figures. Save the fun stuff for me when I’m back.

On the other hand, when Wonwoo was busy with work or projects, he had his own ways of showing affection. Whether it was a handwritten note on the fridge saying, “Missed you today. Eat something before your stream.” or a curated playlist of cozy tracks for your downtime, he always found a way to make you smile.

Sometimes, he’d include you in his streams—just not as Kitsunya. Instead, you’d appear off-camera or only partially revealed, sparking curiosity among his fans.

Wonwoo (on stream): “So… I have a guest tonight. She’s helping me test out this co-op game. Don’t judge her skills too harshly.” Chat: OMG IS THAT HER??? IS THAT KITSUNYA? You (off-camera, laughing): “Don’t hype me up. I’m just here to lose gracefully.” Chat: She sounds adorable! SHOW HER FACE PLS!!! Wonwoo (grinning): “Relax, guys. She’s shy. And she’s definitely not Kitsunya. Nope. Not at all.”

The stream would continue with playful banter between the two of you, while the chat exploded with speculation. You’d intentionally play poorly at the game just to hear Wonwoo’s deadpan remarks.

You: “Did I just fall into the same trap again?” Wonwoo: “Twice, actually. Impressive consistency.” You: “I’m just giving the monsters a chance.” Chat: THE CHEMISTRY OMG

Little did his fans know, the so-called “guest” was indeed Kitsunya. But neither of you confirmed it, leaving the internet buzzing with theories and fan edits of your clipped voice interactions.

And when both Jeonghan and Wonwoo were free? Those moments felt like a rare treat. Jeonghan would whisk you away for a rooftop dinner under the stars, taking his time to make you feel like the center of his world. Meanwhile, Wonwoo would spend an entire night curled up with you, teaching you how to play his favorite game—and stealing kisses whenever you "accidentally" paused.

In one particularly heart-fluttering moment, Wonwoo pulled you onto his lap mid-stream after you jokingly complained about how bad you were at his game.

You (laughing): “I give up. I’m hopeless. Just leave me here to fail in peace.” Wonwoo (pulling you closer): “Hopeless? Never. Just distracted.” His voice softened, meant only for your ears, as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

His viewers, of course, went wild.

Chat: DID HE JUST—??? WHAT IS HAPPENING??? Wonwoo (smirking at the camera): “Alright, enough distractions for tonight. Back to the game.”

Later, when the stream ended, he wrapped his arms around you tightly, his kisses slower and deeper as he murmured against your lips, “You’re my favorite player, no matter how bad you think you are.”

Jeonghan, ever the charmer, never seemed to mind the nights you spent with Wonwoo. He’d tease about it during the day when he wasn’t buried in meetings or reviewing contracts.

Jeonghan (texting): He didn’t hog you all night, did he? You need beauty sleep for our rooftop plans tomorrow. You: define “hog.” we mightve shared pizza and stayed up too late gaming Jeonghan: Tsk. I’ll forgive you this time. But only because you’re cute.

The balance wasn’t always perfect, but the unspoken understanding between the three of you made it work. For Jeonghan and Wonwoo, seeing you happy—whether laughing during a rooftop dinner or snuggled up during a co-op game—was worth every compromise.

While Jeonghan’s schedule often kept him busy, he made up for it with the most thoughtful and deliberate gestures. To him, every moment with you was an opportunity to make you feel cherished, whether it was during work or on your precious dates together.

When Jeonghan had a free afternoon, he would whisk you away from the office for lunch, insisting on a charming café tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. He always pulled out your chair, his hand lingering on your shoulder as he leaned down to murmur, “Don’t tell anyone, but this is the highlight of my day.”

After a few bites, his foot would nudge yours playfully under the table, and his eyes would soften as he watched you sip your drink.

“You’ve got something here,” he’d say with a teasing smile, pointing to the corner of his lips. Before you could react, he’d reach over to gently swipe his thumb along your bottom lip, his touch featherlight. “Got it,” he whispered, his voice dropping into a tone that sent shivers down your spine.

Jeonghan was also a master of quiet intimacy. On days when the office workload wasn’t too demanding, he’d make excuses to linger near your desk. “I just need to review this,” he’d claim, pulling up a chair beside you. But the truth was, he simply liked being close to you, sneaking glances at your face when you were focused.

Sometimes, when no one was around, he’d lean in and press a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re too pretty to be working this hard,” he’d tease, brushing your hair back with a fond smile.

When Jeonghan planned a date, it was always an event. He’d show up to your place dressed impeccably, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and press a kiss to your cheek as he handed them to you.

“For the prettiest girl I know,” he’d say, his tone casual but his eyes brimming with adoration.

That evening, he’d take you to a rooftop restaurant, the city lights twinkling below as soft music played in the background. Jeonghan’s attention was wholly on you, his phone tucked away, as he leaned forward on his elbows, his gaze never leaving your face.

“Tell me everything about your day,” he’d urge, his voice warm and inviting. And when you spoke, he’d listen intently, his smile growing with every word.

At some point during dinner, he’d reach across the table to hold your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You know,” he’d begin, his voice taking on a teasing lilt, “I think I’m a little jealous of Wonwoo.”

You blinked, surprised. “Why?”

“He gets to keep you all to himself at night,” Jeonghan murmured, his smile softening. “Meanwhile, I have to share you with the rest of the world during the day. Not very fair, is it?”

But there was no bitterness in his tone—only gentle affection and a touch of playful possessiveness.

Every now and then, when Jeonghan wasn’t swamped with meetings or traveling for work, he’d invite you over to his place for a quiet evening. Those nights felt like a bubble of warmth and safety, just the two of you curled up on the couch.

Jeonghan would insist on cooking dinner, even though his skills were… questionable at best.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” you asked, peeking into the kitchen.

He turned to you with a wooden spoon in hand, a smudge of sauce on his cheek. “Absolutely not. You sit there and look pretty. This is my time to shine.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, but when dinner was finally ready, it turned out to be surprisingly delicious. Jeonghan smirked as you took a bite, clearly pleased with himself. “See? Told you I’m full of surprises.”

After dinner, he pulled you onto the couch, wrapping a blanket around both of you as he scrolled through movie options. But halfway through the film, he turned to you, his hand gently cradling your face.

“I’m not watching a single second of this,” he admitted, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. “You’re too distracting.”

Before you could respond, his lips found yours in a kiss so sweet and lingering it made your heart race. He pulled you closer, his hands tangling in your hair as he whispered between kisses, “You’re my favorite part of every day, you know that?”

Later, when you were nestled against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you, Jeonghan pressed his lips to the top of your head.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured, his voice soft and drowsy. “I’ll make us breakfast in the morning… or attempt to, at least.”

Jeonghan leaned back against the couch, pulling you with him until you were nestled comfortably against his chest. His hands found your waist, gently guiding you to straddle his lap.

“You look so perfect like this,” he whispered, his voice low and warm, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile. His eyes were soft as they roamed your face, lingering on your lips. “I can’t decide if I want to kiss you or just stare at you forever.”

Your cheeks flushed, and before you could respond, Jeonghan leaned in, brushing his lips softly against yours. It started sweet and slow, his hands resting gently on your waist, grounding you in the moment. But as you kissed him back, his grip tightened slightly, pulling you closer.

His fingers trailed up your back, leaving a warmth in their wake, until one hand found its way to your hair. He tilted your head just enough to deepen the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a deliberate tenderness that made your heart race.

When you pulled back slightly to catch your breath, Jeonghan’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes fluttering open. His voice was barely above a whisper as he said, “You make me forget about everything else—meetings, work, the world. It’s just you.”

You couldn’t help but smile, cupping his face in your hands. “Good,” you teased, running your thumb along his jawline. “You deserve a break from being Yoon Jeonghan, the ever-busy CEO.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to rest against your lower back, his touch warm and soothing. “And you deserve all my attention,” he murmured, kissing you again, this time with a little more urgency.

His lips moved against yours like he was savoring every second, his hands exploring your back in soft, languid strokes. When you shifted in his lap, you felt him smile against your mouth.

“Careful,” he teased, his voice playful but laced with something deeper. “You’re making it hard to focus on being a gentleman right now.”

You laughed softly, leaning back just enough to look into his eyes. “When have you ever been a gentleman?”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Excuse me? I’m always a gentleman.” But the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. “I’ll prove it,” he said, lifting you effortlessly as he stood up.

“Jeonghan!” you squealed, clinging to his shoulders.

He carried you to the bedroom, gently setting you down on the bed before crawling in beside you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You know I’m completely whipped for you, right?” he murmured, his voice soft and affectionate.

You smiled, burying your face in his chest. “I might have noticed.”

Jeonghan chuckled, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back as you both settled into the comfort of each other’s presence. The kisses continued, each one sweet and unhurried, as if you had all the time in the world.

And in that moment, with Jeonghan’s arms around you and his lips brushing against yours, it felt like you truly did.

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of something… burning. You sat up, rubbing your eyes, and followed the noise coming from the kitchen.

Jeonghan stood at the stove, wearing an apron over his pajama pants, waving a dish towel at a slightly charred pancake.

“I told you I’d make breakfast,” he said sheepishly when he noticed you. “I didn’t say it would be edible.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, walking over to wrap your arms around his waist from behind. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you teased, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

Jeonghan turned in your arms, his smile as bright as the morning sun. “And you’re lucky I’m hopelessly in love with you,” he replied, stealing a quick kiss before you could roll your eyes at him.

Jeonghan leaned casually against the kitchen counter, phone in hand as he scrolled through his contacts. You were perched on the couch in one of his oversized hoodies, flipping through a magazine, completely unaware of his plan.

“Wonwoo,” Jeonghan said with a smirk as the call connected, “what are you doing tonight?”

On the other end, Wonwoo’s voice was as calm and steady as ever. “Nothing much. Just reading. Why?”

“Come over,” Jeonghan said smoothly, glancing at you with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’ve got someone here who’s been missing you.”

You looked up at him, furrowing your brows. “Who are you calling?”

Jeonghan gave you an innocent smile. “Oh, just someone who deserves to see you as much as I do.”

The knock on the door was soft, almost hesitant. Jeonghan opened it to reveal Wonwoo standing there, his usual calm demeanor masking the slight confusion on his face.

“You didn’t tell me she was here,” Wonwoo said, stepping inside and slipping off his coat.

Jeonghan smirked. “I thought I’d surprise you. Go on, she’s in the living room.”

