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seungsluv · 2 months ago

Text

the way I loved you

── .✦ content warning : SMUT! MDI!! fem!reader; academic rivals; enemies with benefits; one bed trope; angry love confession in the rain; explicit sex; oral (f and m receiving); dry humping; unproteced sex; light degratation; public sex; kinda sub seung;

✮⋆˙ pairing: academic rival seungmin × fem!reader

✮⋆˙ word count: 14,4k

✮⋆˙ synopsis: “We were academic rivals — until we weren’t. Now I can’t tell if I want to outscore him or ride him until he begs.”

✮⋆˙ A/N: heyy!! I had so much fun writing this one cause I kinda reunited all my fav tropes together, so I hope you guys enjoyed it!! please reblog it and lmk what you think ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

I hated him. Absolutely hated.

Hated those stupid, wide puppy eyes that tricked everyone into thinking he was harmless. Hated the way his hair flopped perfectly over his forehead like he was in some damn shampoo commercial. Hated those stupid, plump lips that probably got away with too much just by existing.

But most of all — I hated that smile. That pretty, cocky smile he flashed like he knew something I didn’t.

Every time he looked at me with that skeptical little tilt of his head, the one that screamed “I'm better than you haha” — yes, I could hear the cartoon villain laugh — I knew, deep in my soul, that I could strangle him.

Still debating tho if I’d prefer to do it with my hands or my thighs.

The worst part? It wasn’t just rage pooling low in my stomach.

It pissed me off how he could make me hate him and want him at the same time.

Fucking disgusting.

When Professor Lee handed back our essays and Seungmin’s stupid name was sitting pretty at the top with a shiny gold “A+”, I didn’t even think.

I whipped my head around, caught his eyes across the lecture hall, and mouthed: “Rigged.”

His mouth curved into that slow, infuriating smirk, the kind that crawled under my skin and set it on fire.

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head like he owned the goddamn place, and mouthed back, exaggerated and slow: “Don't be mad just because you’re second best, sweetheart.”

Complete with a wink.

A goddamn wink.

I could feel the heat rising from my chest to my ears. Rage. Or something dangerously close to it.

Seungmin tilted his head, still watching me like I was a particularly amusing science experiment. His eyes glinted, and I knew — I knew — he wasn’t going to let this go.

When class ended, I shoved my notebook into my bag and bolted for the door, hoping he’d get the hint. Of course he didn’t.

He caught up easily, his steps lazy, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets like he hadn’t just declared academic war ten minutes ago.

“Rough day, princess?” he asked, voice dripping mock-sympathy.

I didn’t even look at him. “Bite me, Seungmin.”

“Careful,” he said, his voice dropping half an octave. “Might take that as an invitation.”

I stopped walking and turned to him so fast he almost collided with me. He did collide, his chest bumping into mine with a low thud that made both of us stiffen on reflex.

For a second — a stupid, reckless second — we just stood there. Breathing the same air. Close enough that I could see the tiny mole in the middle of the bridge of his nose. Close enough that I could smell the faint hint of mint gum and something warm and boyish underneath.

His eyes flickered down to my mouth — fast, involuntary. My heart hammered against my ribs. Not from fear. From something far worse. He caught himself a beat too late and pulled back a step, but it was already too late.

I smirked.

“Problem?” he asked, trying to sound bored, but his voice was rougher now. Edgier.

“You wish.” I snapped, shoving his chest lightly with my hand.

It wasn’t enough to move him, but it made him smile — that crooked, infuriating, I-know-you-want-me smile. I wanted to punch him. Or grab him by the hoodie strings and crash our mouths together. Maybe both.

“Tell you what,” he said, hands sliding casually into his pockets, pretending like his pulse wasn’t visible on his throat. “Winner of the next project challenge picks a punishment for the loser. No rules.”

I raised an eyebrow, chest still rising and falling too fast. “You’re serious?”

He nodded, slow, like daring me to back down. “Afraid to lose?” he teased, voice pure poison wrapped in honey.

I narrowed my eyes. “You're on.”

His smirk stretched wider — a flash of sharp teeth and gleaming mischief. “Try not to cry when you lose, princess.”

“Worry about your own dignity first, loser.”

He stepped closer again — not touching, but close enough that my body registered the heat pouring off him. “Oh, princess…” he murmured, low and deliberate. “You’ll be begging me for mercy by the end of it.”

Then, without waiting for my reply, he turned on his heel and walked away, hands in his pockets, whistling some stupid upbeat tune like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb between us.

I stood there, heart pounding, palms sweating, fists clenched at my sides. Already plotting how I was going to destroy him.

Or how I was going to let him destroy me. Maybe both.

If working in the same room as Seungmin was supposed to be a punishment from hell, it was starting to feel a lot more like slow torture.

The worst kind. The kind where you like it.

We weren’t even officially working together — our articles were separate — but somehow, like roaches or debt collectors, he always managed to appear wherever I was: library, café, empty classrooms.

And every time, the same thing: Provocations. Smirks. Stupid bets.

We sat across from each other now, laptops open, papers strewn everywhere. My screen glowed under the cheap library lights, reflecting the blank document I hadn't touched in twenty minutes.

Because Seungmin was there. Existing. Breathing. Tapping his stupid pen against his stupid mouth like he had no idea how distracting he was.

I chewed the end of my pencil, glaring at my thesis statement like it was all its fault.

“Need help, princess?” he drawled, spinning lazily in his chair.

“I'd rather set myself on fire.” I muttered, not looking up.

He chuckled under his breath — that soft, infuriating laugh that always made my skin prickle.

I refused to glance at him. Refused to notice the way his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, veins visible on his forearms. Refused to notice how he tapped his pen in an unconscious rhythm that somehow matched the way my heart stuttered when he leaned back and stretched like a smug little shit.

Focus. Focus.

I bent lower over my keyboard, typing harder than necessary.

He reached across the table to steal my highlighter, and his fingers brushed mine — quick, electric. My body jolted before my brain could catch up.

He smirked. Saw it. Filed it away for later.

I hated him. Absolutely hated.

If hating him included wondering what his hands would feel like pressed somewhere else, well — that was between me and my rapidly deteriorating sanity.

Three hours, five insults, and two coffee runs later, we submitted our articles

I stood stiffly at the front of the lecture hall, arms crossed, waiting for the verdict. Seungmin stood next to me, too close. His shoulder brushed mine once. I moved. He moved closer again.

Asshole.

Professor Lee shuffled through the papers, humming thoughtfully.

Finally, he smiled — a slow, proud smile. “Excellent work from both of you.”

I exhaled. Barely.

“But…” He held up one article.

And I saw it. My name. Bold. Clear. Victorious. I blinked. Once. Twice. I won.

The shock punched through me, followed by something molten and dizzying: triumph. I turned slowly to Seungmin, ready to gloat.

His face was unreadable — that blank, impassive mask he wore when he didn’t want anyone to know he was losing his shit inside. Which meant he was furious.

I smiled sweetly. Sickeningly. “Aw. Better luck next time, loser.”

He tilted his head, mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk.

“Don’t get too cocky. One win doesn’t make you better.”

“No, but it makes you worse.”

He stepped closer, enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Enough that I could feel the heat coming off his skin again.

His eyes dropped to my mouth — quick, instinctive — and I hated how it made my pulse jump.

Before either of us could say something, even dumber, Professor Lee cleared his throat. “Both of you. A word, please.”

We turned, startled, as if remembering there was a whole room watching.

He led us to his desk, his expression serious.

“You two have been selected to represent our department at the International Academic Congress next weekend.” He paused for effect. “An honor. Only given to our best.”

My brain blanked.

Congress? An entire weekend?

With Seungmin?

I felt my stomach flip in the worst way.

Beside me, Seungmin shoved his hands in his pockets, feigning boredom, but I caught the twitch of his jaw. He hated surprises. Almost as much as I hated liking the idea of being trapped with him somewhere far from rules and reputations.

“You’ll be presenting your articles separately, of course,” Professor Lee continued. “But you’ll be traveling together. Hotel accommodations are arranged.”

I nodded, tight, pretending not to panic.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Seungmin turn his head, studying me carefully. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Like he was already plotting how to use this against me.

I gritted my teeth and forced a tight smile. Seungmin smirked, slow and lethal.

The conference was supposed to be an exciting opportunity. At least, that’s what I told myself when I boarded the plane. A few days away from the usual routine, presenting my research for relevant people, making connections — sounds like a dream, right? In theory. The reality? Well, the idea of spending two days in close proximity to Seungmin was a little less appealing. But hey, I was here for the experience. And because I didn’t have much of a choice.

The flight was long, and Seungmin had already made himself an expert at finding ways to annoy me.

He sat one row behind me, but naturally, he ended up next to me when the seatbelt sign was switched off. Classic Seungmin move. “Mind if I join you?” he asked as if I had a say in the matter.

I didn’t even bother to look at him. “Please, make yourself at home.” I said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice.

Seungmin didn’t waste any time. He slid into the seat beside me like we’d been lifelong friends, his shoulder brushing mine in the process. "You know,” he said, stretching his legs out a little too far into my space, “I actually enjoy these long flights. So much time to read, think, or just bother you.”

I pretended to focus on the screen in front of me, but it was hard to ignore him when he practically moved in. “Lucky me.” I muttered, trying my best to be invisible.

He grinned, clearly unfazed. “You could at least pretend to enjoy my company. I’m doing you a favor, really.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you are.” I said dryly.

Seungmin leaned in closer, like he was about to share a deeply profound thought. “I think you’re just afraid of my charm.”

“I’m not afraid of your charm,” I said flatly. “I’m just trying to survive the flight without having to throw you out of the window.”

“You'd kill all of these people if you opened that window, you know that, right?”

Of course I knew, who whe thought I was?

I could practically hear him smirking, even though I refused to look at him. He was annoyingly good at finding ways to make my blood pressure rise with minimal effort.

By the time we landed, I was exhausted—not from the flight, but from keeping my cool around him. The conference itself? That was going to be cakewalk compared to this.

We finally made it through the airport and to the hotel. The city was exactly what I expected: bigger, louder, and more chaotic than I needed. Then, with that, all my excitement died, and I was so ready to be done with everything.

The lobby was eerily quiet, the kind of place where every sound felt exaggerated. When we approached the reception desk, the receptionist greeted us with a smile so practiced it almost looked fake. I wasn’t in the mood for polite exchanges.

She typed something on her keyboard while keeping her eyes on the screen, then lifted her gaze to us with that same, professional smile. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

I stepped up first, handing over my conference credential with a formality I didn’t really feel but was trying to project. It made me look like I had my life together, something that wasn’t going to be ruined by an unexpected trip with my academic rival.

“Hi, we’re from the Department of Social Sciences at National University. We're here for the research congress.”

She glanced at the screen for a moment longer, tapping away before meeting our eyes again. “Ah, of course. Everything’s set for you.” She grabbed a key from behind the desk, placing it on the counter with that same pleasant smile. “Here’s your key. You’ll be in room 325.”

I grabbed the key, but something felt off. The way she handed it to us made me stop, the words almost caught in my throat.

“Just one key?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, hoping the confusion I was feeling didn’t show too obviously. It didn’t make sense that she was giving us a single key for both of us, especially since I knew the rooms were supposed to be separate.

The receptionist looked at me like my question was perfectly normal. “Yes, one key for each couple of participants.”

I blinked, mouth slightly open. A couple? Did she just assume…? I glanced over at Seungmin, who was casually leaning against the counter, an eyebrow raised.

He caught my look and immediately let out a low chuckle. Of course, he found this funny. “What? You didn’t think we were a couple?” He gave me a wink, his voice dripping with that infuriating confidence.

I felt my face flush with a mix of annoyance and… something else. I wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand, but honestly, why was the receptionist so sure of that? Was I really giving off those kinds of vibes?

I couldn’t suppress my irritation.

“We’re not a couple,” I snapped, a little too harshly. “We’re just… two students who happened to be presenting at the same event.”

The receptionist merely nodded, completely unfazed. She didn’t seem to think anything was out of the ordinary about the situation. “Oh, I see. Well, the rooms are all prepared. Would you like me to change the key?”

Before I could open my mouth to say anything, Seungmin was quicker. He grabbed the key off the counter with an air of ease that only made me more frustrated. He was enjoying this, I could tell.

“No, it's okay,” he said smoothly, his eyes flicking to me with that self-satisfied gleam. “We’re fine with it.”

He turned to me, the smugness on his face practically radiating. Of course, this would be his idea of a good time.

I shot him a death glare but said nothing. He was always so quick to take charge of situations that were inconvenient for me. It annoyed the hell out of me.

The receptionist, apparently oblivious to the tension, gave us a polite nod. “Enjoy your stay!”

I didn’t bother replying. Instead, I grabbed my bag and turned away, trying my hardest to ignore Seungmin’s amused expression as I walked to the elevator.

“I can’t believe you’re okay with this,” I muttered under my breath, trying to sound angry, but I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone.

Seungmin followed behind me, taking his time.

The elevator ride up to the third floor was a quiet one, and as we stepped out into the hallway, I could already feel the weight of the situation sinking in. The reality of having to share a room with Seungmin was a lot less fun when you were actually facing it.

Seungmin, still as calm as ever, walked ahead of me toward room 325. His hand was already on the doorknob when I caught up.

I hesitated, then turned to him. “I seriously don’t think this is a good idea.”

Seungmin paused, his back to me, then slowly glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. For a second, there was no hint of a smirk. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked quietly.

I wanted to answer — everything — but he was already opening the door.

The door swung open, and I stepped inside, Seungmin trailing right behind me. The room was… fine. Clean, neat — boring in the way all conference hotels were. But then my gaze hit the bed.

One. Single. Bed.

A king-size, sure. But still — one bed. No second mattress tucked in a corner. No pull-out couch. Just that massive betrayal sitting right in the middle of the room like it knew exactly what it was doing.

I froze, dread pooling in my stomach.

Seungmin bumped into me from behind and cursed under his breath. “Wait. Are you fucking serious?” His voice was low, disbelieving.

I didn’t even look at him. I just stared at the bed like it had personally betrayed me.

I turned to him slowly, my face blank with disbelief. “Well, unless you’re planning on summoning another bed out of thin air, yeah, we’re serious.” I waved my hand dramatically toward the offending mattress.

Seungmin stepped around me, eyeing the bed like it had personally insulted his family. “They expect us to sleep in the same bed?” he asked, incredulous.

“Apparently ‘academic excellence’ comes with complimentary sexual tension. Maybe they'll even throw in some rose petals and a bottle of champagne while we're at it too.” I muttered, folding my arms.

He snorted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“No shit. You think I did?” I snapped. The sarcasm was practically a second language between us at this point.

The room already felt too small, the air too charged.

He looked at me, his expression sharpening into something defensive. “Don’t flatter yourself, princess. I’d rather cuddle a cactus.”

I gave him a slow, sarcastic smile. “Cute. I was about to say you could sleep outside with the stray dogs. You’d fit right in.”

He threw me a sideways look, half a smirk playing on his lips. “If it’s that unbearable, I can sleep on the floor. Wouldn’t want you losing sleep over me.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I practically saw my brain. “The floor’s probably cleaner than whatever germs you’re carrying anyway.”

The tension crackled between us — electric, unbearable. We both stood there, stubbornly glaring at the bed, as if sheer willpower would make it disappear.

Seungmin shook his head, glancing once more at the cursed bed like it might suddenly sprout another mattress. “This is unbelievable. Who the hell organizes a conference like this?”

“Maybe it's a new academic technique.” I deadpanned. “See who survives forced proximity without committing murder.”

He actually snorted at that, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He shook his head, still clearly pissed off. “This is ridiculous. What’s next, sharing a toothbrush?”

I snapped back, my sarcasm sharp as a knife. “Oh, I’m sure that’s exactly what’s going to happen. They’ll give us matching PJs next, too.”

We stood there for another long, heavy beat, neither of us moving.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Seungmin exhaled sharply and said: “We’re not gonna survive this if we keep acting like kids.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “Screw it. We'll put a damn pillow wall in the middle. Switzerland rules: you stay on your side, I stay on mine.”

“Fine. But if you snore, I’m suffocating you with a pillow.”

“If you steal the covers, I’m kicking you onto the floor.” I shot back.

He met my glare with one of his own, but there was something else beneath it now.

Something heavier. Thicker. Neither of us said it, but we both felt it. The heat. The pull.

I slung my bag over my shoulder, already moving toward the door. “Let's just get through the conference first. We'll deal with... this trainwreck later.”

Seungmin didn’t argue this time. He just muttered under his breath, low enough that I almost missed it: “Yeah... easier said than done.”

We step off the elevator and into a wide, polished corridor leading to the conference rooms. The air smells faintly of burnt coffee, new carpet, and desperation. The walls are covered in generic modern art — squares inside of other squares — like they were trying very hard to seem sophisticated without actually having a soul. I already feel the weight of expectation pressing down on me like a headache.

Seungmin walks beside me, hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking unimpressed with life itself. His hair falls messily into his eyes, but he doesn’t bother fixing it. Typical.

His eyes dart around the hallway, scanning faces like he’s already categorizing who’s worth ignoring. “Ready to pretend we care?” he mutters, voice pitched low enough just for me.

“Thrilled,” I deadpan, not even glancing at him. “Can’t wait to have my brain melted by endless talks about sustainable quinoa farming.”

He snorts, biting back a laugh. “Sounds like your dream date.”

“Yup. Right up there with tax seminars and dental surgery.”

We keep walking, moving with the flow of the crowd. I can see the bright lights of the conference rooms ahead, and it's all I can do to not roll my eyes at the sheer formality of it all. The event feels more like a display of ‘look how important we are’ than anything else.

He grins — a real one, small and crooked — before drifting off toward a group near the front, already blending in like a professional social chameleon. I roll my eyes and slink toward the back, sinking into an empty chair, pulling out my phone just to avoid making small talk with strangers who all think they’re smarter than everyone else.

The speaker drones on about something to do with regenerative soil or whatever. I zone out, letting the words wash over me like white noise.