When Wonwoo walked in, you froze for a second before your face lit up. “Wonwoo!” you said, scrambling off the couch to greet him.

He opened his arms just in time for you to crash into his chest, laughing softly as he wrapped you in a warm hug. “I missed you too,” he murmured, resting his chin on your head.

Jeonghan watched from the doorway, arms crossed and a fond smile on his lips. “Alright, don’t hog her all to yourself,” he teased, walking over to join you both.

Wonwoo chuckled, reluctantly letting you go. “I didn’t realize this was a group cuddle invitation.”

“Always is,” Jeonghan replied smoothly, pulling you back into his arms as he sat on the couch. “Now sit. We’re having a cozy night, and you’re not getting out of it.”

Oh my gosh, the perfect conclusion! Let’s make it as heart-melting as possible—soft, cozy, and full of love. 🥹 Here’s how it unfolds:

The three of you ended up tangled together on the couch, a big fluffy blanket draped over all of you. Jeonghan was leaning against the armrest with you curled up against his side, while Wonwoo sat at the other end, your legs draped over his lap.

The room was filled with quiet laughter and the occasional teasing remark. Jeonghan playfully poked at Wonwoo’s serious expression, and Wonwoo fired back with dry humor that made you giggle uncontrollably.

“Why do I feel like I’m the third wheel here?” Wonwoo teased, glancing at you and Jeonghan.

“Third wheel? Please,” Jeonghan said, his fingers lightly brushing against your arm. “We’re a perfectly balanced triangle.”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, but his lips curved into a small smile. “If you say so, hyung.”

You looked between the two of them, your heart swelling with warmth. “I think it’s perfect,” you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of all the love you felt for them both.

Wonwoo’s eyes softened, and he reached out to gently take your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Yeah, it is.”

Jeonghan leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. “Couldn’t agree more.”

At some point during the night, the teasing subsided, and the room fell into a comfortable silence. Wonwoo’s hand rested on your ankle as Jeonghan’s arm stayed wrapped around your shoulders, both of them relaxed and at ease.

You tilted your head up to look at Jeonghan, who met your gaze with a soft smile before leaning down to kiss you gently. The kiss was slow and tender, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

When you pulled away, you turned to Wonwoo, who was watching with a quiet intensity. He reached for you, his fingers brushing your jaw as he leaned in to kiss you. His lips were warm and firm, his touch grounding you as your heart fluttered.

Jeonghan chuckled softly when you broke the kiss. “Alright, don’t get too carried away,” he said, though there was no jealousy in his tone—just a playful fondness.

You laughed, resting your head on Jeonghan’s chest as you reached out to take Wonwoo’s hand again. “I don’t know how I got so lucky with you two,” you said quietly.

“Actually,” Wonwoo said, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand, “we’re the lucky ones.”

Jeonghan hummed in agreement, his lips pressing against your hair. “Yeah. You’re the best thing that ever happened to us.”

And with that, the three of you stayed there, wrapped up in each other, the love you shared filling every corner of the room.

a/n: wtf !!! lol writing this, my heart actually melted. lmao this took me months to finish and i guess i can say im just overly proud of myself for reaching the conclusion. honestly, i didnt know what and how to make them all end up together (since that's what the majority wants) but i've actually done it and i've never been prouder. maybe i'm going to make a bonus chapter if you guys like it. what makes you happy makes me happy as well :].

taglist: @asyre @choppedballoondetective @kpoppiesofinternet @syluslittlecrow @minhui896

@october-saturn @kpop-will-kill-me @elegantdevill1 @shidily @angel-ishere

@lovrchl @codeinebelle @httpnamu-u @httpnamjoonie94 @6nadia9

@jjonghaniee @ateez-atiny380 @squishysquishjimin @jeonghaniya @thelost-soul

@foulcolorclodoaf-blog @133456789000000000000 @sunshinewonu @forsoonie @fyvubub

@soleihea @seuncheolcherrybaby @sigxx123 @hjs953012 @caratochan

@smileflawerr @indianmiss @kunfused0101 @jades-archive @i69flora

@whore-anghae @fyvubub @bemysolaces @09yyeol @kaepjjangiya

@fairyhyunggu @hophophlop @itsjustmeagurlthatsveryinlove @kddddddddddddd @wonsivq

@readingcucumber @yueqai @yangtyunhannie @butterflydemons

@yoongznme @cookiearmy

thankyou for sticking with me 'til the end. iloveyouguyss :)) <3

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janiehellion · 2 days ago

Text

Revved Up

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Learning to ride a motorcycle should’ve been simple. After all, you knew your way around bikes better than anyone in Alexandria—except Daryl Dixon. But one crash and one pissed-off redneck later, and you're stuck with him giving you a hands-on crash course in focus and control.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / LANGUAGE / MINOR INJURIES / VAGINAL FINGERING / CUNNILINGUS / SEMI-PUBLIC / ROUGH SEX / PAIN PLAY / MARKING

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 14.441

ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ: S05E13—ꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛ & S05E14—ꜱᴘᴇɴᴅ

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: My first oneshot of 2025—and my longest yet! Sorry, not sorry, for the length; Daryl Dixon refused to stop until the lesson was fully drilled in. Hope it's worth the ride.

MASTERLIST & REQUEST GUIDELINES

You couldn't take your eyes off of him.

Out of everyone from the new group in Alexandria, he was the one who made the least effort to fit in. He was quiet and always looked ready to leave, like this wasn't a place to call home. He preferred to keep his distance, doing his own thing around the community, and that made him even more interesting to you.

Daryl Dixon was certainly different from the rest.

The first time you caught him working on the motorcycle and the parts he got from Aaron, in Aaron's and Eric's garage, something caught your attention. It wasn't just the way he moved, though the way his hands worked on the machine was something you couldn't ignore. No, it was more than that, and it pulled you in.

And for you?

The sound of metal and the smell of oil were all too familiar. You'd grown up around motorcycles and spent hours watching your old man work on his Harley Davidson most of the time, until you decided to become a mechanic after school, especially for motorcycles. That knowledge was something you didn't share with many others in Alexandria, but when you saw Daryl putting that motorcycle together piece by piece, you figured it might be a good way to start a conversation, if nothing else.

Sure, he kept to himself mostly, spending more time with his crossbow than with humans. But it made him stand out in a place where most people were getting used to living 'normally' again. And you didn't want anything normal. You wanted real.

That's what led you to the garage.

Daryl, of course, was bent over the motorcycle he'd been working on for some time now.

As you walked closer, you pretended to inspect his work. "What is this, a '92 Honda? Nice setup. Yamaha front end, though? Bit of a Frankenstein's monster, huh?"

That got his attention. "The hell ya know 'bout bikes?"

You shrugged, smirking at him. "What, do you think just 'cause I live in Alexandria, I can't tell a carburetor from a walker? Oh, please."

He hadn't spoken to you much since he arrived, but then again, Daryl didn't talk to anyone much. But you? You barely ever got a grunt in your direction since he'd been here.

"Looks like it's finally coming together," you started, trying to sound bored. It was a shitty way to break the ice, but small talk wasn't your thing after all.

Daryl didn't even look up. Grease covered his hands, and his current expression made him look like he'd rather punch you than say hello.

"Yeah, maybe if ya'd stop annoyin' my ass," he murmured, tightening a bolt.

"I'm only annoying the bike," you snorted. "And I'm making sure it doesn't fall apart the second you ride it out of the community."

That earned you a glare. A quick one. And you held his stare for that moment, refusing to look away.

"So yer always this annoyin'?" He shot back, wiping his hands on a rag and finally standing up to his full height.

"You tell me. So what is it? This… special kind of build?" You asked, gesturing to the motorcycle. You had to admit, it did look quite nice.

His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to be a little surprised about your curiosity. "Do ya really know bikes?"

You shrugged, playing it cool. "Enough to know that this isn't a normal setup, but that's just personal taste, you know?"

"It'll work."

"Sure, until it doesn't," you continued with a smirk. "But hey, it's your funeral. Or someone else's if that thing gives out mid-run."

He grunted, clearly not in the mood to admit you might have a point.

"Still, not bad for what you had to work with. Must've been a pain in the ass to track down some of the other parts," you moved closer, getting a better look at the setup. "But I heard Aaron's been helping you out. He's good with scavenging stuff. Though, I bet he didn't know half of what you needed."

That got a grunt of agreement from Daryl. "He ain't bad. Jus' don't need anyone watchin' when I'm workin'."

"Noted." You raised your hands, but you didn't back off. Instead, you crouched next to the machine, inspecting the details up close. You could feel Daryl's eyes on you, probably wondering what the hell you were doing.

After a moment of silence, you looked up at him again. "You ever really gonna take this thing out, or are you just building it for the hell of it?"

Daryl looked over to the garage door as if he was thinking whether or not to answer. Finally, he sighed. "Gonna use it. Aaron wants me on the road, recruitin' and all. Need somethin' fast."

"Yeah? And what if you end up with a flat tire out there? Wait, that might not even be a problem, since it kind of looks like you're building yourself a time machine there," you answered, standing up. "But you're gonna need more than just duct tape and spit to get this thing running."

Daryl's eyes narrowed again. "Told ya I know what I'm doin'," he snapped, his hand tightening around the wrench like he was itching to throw it at you.

But you weren't about to be ignored that easily. "You've really got some interesting mismatched parts here. Yamaha forks on a Honda… Look, I'm just saying that you might wanna check the suspension before you ride outta here. Unless you're aiming to get launched off it."

"Gonna manage."

You snorted. "Sure, you will. But hey, if you ever feel like teaching someone else how to ride, I wouldn't mind learning. I mean, someone's gotta be around to save your ass when that thing tries to kill you."

Daryl shot you a look, his jaw clenching slightly, but this time, he just stared at you like you were the most confusing person he'd ever seen.

"Ya wanna learn how to ride?" His voice sounded annoyed, like the idea was somehow offensive to him, but there was also some slight disbelief to be heard as if he wasn't sure why you'd ask him of all people. "Ain't got time for that. Got 'nough problems without babysittin'."

"Come on," you pressed further. "What's the harm? Or is the asshole routine just for me? Besides, if you ever crash, I promise I'll write you some kinda eulogy. Something about how you died doing what you loved—which is looking perpetually pissed off."

You could've sworn you saw the slightest smirk, but Daryl quickly busied himself with the motorcycle, like he hadn't shown you might really have a point with your tips.