That’s when I notice him — a guy standing near the refreshment table, dressed casually enough to look out of place among all the tight blazers and forced smiles. He’s got a lazy grin, a coffee cup in one hand, and the vibe of someone who definitely isn’t taking this seriously.

Our eyes meet by accident. I immediately look away, pretending to be fascinated by my own shoes.

Too late.

Footsteps approach, and a moment later, he’s there, leaning on the back of the chair next to mine like he owns the place, like he’s got nothing better to do.

“Hey.” he says when he’s standing in front of me, offering a slight, disarming grin. “I don’t know if you’re as bored as I am, but I swear this place feels like a corporate zombie apocalypse.”

I glance up at him. His voice is light, teasing, and there's a mischievous glint in his eye that reminds me — alarmingly — of someone else I know. He's charming, but not in the typical, obnoxious way.

I can’t help a small smirk. “I’m pretty sure zombies would be more interesting. At least they’d be honest about their intentions.”

“You look about as thrilled as I feel.” he says with a grin.

“Is it that obvious?” I say, tilting my head. “I thought I was hiding it so well.”

“Subtle as a brick to the face,” he deadpans, smiling wider.

I snort before I can stop myself. Okay, he's funny. Dangerous.

“Chan.” he says, holding out a hand like we’re not at the most painfully formal event on earth.

“Y/N.” I reply, shaking his hand briefly before pulling back.

Chan smirks. “So, Y/N... what's your poison? Boring keynote speeches or awkward networking attempts?”

I fake think about it. “Mmm... death by boredom sounds slightly less painful.”

He chuckles. “Agreed. I’m just here for the free coffee and questionable snack trays.”

“You’re brave. I think those pastries have been alive longer than some of the speakers.”

He laughs, a real, full laugh, and leans closer like we’re already conspirators. “Survival of the fittest. Or the most caffeinated.”

I smirk, feeling a little lighter despite myself.

“Guess I’ll see you at the coffee table battlefield later, then.”

“Only if you’re prepared to fight dirty.” He winks. “I swear, if they put any more bland hors d'oeuvres out there, I might start questioning why I even left my house for this.”

I can’t help it — I actually laugh at that. “Yeah, I’d rather be at home, in my pajamas, eating cereal. At least I know it’s not going to taste like cardboard.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, so you're one of those people. Respect.”

There's a beat of silence, and for a moment, we just stand there, awkward in the best way. But I don’t mind it. It's kind of refreshing to talk to someone who isn’t immediately making small talk about "networking."

Chan shrugs, his eyes glinting with a bit of humor. “So, what’s your take on all of this? The conference, I mean. I’m assuming you’re not here for the food production knowledge either.”

I think about it for a moment before responding. “Honestly? It’s not exactly what I expected. I thought it’d be more... engaging, that I'd have a great opportunity to talk about my research, but it’s mostly just people trying to sound important.”

Chan nods knowingly, looking amused. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the vibe I’m getting too.”

I’m about to fire back something sarcastic when the temperature of the room shifts. I feel it before I see him — that tightening sensation in the air.

I turn slightly, and there he is.

Seungmin.

Standing a few feet away, arms crossed tight over his chest, shoulders rigid. His mouth is pressed into a thin line, but it’s his eyes — sharp, dark — that give him away.

He's staring at Chan like he’s a mosquito buzzing too close.

Chan notices too, casting a casual glance over his shoulder. “Didn’t realize you had company.” Chan says easily, raising an eyebrow at Seungmin.

Seungmin’s smile is a weapon — all teeth, no warmth. “Yeah. She’s with me.”

She’s with me.

My eyebrows shoot up, but I say nothing.

Seungmin’s jaw clenches, and he steps forward, his gaze still fixed on me, but the edge to his voice has softened slightly as he addresses me. “Y/N, we should go.”

Chan shrugs like he couldn’t care less. “Right. I’ll catch you later, Y/N.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, feeling the weight of Seungmin’s presence beside me. “Later.”

He flashes me one last grin before wandering off, utterly unbothered.

The second he’s gone, Seungmin steps closer, his body language screaming tension. His glare burns into me, his jaw flexing as if he’s chewing on all the words he can’t say out loud.

The air between us is thick, but I can’t help it. I need to poke at him, need to let him know that I see right through his little act.

I cross my arms, matching his posture. “You gonna tell me why you look like you’re about to start a bar fight?” I ask sweetly.

He huffs through his nose, looking anywhere but at me.

We head back toward the front, the noise of the conference around us feeling a hundred times louder. The tension doesn’t seem to let up, and I know this is just the beginning of whatever this is between us, the silence between us thick enough to choke on.

I can’t help myself.

“You know,” I say, tilting my head toward him. “you’re acting like I committed a crime by talking to someone with a better haircut than you.” I lied, Chan's haircut isn't better than his long bangs that fall onto his eyes.

Seungmin’s jaw tightens, his eyes flickering toward me, but he says nothing. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, and the way his fingers flex against his crossed arms doesn’t escape me. He’s annoyed.

I grin to myself, enjoying this just a little too much. “I mean, it’s not like I invited him to a romantic dinner or anything,” I continue, my tone teasing. “But I did notice your death stare. If looks could kill, I think I’d be six feet under right now.”

Seungmin's head snaps toward me, eyes narrowed. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” I tease. “Because from where I’m standing, it looked a lot like jealousy. Like… borderline ‘punch a guy over a coffee joke’ levels of jealousy.”

He stops walking abruptly, forcing me to stop too. He steps closer — too close — and lowers his voice so only I can hear.

“I’m not jealous.”

I tilt my head, giving him a sidelong glance. “Really? Because it kind of seemed like you were about to challenge him to a duel or something.”

Seungmin glances at me, his expression unreadable, but I can tell he’s getting more irritated by the second. He stops walking again, and his eyes narrow in that way he does when he’s not sure whether to get sarcastic or serious. “I don’t care, okay?” he finally says, voice sharp. “But you could’ve at least told me you were, whatever, you know, talking to him.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “Oh, so I’m supposed to run my social interactions past you now? Got it, boss.”

Seungmin’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about, exactly?” I prod, stepping closer to him. “You sure you’re not feeling a little... territorial?”

“Territorial?” He glares at me, clearly trying to keep his cool. “What, like some caveman marking his territory?”

I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “More like a chihuahua, actually.”

Seungmin glares, his ears pinking. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re adorable when you’re angry.” I shoot back, my grin widening.

He lets out a short, frustrated laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Keep pushing, princess. See what happens.”

I arch an eyebrow, leaning closer, letting my shoulder brush his for just a second longer than necessary. “Maybe I’m counting on it.”

For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other — the conference noise fading into the background — locked in this stupid, electric standoff.

Then he huffs, muttering under his breath as he turns to walk ahead of me: “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

I smile, slow and wicked, before following him back into the crowd.

The second the door to the hotel room clicked shut behind us, the weight of reality hit again — one bed.

Still just one.

I sighed loudly, dropping my bag near the dresser.

Seungmin tossed his hoodie onto a chair and stretched his arms above his head, way too nonchalant for someone about to sleep three inches away from their mortal enemy.

“Guess we’re really doing this,” I muttered, staring at the bed like it was a battlefield.

“What’s wrong, princess? Afraid you won’t survive one night without jumping me?” he teased, kicking off his shoes.

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.

“Please. I’m more worried about you crying because I stole all the covers.”

He laughed, short and sharp. “In your dreams.”

We stood there for a second, facing the bed like it killed someone of our family.

“Truce?” I offered reluctantly, lifting a pillow.

“Temporary ceasefire.” He smirked. “Until you start snoring and ruin my life.”

I flipped him off without ceremony and started building a pathetic little wall of pillows down the middle of the mattress.

He watched, arms crossed, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “Very professional. I feel safer already.”

“Good. Now if you so much as breathe on my side, I’m kicking you out.”

“Looking forward to it.”

I grabbed my pajamas and locked myself in the bathroom before I could throw something at his smug face. Changing into my satin slip felt almost ridiculous. It wasn’t even that revealing — thin straps, low neckline, cut just short enough to be a problem if you looked too long — but somehow, the second I caught my reflection, I hesitated.

Why the hell did it feel like I was getting ready for something? I shook off the thought and stepped out.

Seungmin was sprawled across his side of the bed, now wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, no shirt. His skin caught the soft hotel lighting, warm and distracting. He was tapping away at his phone, pretending not to notice me.

He looked up when he heard the door click.

And froze.

Just for a second.

Eyes raking over me in one quick, betraying sweep before he schooled his face back into something vaguely unimpressed. “Nice pajamas,” he said casually. “Planning to seduce the minibar?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Planning to murder you in your sleep, actually.”

He grinned — wide, wolfish. “Kinky.”

I gave him my middle finger again and climbed into my side of the bed, tugging the covers up to my chest like armor.

Seungmin tossed his phone onto the nightstand and settled against the pillows, arms behind his head. The faint glow of the bedside lamp carved shadows down his chest, and I hated — hated — that my eyes kept betraying me, sliding over the lines of his collarbone, the dip of his stomach.

I turned off the light with an aggressive click. The darkness didn’t help.

We lay there, stiff, silent, breathing the same charged air. The pillow barrier might as well have been made of tissue paper.

Minutes stretched. The kind of minutes where you feel everything — the brush of fabric, the shift of weight, the tiny creaks of the bed under him.

I couldn’t sleep.

Neither could he.

I could hear his breathing, shallow and uneven. The bed felt too big and too small all at once.

The shitty pillow wall between us was a joke now — some flimsy excuse to pretend there was still a line we hadn’t crossed.

Neither of us spoke for a long moment. The air was thick. Every shallow breath I took, I swore I could taste him on my tongue. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was tense. Ticking. Waiting.

I couldn’t see him clearly in the dark, but I could feel him — every shift of weight on the mattress, every small movement that jolted straight through my body like static.

Finally, Seungmin’s voice broke the stillness — low, rough around the edges: “You keep fidgeting.”

I scoffed quietly, turning onto my side to face the vague outline of his body. “Maybe because I’m stuck sharing a bed with my worst enemy.”

“You flatter yourself,” he muttered, and even in the dark, I could imagine that insufferable smirk of his. “You’re the one who built a wall of pillows like I’m going to jump on you or something.”

He shifted closer, just enough that the mattress dipped between us, erasing another inch of space.

“Well, I've heard of your uncontrollable violent behavior, Kim Seungmin.” I lied, I heard nothing, but anything, now I might just witness it.

He laughed under his breath, sharp and derisive. “You're so full of yourself, it’s a miracle your head fits in this room.”

He didn’t say anything else immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch — heavy, charged — until I was practically vibrating from it.

Then, almost too casually: “Bet you think about it though.”

I blinked, my heart stuttering. “Think about what?” I asked, my voice coming out sharper than I meant.

“This,” he said simply. “Us. Fighting, fucking... whatever.”

I opened my mouth to snap back — some scathing insult on the tip of my tongue — but nothing came out.

Because the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

The silence between us roared.

Seungmin shifted again, close enough now that the heat of his body seeped through the covers. “What’s the matter, princess?” he teased, voice dangerously low. “Cat got your tongue?”

I hated him. I hated how my skin burned under his words. I hated how badly I wanted to wipe that smug tone off his mouth — preferably with my own.

I swallowed thickly. “You’re delusional.” I said, but it lacked bite.

He laughed quietly, a deep, rumbling sound that curled low in my stomach. “Am I?” he challenged, voice pure sin.

Then, the tension snapped.

I pushed the stupid pillow barrier away with one aggressive swipe, grabbed a fistful of his face and yanked him toward me.

Our mouths crashed together like a fucking car wreck — brutal, messy, unstoppable. We kissed like we were trying to prove something. Or maybe like we were trying to forget something.

He groaned into the kiss, grabbing my waist like he’d been waiting for permission he was never going to ask for.

I gasped when he rolled over me, pinning me down into the mattress, his hips pressing between my thighs with a hunger that sent a shudder straight through me.

His mouth was everywhere — jaw, neck, collarbone — as if kissing me could somehow make up for all the weeks of tension we’d spent pretending we didn’t want this. His hands gripped my thighs, my waist, like he couldn’t decide where he needed me most.

His hips pressed down, slow and firm, and I felt the friction hit just right — enough to make me gasp into his mouth. He did it again. Purposefully this time. Pressing against me like he wanted me to feel just how hard he was. Like he needed me to know what I was doing to him.

Then he started grinding.

Desperately.

There was nothing careful about it. It was all friction and hunger, his sweatpants dragging against my panties, the pressure building every time our hips met. He was breathing heavily now, panting into my neck, his hands gripping my waist like he was trying to keep himself from losing it completely.

I arched against him instinctively, my hands sliding up his back, nails digging in just a little when our hips met again. The fabric between us was too much and not enough at the same time — the pressure maddening, delicious, torturous. Heat pooled low in my stomach, and I hated how easily he made me feel like I was unraveling — so I did what I always did when I felt too much.

I smirked. “Wow.” I whispered, my voice low and venomous as my lips brushed his ear. “I couldn’t imagine grinding was your way of begging.”

He groaned — like the sound had been ripped out of him — and ground harder, sharper, until I could feel all of him pressing against me.

Hard. So fucking hard.

And that’s when I laughed — breathless and wicked — dragging my nails down his back just enough to make him hiss. His breath was shaky against my collarbone, his lips dragging a trail of heat along my skin. He was already panting, his hips grinding into mine like he couldn’t stop himself, like he needed the friction just to stay sane. I felt him — hard, throbbing against my center — and it only made the smirk on my lips grow sharper.

“You’re really down bad, huh?” I murmured against his ear, dragging my nails slowly up his back. “You barely touched me and you're already losing it.”

He groaned, a sound that came from deep in his chest, and buried his face in the crook of my neck. “You’re not helping.” he muttered, grinding against me again, slower now, desperate.

“Then beg better.” I whispered, my voice deliberately calm, teasing. “Maybe I’ll take pity on you.”

He pulled back just far enough to look at me, eyes wild, jaw tight, completely wrecked.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, his voice a growl now. “You think I can fucking control myself when you're like this?”

“No.” I whispered, rolling my hips up slowly, deliberately. “That’s the fun part.”

Something snapped in him after that. He thrust against me again, this time rougher, more desperate, and I swallowed a moan as his mouth found mine once more. I felt him everywhere — in the way his body moved, in the way his hands clutched at me like I was something he couldn’t hold onto fast enough, in the way our hips met again and again, friction making it hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to do anything but feel.

My fingers slipped into his hair, yanking just enough to make him hiss, and I couldn’t help the smug little grin that curled at my lips. He pulled back just enough to look at me, flushed and breathless, pupils blown wide.

“You're dangerous.” he whispered, his voice low and reverent.

“You love it.” I shot back.

He crushed his mouth back onto mine, swallowing my gasp, and his hand slipped down between us to pull at my panties like he couldn’t stand one more second without being inside me. The kiss deepened, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, hands roaming recklessly.

Seungmin kissed like he fought — relentless, stubborn, like he had something to prove.

And fuck, I loved it.

His hands slid under my nightgown, fingertips dragging up my sides, rough and needy. I arched into him, desperate for more contact, for anything to ground me against the chaos exploding under my skin.

He pulled back just enough to mutter, breathless: “Still think I'm delusional?”

“Shut up.” I gasped, dragging him back down to me.

He grinned against my mouth — cocky, victorious — and then kissed me even harder.

“This is purely academic.” I said, smirking into the dark. “Data collection. Stress relief. Killing time.”

“What, like a science experiment?”

“Exactly.”

“Uh-hum, of course.” he agreed mock-seriously.

Clothes became obstacles. His hands found the hem of my slip, pushing it up, bunching the silky fabric at my waist.

He kissed down my neck, slower this time, like he was trying to savor every inch of skin. My shame was long gone, and so were the layers of sarcasm I wore like armor. His mouth trailed lower, over my chest, down my stomach — and when he reached the waistband of my panties, he paused. Looked up. Eyes dark. Lips swollen. Breath unsteady. Like he was about to kneel at an altar. And I was the altar.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I muttered, trying to hold onto some control.

“Like what?” he said, voice low, his fingers already sliding down my panties.

“Like I’m the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking.”

He smirked — not his usual cocky kind, but softer, full of want.

He kissed down my stomach slowly, like he wanted to memorize every inch of skin. There was something almost reverent in the way he did it — not rushed, not greedy — just hungry, in a quiet, desperate kind of way.

When his fingers hooked under my panties and slid them down, he didn’t say a word. But his eyes — God, his eyes were wrecked. Like he’d been waiting for this since the day we met and couldn't believe it was finally happening.

I let my head fall back against the pillows, biting my lip, trying to stay composed. But the second I felt his breath on my inner thigh, I knew I was in trouble.

And then his mouth found me.

The first lick was slow. Soft. Testing.

He groaned like he was the one being touched, and the vibration made me shiver.

I grabbed a fistful of his hair on instinct, trying to ground myself. He didn’t stop.

His tongue moved in careful, messy circles, as if he was learning me — like every stroke was a question and every moan was an answer. He sucked gently, then harder, switching rhythms like he wanted to see what would make me break first.

I hated how good it felt. Hated how easy it was to melt under his mouth.

So I did the only thing I could do — I mocked him. “You’re really putting your whole heart into this, huh?” I breathed, voice shaky but laced with sarcasm.

He pulled back just enough to look up at me, lips already wet, face flushed. “I’ve been dreaming about this since the first time you yelled at me in chem lab.” he said, voice rough. “So yeah. I’m not fucking around.”

Then he went back in, hungrier than before. His hands slid under my thighs, pushing them further apart. He moaned into me like I was something he couldn’t get enough of — and maybe he couldn’t.

I gasped without thinking, barely able to form the words. He looked up at me with a crooked grin and shook his head before diving back in. And I couldn’t stop myself anymore. My hips rocked against his face. My hands tangled in his hair. My breath stuttered and caught.

My body arched. My breath stuttered. My control cracked. “Fuck—” I gasped, rolling my hips into his face. “You’re gonna make me—”

He sucked harder. His tongue flicked just right. And I did. I came with a whimper I tried to swallow, thighs trembling around his head.

Still, he didn’t move — didn’t stop — not until I was squirming away from the overstimulation, dragging him up by the hair and breathing like I’d run a marathon.