Keeping your voice casual, you stepped back. "Let me know if you change your mind," you continued, brushing off your knees. "Might be fun."

With that, you gave him one last smirk and turned around, leaving him to think about whatever he thought of you.

You spent the next couple of days trying not to think about Daryl Dixon, which was about as easy as trying not to notice a walker biting your arm. But despite your best efforts to act like it was no big deal, the thought of riding that motorcycle—and more specifically, him teaching you—kept making its way into your head.

Daryl didn't say anything about your offer for those few days, too. Hell, he didn't say much of anything, really. He'd pass by you in Alexandria, his crossbow by his side, always looking like someone just spit in his drink. But you had gotten used to the silent treatment by now, so you didn't let it get to you... much.

Indeed, it didn't take long to figure out that convincing Daryl Dixon to teach you how to ride a motorcycle was like trying to herd cats—but grumpy, feral ones… with knives.

It was late afternoon when you found yourself near the garage again, and you hadn't planned on seeing him, but let's face it, you were intrigued. And there he was—still working on the motorcycle and still looking like it personally insulted him.

However, the thing looked all patched together with scavenged pieces and maybe a little bit of wishful thinking. It had a certain look to it, like it wanted to run off into the wild and never come back.

Daryl didn't even move. He didn't look your way. He just kept wrenching something near the seat before he glared at you like you'd asked him to solve a math problem.

"Thought I'd come by and bless you with my knowledge once more," you announced, smirking as you leaned against the workbench.

Daryl only rolled his eyes—actually rolled them—like he couldn't believe he had to put up with you again. "Ain't nobody asked for that."

"Yeah, well, nobody asked for that bike to look like it's held together with a plea and a prayer, but here we are," you shot back, leaning forward slightly. "'Livin' on a Prayer,' in fact."

He grunted, shoving the wrench into the toolbox with force. "The hell do ya know 'bout motorcycles, anyway?"

"I do know motorcycles! I told you, didn't I? And that thing," you pointed to the machine, "is one bad pothole away from turning into scrap metal."

Daryl scoffed, clearly not a fan of having his work criticized, especially by someone who, in his eyes, hadn't earned the right to say something about it. "It'll hold. 'S a good bike."

"Sure, sure," you said, grinning at him. "But if you're so confident, why don't you accept my offer? Teach me how to ride. Let's see if this thing here can handle it."

He stared at you for a long moment, like he was thinking about his options. You could practically see the gears running in his head—whether to shut you down and tell you to piss off or give in just to prove you wrong.

"Ya serious 'bout this?"

"Dead serious," you said, holding his stare. "What? Are you afraid?"

His nostrils flared in the way they did when he seemed to be two seconds from snapping at you, but instead, he just turned back to his work. "Ya wanna learn? Fine. But don't come cryin' to me when ya hurt yer ass."

"Oh, don't worry, Dixon. If I hurt my ass, I'll make sure you hurt yours, too," you said, biting back a laugh as you straightened up. "But I swear, this thing's gonna be your mid-life crisis. What's next, leather pants and chaps?"

He showed you one of those stares again—half-annoyed, half-confused—like he wasn't sure if he should bother responding or pretend you didn't exist.

"Ya done?"

"Done? I'm here to save you from yourself, Daryl. You keep this up, and in a week, you're gonna be having a mullet and wearing a crop top."

He stared at you like you'd grown an extra head. "What the hell're ya talkin' 'bout?"

"Mid-life crisis, Daryl. First, it's the bike. Then, it's questionable fashion choices. Next thing you know, you're coming back from a run with a Corvette and crying over Bon Jovi ballads. I'm just here to make sure it won't happen."

"Ain't havin' no damn crisis."

You smirked. "Uh-huh. That's what they all say. Just remember, I offered to help. I can't wait to see you when you're rocking those chaps and a bandana."

"So, ya still wanna learn to ride or not?" His voice sounded definitely pissed off.

You raised your eyebrows, as if in shock. "Oh my, was that an offer in return? From you? I'm touched, really. Let me just—" You pretended to wipe a tear away from your eye and sob. "This moment's very special to me."

"Shut up," he grumbled, but his voice gave way that he almost sounded amused.

"I'm just saying, this is progress," you said. "Next thing I know, we'll be exchanging friendship bracelets."

Daryl didn't respond right away, but you thought you had seen enjoyment, maybe? Or irritation. It was hard to tell with him. Either way, he was back on his feet now, pulling the motorcycle upright and kicking the stand back. Soon enough, the familiar sound of the engine made its way through the garage, and damn if it didn't make your pulse race just a little.

"Get on."

His sudden words made you blink at him in surprise. "Wait, like… right now? Where's the foreplay, Dixon? At least buy me a drink first."

"Nah, when I'm dead. Yeah, right now," he snapped, unable to believe you were even asking.

"Okay, okay," you mumbled, swinging your leg over the motorcycle with as much confidence as you could have at that moment. The seat seemed normal, but it still felt bigger than you expected.

Daryl stepped beside you, his arms crossed as he watched you. "Ya know how to start?"

"Of course I do," you said, reaching for the handlebars.

You were halfway through fumbling with the throttle at first when Daryl's hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. "That ain't how ya do it," he growled as he leaned in. "First lesson: This here's the throttle—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know what a throttle is," you interrupted, waving him off. "I'm not a complete idiot. I could turn this thing into scrap and piece it back together if you wanted me to, so..."

His eyes narrowed. "Then maybe shut up and listen."

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You couldn't help it—pissing him off was just too easy.

"Clutch on the left, throttle on the right," he continued, his fingers tapping the handlebars. "Brake's here. Don't yank it like an idiot." He then gave the machine a once-over. "Ya pull the clutch, twist the throttle slowly. Too much, and yer gonna stall it."

"Okay, understood. Show me."

Daryl let out a frustrated sigh but soon moved behind you, reaching around to grip the handlebars. His strong chest pressed against your back, and you immediately forgot how to breathe.

"Ya gotta ease into it," he instructed while his fingers guided yours on the throttle.

"Uh-huh, yeah, sure, ease into it," you mumbled, trying to sound unimpressed. "And what happens if I don't ease into it? The whole thing explodes?"

"Nah. Ya gonna wipe out an' eat dirt," he shot back, his lips showing a bit of a smirk. "But maybe ya'll learn faster that way."

"Yeah, well, I've eaten worse," you answered, glancing over your shoulder at him. "Besides, I doubt you've ever taught anyone how to ride before. What if you're just a terrible teacher?"

He huffed against your neck. "Ain't teachin' ya much. Now, idle it forward."

You followed his instructions, twisting the throttle just enough to get the engine purring beneath you. The vibration went through your legs, and despite yourself, you had to admit it felt very, very good.

"Okay, now what?" You asked, trying to sound bored even though the adrenaline was starting to kick in.

"Now ya balance," Daryl said, his voice neutral like this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Try not to fall over." You could feel his eyes on you, judging every movement you made. "Quit messin' 'round. Friction Zone is how ya idle forward."

You shot him a look but did as he said, trying not to stall the motorcycle. For a second, you wobbled, and you swore you heard Daryl whisper something—probably betting on how soon you'd crash.

But you didn't. You steadied yourself. It was a weird feeling—kind of thrilling, kind of terrifying.

"Well, look at that," you said, showing him a grin. "Didn't fall over. Guess you're not the worst teacher after all."

"Jus' keep 'em hands on the bars," he instructed, his voice rather patient—well, as patient as Daryl ever got.

You did as he said, gripping the handlebars harder, trying not to think about how close you were to him. His smell wasn't exactly unpleasant. In fact, it was kind of… intoxicating.

Not that you'd ever admit that to him out loud.

"Fine, so what's next? Do I just rev it up and hope for the best?"

Daryl snorted, clearly unimpressed with you being unable to wait. "Ya listen, or yer gonna end up on yer ass."

"You know, Daryl, I don't usually take threats during lessons, but I'll make an exception for you."

His grip tightened on the handlebars, and you thought he might just leave you there. But he didn't. "Don't jerk the damn throttle, woman, or yer gonna take off too fast."

"Throttle, got it. Don't jerk it off. Guess I'll save that one for later." You wiggled your eyebrows, even though he couldn't see it.

Daryl stiffened, grumbling something you didn't quite catch, though it definitely wasn't a compliment.

"C'mon now, twist it—slowly," he ordered.

You followed his lead, the motorcycle easing forward just a bit as you worked the throttle.

"There ya go," Daryl said, his voice sounding a bit less harsh now that you weren't about to play around. "Gotta ease into it."

"Wow, who knew you could be so supportive?" You teased. "Almost makes me think you care."

He grunted. "Jus' don't wanna pick yer ass up off the ground."

"Got it, got it. Now, let's see if I can actually ride this thing without killing myself."

Daryl's hand moved to the clutch, his fingers touching yours as he guided you through the motions. You weren't sure if it was the machine or him, but your heart was beating much faster than usual. Maybe it was both. Either way, you were in for one hell of a ride.

His hand was warm, calloused, and—despite everything—comforting as he guided you out of the garage.

"Okay, slow down a bit, but not too much," he instructed, his voice almost a growl. The way he said it made you shiver, but you refused to let it show. You could be cool about this, right?

"Or I could just go full throttle and see how far I can fly through the streets of Alexandria," you laughed back.

"Real funny," he answered, rolling his eyes. "Jus' don't fuck up. Y'ain't flyin' nowhere. Ya gotta keep it steady."

"Right, no jerking off," you said, moving your head to the side just enough to glance at him. "That's usually my motto, you know, but I can make an exception for you regarding that as well."

"Focus. Don't push it," he warned. "Ya gotta keep yer focus on the bike, not me."

"Really? I thought you were my main distraction." You leaned back a little. "Sure, I'll focus. But I'm also pretty good at multitasking." As you worked the throttle again, you felt a rush of adrenaline. "So, what happens if I actually do fall? You gonna come to my rescue?"

Daryl didn't answer immediately. Instead, he loosened his grip on the handlebars, his body tense next to you. "Ya get back up. Everyone falls. 'S what ya do afterward that matters."

"Profound," you smirked. "You should start writing poetry! 'When life knocks you down, just get back on your bike.' Classic wisdom."

"Shut up and drive."

The motorcycle moved as you used the throttle too hard, and you fought to regain control, laughing nervously. "Shit! Maybe I should have listened to that part about not jerking it!"

He sighed, not bothering to hide his amusement this time. "Ya keep talkin', and ya might jus' convince me to kick ya off myself."

"Promises, promises," you smirked, adrenaline rushing through you, making everything feel a bit more exciting.

He grumbled something again—probably another insult—but he didn't try to stop you. Your movements weren't exactly smooth, but it was a start.

"You're a terrible teacher, by the way," you soon said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

"Good," Daryl answered. "Means ya won't ask me to do this shit again."

You were just getting into the rhythm, feeling the motorcycle beneath you and getting the hang of it, when you heard the sound of footsteps getting closer behind you.

"Hey! What's going on here?" Aaron's voice destroyed the moment, and you felt Daryl tense near you.

"Shit," he groaned, practically gritting his teeth. You tried to process what was happening as you got off the seat, the way Daryl's body stiffened and the smirk faded from your lips.

"Oh, nothing, just a little driving lesson," you announced, trying to keep going despite the sudden stop. "Motto: 'Try Not to Die, but If You Do, It Ain't My Problem.'"

Aaron laughed, walking closer to you both. "So, it's finally finished?" He looked at the machine, inspecting the mix of parts that somehow came together into something that resembled a proper motorcycle.

"Jus' 'bout," Daryl replied dryly.

Aaron raised an eyebrow, looking from you to Daryl, who was already stepping away from him and you.

"That's great. Looks like you're making some great progress," Aaron continued, stepping closer.

"Ain't needin' ya to worry 'bout that," Daryl grumbled, the annoyance in his voice unmistakable. "Lesson's over."

"Wait, what? You can't just—"

"Don't push it," he snapped, shooting you a look that said he was done. "Ya wanna learn, ya have to find someone else."

You blinked, stunned as he walked away with the motorcycle by his side. "Daryl, stop!"

"Forget 'bout it," he called back, almost like his voice belonged to a different person. "Y'ain't ready."

Your frustration boiled over, and you turned to Aaron, arms crossed. "Thanks for ruining my lesson, by the way. Just what I needed today—more interruptions."

Aaron frowned, glancing between you and Daryl again as he watched him walk away. "What did you expect? He's still new here. Trying to keep his distance from the rest of us."

"Yeah, well, he doesn't need to be an asshole about it," you snapped. "I was getting somewhere!"

"You have to understand that the whole group has been through a lot. Daryl's not always going to be open with people," he explained, but it didn't help your mood.

"I get that, but I was just trying to learn something! Guess it's my fault for thinking he could actually teach me without being a complete asshole about it."

"Maybe give it some time?" Aaron suggested, his voice softer now, sounding more sympathetic. "He'll come around."

"Maybe," you sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. "But just when I thought I could finally get him to smile and to talk, you pull this."

Aaron's expression was by now somewhere between concern and curiosity as you huffed, glaring at Daryl walking away.

"Really, Aaron…" You continued, throwing your hands in the air. "You couldn't have waited five goddamn minutes longer to come and ruin my day? You see me finally making some progress, and you think, 'Oh, hey! The perfect time to interrupt!'"

Aaron raised his hands defensively. "Hey, I didn't mean to ruin anything. I didn't know you two were having... whatever that was."

"Whatever that was?" You repeated, your voice rising. "It was a goddamn driving lesson! Or, at least, it was supposed to be before you came along with your good intentions and your bad timing!"

Aaron frowned, the tone in his voice still kind, but he wasn't backing down. "Look, I was just checking in because I heard the sound of the engine. I thought Daryl wanted to head out, and I only wanted to see if he's done with his work on the bike. I didn't realize you were both so busy."

"Busy?" You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head. "You know what? Forget it. Next time I'm about to get Daryl Dixon to do something other than grunt or skin dead animals on the porch, I'll write you a goddamn note so you don't fuck it up. Now he's all pissed off and stomping away with my only chance at learning how to ride a damn bike and not kill myself."

"I doubt he's mad at you," Aaron responded. "Daryl's complicated. Like the rest of the group. They're still very new here. And you were the same when I found you and brought you here. But you're probably closer to getting through to him than anyone else."

You snorted. "Yeah, sure. 'Cause nothing says 'bonding' and 'getting to know each other' like storming off with his damn Franken-bike in a hurry. Really fucking touching."

Aaron smiled, squeezing your shoulder. "Just think about it."

You exhaled loudly, putting your hands on your hips. "Sounds like it's from a fortune cookie. Thanks for nothing."

With that, Aaron simply walked off, leaving you alone.

Soon, some days had passed since your lesson with Daryl. Days that quickly turned annoying when you realized he was avoiding you like you were the last slice of cold pizza at a party.

It felt weird.

Like, ridiculously weird.

And it didn't help that every time you tried to casually walk into the garage or catch him before he went on a supply run, he was either nowhere to be found or suddenly too busy to talk. You even half-expected to see a 'Do Not Disturb' sign near the bike.

It wasn't like you were stalking him—okay, maybe a little—but it was hard to stop thinking about him.

"Should I ask for him? Should I knock on the garage door? Maybe he's just sleeping? Or dead?" You laughed at the last thought. With Daryl, it wasn't a real possibility.

Finally, you sighed and decided to call it a day. "Alright, Daryl Dixon, you win," you said to yourself, kicking the dirt as you turned to leave.

But just as you made it halfway down the street, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps, followed by a clink of metal that made your heart race. You turned, and there he was—finally. Daryl Dixon, leaning against the side of the garage, arms crossed, his eyes hidden behind his hair, and with a cigarette in one hand.

Oh no, you're not getting away this time.

"Been hiding from me, huh?" You asked as soon as you reached him. "Gonna run off again? Or maybe you've just been too busy?" You faked a yawn, your eyes narrowing. "Or hiding from the bike lesson, maybe?"

Daryl simply scoffed, the only sign of life you got out of him as you stood a few inches from him. His eyes looked down, clearly not thrilled to see you standing there, but you didn't give a damn.

You put your hands on your hips, pretending to inspect him like he was the most boring human in Alexandria. "Hey… You did promise, you know? I didn't just imagine that part now, did I?"

"Dunno what yer talkin' 'bout."

You raised an eyebrow, your smile growing wider. "Oh? Sure feels like it. Guess you finally realized you're not as good of a teacher as you think."

Daryl sighed, sounding not only frustrated but... pissed off? Maybe both?

"Don't need to explain shit to ya," he grumbled in return.

You grinned, shrugging. "Well, if you're busy doing... whatever it is you do when you're not being an asshole, I guess I'll just go back to trying to learn from someone else." You turned to leave, but not without looking back over your shoulder again. "Don't worry. I won't ask you to teach me again."

That got him. He pushed himself off the garage, taking a few steps closer.

"You promised, Daryl. Or is that just another thing you like to say and not follow through with? You were gonna teach me. Not that I care; I'm sure I'll learn from someone else... unless you finally stop being an ass," you taunted, still looking over your shoulder at him.

Daryl's hand shot out before you could get too far, catching your arm in a grip that could've cracked a tree in half if he wanted it to. He was definitely pissed.

With a growl, he yanked you back toward him. "Fine. I'll teach ya. But not here. Not in Alexandria." He released your arm. "Meet me by the gates. Tomorrow, at dawn."

Without waiting for a response, Daryl walked back inside, leaving you standing there with a grin.

The next morning, you woke up early, a little earlier than you'd planned, but that was the least of your problems. There was a knot in your stomach that you couldn't get rid of, not even with a few stretches or by putting on your clothes.

This wasn't just another run. It wasn't just another 'do this or die trying' kinda deal. No, this was different. And for some reason, you were extremely nervous. What was he gonna do? What was he thinking?

You threw on your jacket, tied your boots like they were the last thing you'd ever do, and then... you hesitated.

What the hell was wrong with you?

With a deep breath, you forced yourself out the door and towards the gates of Alexandria. When you finally made it, you saw him. There he was—Daryl Dixon, standing there like he was waiting for the bus, except minus the whole 'bus' part. The motorcycle was leaned up against the walls, and he was staring straight ahead as if you were the last person he wanted to see right now.

"Well, damn. You did show up. Thought maybe you'd hide behind that attitude of yours for another day," you said, taking your time to walk up to him, not quite giving a damn whether he was ready for you or not.

But Daryl didn't even acknowledge you. He just flicked his cigarette away and gave you a look that could probably kill.

He then grunted, clearly not amused. "Ain't here to talk."

You looked at him, smirking a little. "Oh, I thought we were here to talk. 'Cause last time I checked, you were too busy to teach me anything useful. Guess you did promise, isn't that right?" You continued and raised an eyebrow. "So... what's the deal, huh? You just gonna stand there, or are we gonna start this driving lesson?"

He was still giving you that dead-eyed stare like you just asked him to swallow down rusty nails. The way Daryl was looking at you, all calm but irritated at the same time—it made everything weirder. But now, you had no choice. You had to get on that machine if you wanted to learn.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped closer to him after he took the motorcycle and got onto it himself. "Get on."

You hesitated before swinging your leg over it as well, the movement too awkward to be smooth. There was no denying it—there was a whole lot of you that wasn't exactly eager to be pressed up against him.

You bit your lip but tried to keep your cool. "Alright, I'm on."

Daryl didn't answer. He just started the engine, his hands gripping the handlebars, and that was when you had to settle into place—right behind him. You were close now—way too close—and that knot in your stomach was only tightening itself. You couldn't help it. You had to steady yourself, right? And as much as you hated to admit it, you found yourself sliding your hands down, almost instinctively. But... it wasn't enough.

And it wasn't fair. Nothing about this was fair. The way he was so broad, strong, and so very close made it impossible to think straight. Your palms were sweating, and it wasn't because you were nervous about falling off. It was him. Just him. And God, it was infuriating, letting your thoughts run wild.

Why does he have to smell so good? Why can't he just be an asshole and not… this?

Your hands moved. Lower.

You didn't mean to, but... there you were. Your fingers grabbed his hips, right there in front of you and so, so very close. He was warm, so warm, and you couldn't not notice it, even if you tried. But you weren't even trying.

Oh, no. Don't. Don't do it. Not now...

But your hands stayed right there. Resting on his hips. You couldn't help it.

God, he feels good. Warm. Strong. Hell, if I slide even lower, maybe I can make him feel me, too. What if I just—

You quickly cut your thoughts off, but the temptation was there. It was stupid. It's Daryl, you reminded yourself, though it didn't make the racing of your heart in your chest any less intense.