He looked wrecked. And so fucking proud of himself. “You should’ve insulted me earlier.” he whispered, kissing the inside of my knee. “I think I’m kinda into it.”

“Shut up.” I said, pulling him into a kiss.

I pulled him up by the hair, still panting, and crashed my mouth into his. Tasting myself on his lips only made it worse.

My hands roamed his bare back — warm, solid, lean muscles flexing under my touch — and I scratched lightly down his spine, earning a low, broken noise from deep in his throat.

He retaliated by sucking a bruise into the hollow of my throat, making me gasp and tangle my fingers in his hair, yanking just hard enough to hear him groan again.

Somehow, he managed to shove his sweatpants down just enough, the condom appearing – from God knows where – clumsily between kisses, torn open with shaky fingers. Even stoned on adrenaline and lust, we managed — barely.

When he finally slid inside me, it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. Raw.

We both gasped — harsh, ragged — the sudden connection knocking the breath out of our lungs. Seungmin pressed his forehead to mine, breathing hard.

“Fuck.” he whispered. “You're gonna be the death of me.”

I laughed — sharp and breathless — grabbing his hips and rolling mine up to meet him, forcing a groan from his mouth.

He moved inside me — slow at first, testing, then harder, deeper, each thrust sending little shocks of pleasure ripping through me. I clutched at him, nails digging into his shoulders, my body meeting his rhythm without hesitation.

The world blurred around the edges, just his breath against my neck, the creak of the mattress, the wet, filthy sound of skin on skin.

The tension in my stomach coiled tighter with every rough drag of his hips, every filthy word he muttered against my skin when he thought I couldn’t hear.

“So fucking tight.”

“So good like this.”

“Mine tonight.”

I whimpered, burying my face against his shoulder, biting down just enough to make him hiss and drive into me harder. The buildup was brutal, slow and fast at the same time, until I was clinging to him, gasping his name like a curse.

He felt it too, I could tell — the way his thrusts became uneven, ragged, the way he cursed under his breath when my nails raked down his back.

I shoved him away, straddling him. “Lie down.” I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, letting my thighs press against his bare skin.

He looked wrecked — eyes glazed, mouth parted, like he couldn’t believe this was real. He obeyed instantly. Hair a mess, chest heaving, lips red. Completely at my mercy. He lifted his head, eyes wild, pupils blown, lips parted. He looked at me like he didn’t know whether to kiss me or cry.

“Please.” he said, barely a breath. “I need you." He whimpered. “You're so fucking beautiful.” he whispered, almost like he hated himself for saying it. “Like a dream I shouldn’t be allowed to have.” His fingers brushing my hair.

The words made something flutter in my chest, but I ignored it. Instead, I pushed him down by the shoulders, forcing him to lie back on the mattress. He obeyed instantly.

“That's right, pretty boy.” I said, straddling his hips slowly, my fingers dragging over his chest.

His breath hitched at the praise.

I leaned down, lips brushing over his ear. “You’re gonna keep your hands to yourself.” I said softly. “Just for a while. Got it?”

He nodded quickly. Too quickly. His restraint was paper thin.

I rolled my hips down against his again, this time without any barrier. His sweatpants were already low on his hips, and I could feel how badly he wanted it, the way his whole body arched up, chasing friction, chasing me.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, trying so hard not to move.

I shifted down slowly, kissing along his stomach, watching the muscles tense under my lips. When I reached the waistband of his boxers, I heard him whisper my name again, like a prayer. Desperate. Soft. Shaky.

But instead of going lower, I came back up, hovering over him again. His hands clenched at his sides. He was trembling. He looked like he was losing his mind.

And I loved it.

“You want me to fuck you?” I asked, voice still soft, like I was offering something sacred. He nodded again, eyes locked on mine. “No, Seungmin.” I said, smile sharp. “I want to hear it.”

He swallowed hard. “I want you.” he said. “Please. I want you so fucking bad.”

Only then did I slide down onto him — slow, torturously slow. We both gasped. His hands flew to my hips on instinct, gripping tight, but he didn’t move, like he remembered my words. His head fell back. A sound tore from his throat — low, desperate, guttural. “Fucking hell…”

I started moving, hips rolling in deep, slow circles. He looked drunk — eyes fluttering, head tilted back, mouth open. “Shit.” he choked out. “You’re gonna kill me.”

I leaned down, brushing my lips over his. “You’re lucky I like you needy.”

He grabbed my wrist, eyes locking with mine again, glassy, overwhelmed. “You’re in fact a dream.” he whispered. “You’re a fucking dream, I don’t wanna wake up.”

He was completely under me, wide-eyed, overwhelmed, needy. I rode him slow and deep. He reached up, fingers trembling as they gripped my thighs. “Fuck… you’re unreal.”

I leaned forward, dragging my lips down his jaw. And I kept going. Until he couldn’t speak. Until he was all moans and gasps and praise whispered into my skin. Until the only thing either of us knew was this — us — messy, out of control, too much and never enough.

And this time, I didn’t tease. I kissed him, slow and deep, as I kept moving, feeling him tremble beneath me, completely undone

It hit me like a wave — hot, violent, overwhelming.

I came with a cry I couldn't bite back, my body clenching around him so hard it ripped a guttural moan from his mouth. A few more frantic, desperate grinds and he followed, coming with a rough, broken sound against my ear.

We collapsed together, sweaty, shaking, our bodies tangled messily in the sheets and in each other.

For a long moment, we just lay there — breathing hard, the air heavy with sex and everything we weren't saying.

He didn't move away.

Neither did I.

I woke up tangled in the sheets, the faint light from the window cutting through the darkness of the room.

The room was cold, but the heat of his body next to mine made it almost unbearable.

I shifted under the covers, blinking against the soft morning light bleeding through the curtains.

Seungmin was lying on his side, facing me. His hair a mess, his mouth slightly open, his arm carelessly thrown over the invisible line that we had so dramatically ignored the night before. He looked criminally good for someone who had completely ruined my ability to think straight.

For a second, I just stared at him. At the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. At the faint scratch marks I’d left on his skin.

It should’ve made me feel guilty.

It didn’t. It made my stomach flip in a way I refused to name.

I shifted under the covers, careful not to wake him. Not because I cared. Because I didn’t feel like dealing with the smugness that would explode across his stupidly handsome face when he realized he had officially broken my sanity.

But of course, the bed creaked, and his eyelids fluttered open. He blinked slowly at me, his mouth curling into a lazy, dangerous smirk. “Good morning, sunshine.”

I rolled my eyes hard enough to sprain something. “You drooled on my pillow.”

“You moaned on my neck.” He said it so casually I almost threw the remaining pillow at his face.

I rolled over with an exaggerated huff, pulling the blanket up to my neck.

The bed shifted a second later, and a raspy voice muttered: “You're staring. Creepy.”

I snorted without turning. “Dreaming. About how much I regret this.”

“Sure.” He stretched, the covers sliding lower on his body, revealing way too much bare skin for a casual glance.

I refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I tossed a pillow at his head.

It hit him square in the face. He grunted. “Assault. That's how you say good morning?”

“You should thank me. I could’ve done worse.”

He laughed, low and rough. God, that laugh should be illegal before 9 a.m.

“You already did worse last night.” he teased, flashing that stupid grin that made my chest tight for no good reason.

“Delusional much?” I snapped, pushing the blankets away and standing up, my satin slip sticking to my thighs.

His eyes dropped — quickly, involuntarily — and when he realized, he immediately smirked wider.

“If I'm delusional, at least it's a nice view.”

I threw another pillow at his face and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door harder than necessary.

Behind me, his laugh chased me like smoke under the door.

The last day of the conference loomed over me like a thundercloud. People buzzed around the lobby and corridors, all polished shoes and stiff blazers, pretending not to be nervous while clutching folders a little too tightly.

I sat at the back of the auditorium, my hands cold and clammy around my notes. My stomach twisted itself into knots. My brain, usually so quick and sharp, felt sluggish and heavy.

What if I mess up?

What if they laugh at me?

What if I open my mouth and nothing comes out?

A quiet nudge at my side snapped me out of my spiral. I turned sharply — already defensive — only to find Seungmin sliding into the seat next to mine, a crooked grin on his face. “You look like you're about to pass out” he said under his breath, eyes glinting with amusement.

I scowled. “Thanks for the support, Seungmin.”

He smirked, unbothered. His arm brushed mine as he leaned back casually, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Meanwhile, I was over here two seconds away from vomiting.

He studied my face for a moment, his smile fading slightly. “You’re gonna kill it.” he said, voice lower, more serious.

I blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Wow. High praise coming from my archnemesis.” I said, raising an eyebrow.

Seungmin snorted. “Don’t get used to it.” He tapped my folder with the back of his hand. “But seriously. You’re smarter than half the people in this room. Probably smarter than me, too. Not that I'd ever admit it out loud.”

My chest tightened strangely at that. I tried to cover it with sarcasm. “Aw, how cute. If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually cared.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Don't flatter yourself. I just don't want to be associated with someone who faints mid-presentation.”

I let out a shaky laugh despite myself, some of the weight on my chest easing. I glanced at him sideways, heart hammering for a different reason now. “You think I can really do it?” I asked, my voice smaller than I intended.

Seungmin’s gaze softened. He didn’t tease this time. He didn’t smirk.

He just nodded once, firm and certain. “I know you can.”

Something in me cracked a little at that. Before I could embarrass myself further by actually tearing up or something equally pathetic, the coordinator called my name.

I stood up too fast, my knees almost buckling. Seungmin reached out instinctively, grabbing my wrist lightly to steady me. His touch was brief, casual — but it set my skin on fire.

“Go show them why you scare the shit out of me.” he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.

I managed a breathless laugh, clutching my notes like a shield as I walked toward the stage.

His gaze followed me the whole way. I could feel it — hot and unwavering, like a tether pulling at me even across the room.

And somehow, because of him, my hands steadied. My voice, when I finally spoke, didn’t shake.

When I finished my presentation and stepped off the stage, heart still hammering, my eyes found his immediately.

Seungmin sat casually slouched in his seat, arms crossed, looking every bit the cocky bastard he always was. But when he caught my gaze, he gave me the smallest nod. Barely there. But it hit harder than a standing ovation.

I looked away quickly, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too wide. I shouldn’t have cared. But fuck — I did. More than I wanted to admit.

By the end of the last presentation, I was vibrating with tension from the happenings of today and yesterday. I couldn't help myself but let my eyes wander to him every second.

Then suddenly, Chan — the guy from the day before — found me again, appearing with a crooked smile and two cups of coffee. “We really survived it, huh?” he said, handing me a cup. "Yeah..." I took it automatically, forcing a smile.

But my eyes weren’t on him. They were locked across the crowd, watching Seungmin sling his backpack over one shoulder, heading toward the exit without even glancing back.

Something inside me twisted violently.

I barely heard Chan say something else. I just shoved the coffee back at him with a muttered excuse and slipped into the crowd, my body moving on instinct.

I followed Seungmin. Out of the conference center. Down the hall. Toward the elevators.

He didn’t turn when he heard my footsteps. He just stepped inside the elevator. Waited.

When I caught up, panting slightly, I saw the look in his eyes. Tense. Dark. Dangerous.

He hit the button for our floor, and the doors slid closed with a soft ding. The elevator was filled with nothing but heavy breathing and electricity.

Neither of us spoke. Neither of us had to. As soon as the room door closed, I acted on pure instinct. I shoved him. Hard.

Seungmin stumbled back against the wall, his eyes widening in shock — and something hotter — before narrowing with a slow, dangerous smile.

I didn't wait. I closed the distance, grabbed the front of his hoodie, and yanked him into a kiss.

This wasn’t soft. It was furious, messy, teeth and tongue clashing as I pressed him back harder against the wall, claiming him. He grabbed my hips, hauling me closer, but I was faster — shoving him backward until he hit the bed.

I pushed him down, climbing on top of him with a wicked grin.

He stared up at me, breathless, pupils blown wide.

“You like being bossed around, huh?” I teased, grinding down on him mercilessly.

“Only when it’s you.” he rasped, his hands gripping my thighs like he was seconds from losing it completely.

Fury and need and regret crashing together in a way that didn’t make sense but at the same time felt like the only thing that did.

Campus looked the same. Gray, busy, loud.

But everything felt different.

We didn’t talk about what happened. We didn’t even look at each other.

Pretend. Pretend. Pretend. Pretend we weren’t carrying around the memory of each other’s bodies burned into our skin

In class, he sat two rows behind me. I could feel his eyes burning holes into my back, searing a path down my spine. Every. Single. Second. By the end of the lecture, I was practically shaking with frustration.

I grabbed my notebook, marched out into the hallway — and waited.

When he passed, I grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the nearest empty classroom, slamming the door shut.

For a second, we just stood there, staring at each other, the tension so thick it felt like drowning.

“Problem, princess?” he asked, mock-innocent.

I shoved him lightly. “Yeah. You're breathing again. What the hell is your problem?” I hissed, arms crossed.

Seungmin leaned against the wall, lazy, unbothered, like this was amusing. “Problem? I don't have a problem.”

I stepped closer, glaring. “You stare at me like you want to burn me alive and then act like nothing happened.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I do want to burn you alive.”

I shoved him hard. He didn’t even flinch.

Just smiled — slow, infuriating — and let his eyes drag down to my mouth.

My chest heaved with fury. “Stop looking at me like that!” I snapped.

“Like what?” he said innocently, gaze dropping to my lips again.

I groaned and rolled my eyes before grabbing the front of his hoodie and kissed him.

Hard.

He responded immediately, hands sliding to my hips, slamming me back against the door.

The kiss was brutal, messy, full of months — maybe years — of frustration detonating all at once. Starved. Wild.

We stumbled back against the teacher’s desk, knocking over papers and god-knows-what, neither of us caring.

When we finally broke apart, panting, he whispered against my mouth: “You’re fucking annoying.”

“Takes one to know one.” I whispered back, yanking him down for another kiss.

And somehow...

It became a habit.

It wasn’t supposed to become a habit. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

But suddenly, he was everywhere. In my bed. On his bed. In the backseat of his shitty old car, the windows fogged, the gearshift digging into my thigh as he moved inside me, rough and desperate. In the abandoned book storage, under a dusty skylight, where he bent me over an old desk and muffled my moans with his mouth. And now, in the farthest corner of the library.

He had me pinned against a bookshelf, one hand gripping my hip, the other tangled in my hair as he fucked me from behind. The worn wooden shelf rattled with every thrust, the sound obscene in the silent library.

My skirt was bunched up around my waist, panties forgotten somewhere on the floor. His jeans pooled around his ankles.

I couldn’t hold back a shaky moan when he lifted my leg higher, the new angle making me see stars.

His mouth was pressed to my shoulder, muffling his moans against my skin, teeth grazing whenever I clenched around him. He grabbed my wrist, guiding it to his mouth, biting the heel of my palm, making me gasp, as he fucked me harder.

Seungmin growled low in his throat, and I smirked wickedly, whispering breathless: “Can't handle it, can you, baby?”

He growled low in response, fucking into me harder, faster, more desperate, making it clear who was really in control.

And it wasn’t him.

The orgasm hit so fast it almost knocked the breath out of me, my forehead pressed against the dusty shelf to stay standing.

He followed a second later, groaning my name like a curse, collapsing against my back for a few shuddering breaths before pulling out, carefully, his hands trembling slightly as he tucked himself back into his jeans.

We straightened ourselves quickly — or as quickly as two wrecked, sweaty people could in the middle of a goddamn library.

He grabbed his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder like nothing had happened. I smoothed my skirt down, pretending my legs weren’t shaking.

As we walked out of the library, Seungmin shoved his hands into his pockets and said, almost casually: “I... bought that soju you said you liked once.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Was thinking... maybe you could come over. Study. Drink a little. Then…” He shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “You know.”

I blinked at him, caught off-guard.

“Wait. That soju? How the hell did you even find it?”

He scowled, defensive. “I just found it, alright?” he muttered, like he hadn’t spent two hours scouring online stores for it.

I raised an eyebrow. “You scoured the internet for it, didn’t you?”

He rolled his eyes, ears pink. “Whatever. Just... if you want to come over later. Study. Drink. Maybe…” He shrugged.

I grinned wickedly. “I'd love to drink myself into a coma with you.”

He grumbled something under his breath but didn’t hide the way the corner of his mouth tilted up.

And maybe...

Maybe I was already too far gone to care

When I stepped into Seungmin’s apartment, a gust of cold air followed me inside, swirling around my ankles and raising goosebumps along my arms. The windows rattled faintly, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the low rumble of thunder, soft but persistent, like a warning. The faint smell of clean laundry and takeout lingering in the air.

It was neat, tidy — almost aggressively so, like he had scrubbed it just to have something to do with his hands.

Seungmin closed the door behind me a little too quickly, shutting out the cold — but not the tension that immediately filled the room.

He didn’t even bother with his usual sarcasm. He just moved toward the kitchen, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders stiff. In that brief moment, I could tell something was off.

I kicked off my shoes and shook the chill off my skin, frowning slightly as I watched him.

Something was wrong. Something more than the storm brewing outside.

“Hey.” I said, having him help me take off my coat and eyeing him suspiciously.

He gave a grunt of acknowledgment and motioned toward the living room, where the bottle of soju sat already open on the coffee table.

We moved to the couch, cracking open our notebooks, pretending we were actually there to study. At first, we did — sort of.

I read over a few pages. He pretended to make notes. We sipped soju in between, the alcohol smoothing the edges of the tension, but not erasing it.

It only grew heavier, thicker. He barely looked at me. His jaw clenched every time I shifted closer.

After nearly half an hour of fake studying and awkward silences, I slammed my pen down dramatically.

“Okay.” I said, turning fully to face him. “Spill it. What the hell is going on with you?”

He didn't answer immediately. Just scribbled something meaningless in his notebook, avoiding my eyes like they were lethal weapons.

“Nothing” he muttered.

I snorted. “Bullshit. Come on, Min. You’re a lot of things, but a good liar isn’t one of them.”

I reached across, closed his notebook slowly, deliberately, and stared him down.

“You’re acting like someone kicked your puppy. You’re moody. You’re stiff. And not even in the good way.”

His lips twitched slightly at that, but he still didn’t meet my gaze. “I said it's nothing.” he repeated stubbornly, but his tone cracked halfway through.

It was almost adorable.

Almost.

I leaned in closer, so close that our knees bumped. “You’re not getting away with it.” I said in a mock-sweet voice. “Not tonight.”

I let my hand trail up his thigh slowly, watching the way his breath hitched. He didn’t stop me. Didn’t move.

“If you're not going to talk…” I murmured, holding his gaze, sliding off the couch and kneeling between his legs, “then I'll just have to loosen you up another way.”

His eyes widened slightly, but he still didn’t say a word — stubborn even now.

I tugged the drawstring of his sweatpants loose, my fingers moving with slow, calculated intent. He was already half-hard — a clear sign that no matter how much he was pretending to be unaffected, his body wasn’t lying.

I freed him with a slow, deliberate motion, my hand wrapping around him. He groaned, low and desperate, his head falling back against the couch.

I leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the sensitive tip, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin. He shuddered, his hand immediately sliding into my hair, not pushing, just... anchoring.

When I took him into my mouth, slow and deep, his head fell back against the couch with a broken groan.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, voice already wrecked.

I set a slow, torturous rhythm, hollowing my cheeks, dragging my tongue along every inch of him, savoring every helpless sound he made. His thighs trembled under my palms, and the way his hand tightened in my hair made me smirk against his skin.

His free hand came up, brushing the hair gently away from my face so he could see me — see everything. And then, in the middle of a particularly deep stroke, he whispered it — raw, desperate.

“I saw you…” he rasped, pushing the hair gently away from my face, his thumb brushing my temple tenderly. “At the library... talking with that asshole… laughing… looking so fucking pretty”

I hummed around him, and he let out a strangled sound, his hips bucking slightly.

“Fuck, Y/N... I hated it, it made me crazy.” he admitted, his voice cracking as he stroked my cheek. “Wanted to punch him.” he gasped. “Wanted to drag you away... claim you…”

The words sent a sharp pulse of heat through me. I pulled back just enough to look up at him, my hand stroking him lazily. My heart pounded at his raw honesty, but I didn’t let up. If anything, I doubled down — moving faster, stroking the base with one hand while my mouth worked him expertly.

He was unraveling. Completely. And he didn't even try to hide it anymore.

“Fucking jealous.” he muttered, his head tipping back, exposing the long line of his throat.

I felt him tense, his thighs trembling slightly. Before he could lose it completely, he tugged me up by the shoulders, pulling me into his lap with a growl.

“Get up here” he ordered, voice rough, desperate.

Without another word, he pulled me up by the arms, yanking me onto his lap. I straddled him, sliding my body against his, feeling the heat of his skin under my fingers. Our faces inches apart, both breathing hard.

The soju had given him a slight flush — his cheeks pink, his chest heaving — and it made him look almost innocent. Almost. He wasn't.

I could feel his eyes on me, his gaze dark and filled with something I wasn’t sure I was ready to acknowledge. His hands were on my hips, gripping me so tightly it almost hurt, and for a moment, I let myself savor that — the way he was barely holding on, like if he let go, I might slip away from him.

I pulled my sweater off slowly, teasing him with every inch of skin that was exposed, the fabric sliding over my shoulders and down my arms, before I tossed it carelessly aside. His breath caught when my bra followed, and I couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes devoured me, like he was trying to memorize it, the hunger in them making my pulse race.

I stood up, feeling his gaze track every movement as I slowly unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my lace panties. Seungmin was breathless now, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths as he reached out to touch me, his fingers brushing against my bare thighs, reverent, sending a wave of shivers through me.

“Fuck, you're killing me…” he whispered, voice hoarse.

I leaned in, kissing him slow and deep, feeling the desperation vibrating through him. Without breaking the kiss I slid my hand between us, guiding him to my entrance, and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, I sank down onto him.

The feeling of him inside me was overwhelming — I could feel every inch of him, stretching me, filling me completely. Both of us gasped at the same time, my body shaking slightly from the intensity of it.

I stayed still for a moment, letting the sensation settle, trying to focus on the way his hands gripped my waist, his fingers digging into my skin as if he was trying to keep me grounded.

“You feel so fucking good.” he groaned, his voice low and strained. “I can’t even…”

His hands moved from my waist to my hips, his thumbs pressing against the sides of my ribs, and then he helped me move, his body matching the rhythm I set. I leaned back slightly, letting him fill me deeper with every movement, my hands resting on his chest for balance as I rocked against him. He reached up, running his hands over my waist, my stomach, my breasts, like he couldn't get enough.

His eyes never left me, watching the way my body moved over his, the way I controlled the pace, the way I made him feel like he was losing his mind. I leaned down, kissing him hard, desperate, letting him taste the hunger that had been building between us.

His hands slid up my back, pushing my hair away from my neck, and he kissed me there — soft at first, then with more urgency. The contrast between his gentleness and the rawness of our bodies crashing together made my breath catch.

“You’re fucking perfect.” he muttered, his lips against my skin. “God, you feel so perfect.”

I increased the pace, rolling my hips faster, harder, the friction between us driving both of us to the edge. He was moaning now, his hands moving to my breasts, squeezing and massaging them as I continued to ride him.

I could feel him getting closer — his movements more frantic, more desperate — and I loved the way he was losing himself in me.

“Y/N... Fuck, you’re incredible…” he groaned, his hands slid under my ass, guiding me, helping me move faster, deeper.

I felt my own orgasm building — the pressure, the heat, the way our bodies were in perfect sync, like we were both caught in the same storm.

I leaned down, kissing him again, this time slower, more tender, as I continued to move on top of him. He pulled me closer, his hands sliding up my back, pulling me into him as if he couldn’t get close enough.

“God, you’re beautiful.” he praised me again, his voice cracking. “You're a fucking dream, Y/N.”

That broke me. The words, the way he said them with such vulnerability, the way he couldn’t hide how much he cared — it was too much.

I came first, my body shaking as the pleasure coursed through me, and Seungmin followed right after, his whole body tensing beneath me as he groaned my name.

We collapsed together, both of us gasping for air, trembling from the intensity of it all.

Seungmin’s hand found my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he pulled me into a slow kiss, still out of breath but somehow still wanting more. He pulled back after a moment, his forehead resting against mine as we both tried to catch our breath.

I smiled, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw as I looked down at him.

The slow kiss between us deepened, his forehead pressed against mine, so close I could feel the soft flutter of his eyelashes against my skin, his arms still cradling my waist, his body still warm and heavy inside me. Seungmin's hand traced slow, lazy circles along my spine, as if he had no intention of letting me go.

As if I belonged there.

With him.

The world outside blurred into nothing — just the soft rumble of thunder far away and the faint tremble of Seungmin's breath against my lips.

And somewhere, in the middle of all that… my heart stuttered violently. But it wasn’t like before — not the rush of lust, not the usual reckless thrill.

It hurt.

A sharp, aching kind of pain that made my chest tighten and my lungs forget how to breathe.

And that was when it hit me.

I loved him.

The realization knocked the air out of me, heavier than the storm clouds gathering outside the window. Panic flared instantly in my chest, hotter than anything I had felt that night. The thought sliced through me with terrifying clarity.

I tried to breathe, tried to ground myself, but my mind betrayed me — flooding with every moment, every memory that led me here.

The way he encouraged me before the presentation and said — in the most nonchalant way possible — “You’re gonna kill it.” and “You’re smarter than half the people in this room.” Like it was the most normal thing to say to the girl you're supposed to hate.

The way he used to sit across from me in the library for hours, flicking tiny crumpled paper balls at my forehead every time I started to lose focus, pretending it was just to annoy me — but never leaving until I finished every last page.

The way, after the first time at his house we crossed the line, he wordlessly pulled me up from the messy bed, his arms steady and sure, carrying me straight to the bathroom. No teasing, no smirking — just warm hands steadying me under the shower spray, his fingers gently untangling my hair like I was something precious.

The way he disappeared into the kitchen afterward, reappearing fifteen minutes later with a grilled cheese — tragically burnt, awful grilled cheese — because he thought I might be hungry.

The way he always had some sarcastic comment ready to throw at me — just to see me roll my eyes and smile.

The way that when we were alone his fingers always found my wrist, my waist, the small of my back — little touches so casual they could have been accidental, but they never were. Like he needed the reassurance that I was real and still there.

The way he never once made me feel like I owed him anything in return.

The way he just... stayed.

All of it crashed into me at once, a kaleidoscope of moments that I hadn't realized mattered so much until now.

I opened my eyes, searching his face. He looked so peaceful. So real. His hair messy from my fingers, lips swollen from my kisses, a faint pinkness staining his cheeks from the soju we’d shared earlier. He looked like something I could never deserve but stupidly still wanted. No — needed.

The love sat heavy in my chest, raw and suffocating.

I love him.

I loved his stupid sarcasm. I loved his soft touches hidden behind gruff words. I loved his messy hair, his crooked smile, his smartass mouth. I love his little mole on the bridge of his nose. I loved the way he fought me, pushed me, infuriated me — and still made me feel seen in ways no one else ever had.

Panic clawed at my throat. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

No.

No, no, no.

I wasn’t supposed to feel this. I wasn’t supposed to love Seungmin.

Reality slammed back into me.

I shifted slightly, pulling away just enough for the space between us to feel vast again. Seungmin's brows furrowed, his hand tightening instinctively on my waist.

Leaning away from him, my body trembling as I scrambled off his lap. I could feel the sudden chill on my bare skin as I grabbed my discarded clothes, pulling my sweater over my head with frantic, clumsy hands, avoiding his confused, sleepy gaze.

“Y/N?” he called softly, his voice was thick, confused, still hoarse from our kisses. “Where are you–”

I didn't answer. I grabbed my skirt, slipping it back on quickly, reaching for my bag like the room was on fire.

“Where are you going?” he asked, standing up, his brows furrowing.

I didn’t even look at him. I needed to get out. Out of that room, out of the weight pressing down on my chest. I needed to breathe.

Before I did something irreversible. Before I begged him to love me back.

He moved toward the window and then froze. Outside, it had started to pour — sheets of rain hammering against the glass, the sky flashing briefly with distant lightning.

“It’s's raining.” he said, voice cautious. “Why don't you just... stay tonight?”

I shook my head frantically, shoving my feet into my shoes, my fingers trembling. “I can't.” I choked out, barely able to breathe, my throat closing.

He reached for me but I bolted, slamming the door behind me, running down the hallway, the sound of my footsteps echoing against the walls, my heart breaking with every step.

I ran down the stairwell, skipping steps as I sprinted downward, my heart racing, my vision blurring. The sound of rain getting louder, closer, until I burst through the front doors into the storm.

The moment I pushed the exit door open, the cold rain hit me like a wall, instantly soaking me to the bone — I had forgotten my coat —. I stumbled forward blindly, tears and raindrops blurring together on my face.

I barely made it a few steps before I heard him.

“Y/N!”

His voice, sharp, desperate, cutting through the downpour.

I ignored it. Kept walking. And then suddenly —A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me back, spinning me around.

Seungmin stood there, drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving like he had just run a marathon, anger and hurt twisting his face into something almost unrecognizable.

His other hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back slightly so I had to look at him. We were soaked, trembling, our breaths steaming in the cold night air.

His face was wild with frustration, with something deeper, something raw and terrified. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouted, his voice cracking with anger and something else — fear.

I shoved him. Hard.

My hands slamming against his chest, tears spilling from my eyes. “This is your fault!” I screamed, my voice raw, breaking. “Your stupid hair– your fucking smile– your goddamn eyes–”

I shoved him again, sobbing now, my fists hitting his chest uselessly. “I wasn't supposed to feel this! I wasn’t supposed to love you!”

Seungmin grabbed my wrists, holding them tightly, forcing me to stop hitting him. His hands were rough but not cruel — desperate. “You think this was easy for me?!” he shouted back, his voice cracking. “You think it didn’t fucking kill me to see you every day and pretend you weren't everything I wanted?!”

I struggled against him, tears streaming down my face, mixing with the rain.

“You think I didn’t want to scream every time someone else looked at you like you weren't mine?!” he gasped, voice hoarse with the weight of everything he had been holding back. “I wanted to tell everyone. I wanted to grab you and say— she’s fucking mine.”

The rain pounded harder, soaking through our clothes, making our bodies slick against each other.

I tried to pull away again, but he gripped my shoulders tighter, pulling me closer, locking his burning eyes to mine. “You felt it too.” he whispered fiercely. “Tell me you felt it too, Y/N.”

I shook my head weakly, trying to pull away from him, the rain blinding me, my heart pounding so loud I couldn’t think. “I can't–” I gasped, my voice barely audible.

But he didn’t let me go. He stepped closer, almost shaking with the effort of keeping himself together. “Look at me.” he demanded. “Look me in the fucking eyes and tell me it wasn’t real. Tell me you don’t feel anything. Tell me you don’t love me.”

I opened my mouth. Tried to speak. Tried to lie.

Nothing came out, not a single curse or remark. Nothing except a broken sob.

“Tell me you don't feel it, Y/N.”he shouted. “Tell me you don't love me.” His voice broke on the last word, and for a second, the world around us went silent except for the rain pounding against the pavement.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat closed up, the words stuck somewhere between terror and heartbreak. “I don't– I–” I tried, but I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t lie.

The pain on his face when I faltered nearly broke me in half. He saw the truth in my eyes before I could even say it.

We crashed into each other. The kiss was brutal, angry, full of tears and frustration and all the love we were too scared to admit. Full of every unspoken word, every feeling we were too terrified to say out loud.

His hands tangled in my hair, yanking me closer, desperate, like he needed me to breathe. My fists clutched his soaked shirt, pulling him down to me as if I could tear him apart and rebuild him at the same time.

Tears mixed with the rain on both of our faces, the salty taste of heartbreak on our lips as we clung to each other in the storm, drowning in everything we had tried so hard to deny.

We kissed like we were drowning. Because maybe we were.

We were soaked. We were shaking. We were real. And for the first time, we weren't hiding anymore.

He pressed his forehead against mine, rain soaking us, his hand trembling on my waist, his breath was shaky against my lips.

“You're messy, infuriating, impossible — no one never would wreck me the way you do. But I'd let you, a thousand times over, cause that's the way i love you.

703 notes · View notes

julietsbody · 1 year ago

Text

KITTY KAT — art donaldson + reader : art has a tendency to show up late to your lessons.

tags: mdni, tennis lessons, coach!art donaldson, p in v sex, fingering, art is kind of an asshole, cheating (not on reader)

a/n: sorry to tashi… this goes out to my dear @murdrdocs

thirty minutes ago.

art donaldson was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago, your teeth grit against each other, foot tapping impatiently against the concrete floor below you.

art was a sweet guy, sure, but his time management was beyond infuriating. it almost made you feel like he thought himself above you, like you weren’t worth his time.

“one to talk,” you mumble to yourself, dragging your racket on the ground, “rich from the guy who was coached by his wife.”

ahem.

you spin around, and of course, he’s standing right there, looking the same as he always does. his dirty blonde hair was messed up and falling over his eyebrows, blue eyes, with a mix of brown, staring directly at you with an almost amused expression.

you blink at him, once, twice.

a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “sorry for being late.”

it sounds condescending, like he would never actually mean it, especially not after what he heard, it felt like a sort of karma for what you were previously saying about him.

and he knows that, of course he does, so he masks it with a sense of sweetness, one that would typically gaslight people into thinking they’ve been forgiven, but you know better.

you’ve been coached by art for a while now, and his little habits became far too predictable. this was odd, though, you couldn’t make out the glint in his eye, especially when you mumble a, “sorry, i didn’t mean—“

“let’s get started, yeah?” art cuts in, bitter, yet his voice still sounded like it was dipped in honeysuckle.

he whisks right past you with that same, tugged up smirk, he reeked of rich cologne and mint.

your lips press together and you silently, albeit ashamed, nod in agreement.

maybe silence will earn points back from your coach.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

silence did not earn anything.

art served hard, hit the ball hard, it was as if he wanted to make the ball break through your racket and hit you square in the face. he clearly took your miniscule words personally, and he was testing you, trying to break you down, to see how much you could take until your bones turned soft and you felt like giving up.

the first time you called a pause, art smiled, “don’t tell me you’re giving up.”

“pause,” you repeat through heaved breaths, sweat sticking to your skin underneath the relentless sun. art had that same playful look in his eyes that he always did, he knew that what he was doing was working, he knew that he was getting under your skin, and as cruel as it sounds, he really did enjoy it.

if you ever were to ask him about it, he’d just shrug and say it’s all a part of the practice, it always happens in tennis, especially professional, he’s just preparing you. but deep down, he really just wanted to say that he was doing it for those reasons but for his own personal pleasures, karma comes in many forms, but art picks the harshest form first.

he watches you drink water with a desperate urgency, stifling his own chuckles, “you sure you’re okay?”

“‘m fine,” you speak after gulping down the last drop, finally satisfied, “let’s keep going.”

art’s brows furrow ever so slightly, but as soon as you’re back to being ready, he rolls the tennis ball in his hand a little, observing it, before throwing it up in the air and sending it your way. he’s so casual with every hit, despite his grunts and the way his nose scrunches whenever ball meets racket, he makes it look like it’s nothing.

to make it even worse, he starts trying to conversate between passes, “you know—“ smack! another grunt leaves his lips, “it’s really rude to—“ smack! “speak about people behind their—“ smack! “fuck.. backs.”

you’re so busy trying to decipher his words you almost miss the next hit, but thankfully you snap out of the trance quick enough to hit it last minute, which he chuckles at and quickly sends it back.

smack! “‘m sorry, art, really—“ your shoes scratch against the concrete below, smack! “i was being very—“ smack! “childish, i apologize.”

he hums, content with your apologies, but still not outwardly saying he forgives you, instead his hits start to soften, he’s less trying to kill you with the ball and now rather trying to actually play tennis. “you’re all good—“ he confirms, smack! “just make it up to me, yeah?”

ball meets floor, his words had completely caught you off guard, and you missed your hit on the ball he sent your way. you felt almost stupid, standing there, staring at him and trying to decipher what he meant by making it up to him.

and of course, he didn’t elaborate, he never did, he simply just picked up another ball, smiled at you, and said, “ready?”