"Quit it. Jus' hold on," he suddenly said, still keeping his focus on the road in front of you.

You snapped out of it, blinking as though you were just pulled back from the edge of a cliff.

"Me?" You shot back, trying to sound as neutral as possible, hoping he didn't feel the way your heart was pounding. "You're the one acting like you've got a stick up your ass. Don't act like I'm the problem here."

Daryl didn't respond—again. His hands tightened on the handlebars, and you felt him move slightly on the motorcycle. You wondered if he could feel the way you were still pressed against him, too. If he noticed, he didn't give any sign, but hell, you weren't sure whether that was calming you down or just making everything worse.

Your hands were still grabbing his hips. Still low. Still in the danger zone. And every second you stayed on that seat that close behind him, the more you realized just how close you were to crossing a line you couldn't uncross, too.

Just stop touching him like that. For God's sake, control yourself...

But it was too late, wasn't it? Your hands were already doing what they wanted, sliding ever so slightly as Daryl revved the engine beneath you. And as the machine roared further and you felt the vibration between your legs, you couldn't deny it—you were holding on tight...

And shit, you hated yourself for it, but you couldn't think straight.

Your hands—those traitorous, slightly trembling hands—started to move further without you even trying. At first, you could feel the hardness of his muscles under his shirt. You didn't mean to, but your fingers couldn't resist anymore.

What the hell is wrong with me?

You kept telling yourself you weren't like this, but the warmth of his body in front of you, the vibrations of the motorcycle—the whole situation—it was clearly messing with your head.

And then your fingers touched the waistband of his pants. Your mind started spiraling.

Fuck, stop it.

But your hands were moving still, just a little further, and before you could catch yourself, you were dangerously close to slipping one whole hand past the button of his pants.

Why does this feel so fucking good? So right? No! This is so wrong!

You knew you shouldn't be doing this. You were driving yourself crazy just being this close to him. You should pull away and act like nothing happened. But the thought of him—of the way he looked, the way he smelled—it was too much.

Should I really keep going? You wondered, heart racing. What if I just slide my hand inside and just feel him?

The idea was so sudden it made your stomach growl, but you couldn't stop imagining it. The way he'd react—if he'd stop the motorcycle and throw you off, or if he'd just let you have your way.

But your hand froze at the button of his pants, resting there, barely touching it. You hated how much you wanted to go further, how much you needed to.

Pull back. Move your hand away. Stop thinking about how strong he is.

The way his muscles moved under your fingers, how he wasn't even saying one thing to stop you. Did he want this? Did he feel it too? You hated how much you wanted to find out.

But Daryl kept driving, focusing on the surroundings and possible dangers as you left Alexandria.

Why isn't he stopping me?

He was tense, but that was it. No words, no warnings. And that drove you wild.

Maybe he wants this as much as I do.

Your mind was on fire now, and you wanted him so badly, it felt like your whole body was about to explode. And the weirdest part? You weren't sure you even cared anymore if this was wrong.

If you don't stop me, I swear I'll—

You didn't finish that thought, and as soon as Daryl pulled off the road and into a clearing surrounded by trees, the motorcycle came to a stop.

"This'll do," he said, getting off it and motioning for you to follow.

You stumbled off, your legs still shaky from holding yourself together.

Right now, you wanted to hate him. To scream at him. But the truth was, you were more pissed at yourself. You were supposed to be learning how to ride a motorcycle, not imagining what it would feel like to be all over him and…

No. Stop it. Get your shit together.

"Alright, what's next?" You asked, doing your best to sound casual even as your heart was still racing. "You gonna teach me how not to eat dirt or just let me ride it?"

Daryl glared at you, one eyebrow raised like you were the one making this complicated. "Jus' pay attention."

You snorted, shaking your head. "Sure, 'cause that's been working out for me so far." You crossed your arms, a little too aware of how your body felt like it was overheating.

Stop thinking about him, stop thinking about him...

He was already gesturing to the motorcycle again, explaining the controls all over. "Clutch, brake, throttle—all that stuff."

You nodded, doing your best to stay focused despite how goddamn awkward you felt.

Focus; you can do this.

You glanced at him and caught the way his hands moved around near you, the way his fingers got hold of the throttle like he was born to do this.

"Ya won't wreck it if ya listen."

You scoffed, trying to hide your nerves. "Yeah… 'if,' but okay."

Daryl took a step closer, the space between you suddenly feeling way too small. "Stop makin' jokes, and start payin' some real attention."

You could feel how he stared you down, even without looking into his eyes, and before you could stop yourself, you were blushing—hard.

Shit, shit, shit.

He then smirked, only a little, and you wanted to punch him for it. Or kiss him. You weren't sure. Either way, you tugged at the collar of your shirt like it was too tight, but there was no escaping it.

Daryl was watching you, though his smirk was already gone again. "Jus' sit down on it. Let's see if ya can at least do that alone while out here, without fallin' over."

You had to swallow hard.

Just get on, just get on, and don't think about him.

Your mind was screaming at you to stop acting like you wanted to crawl all over him, but your body was betraying you.

And Daryl for sure wasn't even trying to make it easier, and all you could do was grit your teeth and pray you didn't lose it.

The first time you tried to balance the motorcycle, you almost tipped it over, but Daryl quickly got a hold of it—and you—before you really ate dirt.

"Goddamn it," he groaned, yanking you upright and keeping the motorcycle steady. "Yer fightin' the damn thing instead o' drivin' it. Quit makin' it harder for yerself."

You shot him a glare but didn't respond, figuring it was easier to just get the lesson over with. This time, he stepped in behind you, hands landing on your waist like he was holding onto a ticking time bomb. His grip tightened just enough to make you aware of his presence, but you weren't going to let him throw you off balance.

"Ease up on the damn clutch," he grumbled. "Slowly. Ya ain't in a damn hurry."

By the third or fourth try, you were starting to get the hang of it. You made it a few feet without the motorcycle wobbling like it had been possessed. You didn't even stall it this time.

"Look at me!" You grinned over your shoulder at him all triumphant as you stopped at a treeline. "I'm basically a stunt double at this point! Wanna try jumping flaming buses next?"

Daryl shot you that look again. The one that made you want to throw something at him. "Nah, yer bein' an amateur stunt double wantin' to set yerself on fire… 'cause ya can't keep yer hands to yerself."

You ignored him.

You had it now. You totally had it.

But who needed to play it safe when you could push this lesson to the limit and prove yourself?

You twisted the throttle again but felt a sudden rush of speed. "Shit!" You screamed from far away. "Fuck!"

"What the hell are ya doin'?!" Daryl shouted before you were hurtling forward at fast speed, your stomach dropping as it made everything around you blurry in sight. You had no idea how to stop in the heat of the moment without throwing yourself off it, and that realization hit you hard. You were in panic mode now, and trying to steer only made it worse.

"Daryl? A little help here, please!" You screamed, gripping the handlebars as your hands shook.

"Hold on!" Daryl yelled, but his warning was already too late. The front wheel hit something—a big rock? A tree stump? You didn't even see it. All you knew was that the motorcycle lurched like a wild animal wanting to throw you off its back.

For a moment, you were sure you were about to die. But Daryl wasn't about to let that happen. He lunged forward, grabbing you and yanking you off the seat just before it tipped completely and threw you off.

You and Daryl went down, both of you slamming into the ground hard. You landed on top of him—completely on top of him, with your thighs pressed against his hips and your upper body crashing against his chest.

You knew you fucked up, but his expression only made it worse. The slight pain in your body was nothing compared to the humiliation you felt. All you could do was catch your breath and stare at him.

And Daryl was flat-out pissed. His face was full of rage, and he was breathing hard from the crash. He shoved you off him, his hands on your shoulders as he stood up.

"What the hell were ya thinkin'!?" His eyes were practically burning holes through you. "I told ya to slow the hell down and focus! Ya don't listen for shit!"

You didn't want to admit that he was right, that you'd been very reckless. "Well, maybe you should've taught me how to actually ride instead of standing there like a statue and just barking orders!"

Daryl's hands were clenched into fists at his sides.

He wasn't just angry.

He was livid.

You were both breathing fast now, adrenaline still running through your veins. "And maybe I'm just a fast learner, okay?" You continued.

Daryl looked at you like he was about to rip you in half. "Yer not a fast learner; yer a damn idiot! And now I gotta drag yer dumb ass back!"

He grabbed the motorcycle and swung his leg over it with a grunt. "Get the fuck on," he growled in frustration.

You glared at him for a moment, but you weren't about to argue. You had to get home. You had no choice but to follow him.

Throwing your leg over the seat, you settled behind him. You couldn't even look up now. Every time you did, your stomach hurt in a way that made no sense. The anger, the shame—it was all so degrading. You wanted to argue. You really did. But you were too embarrassed, and your body was too sore to keep up any fight.

Daryl started the engine, and the motorcycle roared to life under you. As he sped down the road, you couldn't help but notice how tense his body still was. Every muscle in his back seemed to be stiff. And he didn't say a word anymore. Not a single word as you rode back toward Alexandria in silence.

His hands gripped the handlebars with such force, you swore the motorcycle might crack in half under the pressure if he kept it up.

You were pissed as well. Pissed at yourself for fucking up and pissed at him for making you feel all... this. You hated that you couldn't read him, hated how he could just shut everything out like that, and especially for making you feel something you didn't want to feel.

Once back at Alexandria, the garage door had barely been shut when Daryl's frustration exploded. He was still breathing hard from the ride, and he hadn't pushed you away since you'd now gotten back, but the way he was glaring at you said enough.

He took a step toward you, pushing you back a little. "Crashed my damn bike…"

"I didn't wreck it, Daryl," you argued. "It's fine!"

"Fine?" He repeated. "That's what ya call near splittin' yer skull open?"

"I didn't crash on purpose!" You shot back, the frustration boiling over. "I'm not dumb!"

He let out a mean laugh, his eyes narrowing. "Coulda fooled me, dumbass!"

"You're the one all trembling here, not me!" You crossed your arms, trying to hold onto whatever bit of defiance was left. "It was an accident, Daryl," you continued, glaring right back at him. "It's not like I'm trying to be your damn stunt double!"

He scoffed, not buying your excuse. "Bullshit. Ya were pushin' it, tryin' to prove somethin', weren't ya? Ya coulda gotten yerself killed!"