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

art said he forgave you, right?

ever since that day, he’s been acting.. off. he was more focused on your figure now, not in a crude way, but in a way where he wanted you to position yourself correctly when playing. he watches you serve the ball, then his tongue prods at the inside of his cheek and he stands, “hey, hey, wait a second— your uh… your stance is wrong.”

“it is?” it was the fifth time he’s corrected you, today, and it’s safe to say you were getting annoyed, he picked up on the bitterness of your tone as he approached you.

“‘ts not my fault, kitty cat,” he shrugged simply, noticing the way your eyes narrow in frustration at his nickname, he only smiles. he leans in behind you, “may i?” his hands are ghosting over your arms from behind.

“whatever helps,” you remark.

“good,” it’s softly spoken at the shell of your ear, making you swallow thick, his fingers wrap around your wrist, other one holding your fingers grip on the racket’s handle. his grip is tight, yet gentle at the same time, veins flexing against his flesh with every movement as he helps you move into the right position. “just gotta.. do it like this,” he’s still whispering against your ear, nearly making your knees buckle.

once he’s satisfied with your position, which is far too quick for your liking, he backs off and lets you serve the ball again. he smiles once he’s gotten what he’s wanted, “perfect.”

eventually, after a while of hitting the ball, you decided to take a break. there was a silence between you and art, a tension you couldn’t place, you had nothing to blame it on, nothing to apologize for, and he constantly looked like he was trying to say something indescribable.

“hey,” he starts, before tugging his bottom lip under his tongue for a mere second before continuing, “remember when i said you had to make it up to me?”

you stare at him, curious, “yeah, of course.”

“you know,” his hands smooth over each other, skin underneath his right eye twitching as his pupils dilate in thought, “i’ve been having a.. problem, lately.”

“with tennis?”

“nono,” he laughs nervously, moving to scratch the back of his neck, “it’s personal, y’know? well— not entirely, since ‘m telling you, but uh— actually, nevermind.”

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

you and art hadn’t discussed much after the last meet, you found yourself standing in the court yet again, whilst he was no short of an hour late at this point. you wanted to ask him what his deal is lately, what his problem is, but he wasn’t even here to be questioned. it was almost ridiculous, like he was toying with you.

“i like your skirt,” it comes out of nowhere, but it’s the same, smooth voice that art holds.

yet again, you find yourself spinning around to meet him, he’s closer, now, clearly eyeing you— but that’s.. weird, is it not? he has a wife, he shouldn’t be complimenting your obviously short skirt, or eyeing you like that, or wishing to tell you things that he had apparently not told anyone else because it’s personal. but who are you to question his relationship? maybe he’s just.. being nice, really.

“thank you,” you offer, nice, short, sweet.

he rolls his shoulder, meeting your eyes, flickering his gaze to your lips for a mere second, then saying nothing and walking by. rich cologne and mint. that’s what wafts into your senses immediately, as if it was some sort of distraction from his odd behaviors.

“do you always call people kitty cat?” you eventually ask him, it was something you’d been wondering, truly, especially since you’ve never been called that before.

“to pretty girls with an attitude, yeah,” art says it so casually.

“like your wife?”

“like you.”

art corrected you.

he corrected you, and his correction didn’t annoy you like how they always did, it made your stomach churn in a way you couldn’t decipher, you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. you liked it, maybe, but isn’t that so sickening? art seems to think no big deal of his own words, as he doesn’t even react, so you try to be nonchalant about it as well.

the whole entire test match you play with him, he has a certain glint in his eye, his grunts are louder, his shorts look tighter, he looks like he’s having some sort of reaction to playing tennis, to playing tennis with you. your tongue runs along your lips between breaks, noticing the way his eyes linger on it, the way his pupils widen at the shine of saliva over your lips with each swipe.

at the third break, art was convinced you were doing this on purpose.

“why do you keep doing that?” he asks as he’s walking over to grab his water bottle, right where you’re sitting on the concrete floor. you blink up at him, watching him hover the bottle near his lips and squirt the water into his mouth. did he always look this good when sweaty?

gosh, maybe you’re just tired, maybe your mind is just foggy.

“what?” you frown, confused.

“licking your lips,” he speaks after swallowing the water, towering over you. his muscles were nearly bursting out of his white t-shirt with every movement, especially when he puts his water bottle down and crosses his arm, head cocking to the side. sweat causes some of his hair strands to stick to his forehead, lips puffy from how much he bites them when playing.

“my lips are dry,” you explain, so simple.

“yeah?” again, another smile, he had to be toying with you, “do you need some other help with that?”

“what do you mean?”

art hums, not explaining anything when he opens his mouth and swipes his thumb along his tongue, moving down to rub the saliva from his tongue onto your lips, memorizing the pillowy soft touch. your eyes widen, slightly, “art, this is—“

“not helping?” art tuts in faux disappointment, mumbling a small, ‘why don’t i..’ before he leans down further, licking his own lips and getting closer and closer until his lips are brushing against yours.

“wrong,” you mumble out, but you sound unsure, like you don’t really believe what you just said, you don’t think this is wrong, you’ve always thought art was attractive, it was his wife that kept your crush on him at bay. you mumble against his lips, “you have a wife, art..”

“do i?” he smirks against your lips, a near chuckle slipping out, “i must’ve forgotten.”

“art,” it sounds like a warning, but again, you wanted nothing less than for his lips to fall against yours right now.

“make it up to me, yeah? remember that?” his hand moves to hold your cheek, tipping your head up at him, eyes meeting yours in such close proximity, “i’ve got some marriage problems right now, so why don’t you play wife for me, hm?”

you nod at him, ever so slightly, he clocks it immediately, and that’s his que. his eyes flutter shut, and he’s leaning in only a mere centimeter before his lips fall against yours. the kiss is soft at first, sweet, new, but then art starts taking the lead, and it quickly becomes something on the faint lines of cannibalism, he kissed you like he wanted to eat you, like he loved you.

when he said he wanted you to play wife, he wasn’t lying.

he pries your lips open with his own before his tongue makes it’s way inside your mouth, tasting the peppermint of your gum on your own tongue, memorizing the noisy breaths that leave your mouth and move into his. your nails are quick to run along his arms, making him pull back to speak, “hold on, kitty cat.”

“you call your wife kitty cat?” you watch him peel off his sweaty shirt from his skin.

he tosses the shirt to the side, exhaling a breath that showed he hated the feeling of the wet fabric on his skin, “mm, i call you kitty cat, ‘nd you’re playing my wife, so.”

“right,” you agree, letting his cold hands brush against your skin when he takes your clothes off of you, of course looking at you for approval beforehand, which you nod to.

“did you start wearing shorter skirts on purpose?” art questions when his fingers reach the waistband of your skirt, ever so slowly dipping underneath.

“no, ‘course not,” you speak breathlessly, feeling his fingers move under your underwear as well until his fingertips meet your clit. you swallow thick, lashes fluttering as he starts moving his fingers in an almost cruel slowness.

“look at me,” he whispers a simple command, free hand holding your chin and forcing you to look at him. his fingers move further down, immediately feeling how wet you are, he chuckles in surprise, “god, you’re this wet for a married man, huh?”

“for my husband,” you mumble out, playing the part.

“that’s right,” his middle finger circles your entrance for a second before ever so slowly dipping it inside. he watches your lips fall apart, the way your eyes get glossed over, the way your hips push up against his finger. “needy.”

he doesn’t take long to push another finger in, letting go of your chin so he could guide your hand to his clothed cock, hard and pushing against his flimsy shorts. as soon as you start rubbing his dick through the fabric, his breath shudders slightly, as if he’s been waiting too long for like, as if he hasn’t had sexual pleasure in weeks.

soon enough, only a mere minute or two in of foreplay, art gets antsy and he has to have his dick inside of you, he pries his fingers from your cunt and takes your skirt off next. “lay down for me, yeah?” he smiles at the fact that you do it immediately, even spreading your legs for him.

he hisses at the feeling when his bare knees meet the concrete floor below, harsh on his skin, he tugs his shorts and boxers down ever so slightly until his cock is finally freed. you inhale sharply upon seeing it, he had a big dick. he spits in his hand, coating his dick with a grunt before he finally lines himself up with your entrance.

“ready?” he hushes out.

“yeah, yeah,” you’re barely able to finish the last yeah before his dick is moving into you, his nose scrunching from the tightness of your walls around him, it’s like you were purposefully squeezing his cock with an attempt to milk him dry already.

“fuck,” he grunts out, pulling back, then moving back in, earning a pathetic moan from your lips. it sounds like music to his ears, so he keeps going, his thrusting was slow at first, gentle, kind— but just like the test matches, or the kiss, he gets hungry, and he wants more.

his thrusts turn relentless almost immediately, maybe even like he was taking out some sorts of sexual frustrations out on your poor cunt. whimpers, whines, moans, all of those leave your lips, matching up with the grunts and the occasional whimper from his own mouth as well.

sex was intoxicating for art, and there was something so dangerous, so forbidden about this, you weren’t really his wife, he was married to another woman, he was solely your coach. some sick part of art loves that, maybe that’s why he leans down and starts nipping at your neck, sucking at the delicate skin until maroon and blackberry starts blooming on the blank canvas.

“art, oh my god,” you moan out, hands moving to scratch at his bare back, and maybe art should be smart enough to tell you not to leave marks, but he lets your nails dig in as his thrusts get harsher, surely drawing blood, or at least noticeable scratches.

in fact, the feeling of you tearing into his skin only makes his orgasm come on faster, soon enough wracking his body and making his hips stutter. he keeps going though, despite the overstimulation that makes him pathetically whine softly, just until you’ve reached your own orgasm.

he pulls out, panting, smirking down at you, “thanks, kitty cat.”

#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #mike faist #mike faist x reader #mike faist x you #art donaldson smut #art donaldson challengers #challengers #challengers smut #mike faist smut #mike faist challengers

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ateezscupid · 5 months ago

Note

nerdy pervy bf yunho who instantly got red and hard whenever you wore his clothes

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST yunho sees you in his hoodie and shorts ♡

"Yunho!" You jumped up and down excitedly as you stood on the other side of the door, watching as he walked into the apartment with a tired smile. His eyes searched the room, looking for the source of the noise. When they landed on you, his expression brightened. "You're home!"

You were wearing one of his hoodies with your pretty white pajama shorts, and he couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through him at the sight. He dropped his bag on the floor, a mix of textbooks and gym clothes spilling out. "Jesus…"

"What-?" you started to ask, but the words got stuck in your throat as Yunho stepped closer, wrapping you in a bear hug that was at once comforting and overwhelming. He smelled faintly of rain and mint, the scent of the outdoors mingling with the clean scent of his deodorant. It was a smell that was uniquely him, one that never failed to make you feel safe and loved.

"Oh- okay-"

"I love when you wear my things." he murmured into your hair, his voice gruff with affection. You couldn't help but lean into his embrace, feeling the tension of the day melt away as his arms tightened around you. His hand traced patterns on your back, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

You pushed yourself closer until you felt something poking your stomach. You furrow your eyebrows. "Yunho,"

"Hm?"

"Are you hard?" You whispered the question into his ear, your voice barely audible over the sound of his steady breathing. He pulled back slightly to meet your gaze, a playful glint in his eyes.

"It's not my fault," he said with a smirk, his cheeks flushing slightly. "You just look so… tempting."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. "Well, I'm not complaining," you admitted, leaning in to kiss him lightly. His lips were warm and familiar, and the taste of mint from his breath washed over you.

He kicked the door closed behind him and picked you up, spinning around with you in his arms. You giggled, feeling lighter than air, as he carried you into the bedroom. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to keep the evening light at bay. He set you down gently on the bed, and you watched as he pulled off his shoes and socks, then reached for the hem of his shirt. His muscles rippled with the movement, and you felt your breath hitch in your chest.

"Yunnie~" You teased as he threw his shirt aside, his abs flexing with the motion. He chuckled, a sound that never failed to make your heart flutter. You scooted back on the bed, making room for him as he climbed in.

"Yes, baby?" He said as he climbed into bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He leaned over you, his eyes darkening with desire as he captured your mouth in a kiss that was anything but light. His hand slid under the oversized hoodie, tracing the line of your waist before moving up to cup your breast. You moaned into his mouth, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body.

"Can you eat me out-?" you mumbled against his lips, feeling a blush creep up your neck. It had been a long week and you hadn't seen him much. Your body craved his touch, the feeling of his mouth on you.

Yunho's eyes lit up, and without a word, he kissed his way down your neck, peeling off the hoodie as he went. He left a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your chest, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your collarbone. You shivered, arching into his touch.

When he reached the hem of your pajama shorts, he took a moment to appreciate the view, his eyes lingering on the lacy underwear you had chosen for the night. He hooked his fingers into the waistband and slowly dragged the fabric down your legs, leaving you exposed to the cool air of the room. You watched him, anticipation building in your core.

He took a moment to gaze at you, his eyes roaming over your bare skin. He leaned down to kiss the inside of your thigh, the gentle pressure of his lips leaving a trail of heat. You bit your lip to stifle a gasp as he continued his exploration, moving closer and closer to your center. His tongue flicked out to taste you, teasing your clit with feather-light strokes. You arched your back, silently begging for more.

Yunho chuckled, enjoying the way you squirmed under him. He took his time, savoring every inch of you. His tongue swirled around your clit, pressing harder, then retreating. Your hips bucked in response, seeking more of the delicious friction.

"Mmm, Yunho," you gently grabbed his hair, urging him closer as your legs fell apart. His mouth was hot and insistent, the pressure of his tongue increasing with each pass. Your breath grew ragged as he began to suck, the sensation shooting straight to your core.

You could feel your arousal building, the ache growing with every flick of his tongue. The sound of his mouth on you filled the room, a wet, intimate rhythm that echoed in your ears. Your hands tightened in his hair as you lost yourself to the sensation, the world outside the bedroom fading away to nothing.

"Yunho, please," you begged, your voice strained. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust, and then he was diving back in, his tongue pressing against you more firmly, more urgently. You felt yourself getting closer, your body tightening with each stroke.

"That's it, baby," he murmured, his voice muffled by your cunt. "You taste so good."

The words sent a new wave of heat through you, and you bucked your hips, trying to get more of his mouth on you. He groaned in response, his hands moving to grip your thighs, holding you in place as he licked and sucked with a fervor that was both thrilling and overwhelming. Your toes curled, your nails digging into the sheets as the orgasm built within you.

It crashed over you like a tidal wave, a powerful rush of pleasure that had you crying out his name. Your body convulsed, your muscles tightening around his tongue as the sensation washed over you. Yunho didn't stop, continuing to kiss and suck at your sensitive flesh.

"Y-Yunho! Oh my god-!" You gasped out, your eyes flying open as the intense wave of pleasure subsided. Your body was a trembling mess, the aftershocks of your orgasm still pulsing through your veins. His mouth remained on you, gently lapping at the wetness he had created, his hands still gripping your thighs.

"You're so beautiful when you come," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. You couldn't help the blush that spread across your cheeks at his words. He kissed his way back up your body, his eyes never leaving yours. When he reached your face, he captured your mouth in a kiss, the taste of yourself on his tongue.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing to feel his warmth enveloping you. His hands roamed over your body, touching every inch of you, as if he hadn't seen you in years rather than just a few days. You moaned into his mouth, feeling yourself getting wetter with each stroke of his thumb on your clit.

"I'm gonna treat you so good, princess."

#cupids asks and submits ♡#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #dom ateez #dom!ateez #dom yunho #dom!yunho #yunho x you #yunho fanfic #yunho smut #yunho x reader #jeong yunho

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anglbunny · 19 days ago

Text

LIP RING

♡. isagi with a lip piercing, college!au, Cunnilingus, oral, hair pulling, overstimulation, deer!reader, fratboy!isagi

You knew the second he walked in with a lip piercing, he was going to ruin you.

It’s small — silver, clean, subtle enough not to scream bad boy, but enough to make you stare every time he talks, drinks water, smirks at you from across the room.

It doesn’t help that he’s been teasing you for weeks. Not in words, never in words — Isagi’s a strategist. He plays the long game. He just looks at you. Glances at your mouth during practice. Bumps your knee under the table. Let his fingers linger too long when handing you a bottle.

And tonight, he finally snapped the cord. You don’t remember who kissed who first. Just that he tasted like mint and danger. Just that his hands were rough when they slid up your shirt, that his breath was hot when he pulled back and murmured:

“I’ve been thinking about your thighs for days.”

You’re lying on his bed now, dazed, legs spread, shirt half off. He’s kneeling between them, staring down at you like a starving man. His hair’s a little messy, face flushed — and that goddamn silver ring on his bottom lip keeps catching the light every time he licks it. And he knows. He knows what it’s doing to you.

“Can I taste you?” he asks, voice low, controlled. But there’s something just under the surface — something needy, hot, almost desperate. You nod. He wants you to say it.

“Please, Yoichi. I want your mouth on me.”

He hums like it’s a reward, hands sliding down your thighs to spread them wider. You gasp when he kisses your inner thigh — once, twice — before dragging his teeth across the skin.

Then lower. He pulls your panties to the side and stares. Eyes dark. Breath heavy.

“Fuck, you’re already wet,” he murmurs. “Didn’t even touch you yet.” And then — he licks.

Long, flat, up the center — slow like he’s savoring it. And when you jerk, he smirks against you, piercing glinting when he pulls back just enough to speak.

“Wanna feel you fall apart,” he says. “Right here, just from my mouth.”

You whimper. “You’re good at talking.” He grins, then leans in again — this time, rougher. Devouring. Tongue circling your clit in tight, messy strokes, fingers gripping your thighs hard. You arch up into his mouth without thinking, chasing it, and he moans against you like he likes that too much.

And then—you feel it. The piercing. You gasp when it brushes your clit directly, cold and hard and so fucking sharp compared to his soft lips. He hears it. Feels your whole body jolt.

“Oh,” he murmurs, pulling back again to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “You like that?”

“Yoichi—what the fuck—what is that—”

He smiles darkly. “Lip ring.”

“I know it’s the fucking lip ring—!”

He presses a kiss to your thigh. “Wanna come on it?” You don’t even answer. Just grab his hair and shove his head down.

He laughs—but obeys. Happily. Tongue flicking, lips sucking, pressure perfect. The ring drags against your most sensitive spot over and over until your hips are shaking and you’re biting down a scream.

“Fuck, Yoichi—please don’t stop—”

He doesn’t.

He keeps going even as you come, even as you squirm. He wraps an arm under your thigh to pin you down and eats through it, relentless.

You tug at his hair. He groans.

“I could do this all fucking night,” he whispers against your slick heat. “You taste so sweet. Want you every day.”

You pant, dizzy. “You’re—insane—”

“You didn’t say stop.” You didn’t. So he licks again, this time slower. Letting the ring trace lazy circles over your clit. You cry out, legs trembling.

“You gonna come again?” he asks, sounding smug.

“Don’t ask that like you don’t know what you’re doing—!” But you do. You come again, harder. This time, your hands are in his hair, your body grinding into his face, and he lets you. Encourages it. Sucks your clit into his mouth like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

When he finally pulls back, lips swollen and slick, the ring gleaming, he climbs over you with that familiar determined gleam in his eyes.

“Want more,” he whispers. “You up for it?” You reach up and pull him down by the chain around his neck.

“Put your mouth on me again and I’ll let you fuck me until sunrise.” He smiles. Slow. Hungry. Lips bruised.

“Bet.”

TL: @samm1e13 @demiitria @syleepy @chaoslibra @bontenxo @pinkymangacaps @riinniies @samthesimp1 @sapphireluv @s4turnx1 @nevvynev @cookiesandcreammy @rinniebinniebay @ravenbc @kamelika @luvsymai @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @silverwings920 @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @yanderebluelockfan @valexqpt @bigclownshoes @rinniewinnie787 @satorella @mitsurisupporter @meikstv @mihyas-dieehefrau @ravenbc @shezuannn @greekyoghurtwithberries

A/n: gonna turn frat isagi into an au

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[Masterlist]

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theodorenmyth · 2 months ago

Note

hey!

could i please request a fic where theodore's sibling is dating mattheo and they want it to be a secret, but then everyone ends up finding out and they think theo's going to be angry/overprotective but he's really chill? and the pair are confused and a little offended by how unbothered he is?

i love reading your comedy fics because they always make me laugh!!

Secret Relationship

pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x GN!Reader

summary ; You and Mattheo Riddle secretly date behind your brother aka Theodore’s back, fearing his reaction. But when everyone finds out, Theodore is shockingly chill — leaving your chaotic friend group furious and dramatically disappointed by the lack of sibling rage.

A/N ; it's been so long since I uploaded 😭😭😭😭😭 I missed u all sm, AND ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I WROTE A MATTHEO FIC HELLO?! I've been on a Theodore streak I swear 😭 pls enjoy this comedic mess

Warnings ; none, just pure chaos

Word count ; 4.1k+

The night air curled around you in thin, biting tendrils, the wind sweeping through the Astronomy Tower and chilling your fingers where they gripped the stone ledge. The tower loomed above the castle, far removed from the warm flicker of torches and the comfortable murmur of the common rooms. Up here, the world felt suspended—like time had stopped and the stars were the only witnesses to your terrible, beautiful secret.

You were absolutely not supposed to be here.

"You’re shivering."

The voice, smooth and low, cut through the silence. You didn’t even need to look—you’d recognize that voice in your sleep. Mattheo Riddle stepped forward from the shadows with that familiar slouch, half-hooded eyes glinting with mischief and something gentler he’d never admit to. His black coat hung loosely from his shoulders, already halfway off as he reached out and draped it over yours.

The weight of it was immediate—warm, worn, and unmistakably his. It smelled like firewood, mint, and danger. A combination you had no business enjoying as much as you did.

"I'm not cold," you muttered, hugging the coat tighter around yourself despite the denial.

Mattheo arched a brow, unimpressed. "You're a terrible liar."

"No, I’m not."

"Yes, you are," he insisted, stepping closer, his grin growing with every step. "You always do that thing with your nose when you lie."

You blinked. “What thing?”

"That—" He pointed at you with a smirk as your nose instinctively scrunched. "Exactly that."

Your scowl deepened. “You’re infuriating.”

“I’ve been told.”

“And yet, here I am.”

He was fully in front of you now, close enough to steal your breath if you let him. His fingers grazed your waist like a question, an invitation. One you never could refuse.

"You could’ve stayed in bed like a reasonable person," he teased, voice dipped in velvet. "Instead, you came all the way up here just to see me."

"Don't flatter yourself," you muttered.

But he knew better.

And so did you.

Mattheo leaned in, his lips brushing yours, barely touching—just enough to set your nerves alight. "Say it."

"Say what?" you breathed, feigning innocence.

"That you missed me."

"I didn’t."

"Liar," he whispered against your mouth, and then he kissed you.

The world fell away.

His mouth on yours was rough and unrelenting, like he had waited too long and thought too much and wanted to erase the time you’d spent apart. You kissed him back with equal fervor, clutching his collar as if to tether yourself to the moment. The cold didn’t matter. The risk didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way his hands roamed your sides like he couldn’t decide where to hold you, like he wanted to touch everything at once.

He was infuriating and impulsive and impossible—but gods, he was yours.

Eventually, you pulled away, lips tingling and lungs begging for breath. He rested his forehead against yours, his grip on your waist still firm, possessive.

"This is reckless," you whispered, eyes half-lidded and drunk on him.

Mattheo didn’t even blink. "Reckless is snogging your best mate’s sibling in the Astronomy Tower at one in the morning while the entire school sleeps."

You groaned and thumped your head against his shoulder. "Don’t remind me."

"Just saying. We’ve already passed the point of no return, haven’t we?"

You didn't answer right away. Instead, you watched the stars—millions of them, quiet and distant and probably laughing at the mess you’d made of yourself. You should’ve stopped this weeks ago. You’d tried to stop. But Mattheo always had this way of pulling you back in, like gravity.

"This is insane," you murmured.

"Mm," he agreed. "And I love it."

You tilted your head to look at him. "You would."

Mattheo smiled, that crooked, charming sort of smile that spelled nothing but trouble. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with a gentleness that contradicted everything he usually projected.

"I like you like this," he said suddenly.

"Like what?"

"Defiant. Warm. Close." His voice dropped. "Mine."

Your breath hitched.

You hated how easily he could unravel you.

“You know my brother would murder you,” you said, only half-joking.

Mattheo’s expression didn’t change. “Yeah, well. That’s why he doesn’t know.”

“And if he finds out?”

His eyes darkened—not in fear, but in resolve. "Then we deal with it. Together."

Something in your chest tightened painfully. Mattheo Riddle was not known for making promises, but when he did, they meant something.

You tried to play it off, to lighten the moment. "Very noble of you. Might even make you look brave."

"I'm always brave," he deadpanned.

You laughed despite yourself and leaned up to kiss him again—softer this time, slower. Like a lullaby in the middle of a war.

Another set of footsteps—distant but undeniable—snapped you both out of it. Mattheo jerked away instantly, eyes sharp, scanning the stairwell below.

Your stomach dropped as you ducked behind one of the stone columns, barely breathing.

Please not a professor. Please not a prefect. Please not—

Silence.

The footsteps faded.

Mattheo let out a slow exhale. "That was way too close."

You nodded, pressing a hand over your pounding heart. “We need to stop doing this in public places.”

"Then invite me to your dorm."

"Absolutely not."

"The library?"

"Too exposed."

"Empty classroom?"

"Too cliché."

"Room of Requirement?"

You paused. "...Too convenient."

He gave a low laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are.”

Mattheo leaned forward and kissed your cheek, just above your jaw. “Tomorrow night?”

You hesitated. You should say no. You meant to say no.

“…Fine. But somewhere safer.”

"Deal."

He squeezed your hand once before retreating back down the stairs with the grace of someone who’d done this a dozen times and would do it a dozen more.

You stayed a moment longer, the weight of his coat still wrapped around your shoulders and the ghost of his lips still on your mouth. The stars blinked silently overhead, their light cool and unjudging. You exhaled and turned to go, already thinking about tomorrow—and all the chaos it might bring.

You were in too deep.

And you didn’t care.

Rain was pouring against the windows like the sky itself was throwing a tantrum, Hogwarts cloaked in that damp, miserable grey that made everyone collectively more dramatic than usual. You trudged into the Great Hall, dragging your feet like a ghost of your former, snogged-out self. You spotted your friends instantly—because they were loud, nosy, and sitting in their usual spot, plotting world domination over croissants and coffee.

You slid into your seat next to Blaise with the elegance of a sleep-deprived troll and immediately reached for a slice of toast, praying today would be normal. No scandal. No drama. No accidental references to someone’s pine-scented hair or stupid smirking face or warm hands on your—

Mattheo Riddle plopped himself directly beside you.

Your toast froze mid-air.

“Oh, excellent,” he said, sounding obscenely cheerful for someone who hadn’t brushed his curls. “You got the good jam.”

He reached across your plate like a heathen and scooped up a glob of raspberry jam with his butter knife, smearing it messily on your toast like he was helping.

“I was going to eat that,” you deadpanned.

“And now you are, but with flavor,” he replied, looking far too pleased with himself.

Across the table, Lorenzo choked on his tea. Draco froze mid-butter-spread. Blaise leaned back slowly with a suspicious grin. Pansy squinted like she was trying to read the entire history of your existence from the look on your face. Astoria didn’t even look up—she just let out the most disappointed sigh in the history of human breathing.

You, a rational and responsible person, did the obvious thing.

You pretended absolutely nothing was happening.

Mattheo, who was clearly born to make everything worse, leaned in. “Are you going to eat that, or are you going to keep staring at me like you’re in love?”

You dropped your toast. Draco visibly gasped. Blaise bit his knuckle.

“Okay,” Lorenzo said slowly, dramatically. “I think we all need to pause and—what the hell is going on here?”

“Nothing,” you and Mattheo said in perfect harmony.

A collective suspicious silence fell over the group.

Pansy narrowed her eyes. “You’re sitting suspiciously close to each other.”

“Coincidence,” you said.

“He stole your toast.”

“Generous community breakfasting,” Mattheo supplied.

“You’re blushing,” Draco noted, pointing a butter knife at your face.

“It’s warm in here,” you snapped. “There’s body heat. Circulation. Weather.”

“You’re playing footsie,” Blaise added smugly.

“We are absolutely not playing footsie,” Mattheo said, jerking his leg away from yours so fast he kneed the underside of the table and nearly knocked over the entire jug of pumpkin juice.

“Okay,” Lorenzo muttered. “If this isn’t a secret relationship, then I am the ghost of Salazar Slytherin, here to reclaim his house from the deranged couple defiling it.”

You tried to glare. Really, you did. But Mattheo had crumbs on his lip, and his eyes were doing that annoyingly attractive sparkle thing, and your face betrayed you by melting.

“OH MY GOD,” Pansy screamed. “YOU’RE LITERALLY SO IN LOVE.”

“I am in denial,” you barked. “Which is very different.”

Blaise laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench. “So, just to confirm—are you or are you not snogging this absolute chaos goblin in secret?”

“We’re not snogging,” Mattheo said quickly. “Why would we snog? Snogging is for people with… lips.”

“You have lips,” Draco said flatly.

“Debatable,” Mattheo replied, before turning to you with pleading eyes. “Help me.”

“Everyone is being very dramatic,” you announced. “Mattheo and I are friends. Acquaintances. Mortal enemies with occasional group project chemistry.”

“You left the Potions lab last Thursday with your tie undone and a hickey on your neck,” Astoria said without looking up.

“It was a mosquito! ” Mattheo cried. “They were everywhere.”

“In the Potions lab?” Blaise asked, blinking.

“...Yes,” you said weakly. “It was.. uhm.. infested.”

Pansy slammed her hands on the table. “HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?”

“Five minutes,” you blurted. “No time at all. We’re still in the test trial phase.”

“Two months,” Mattheo mumbled at the same time.

You turned to him slowly, eyes wide. “What happened to denying everything?”

“I panicked!” he whispered. “You’re really bad at lying and it’s contagious!”

“Oh my god, it’s been TWO MONTHS?” Draco’s voice cracked like a choirboy’s. “And you didn’t tell us? We could’ve made popcorn!”

“I’m going to cry,” Pansy announced. “I feel betrayed. Emotionally compromised. Romantically offended.”

“You literally told me yesterday to snog someone or die lonely,” you muttered.

“I didn’t mean him! ”

Mattheo raised a hand. “Okay, now that’s just rude.”

“I SWEAR,” Pansy continued, “if Theodore finds out and kills you, I am not attending your funeral unless there’s drama and vengeance.”

You blinked. “Okay, but—what if he just doesn’t… find out?”

The table went still.

Pansy looked like she was about to burst into flames. “Okay. Someone get Theodore. He deserves to know that his sibling is dating—dating—Mattheo ‘bite me’ Riddle.”

You stiffened.

The entire table stilled.

Then, as if summoned by the devil himself, all heads turned in slow-motion toward the far end of the Slytherin table… where Theodore Nott sat, expression calm, buttering a scone with the serenity of a man who was either extremely zen or planning to murder someone using only a teaspoon.

You froze.

Mattheo froze.

Even Draco looked nervous.

“He doesn’t know,” you whispered.

“He definitely knows,” Astoria said calmly. “He’s buttering that scone with deadly precision. No one but assassins butter that neatly.”

Blaise leaned in, stage-whispering like a six-year-old gossip. “He’s holding the knife like he’s considering options.”

Pansy was practically vibrating. “I live for this. Theodore is going to explode. It’s going to be glorious. I want screaming. Threats. At least one table flip. I want to feel alive again!”

“Do not summon violence into this sacred breakfast,” you hissed.

Draco smirked. “Better tell Mattheo to run now while he still has all his limbs.”

Pansy stood up and immediately rolled up her sleeves. “I AM READY FOR THE DRAMA. BRING IT. DUEL AT DAWN. I’LL BE YOUR SECOND.”

Astoria grabbed her by the back of the cloak and yanked her down like she was restraining a feral cat. “Sit. Down. You’re not sword-fighting Theodore in the middle of breakfast.”

“Why not?” Pansy whined. “We live in a magical castle. This is the perfect place for sword-fighting!”

You and Mattheo exchanged a horrified glance.

“I think we just declared war,” he whispered.

You nodded. “Well. At least we’re dying pretty.”

If Mattheo Riddle had a Galleon for every time he thought, “this is how I die,” he could’ve funded a whole underground resistance, a few cursed artifacts, and still had enough left to buy you a shiny ring and a nice flat in Hogsmeade.

This time, though?

There would be no ring.

No flat.

No wedding.

Just his body launched into orbit by Theodore Nott’s inevitable, unstoppable rage.

You were standing in the corridor just outside the Great Hall, trying to decide whether to walk into your own execution or drag your boyfriend back to the dungeons by his ear.

Mattheo Riddle had been pacing like a man possessed for the past fifteen minutes.

“Okay, okay, okay—maybe I should bow?” he muttered to himself. “No. Too much. Theodore might think I’m mocking him. Should I curtsy? Would that be better? Classier?”

“Mattheo,” you said, voice deadpan, “if you curtsy to my brother, I will physically throw you out of a window.”

“I just—he’s going to murder me,” Mattheo wailed, throwing his hands in the air like some kind of tragic widow. “He’s going to skin me and use my corpse as a decorative throw for the Slytherin common room. I’ll be throw fashion, darling.”

You stared. “You’ve lost your mind.”

He spun dramatically and grabbed both your hands. “You don’t get it. That man terrifies me. He’s tall. He’s quiet. He wears all black. He looks like he reads tragic poetry for fun. He has ‘I’ll bury you behind the greenhouse’ energy.”

You tried not to laugh. “He’s just my brother.”

“No. He’s a whole experience. A terrifying one. Like one of those silent movies where the guy never speaks but everyone dies anyway.”

“Mattheo—”

“What if he pulls a wand on me and casts some obscure ancient curse from the Nott family grimoire and my skin turns inside out?”

“Then I’ll get you some exfoliating cream and a hug.”

Mattheo gave you an utterly wounded look. “That’s all the sympathy I get in my darkest hour?”

“Your darkest hour hasn’t even started.”

Footsteps echoed ominously down the hallway.

Mattheo froze, grabbing the wall like a man in mourning. “Oh Merlin. It’s him. It’s Theodore. I’m not ready. You said I had five more minutes!”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“I wasn’t emotionally prepared then and I’m *less* emotionally prepared now!”

You didn't have time to argue. Theodore turned the corner, walking toward you with his usual unbothered, slow-as-hell stride, like he had all the time in the world to arrive at your crime scene.

Mattheo made a strangled noise like a dying bird and—without shame—threw himself behind you.

“Don’t let him hurt me!” he whisper-yelled into your shoulder. “If I die, tell your mother I looked amazing at my funeral.”

Theodore raised a single eyebrow. “Are you hiding behind my sibling?”

Mattheo popped his head out. “Not hiding—strategically retreating. It’s different.”

“Yes,” you muttered, “the strategy is cowardice.”

He clung to your robes like a damsel. “This is not cowardice. This is self-preservation, thank you very much.”

Theodore stared at him blankly. “You’re pathetic.”

Mattheo inhaled deeply and then stepped out with the air of a man marching to the gallows. “Okay. Okay. Theodore. I—I want to say something.”

Theodore tilted his head, mildly curious.

“I want to apologize for—uh—for all the... snogging. And emotional bonding. And, uh, the fact that I may or may not have licked and attacked your sibling’s neck in a highly inappropriate location on the Astronomy Tower—NOT THE POINT—what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry and please don’t hex my kneecaps or transfigure my ears into cauliflowers or whatever it is you Notts do when people betray your bloodline.”

Theodore blinked.