Maybe he was right; maybe you had been showing off, but why bother with giving him the satisfaction and letting him know that it was the truth?

"What's your problem, Dixon? It isn't like I destroyed the damn thing," you scoffed.

He shot you a glare. "Problem is, ya don't think. Out there, one screw-up ain't jus' a scratch—it's the difference 'tween comin' back or not comin' back at all!"

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, please! Spare me the PSA! It isn't like I don't know how this shit works! We're all one wrong turn away from dead anyway! What's the big deal?"

"The big deal," he growled, "is ya don't get to pull that shit with my bike!"

His finger shot out, pointing toward the side of the motorcycle. "Look at this," he growled. "Ya see that?"

You glanced where he was pointing and shrugged. "What, a couple of scratches? Boo-fucking-hoo! Rub some dirt with your spit on it; it'll be fine!"

"Couple o' scratches?" His voice rose, and he bent down to run a hand along the damaged part. "Ya know how I worked on this, ain't that right? To get it runnin' smooth?"

He crouched, looking at the machine like he was inspecting a wounded animal. "Look."

"What?"

"Look," he snarled once more, pointing his finger at the gas tank.

Reluctantly, you stepped closer, peering over his shoulder. The scratches weren't as bad as you'd expected—some scuffed paint and a tiny dent, hardly catastrophic.

"Oh no," you pretended to be shocked and threw your hands up. "It's ruined! Better put it out of its misery!"

Daryl turned around, staring at you in disbelief and anger. "That funny to ya?"

"A little," you shot back, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded. "Newsflash, Dixon! This is a hunk of metal. It'll survive!"

His jaw clenched, and he stood up so fast you stumbled back. "Ain't the damn point," he snapped, stepping closer.

"Then what is the point?" You demanded in return.

"The point is," he growled, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register, "ya don't listen. Yer always so goddamn dumb, thinkin' ya know better—"

"I do know better!" You interrupted him. "I could rebuild this bike with my eyes closed! Hell, I could build you a new one from… a scratch!"

Daryl's hands dropped to his sides, his breathing fast as he stared at you. His eyes looked down to your arms, and you followed his line of sight, realizing for the first time that you were trembling.

His eyes softened, just for a second. "Ya hurt?"

"No," you lied, crossing your arms to hide the shaking.

Daryl huffed, and his frustration was boiling over again. "Bullshit."

He moved toward you, closing the space between you as he grabbed you by the arm. You flinched but didn't pull away. His grip tightened, pulling you back toward the motorcycle you'd nearly wrecked.

"Get on," he growled, holding you still.

You froze, glaring at him. "Excuse me?"

"Get on the fuckin' bike," he repeated, his eyes narrowing.

You shook your head. "You're out of your damn mind."

But you didn't fight it when he shoved you over to the seat, guiding you like you were weighing nothing at all. You hadn't expected this—his touch and his obvious anger.

But it wasn't just the crash. No. It was the way his eyes looked at you—like he was waiting for you to back down, to beg for mercy even.

"What?" You scoffed. "You're pissed 'cause I fucked up your bike? Is that it? So fucking ridiculous!"

"'S part of it," he answered, and before you could respond, his hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him.

And you weren't sure what you expected from him, but you didn't expect the force of his lips on yours.

His kiss was aggressive. It wasn't tender. It wasn't gentle. It was all teeth and tongue and the feel of his stubble against your skin.

You tried to pull back, pushing at his chest. "What the hell—!"

"Shut the fuck up."

You barely had time to react before he was pushing you against the motorcycle, and his hands found their way under your shirt. It was almost too much to bear—the roughness of his touch. It had no place here, not with you two practically being strangers in this world, but somehow it made sense.

And no, you didn't pull away. Not now.

"Daryl—" You cut yourself off when his hand slid down to your waistband, tugging at your pants, a movement that was fast and urgent. Your breath hitched, a gasp escaping your throat.

He didn't respond, not in words anyway, as he lowered himself to his knees in front of you, his hands on your thighs, forcing you to stay still.

He wanted you—had wanted you, maybe for longer than he'd ever care to admit.

You gasped again when he pulled your pants down roughly, his hands moving along your hips before dragging them down your legs. You knew his hands were capable—he could gut a deer in under a minute, rebuild a bike from scratch—but this? This was a whole different level of skill, and you weren't sure whether to be impressed or terrified by how quickly he had you undone.

But you didn't have time to process it before Daryl was standing again, his face dangerously close to yours, eyes burning with a fire that made you blush.

God, his eyes.

They weren't just looking at you—they were staring you down.

Before you could say anything else, he kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands sliding down to your hips and pushing himself closer until there was no space between your bodies.

And then, his fingers slipped beneath your panties, and he slid two of them into you. Without warning.

You cried out at the suddenness of it, at the overwhelming feeling, but you didn't stop him.

"Still think I'm tremblin'?" He asked as he moved them inside you with a pace that made your head spin. You couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.

Sure, he was frustrated—but now it was all coming out, only in a way that you'd never expected. You didn't know what this was—what this would be afterward—but damn if it didn't feel like the only thing that mattered right now.

As his breath turned quicker against your neck, the urgency of his fingers quickened, too. Until he pulled them out of you. The moment he removed his hand, licking his fingers clean, you almost cursed aloud, the emptiness threatening to drive you mad.

He didn't give you time to say anything, didn't even let you think about it, because in the next moment, his hands were yanking your shirt up over your head, and your bra was gone just as fast.

But the way he studied you, every inch of you—like he was savoring the moment as if you were a piece of art he needed to drink in—made everything feel too much. Too much to take. Too much to bear. But also too good to stop.

You couldn't protest, couldn't do anything but let him have his way, and your eyes squeezed shut as you fought to hold it together.

Without a word, Daryl kneeled back down onto the ground again, his hands moving to your thighs, pushing them apart for him.

"Open yer eyes," he ordered, but you didn't. You just couldn't. But you could feel him there, right between your legs, and the anticipation was nearly killing you.

No, you couldn't do anything but obey as his hand was pulling your panties down and his other hand's thumb stroked across your clit, but something else caught his attention. A bruise on your thigh started to slowly form itself from when you'd crashed.

And then, without a word, he leaned forward, his lips pressing hard against the bruise. His teeth bit into the skin, and then he sucked on it with a hunger that had nothing to do with the motorcycle and the crash.

You gasped loudly, eyes opening wide as the sharp sting of his bite was followed by the slow, deep suck of his mouth.

His lips left the bruise for a moment, but it wasn't gone long. His tongue licked over the edges of it, then his teeth, scraping some more, making your legs shiver with lust and a little bit of pain.

As his fingers moved toward and away from your wet pussy, to brush over the scratches on one leg from the crash, you could feel the pressure of his touch as he traced over each one. He didn't care about the discomfort it caused, didn't care about the marks—they were his to play with.

A growl left his throat as he scratched them a little harder, just a little deeper, making you whimper.

You didn't even realize you were staring at him until his blue eyes looked up into yours, a silent claim that went deeper than anything else.

"Ain't lettin' ya look away," he warned as his hands gripped your thighs again, forcing your trembling legs to stay open for him.

And God, they were.

His touch was everything you didn't know you needed as he slipped his fingers back into you—simply all-consuming. His thumb stroked your clit yet again, and you were sure you were going to lose it way too fast.

And the way he kept looking at you—like he was daring you to look away…

But you didn't. Not once.

The pressure was building, that sweet, unbearable pressure, until it felt like you were going to burst into flames.

Indeed, it was pure fire.

"Eyes on me," he growled. "Don't ya look away."

His fingers found their rhythm, slow but deep, making you moan out loud, trying your hardest to keep your eyes open and on him.

"Yeah, 's it," he growled. "Focus."

You nodded wildly, the feeling overtaking everything, your body desperate for more. Every bit of your skin was burning, and you hated how badly you needed this.

"Daryl… I," you gasped, your hands holding on for dear life on the motorcycle seat, trying to stay upright but close to losing the battle with every pump. "I can't—fuck!"

"Can't what? Focus? Ain't nothin' new," he answered, his thumb still on your clit while his fingers were thrusting away. "Can't handle it? Ya jus' gotta focus. Keep yer eyes on me."

You were close, so fucking close already, but he wasn't letting up.

His fingers moved so roughly inside of you, pressing against your G-spot, which soon made you feel certain this was it—this was the moment.

Your legs were shaking hard, your breath coming in quick, desperate moans. "Fuck… fuck…" You whimpered, fingers tightening on the seat behind you.

But then he stopped. Just stopped.

The sudden loss of his fingers was like being thrown into a room full of walkers. You groaned, your hips bucking in a desperate attempt to go after what was just within reach, but he pulled his hand away completely, leaving you trembling and half-crazed.

"What the fuck, Daryl!" You cried out loud as you glared down at him, but Daryl only had the audacity to smirk, licking his fingers off once more like you hadn't been about to shatter into pieces.

"Keep still and shut up," he growled, and before you could scream at him, his head was between your legs.

Your words turned into a choked cry as his tongue moved over your clit, the feeling of his stubble against your inner thighs making you squirm.

It wasn't fair. You were already so close, your body trembling so hard it hurt, but now he was dragging it out, taking his sweet-ass time, licking and sucking like he had all damn day.

"Fuck—fucking hell, Daryl," you hissed, hands grabbing his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against you. The vibrations shot straight through you, making your thighs clench around his head, but he didn't stop—he didn't even flinch.

"Thought ya were so good at takin' risks," he taunted, his lips brushing against your clit as he spoke.

And with that, he sucked on it so hard you nearly screamed, the feeling of it being just on the edge of pain, but God, it was perfect. You were so damn close again, and this time, you needed it.

If he pulled away now, you swore you'd kill him.

"Please," you whimpered, your hips grinding against his mouth in a way that should've embarrassed you. "Daryl, fuck, don't you dare stop again—"

His grip tightened on your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you as his tongue pushed you further and further until there was nowhere left to go but over the edge.

But it wasn't just his mouth—oh no. His hands were keeping you in place, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was claiming you, and maybe he was. You didn't care. You just wanted more.

"Fuck—Daryl, I'm—" Your voice broke, too far gone to even finish the sentence.

He pulled back just enough to growl, "What? Yer what?" His voice was rough and way too sarcastic for a man who was driving you insane.

"Stop it and finish me!" You snapped, your hands pulling at his hair like it would somehow speed him up.