Mattheo cleared his throat. “I just—really, really like your sibling, alright? Like, a lot. Like, ‘I’d write you letters in blood if I wasn’t squeamish’ a lot. And I know I’m kind of a mess and also a little deranged but I swear on Salazar’s bald head that I’m serious about this and if you want to punch me, just go for the left side, that’s my less photogenic side anyway—”

“I already knew,” Theodore interrupted.

Mattheo stopped mid-rant, finger in the air like he had more dramatic declarations to unleash. “Wait. What?”

“I’ve known for weeks.”

There was a beat of complete, shell-shocked silence.

Mattheo’s hand slowly lowered. “You… what?”

“I saw you sneaking out of the Astronomy Tower the first time,” Theodore said casually. “The scarf was a dead giveaway. And the second time. And the third. And the time you came back to the dorms with glitter in your hair and that weird grin like you'd just invented a new sin.”

Mattheo blinked rapidly. “So you knew... this whole time?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“No.”

“You didn’t curse me? Or duel me? Or send a howler to my mother?!”

Theodore shrugged. “I was enjoying watching you panic.”

You smacked your forehead.

Mattheo gasped and dramatically grabbed your sleeve. “He played me like a fiddle. A fiddle made of pure emotional torment.”

Theodore looked at you, dead serious. “If he breaks your heart, I’ll feed him to the Giant Squid.”

Mattheo nodded solemnly. “Honestly? That’s fair. Bit overkill, but poetic.”

“You two are insufferable,” you muttered.

Mattheo flopped against your back again, sighing dramatically. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

He peeked at Theodore again. “So we’re good?”

Theodore gave him a long look. “Don’t push it.”

Mattheo immediately retreated behind you again. “He said don’t push it. I’m not pushing it. I’m hiding behind it.”

“You’re a grown man.”

“I’m a terrified man!”

Pansy, who had just turned the corner behind you with Draco and Astoria in tow, screeched like someone had been stabbed—an unholy, earsplitting shriek that ricocheted off the stone walls of the corridor like a cursed howler let loose during a funeral.

“HE FUCKING KNEW?!” she howled, her eyes wide with the sheer betrayal of it all, like Theodore had personally wronged her ancestral bloodline.

The entire hallway fell into a stunned silence for half a second before chaos exploded like a badly brewed potion. A nearby portrait of a sleepy wizard jolted awake and threw his goblet at the ground, muttering something about “witches these days.” You and Mattheo both flinched so violently you almost knocked heads—and Mattheo, being the brave soul that he was, dove behind you like a coward, clutching the back of your robes with the death grip of a man facing an angry hippogriff.

“HOLY SHIT, Pansy!” Lorenzo barked, careening in behind her like a gale-force wind in Gucci boots, nearly tripping over his own feet and the bag of crisps he had clearly brought specifically for this moment. “You trying to rupture the space-time continuum with your lungs? I think my left eardrum just committed suicide!”

“You—you KNEW?!” Blaise turned to Theodore with all the grace and fury of someone who just found out his favorite soap opera had been canceled mid-cliffhanger. “And you didn’t do anything?! Not even a single ominous shoulder squeeze? A disapproving nod? A slow, terrifying walk behind them in the corridors with your eyes narrowed like a cryptid in the fog?!”

“I was counting on some emotionally stunted vengeance,” Lorenzo chimed in, now holding his crisps like a judgmental gavel. “You let us down, Nott.”

“EXACTLY!” Pansy shrieked, spinning around with the energy of a banshee leading a revolution. “Where’s the drama?! Where’s the furious wand duel at midnight in the courtyard? WHERE'S THE TWO-PAGE SPEECH ABOUT BETRAYAL AND SIBLING HONOUR AND A TRAGIC LOVE DOOMED FROM THE START?!”

Draco looked like he was genuinely grieving. He placed one hand on his heart, the other dramatically outstretched as if speaking to the heavens. “This is worse than my father’s fourth engagement party. At least that had fireworks and an enchanted swan that exploded.”

Theodore, for his part, looked like he’d just woken up from a nap and couldn’t be arsed. Standing with his hands in his pockets and his expression set to “Could Not Care Less If I Tried,” he said, “I already told them. I’ve known for weeks.”

“WEEKS?!” Blaise yelped, clutching Lorenzo’s shoulder like he needed emotional support.

“And you didn’t even glare once?!” Draco gasped, eyes practically bulging out of his head. “You didn’t pull out your wand and threaten to CRUCIO his bloodline?!”

“I expected some level of ominous sibling rage,” Lorenzo muttered. “Instead I got... emotional neutrality. Honestly, it’s offensive.”

“I’m just—confused,” Blaise said, flinging his arms out. “Do you even care? You’re acting like Mattheo hasn’t spent the past month playing tonsil hockey with your sibling in every broom cupboard in the castle.”

“I expected fireworks,” Pansy seethed. “Screaming. Maybe a duel that would’ve made the school nurse cry. At least a threatened expulsion! And instead—” she gestured wildly at Theodore “—we got this! Calm! Rational! Emotionally intelligent?! I’m DISGUSTED.”

Astoria, who had been quietly standing by, now had both hands around Pansy’s waist, physically holding her back like she was restraining a chihuahua on steroids. “Pans, don’t lunge. You promised no tackling.”

“I DIDN’T PROMISE NOTHING,” Pansy roared.

Theodore blinked slowly, looking almost bored. “If Mattheo breaks their heart, I’ll throw him off the Astronomy Tower myself. Until then, I’ve got exams.”

Mattheo, still half-hiding behind you like a traumatized Victorian child, made a strangled sound. “He’s gonna what—?”

“I—I tried to apologize,” Mattheo spluttered, peeking out from behind your shoulder with the world’s most wounded expression. “I was halfway through my bloody sentence and he just cut me off! I had a whole speech! With metaphors!”

“You didn’t even get to the metaphor about comparing Theodore’s glare to a dementor with a caffeine addiction,” you whispered.

“RIGHT?” Mattheo pointed at you with a pout. “That was my best one!”

“You were sobbing into a chocolate frog outside the potions lab,” Blaise said, deadpan.

“Yeah, I remember that,” Lorenzo added with a snort. “You kept whispering, ‘he’s going to turn me into a ferret’.”

“You weren’t even dating me when you did that,” you muttered.

Mattheo groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “I was emotionally preparing! For war!”

“And there was no war!” Draco cried. “Just—just peace! Like we’re living in some healthy, emotionally mature AU!”

“This is worse than my cousin’s vow renewal,” Pansy snapped, now pacing in a circle. “At least that ended with a hexed priest and someone’s wig catching fire.”

Lorenzo clapped Blaise on the back. “Well, guess I lost the bet.”

“What bet?” you asked, dreading the answer.

“I had twenty galleons on Theodore turning Mattheo into a cactus and leaving him outside Hagrid’s hut.”

“Honestly, I would’ve preferred that,” Mattheo muttered.

“Same,” Draco said, disgusted.

“You’re all insane,” Theodore said.

“And you’re boring,” Blaise fired back. “Where’s the trauma?! Where’s the iconic sibling rage? You had the perfect opportunity to deliver a one-liner and threaten him with a slow, painful doom! Instead you let him live?!”

Pansy turned on Theodore with wide, devastated eyes. “You’re not mad at all? Like not even a little? There’s no secret plotting? No passive aggressive breakfast commentary?!”

Theodore just shrugged. “I like my sibling. I don’t hate Riddle. I’m not wasting spell energy unless he does something dumb.”

“I am something dumb!” Mattheo squeaked from behind you.

“WE KNOW!” Pansy and Draco yelled in unison.

Astoria buried her face in her hands. “I’m too sober for this.”

Draco sighed dramatically and crossed his arms. “Fine. New plan. Someone date someone they shouldn’t so we can salvage this absolute travesty.”

“I VOLUNTEER!” Lorenzo said immediately.

“NO YOU DON’T!” Blaise and Draco snapped.

You turned to Mattheo with a dazed smile as the rest of your friends devolved into chaos, arguing over who should pretend to get engaged for maximum scandal.

“Well,” you muttered. “That went well.”

Mattheo blinked at you, still clutching your robes. “I feel like I survived an execution by emotional chaos.”

You patted his cheek. “You did great, sweetheart.”

“I hate all of them,” he whispered.

From behind you, Pansy screamed, “SOMEONE THROW SOMETHING DRAMATIC OR I’M GOING TO COMBUST.”

A shoe flew past your head.

“Okay,” Mattheo muttered. “Maybe I don’t hate them. I just… fear them.”

You nodded. “Reasonable.”

And somewhere, Theodore was already walking away from the scene like a man who had never emotionally invested in anything except his morning tea and the hope that someone, someday, would shut Pansy up for more than two minutes.

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esotericcangel · 1 month ago

Text

MINT JULEP ♡ R. CAMERON

⸝⸝ nerd!rafe x man hater!reader 𓏲 ࣪₊

— IN WHICH you meet nerd!rafe at a bar

WARNINGS/TAGS: suggestive language, tension, mentions of alcohol

God, you were pissed.

A mixture of BO and alcohol clung to your nostrils, wafting your senses every few seconds and sending a sickening wave of nausea over you.

It was your first night out after your ‘boyfriend’ had been caught cheating on you, and so far? you weren’t enjoying it.

It was one of the first times you’d allowed yourself to be vulnerable to anyone. a man, no less. and all he did was chew your heart up and spit it back out at you.

So now here you were. Nursing a mint julep and chewing your lower lip raw, hoping to any deity that the friends you’d come here with would appear at any second and whisk you away from this madness.

Instead, the opposite happened.

Rafe knew he was an antisocial freak(quote from his highschool bully), and even after graduating from high school as valedictorian he’d still never struck gold with a woman, much to his dismay. It wasn't like he was unattractive or anything. No, anyone, any woman with eyes could see that he was a ten; broad shoulders that filled out his top, biceps that looked biteable. He was just so… awkward. fidgety. He could blame it on his undiagnosed ADHD, but then he’d just feel sorry for himself, and he didn’t want to.

And it wasn’t like Rafe needed to have a girlfriend, or some sort of romantic figure in his life. He prided himself on not being a hormone driven freak, constantly looking for his next fuck like some guys he knew. he was intelligent, and to him that was enough.

The stone of the bar top was cold against his forearms, the silver of his watch glinting in the fluorescent light of the bar. It was late, maybe even too late for Rafe to be out right now. He had a paper due in biochemistry at exactly 8 AM in the morning, and his professor wasn’t the most gracious. but still, rafe lifted his glass of bourbon to his lips slowly but surely, eyes scanning the bar analytically. His nerves were a little shot, palms a little clammy. He wasn’t used to going to bars late at night, dancing, and picking up girls. but the epiphany he’d had the other night when he’d shamefully admitted his purity to his card playing club gave him a brief moment of clarity, enough to encourage him to spritz some cologne on his neck and step into the bar closest to his college campus.

And amidst his psychological analysis of the guy on the far end of the bar, who’d taken three shots now, and who Rafe had mentally concluded was probably fatherless, came your voice.

Your voice, although snappy, was sweet and melodic to rafe’s ears, and had his head snapping to the other end of the bar to see you. And God, you were like a dream.

Rafe almost pinched himself. Was he dreaming? Was this some twisted fantasy his mind was creating, and instead of being here, five steps away from you, he was passed out on a stack of papers in his dorm?

Shaking his head to rid himself of a reverie, he took a tentative look around. No one saw that. Good.

He let his eyes trail over your body once more, dragging over your skin, and if you saw him doing so, it would’ve felt like a physical touch.

And after a few minutes of wordlessly hyping himself up, Rafe slipped off the cracked leather stool he once occupied, running a hand through his already slicked back hair. He approached you as if you were a scared deer who could run off any second.

“Hello.” God, he sounded pathetic.

Amongst your seething and mental decision to never give another man the time of day ever again, your head jerked back, jaw tense and brows raised just a fraction. Your expression was almost irritable as thought Rafe was the greatest bother that could’ve approached you.

One look at him and you scoffed, throwing a hand dismissively into his direction and sipping your mint julep. “No.” As if you were brushing off an overly eager child.

His face crumbled, like a child denied a toy, a crease forming between his brows. “Well I was just-”

“No.”

Okay… maybe he needed a different approach. He cleared his throat, a newfound confidence taking over as he found the courage to slip into the seat next to you.

This only worsened your irritation, hand slamming down your drink on the bar top, head whipping in his direction about to tell him off-

“Mint julep. That- that’s nice. Gatsby.” he said with a silly grin, cerulean eyes flicking between your drink and face—which was still twisted up in irritation, but now a bit.. Confused?

“Excuse me?”

“Your drink,” he clarified, pointing his finger in its direction. “You’re drinking a mint julep. like in The Great Gatsby?”

You could faintly recall reading that book in highschool, writing an essay on it in your English honors class. You could also never recall a moment where a guy had attempted to pick you up by referencing a book.

“Um.. yeah. I guess,” you replied. Dry, uninterested.

He swallowed, grin fading a little, a small flutter of panic blooming in his chest. He felt like he was losing a game that didn’t even want to play.

“You know, Fitzgerald really wrote that scene well,” He tried again, hoping you’d engage. “I mean it was obvious gatsby was overstepping, but-“

“Overstepping?” You interrupted, Your attention now fully grabbed. “He was in love with Daisy. If I loved someone I'd try to win them over too.” You scoffed.

His brows raised, a smile curling at his lip that said, I have you.

“Well she was with Tom,” He reasoned.

“Tom was a racist elitist who cheated on her. I hardly think he was the more suitable option.”

“So you’d choose Gatsby.”

“In a heartbeat.”

His smile was wide now, the subtle curling of the corners of his mouth more defined, his dimples prominent in the apples of his cheeks.

And it was then when the flicker of realization made way into your mind, the frightening revelation that he’d caught your attention, and managed to hold on to it.

Instead of fighting it, you wanted to give in. So you did.

You offered a hand and said only your name, a wordless truce between the debate that was Tom vs. Gatsby.

“Rafe,” he offered in return, his larger hand engulfing yours as he accepted it, giving a light shake. It was like a shot of electricity had traveled up his arm, almost making him shiver. “Rafe Cameron.”

“Well.. Rafe Cameron,” You emphasized his name, almost a tease, but you still kept your voice dry as if you were uninterested. You swallowed a sinful of your mint julep. “I think you’re wrong.”

He only smiled and shook his head, cocking it further to the side as he let his eyes wander back to your profile. And for the first time ever, Rafe suddenly understood why some people longed for love.

divider creds to @bernardsbendystraws .ᐟ

#𐔌 . ⋮ emerson writes .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱#𝐄𝐒𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 2025 #𝐄𝐒𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋'𝐒 works #rafe cameron ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆#rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey #nerd!rafe #the great gatsby #rafe cameron fluff #fluff #smut

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flux1563 · 3 months ago

Text

FIRST OF ALL

tags : squirting, anal, pussy gaping, ass gaping, golden shower, kidnapping, gangbang

Words : 9k

Kim Minju was a picture of poise and elegance as she stepped onto the crimson carpet. Her heart raced in time with the flashing bulbs of the paparazzi cameras. She had spent hours perfecting her makeup and selecting the right dress, a delicate dance of silk that whispered around her legs with every step she took. The air had excitement, the kind that only comes from a night of glitz and glamour.

Minju's eyes searched the sea of faces, looking for her manager, Mr. Park. He was always there, guiding her through the labyrinth of smiles and small talk that made up these events. Tonight was no different; the award show promised to be a pivotal moment in her career. She had been nominated for Best Supporting Actress, and the buzz surrounding her performance was electric.

As the final award was announced, Minju felt a strange sense of calmness wash over her. It was almost as if the world had gone mute, the only sound being the rhythmic beating of her heart. Her name wasn't called. She forced a smile and clapped for the winner, her thoughts racing. Was she disappointed? Yes. But she also knew she had given her all. It was a learning experience, another stepping stone in her journey.

Mr. Park, noticing her expression, gave her a reassuring pat on the back as they exited the venue. The cool evening air was a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat of the auditorium. She took a deep breath, the scent of her favorite gardenia perfume lingering faintly on the breeze. The car was waiting, a sleek black sedan, its engine humming quietly.

When Minju opened the door, she was shocked to find four men already inside, leaving only one seat for her. They were strangers, their faces unfamiliar and expressions unreadable. Panic began to creep in as she scanned the vehicle. One man, tall and broad-shouldered, took up the entire backseat, his arms crossed over his chest. Another, with piercing eyes and a sharp jawline, sat next to him, his legs stretched out, filling the space. The remaining two were in the front, both dressed in black suits, one driving, the other glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

Mr. Park's voice was firm, but not unkind, as he urged her to sit down. "Just for tonight, Minju," he said, his eyes holding a glint of excitement she hadn't seen before. "I've arranged something special to cheer you up." She hesitated, the situation feeling eerily wrong, but his assurance washed over her like a warm blanket, and she found herself slipping into the car, the door closing with a soft thud that echoed through her mind.

The man with the sharp jawline leaned closer and placed a cool, damp cloth over her eyes. "Don't worry, Miss," he said, his voice smooth and reassuring. "This will help you relax." The scent of mint filled her nose, and she felt a gentle pressure on the back of her neck. Her eyes grew heavy, and she didn't fight it. The last thing she heard was the soft rumble of Mr. Park's voice, promising that she'd be safe.

When Minju's eyes fluttered open again, the world was a blur. Her senses slowly returned, and she realized she was no longer in the car. The scent of the mint cloth lingered, but it was replaced by the faint smell of fresh paint and new carpets. She felt the cushioned leather beneath her, and the murmur of distant voices grew clearer. Her head swam with confusion as she tried to sit up, her body feeling weightless and disoriented.

The man with the piercing eyes and sharp jawline was the first to come into focus. He offered her a warm smile, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off about the situation. "Welcome to your surprise, Miss Kim," he said, his voice now a gentle purr. The room she was in was dimly lit, with walls lined with bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes she knew she would never read. The floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the twinkling lights of the city skyline, a stark contrast to the cozy cocoon she found herself in.

"Where am I? What's going on?" she asked, her voice wavering with uncertainty. The men exchanged glances, and Mr. Park stepped forward, his own smile a little too forced. "You're in a safe place, Minju," he assured her. "We're just taking a small detour from the usual post-show festivities." The room spun, and she had to grip the armrest of the chair to steady herself. "But why? Where is everyone else?"