He laughed—actually laughed—and that sound went straight through you. But before you could cuss him out for being an 'insufferable bastard,' his fingers were back on you, two sliding inside so easily you swore you saw stars.

Your breath hitched, and then he added a third.

"Fuck—holy shit!" You gasped, your thighs trembling as he stretched you wide. The feeling was nearly too much, but it was just right, and when his fingers started pumping in and out, so deep and hard, you couldn't do anything but ride it out.

He looked up at you then, his blue eyes searching for yours. You wanted to look away, to hide from the way he was watching you like he was saving every second of this to memory, but you didn't. He wouldn't let you.

"Eyes on me," he growled. "Don't ya fuckin' look away."

You didn't think you could blush any harder—you didn't think you had the energy left for it—but then his other hand moved, his thumb pressing into the bruise on your thigh, just hard enough to make you wince.

"Shit—Daryl, that hurts!" You hissed at him, but his grip tightened, keeping you still.

"Good," he growled, looking at you. "Should hurt."

His fingers inside your pussy were picking up speed, driving you mad with how good they felt.

"Ya think I'm jus' gonna let ya off easy after crashin' my bike?"

He pressed harder into the bruise, making you whimper from the pain that somehow only made everything hotter.

"Nah. Yer gonna feel this. Remember this."

You hated how much it turned you on—the sting of his thumb on your bruise along with the pumping of his fingers inside you and the way his mouth was so close to your clit again.

"Please—fuck—please," you begged, not even sure what you were asking for anymore. You just needed something—anything—to finally push you over the edge.

"C'mon," he growled against you, not stopping. "C'mon, woman. Fuckin' let go. Let me fuckin' have it."

And that was it. That was all it took.

Everything inside you exploded so intensely you moaned out loud, your whole body arching as the orgasm ripped through you.

"Fuck—fuck, Daryl!"

You tried to keep your legs from giving out, but they were done, trembling so hard you had no choice but to lean fully against the motorcycle once more, trying to hold yourself steady. But Daryl didn't stop. His mouth stayed on you, his tongue again working your clit, dragging out every last bit of your orgasm until you were shaking all over, whimpering and sobbing from the overstimulation.

Only then did he pull his fingers out in a way that made sure you'd feel everything.

But before you could catch your breath, his hands were on you again, gripping your thighs like they belonged to him. Without a word, he hoisted your legs up, wrapping them around his neck. The sudden movement made you yelp, but he didn't care—not one bit.

"What the fuck are you—"

"Shut up," he growled, his voice ragged as he shifted you off the motorcycle and onto his shoulders like you weighed nothing. "Focus."

The cold floor hit your back as he lowered you down, your body shivering against it. He moved near you, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them spread wide as he settled between them again, his face just inches from where you were still dripping for him.

You barely had time to process the new position before his tongue was back on you, licking slow and deep, making you moan aloud through the garage. All you could do was writhe and shake beneath him, your hands searching for anything to grab and hold onto—his hair, his shoulders, the cold floor—trying to keep still as he worked you over.

But then, just when you thought he'd keep going until you couldn't take anymore, he moved, his mouth leaving your pussy as he started to lick and kiss—hot, wet, and sloppy—all over you.

And he didn't move fast. He took his time, crawling up your body like he was deciding which part of you he should tease next. You felt his breath across your skin, so warm yet unsteady, while his hands worked on keeping you exactly where he wanted you—legs spread wide, no room to close yourself off, no room to argue.

His hands? Oh, you knew those hands could kill you if they wanted to, but the way he traced the edges of the scratches on your thigh? Fuck, it was worse. Slow. On purpose. Just enough pressure to remind you it was there. A reminder you didn't need, but apparently, he thought you needed.

The tip of his thumb ran over them once, twice, then pressed down harder. You flinched—it was pure instinct—but his other hand clamped down on your leg, pinning you to the floor. His thumb didn't move, didn't give you a break. If anything, he pressed harder, and you hissed through your teeth. He groaned, low and deep, like your slight discomfort was exactly what he wanted.

Daryl soon leaned down and kissed them. He kissed them like he was apologizing. Then his teeth grazed over the same scratches, and you realized he wasn't sorry for it at all. His tongue followed, licking slowly and wetly over the stinging feeling of them, and your back arched itself off the floor.

By the time he moved up to the bruise on your hips, his fingers found it first, pressing into your flesh like he was testing it, seeing how much it was hurting you. You flinched again, but this time, his response was immediate—a growl coming out of his throat as his fingers dug in deeper.

"Daryl," you started, but your voice cracked, and you knew that he wasn't listening anyway. His mouth replaced his fingers, and the first kiss of his lips made your head snap up.

Not soft, not tender—he sucked on the bruise as if he wanted to drag the pain out of you, to make you feel every sting of it.

He kept going, his mouth kissing up your ribs, licking, biting, sucking, finding every bruise that was forming itself, every scratch, and making sure you knew he'd found them.

"Fuckin' hell…" He whispered as his mouth moved higher, pressing kisses to your chest, in between your tits, before his tongue licked over one nipple.

You gasped as he sucked it into his mouth, one of his hands moving to tease the other, pinching and rolling it between his fingers.

"Daryl, please! Please… just—"

He didn't let up. He crawled higher over you, his body pinning you down, his mouth moving up to your collarbone, where his tongue licked over it next.

By the time he reached your neck, you were a mess, your hands now clawing at his shoulders, desperate for him to give you more, to stop teasing. And he knew it.

But he wasn't done. His teeth found your neck, and he bit down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to leave a mark, your thighs instantly squeezing around his hips.

"Goddamn," he growled as his mouth finally reached yours. "Look atcha… all wrecked."

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, rough and hungry, his tongue pushing into your mouth like he needed to taste every part of you.

And fuck, you didn't care.

Daryl left no room for argument—not that you had any strength left to argue.

His hands were everywhere at once, sliding over your thighs, your hips, your waist. You moaned into his mouth as his fingers moved back down between your legs, slipping through the wetness he'd left behind when he dragged his fingers through your wet folds, and his smirk certainly showed that he was satisfied with himself.

He wasn't asking for permission, no, but he wasn't rushing either. And he was now giving you the chance to stop him without saying a word.

When you didn't push him away, he leaned back just enough to look at you. His blue eyes seemed darker now, his pupils all wide, searching for something, waiting.

Your hands slid up his strong back, trembling slightly but steadying themselves as they reached his shoulders. You gave him a small but quick nod as you took a shaky breath.

That was all he needed.

With a growl, Daryl's hands gripped your hips, flipping you over onto your stomach fast but not harshly. Before you could even process it all, he pressed himself down against your ass.

"Don't move," he whispered.

You weren't planning to.

He grabbed your hips again, pulling you back just enough to hold them upward. You felt his cock pressing against your ass, still in his pants but unmistakably hard as he grunted and pushed it against you, his hands only holding on harder.

The deep and loud groan he made? You couldn't help but push back against him.

You barely had time to listen to the sound of his zipper before he was back, his cock sliding between your thighs, teasing, the wetness of your pussy making it too easy for him to glide against you.

Your fingers were clawing at the floor as you tried to push back, but his hands held you in place.

His hips rocked forward, and the tip of his cock pressed into your pussy. You tensed, your breath stopping at the sheer size of it, but he didn't push in—not completely. He was letting you feel every inch of how big he was.

When he did push inside, it was enough to stretch you wide open, and with one slow thrust, he sank into you, filling you up. Still, Daryl didn't move right away. He stayed there, buried to the hilt, as he gave you a moment to adjust and made sure you were okay.

Then, he finally started to move.

Slow at first, his hips pulling back before thrusting forward again, each movement so controlled.

But it didn't take long for him to move faster.

Harder.

Deeper.

And you couldn't do anything but take it as he pinned you down.

"Daryl—" you moaned, but he cut you off with a growl, his arm sliding down around you, pulling your hips higher to give him better access.

"Don't talk," he ordered, trying not to lose himself. "Jus' take it."

And you did. God, you did.

The garage felt almost suffocating now, and all you could smell was the scent of sweat and sex. The only sounds to be heard were your fast-breathing moans of yourself and his feral grunts as Daryl moved behind you. Every thrust was deep, driving you forward just to pull you back again with a growl, his grip on your hips leaving marks you'd wear for days.

Your hands still searched for any kind of hold against the floor, trying to ground yourself as the intensity of it all threatened to break you apart. His cock stretched you in a way that still bordered on too much, each thrust rougher than the last, and yet you couldn't get enough of it—of him.

"Fuck," Daryl grunted, his voice sounding as if the word was being dragged out from deep inside him.

You couldn't respond to him, not with the way he filled you so completely, your body trembling under his control. But he didn't need any words in return from you. His hand slid from your hip, moving along your ass and up your spine, before he put his arm around your shoulders to keep you steady.

"Don't lose focus now," he growled, leaning over you, his chest brushing against your back. His stubble grazed along your shoulder as he pressed his mouth down, his lips rough, almost punishing. He bit down hard, his teeth sinking into your skin just enough to leave another mark.

You cried out, clenching around him involuntarily. "Daryl—"

"Shut up," he said, cutting you off with another bite to your shoulder, this one softer than the last. His teeth were still on the mark he'd made, right before his tongue soothed it, leaving you shivering.

Daryl's pace quickened, each thrust making your overstimulated body shudder.

"Goddamn, look atcha," he grumbled, his voice full of lust. "Really fuckin' wrecked, ain't ya?"

You whimpered in response, your head falling forward and almost hitting the floor, but your body was still being held on tight by his grip.

"Ya like that?"

You nodded.

"C'mon," he growled, his hand tightening around your chest to keep you steady as his thrusts grew erratic. "Stay with me, woman. Focus. Fuckin' focus."

You didn't have a choice. His arm around your chest and his cock buried so deep inside you made it impossible to think about anything else. And the pressure was building again, unavoidable, and you knew he could feel it—the way your pussy clenched around him, desperate to feel him come, too.

And he didn't slow down. He didn't ease the pace or give you any room to breathe. Instead, he buried his face against you again, his lips sucking on your neck, his tongue following to taste the sweat of your skin.

"Shit," he hissed, his voice all muffled against your neck. "Goddamn, ya feel so fuckin' good."

His hips thrust forward, harder and faster, and you could feel him getting close, his movements losing their rhythm as his breathing turned ragged.

"Fuck—fuck," he groaned, his arm moving from your chest to hold your hip again, his hand grabbing you roughly as his thrusts went deeper. "Gonna—fuck, I'm—"

He didn't finish the sentence. With a loud groan that was almost sounding more animal than man, he pulled out, his hand gripping his cock as he came all over your back with force.

You stayed there momentarily, still on the cold floor of the garage, as you tried to piece yourself back together. Your legs felt like jelly, trembling so badly you weren't even sure they'd hold you if you tried to stand up.

Daryl soon moved off behind you, his heavy breathing just as loud and uneven as yours as he leaned against the motorcycle for balance. His cum was feeling all warm across your back, but you didn't have the energy to care—not yet.

Finally, he straightened himself, pulling his pants back up and putting his softening cock away. You heard the sound of his footsteps next to you as he walked around the garage, and for a second, you thought he was going to leave you there, fucked and half-naked in the garage.

But not long after, he was back, something soft and slightly damp rubbing over your skin.

"Hold still," he grunted. "Gotta clean ya up."

You flinched, moving your head to see what he was doing. Daryl had an old, torn rag in one hand, smudged with a little bit of dry oil, but it was enough to do the job. His other hand pressed against your shoulder, holding you still as he wiped away the mess of his cum he'd left behind.

"You could've at least grabbed a clean one," you grumbled, but there wasn't any real annoyance in your voice.

When he was done, he tossed the rag aside. "Yer alright?"

You smirked, despite the ache in your legs. "What, worried I might've cracked under all that control?"

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue. Instead, he just grunted before crouching in front of you. His hands found your arms as he helped you up, his strength the only thing keeping you from falling right back to the floor.

"Easy," he mumbled, sliding one arm around your waist to steady you. "Ain't wantin' to pick yer ass up again if ya fall."

"Not my fault," you answered, your legs wobbling as you tried to find your balance. "You're the one who—"

"Don't even start," he cut you off quickly, but definitely with amusement. "Ya got no one to blame but yer damn self."

His arm stayed around you as you took a few shaky steps with him by your side as if you had to learn how to walk again, your knees still threatening to buckle. You hated how he looked at you right now, showing you a smirk as he watched you struggle.

"Shut up," you grumbled, leaning against him more than you wanted to admit.

"Ain't said nothin'," he smirked, but the way his hand tightened on your waist betrayed his satisfaction.

Once you were steady enough to stand on your own, he let go, his hands falling to his sides. As you reached for your clothes, putting them on with clumsy, trembling fingers, Daryl leaned against the motorcycle again, watching you with that same gaze he'd had earlier, his blue eyes tracking every movement of your body.

"So? Ya still reckless?" He suddenly asked, as if to taunt you.

You glared at him as you put on your bra and shirt. "Excuse me?"

"Crashin' my bike," he continued, crossing his arms over his chest. "Then gettin' all riled up when ya can't handle shit."

Feeling your cheeks turn red, the heat was spreading all over your face as you turned to zip up your pants. "Maybe if you weren't such a goddamn caveman, my attention would've—"

"Caveman, huh?" Daryl stepped closer, the space closing between you until you could feel the presence of him behind your back. One hand came up, his fingers brushing lightly over the bruise on your thigh from earlier, the touch rather gentle.

"Caveman kept ya focused now, didn't he?" He continued, his lips all close near your ear. "Got yer attention real good."

You hated how easily your body responded to him even now, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

"Next time," he said, his voice dropping slightly, "ya might think twice 'bout tryin' to show off."

His fingers then pressed into the bruise just enough to make you wince, reminding you of the lesson he'd drilled into you—literally.

"Control," he said, stepping back again. "Might save yer damn ass next time."

You turned to face the motorcycle with a scowl as you adjusted your clothes, looking around for your jacket. "Are you done lecturing me, or should I grab a notepad?"

"Nah. Jus' get yer shit together," he answered. "We're headin' out again tomorrow. Yer ridin' bitch till ya prove ya can handle it."

Laughing at that, your words were coming out faster than your still-wobbly legs could even move. "Riding bitch, huh?" You repeated as you turned to face him. "Next time you're teaching me to drive, I'll be riding something, alright—but it sure as shit won't be the bike."

It was a bold answer, considering your legs still felt like they'd been switched for spaghetti, but you weren't about to let him see you back down.

Daryl's lips twitched, that small smirk coming back as he closed the distance between you in a few quick movements. One hand shot out, gripping your chin and tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

"Keep talkin'," he grumbled, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "See where it gets ya."

You grinned, biting his thumb just enough to make him hiss. "I think it gets me exactly where I want to be," you responded, voice all daring, even as your pulse kicked up a notch all over. "Don't you think?"

Daryl's silence was answer enough, and for a moment, you thought he might snap again, dragging you into another round right there on the spot. But for now, and for once, you decided to savor and enjoy your little victory. Of course, it didn't last long.

You weren't sure who moved first, but before you knew it, you were pulling him down by his collar, your lips crashing onto his like they had something to prove.

The kiss was all grunts and stubbornness, his teeth biting at your lip as you ran your fingers through his messy hair. You didn't even notice when his hands found your waist, pulling you closer until there wasn't an inch of space between your bodies.

"Y'ain't got any sense o' self-control," he mumbled against your mouth, but he didn't stop kissing you, one hand sliding up to grab the back of your neck.

You broke the kiss just long enough to catch your breath, smirking up at him. "And you've got too much of it," you shot back.

You knew this would've gone on longer—should've gone on longer—but the sound of the side door from the garage to the house opening stopped you both in place like a couple of kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

"Daryl?" Aaron's voice was to be heard, and you felt the blood freeze in your veins. "Are you both back already?"

Daryl let out a growl, his forehead slowly dropping to yours like he was trying to collect himself before turning to look toward the unwanted interruption.

Aaron stood in the doorway, his eyes looking between the two of you, taking in the sheer awkwardness of it all. His eyebrows shot up, and he blinked like he was trying to reset his brain back to factory settings.

"Oh…" Aaron said after a moment, his voice sounding a little bit higher than usual. "I just—uh—saw the garage door was closed from the outside when I came back. Thought you were done with, uh, teaching? I just wanted to get—"

Daryl cleared his throat, stepping back from you but not bothering to hide his irritation. "'M still teachin'."

Aaron's mouth opened like he was about to ask something else, but you jumped in before he could make things even worse. "Yeah, exactly," you said, smiling at him before you looked back at Daryl. "He's teachin' me how to… focus."

The words had barely left your mouth before Daryl shot you a look. Still, he couldn't resist adding, "And 'bout… control."

Aaron stood there, his mouth opening and closing like a fish in urgent need of water. Finally, he managed to let out a quiet, "Still teaching, huh?" His voice was full of disbelief. "About control and focus?"

You crossed your arms, smirking. "Of course! And let me tell you, Daryl's got a real hands-on approach." Daryl gave you a warning look, but you ignored him. "Next time, maybe we'll move on to, I dunno, accelerating!"

"Yeah," Daryl answered flatly, his tone as casual as if Aaron had walked in on him fixing the motorcycle, not having had you taken against it. "Focusin' on the road ahead. Controllin' the bike while… ridin' it."

Aaron arched only one eyebrow this time. "Right," he said, dragging the word out like it was hurting him. "Well, maybe teach her outside of Alexandria next time instead of Eric's and my garage?"

You snorted. "Oh, we can, for sure. But Daryl's really good at teaching me how to focus on what's in front of me," you said sweetly. "It's the control part I keep getting stuck on."

Aaron let out a short, strangled laugh, already backing toward the door. "Yeah, okay! Don't let me interrupt your lesson." His face went red, and he backed up so fast he nearly tripped. "I mean, it sounds, uh... productive. I'll just—yeah." He gestured around awkwardly as he was about to hurry back inside the house.

When he left, you could've sworn he whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, "What the hell is wrong with all these people?" before he closed the door behind him.

The second the door clicked shut, you leaned against the workbench, your eyes moving to the motorcycle that had started this whole situation, after all. It stood there innocently enough, like it hadn't been witness to your absolute lack of keeping control. Stepping forward, you traced your fingers along one of the scratches on its gas tank.

"Looks like Frankenstein's bike's seen some rough handling, thanks to me," you said before your eyes moved back onto Daryl, who was watching you like an animal sizing up its next meal. "Guess it'll get used to bein' ridden hard."

Eyes looking up, you were daring him to take the bait. "Think you'll leave some scratches on me next time?"

His muscles were flexing like he was seconds from pulling you back to him. "Keep talkin', woman, and I jus' might."

You grinned, stepping away from the motorcycle and grabbing your jacket, which was on the floor near the workbench. "Guess I'll just have to wait and see, huh?" You put the jacket on, taking your time on purpose to let him stew in his frustration.

Just as you reached the garage door and opened it, you turned back toward Daryl, who'd started to talk, watching you lean your shoulder against the frame. "Yer walkin' funny, woman."

You stopped, moving your head up with a glare. "If I walk funny, I'm tellin' everyone it's 'cause of the bike." You made sure to add a smirk. "I'm going to say it was a wild ride—not a crash."

As you pushed yourself off the frame and stepped outside onto the streets of Alexandria, your grin was as wide as ever. "Thank you for the thorough lesson, Dixon."

But before the garage could even close behind you, something soft and slightly damp was flying past your head, landing on the ground in front of you.

"Jesus, was that—?" You started to laugh, realizing exactly what he'd thrown after you. "Oh, come on! Did you seriously throw that at me? Gross!"

Daryl leaned against the motorcycle, his smirk not obvious, but it was there. "Missed, didn't I?" He didn't flinch, didn't apologize. "Didn't miss on purpose."

"That's disgusting," you called back and laughed, unable to help yourself. "And I'm not picking that up!"

"Didn't ask ya to," he answered, pushing himself off the machine and taking a few steps closer to the street. "But yer might come back in here 'n pick up somethin' else."

"Not a chance," you snorted, shaking your head while you stumbled a little bit. "Better luck next time. Or… tomorrow."

"Fuckin' reckless…" Daryl growled, but with amusement in his voice as he watched you disappear ever so slowly. But he didn't move, not yet. "Jus' get yer damn ass back here!"

You were already down the street and smirking to yourself as you tried to walk and just waved him off, making it clear that it was all for show as you held up both middle fingers, trying to make it seem like you were stumbling away with your body intact.

And, of course, you were—kind of.

Either way, Daryl knew that next time, the only thing you'd be riding was him, and you'd make sure he would be the one struggling to keep focus and control.

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