"Tonight, you're ours," the man in the backseat said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. He leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of him, watching her with a hunger she couldn't place. "We've got a special evening planned for you."

Before Minju could protest, two of the men had moved swiftly and grabbed her hands, their grip firm and unyielding. The other two approached her from either side, and with a quick jerk, they began to rip at the delicate fabric of her gown. She gasped as the dress gave way, revealing her bare skin. The material fell around her in a pool of silk, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. A part of her wanted to scream, to fight, but she was paralyzed, her mind racing with the implications of this nightmare unfolding before her.

Her attempts to struggle were met with laughter from the men, their grips tightening around her wrists and ankles as they easily overpowered her. Despite her training in self-defense, she found herself utterly helpless. The man with the sharp jawline leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "You're not going anywhere, Miss Kim," he whispered, his fingers digging into her skin. Panic set in, and she tried to pull away, but her efforts were futile against their collective strength.

The AC in the room hummed softly, blowing cold air across her exposed skin. Goosebumps prickled along her arms and legs, and she shivered. The two men who had been holding her hands moved to her sides, each placing a hand on the clasp of her bra. The anticipation was palpable, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. With a flick of their thumbs, her bra fell away, leaving her bare and vulnerable before them. The cool air from the vent kissed her skin, making her nipples peak, and she felt a warm rush of embarrassment spread through her.

The man with the piercing eyes and sharp jawline leaned in and captured one of her nipples in his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sensitive flesh. She gasped, her eyes flying open. The shock of his touch was like a bolt of lightning, sending a jolting mix of fear and a strange, unwelcome arousal through her body. The tall, broad-shouldered man on the other side of her followed suit, his mouth moving down her stomach to the edge of her panties. The warmth of his breath sent shivers down her spine, and she tried to squirm away, but the other two held her firmly in place.

"Please stop," she managed to whimper, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please, I'll do anything." The men laughed, their grips tightening even more as they continued to explore her body. The man at her breasts bit down gently, and she felt the sharp sting of pain followed by a warm wetness as he sucked. Her body responded despite her mind's screaming protest, and she couldn't help the soft moan that escaped her lips.

The man between her legs spoke up, his voice gruff with excitement. "It's getting wet here, are you sure you don't want to do this?" The question hung in the air, thick with malice and lust. Minju felt a rush of cold dread as she realized the gravity of her situation. Her body was betraying her, her arousal growing against her will. She knew she had to find a way out of this, to regain control.

With surprising strength, she jerked her legs up, catching the tall man off guard. He stumbled back, cursing under his breath. The man with the sharp jawline released her nipple with a wet pop, his eyes narrowing. "Feisty, aren't we?" He said, smiling wickedly. Before she could react, the two men holding her down had torn away her last shred of dignity, leaving her panties in their hands. They tossed them aside, revealing her shaved pussy to their hungry gazes.

The second man, the one who had been watching her struggle with a twisted smile, leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Wow, you treat your pussy so well, Minju. It's like a sweet, ripe peach." His words were like a slap in the face, a cruel twist to the knot in her stomach. She had never felt so exposed, so violated. Yet, she couldn't ignore the way her body responded to his voice, the way her clit throbbed at his words.

The first man's wild suckling grew more intense, his teeth grazing her sensitive nipple, sending jolts of pain and pleasure through her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, the taste of blood mingling with the mint from the cloth. The man between her legs chuckled, his breath warm and humid against her inner thigh. "I can see why they call it a peach," he murmured, his tongue tracing the delicate folds of her sex. She felt his rough hands spread her open, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to be anywhere but here.

Minju moaned "ahh..." as the second man's tongue replaced his fingers, delving into her with a fervor that made her toes curl. His expertise was clear, his touch calculated to elicit the maximum response from her traitorous body. Her hips bucked, trying to escape the sensation, but the men held her in place, their laughter echoing through the room. She could feel herself getting wetter, a betrayal that only served to fuel their excitement. The man at her breasts took his cue, his teeth nipping at the soft flesh before his tongue soothed the sting.

"I can't, please stop," she gasped, the words barely coherent. She felt the man holding her hand tighten his grip, his thumb stroking her palm in a mockery of comfort.

"Are you going to cum, Minju?" he asked, his tone a blend of amusement and demand. Her heart raced as she felt the pressure building inside her, the man's relentless mouth on her sex pushing her closer to the edge she desperately wanted to avoid. Her body was a maelstrom of conflicting sensations, each touch and kiss sending waves of both fear and arousal crashing through her.

"Noo," she whimpered, trying to pull away, but her body was a traitor. Her hips bucked upward, seeking more, and she could feel the wetness of her pussy smearing against the leather chair. The man between her legs took this as an invitation, his tongue swirling around her clit with the precision of a maestro. The sensation was overwhelming, and she knew she was going to come.

"It's so much, I can't take it," she gasped out, her voice trembling. The man's mouth was relentless, his tongue flicking and stroking with a ferocity that had her nails digging into the armrest. The man at her breasts took the opportunity to bite down harder, the sting of pain sending her spiraling into a whirlwind of sensation. She felt the first wave of her orgasm building, her breath hitching in her throat.

The dam broke, and she squirted, her juices spraying out like a fountain, drenching the man's face and soaking the chair beneath her. Her legs shook violently, and she screamed out her climax, unable to hold back any longer. The men laughed, their grips loosening slightly in amazement. The one who had been teasing her clit looked up, her fluids dripping from his chin, a look of triumph in his eyes. "Look at that," he said, his voice thick with lust. "Our little peach is ripe for the picking."

The room spun as Minju's body convulsed through the orgasm she hadn't wanted to give them. She felt their hands on her, touching her everywhere, their breath hot and ragged in her ears. Her mind was a tumult of thoughts, a mix of horror and unwanted pleasure. "You're such a squirter, Minju," the man whispered, his voice a mix of awe and disgust. "And a slut." The word hung in the air, a knife twisting in her gut.

Her legs felt like jelly, but they released her, and she collapsed onto the floor, her ass up and her face down. The cool leather was a stark contrast to the heat of the room, the heat of her body. She trembled, her breath coming in ragged gasps, the fabric of the chair sticking to her sweat-slicked skin. The men stepped away, giving her a moment of respite, their eyes still hungry as they took in the sight of her exposed body.

Minju's mind raced as she lay on the floor, her body still quaking from the forced climax. She knew she had to find a way out of this nightmare, but her limbs felt like lead. The sound of a zipper echoed through the room, and she felt the panic rising again. Before she could even process the thought, the man with the sharp jawline had scooped her up and placed her on the chair, straddling him. Her legs were shaking, but she felt the unyielding grip of the other man as he stood behind her, his erection pressing into her back.

The tall, broad-shouldered man took position in front of her, his own arousal evident as he unbuckled his belt.

Minju's eyes widened in horror as she saw the massive erection sprouting from his pants, the tip glistening with precum. He mustered a twisted smile as he took his cock in hand and began to stroke it, his eyes never leaving hers. The sight was overwhelming, a monstrous spectacle that made her knees go weak. The thought of that thing inside her was unbearable, but she knew she had no choice. She braced herself, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt the first man's hands spreading her thighs wider. The head of his cock nudged against her wetness, the sheer size of it making her quiver with dread.

With a cruel chuckle, he pushed the tip in, stretching her pussy to its limits. She bit her lip to hold back a scream, her eyes watering as the pain shot through her. The man's girth was unbelievable, and she couldn't fathom how much more of him there was to come. The room around her grew fuzzy, the pain consuming her, as he inched his way deeper and deeper. The stretch was agonizing, but she knew that the worst was yet to come. He took his time, relishing her discomfort, his hands gripping her thighs tightly as he watched her face contort in pain.

"Ahh, so tight," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. Minju's nails dug into the man back as she tried to push herself away, but the other men held her in place, their hands roaming her body. The man behind her leaned in, his breath hot against her neck. "You're going to love this, baby," he whispered.

The first thrust was like a punch to the gut, the pain stealing the breath from her lungs. She felt herself stretch around him, the invasion both terrifying and exhilarating. Her body trembled, her pussy clenching around the thick, unyielding intrusion. Yet, amidst the horror, there was a spark of something else, a flicker of the pleasure that had betrayed her earlier. Her mind screamed for her to fight, but her body was already responding to the rhythmic motion, her muscles contracting around him in a desperate attempt to escape and yet, paradoxically, to feel more.

"Already orgasm?" The man with the sharp jawline mocked, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and disdain. "We didn't even start yet, you're such a slut." His words were like a slap in the face, a cold reminder of her helplessness. He began to move, his hips rising and falling with a brutal precision that had her teeth gritted. Each stroke sent a new wave of agony through her, but it was tinged with a dark, unwelcome craving. Her body was a traitor, her pussy greedily devouring every inch of him as he pushed deeper.

Minju's mind was a battleground of fear and arousal. She didn't want this, didn't want any of it, but she couldn't deny the way her body was responding. Her voice, shaky and desperate, broke through the cacophony of her thoughts. "Please move, I want it," she whispered, the words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. The room grew quiet, the only sound the wet slap of flesh against flesh, the ragged gasps of the men holding her down.

The man with the sharp jawline took her invitation and began to pound into her with a ferocity that made her eyes water. Each thrust sent shockwaves through her body, the pain melding with the pleasure until she could no longer tell them apart. She felt the man's mouth move to her nipple again, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak before he sucked it into his mouth. The sensation was intense, a symphony of pleasure that washed over the agony of the intrusion below.

"Ahh, yess," she found herself moaning, the words slipping out despite her best efforts to remain silent. "So big, fuck..." Her voice was a hoarse whisper, a plea that she didn't even realize she was making. The man's hips ground against her, his cock filling her completely, stretching her to the point of pain. But it was a pain that she was beginning to crave, a pain that seemed to hold the key to some twisted form of relief.

"Suck my nipples more," she begged, arching her back as the pleasure began to build again. The man took the cue, his teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh before he took one peak into his mouth, sucking hard. The sensation was exquisite, a sharp contrast to the brutal pounding she was receiving. She could feel the man's erection pulsing against her back, and she knew he was getting off on her suffering. But she didn't care anymore, she just needed the release.

The second man's breath was hot on her neck, his hand moving from her hip to the small of her back. His fingers began to trace the cleft of her ass, teasing her puckered hole. The sensation was alien and terrifying, but it sent a thrill through her body that she couldn't ignore. He chuckled darkly as she tensed, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. "You're so tight here too," he murmured, his thumb pressing lightly against her asshole. "But we'll loosen you up, don't worry."

Minju's voice was a desperate whisper. "No, no, not there," she pleaded, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to ignore the way her body responded to his touch. The first man took a moment to admire the look of fear and need on her face before resuming his relentless assault on her pussy. "Please," she gasped, her voice hoarse with need. "I can't, it's too much."

But the man didn't care; he kept trying to push his dick deeper into Minju's asshole. His thumb circled the tight ring of muscle, applying pressure that made her body spasm. She could feel her own wetness mingling with his spit, the slickness of it making her skin crawl. "You're going to take all of us," he said, his voice a promise of more torment. "And you're going to love it."

"Ahh, it feels weird," she whined, her body tensing up as his thumb breached her ass, the sensation foreign and overwhelming. The pain was intense, a stark contrast to the pleasure still pulsing through her pussy from the first man's relentless pounding. She could feel the head of the second man's cock pressing against her, the blunt pressure a stark reminder of the new violation that awaited her.

But then, something strange happened. The pain began to morph into something else, something that made her toes curl and her breath hitch. The pressure grew, building into a crescendo that matched the rhythm of the man's strokes inside her. Her pussy tightened around him, desperately seeking more, and she felt her orgasm start to crest. "Ahh, no," she moaned, her voice a mix of agony and ecstasy. "I can't take it, I'm cumming again, ahh, ahh, ahh..."

Her body convulsed, her pussy spasming around the thick cock that filled her so completely. The man's grip on her hips tightened, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he felt her climax. She could hear his grunts of pleasure, the sound of his balls slapping against her ass with each plunge. And then, as if on cue, the third man grabbed her head, his grip like a vice as he pushed his own erection into her mouth. "You're talking too much, Minju," he grunted, his voice low and menacing.

Her jaw ached from the stretch, but she took him in willingly, the taste of her own juices mingling with the saltiness of his cock. The sound of her own slurps filled her ears, the obscene sounds of her mouth working his shaft almost as degrading as the pain in her ass. "Glukkk glukk glukk," she moaned around the thick meat, the words muffled but clear in their meaning. She enjoyed it, the feeling of being used, of being their plaything. The humiliation only served to heighten her arousal, a dark thrill that she never knew existed within her.

For what felt like an eternity, the three men took turns using her body, their rhythmic thrusts becoming a symphony of depravity. The man in her pussy pounded with a relentlessness that was almost soothing in its consistency, filling her up completely. The man in her ass took his time, stretching her open with each slow, deliberate push until she was taking his full length, her cries of pain muffled by the cock in her throat. And the third, the one who had claimed her mouth, fucked her face with a vigor that had her eyes watering.

"I think I'm gonna cum, Minju," the man in her ass grunted, his grip on her hips tightening until it felt like he was trying to split her in two. His words were a declaration, a warning of the impending climax that she could feel building within him. And as if on cue, the man in her pussy sped up, his strokes becoming more erratic, his breathing ragged. She knew she was close too, the tension in her own body coiling tighter and tighter like a spring about to snap.

The room was a blur of movement, the men's bodies a tapestry of sweat and power as they used her. The pain was a living thing, pulsing through her, but it had transformed into something else. Something that made her body beg for more. And when the man in her mouth finally came, his hot seed spurting down her throat, she felt a strange sense of accomplishment. It was as if she had been given a role to play, and she was playing it to perfection.

The man in her pussy grunted, his hips bucking wildly as he reached his climax. He pulled out just in time to shoot his load all over her stomach, the hot, sticky fluid spattering her skin. The sight of his release only made the man in her ass more eager, his thrusts becoming more demanding, more primal. He grunted and pushed in deeper, the pressure building until she felt his cock swell and throb inside her. And then, with a roar, he came too, filling her up with his seed, the sensation so intense it brought tears to her eyes.

Gasping for air, Minju felt the men pull out of her in unison, their cocks slick with her juices. The sudden emptiness was almost as intense as the fullness she had just endured, and she couldn't help the whine of protest that escaped her lips. The sharp-jawed man chuckled, stroking her cheek with a gentle touch that seemed almost tender in the aftermath of the brutal assault. "You liked that, didn't you?" he whispered, his voice a dark caress that sent shivers down her spine.

She could feel their eyes on her, their gazes raking over her trembling form, assessing her reactions. "But we're not done yet," he said, his voice a promise of more to come. "Each one of us gets a turn in every hole. That's the deal."

Minju's body felt like it had been wrung out like a wet towel, her muscles quivering with exhaustion. Yet, she couldn't deny the need that still thrummed through her veins. She didn't know if she could take it, if she could handle the onslaught of pleasure and pain that awaited her. The men seemed to sense her hesitation, their smiles growing more predatory as they looked at her.

The sharp-jawed man took a step back, his cock still glistening with her juices. "Time to switch places," he said, his voice a low growl. The man who had been fucking her mouth stepped forward, his own erection bobbing eagerly as he took position behind her. He didn't bother with any pretense of gentleness, pushing into her ass without warning.

The pain was immediate and intense, but she found herself pushing back, her body craving the fullness she had just felt moments ago. The man behind her took the hint, his strokes growing faster and deeper until she was crying out around the cock that filled her pussy. The man who had just her pussy come to her mouth, stroking his member as he watched the scene unfold before him. "Look at her," he said, his voice thick with lust. "Such a good little slut."

The second man's grip on her pussy was like iron, his thumb pressing against her clit as he drove into her ass. She squirted again, the force of her orgasm surprising her. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she felt the warmth of his cum fill her, his grunts of pleasure echoing through the room. And then, it was the third man's turn, his cock sliding into her pussy with a wet, gasping sound. She felt so full, so stretched, that she thought she might split apart.

But she didn't. Instead, she took it, her body moving with the rhythm of their abuse, her hips rising and falling as she was used in ways she had never imagined. The man in her ass began to spank her, each smack sending a shockwave of sensation through her. She could feel her orgasm building again, her pussy clenching around his cock, her ass tightening around the other. The sharp sting of the slaps only heightened the pleasure, sending her spiraling closer and closer to the edge.

And then, with a roar, the man in her ass came, his cum flooding her bowels, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. She felt his cock jerk inside her, the pulse of his release sending her own orgasm crashing over her. She screamed around the cock in her mouth, her body shaking with the force of it. The man in her pussy took his cue, his thrusts growing more frantic, his grip on her hips almost painful.

And when he came, it was with a snarl, his cum spurting out in hot, thick ropes that coated her inner thighs and dripped down to the floor. The man who had been watching stepped forward, his own erection now fully restored. He pulled out of her mouth, his cock shiny with her saliva, and moved to take his place in her ass.

The cycle continued, each man taking her in a different combination of holes, their pleasure becoming a symphony of grunts and slaps, moans and whimpers. She was theirs to use, to fill, to claim. And as the night went on, Minju realized she didn't just want them to cum inside her; she needed it. The thought of their seed filling her, marking her as theirs, was intoxicating.

With each new thrust, she felt herself slipping further into a dark, depraved world that she had never known existed. But she didn't care. All she cared about was the feeling of their hands on her body, their cocks inside her, the taste of their desire. And when the last man finally came, his hot cum spurting into her mouth, she swallowed it down greedily, her eyes never leaving his.

"Good girl," he murmured, stroking her cheek. And in that moment, she knew she was theirs. She had been broken, reshaped into a vessel for their pleasure. And she liked it. She liked it more than she could ever admit. The room was a blur of satiated bodies, their breaths heavy with satisfaction. But Minju's mind was already racing, planning how she could get more of this twisted game.

As she lay there, her body trembling from the exertion, she felt a hand on her chin, tilting her head up to look into the sharp-jawed man's eyes.

"How many squirt do you have for us today, Minju?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

Her eyes searched his, desperation melding with the haze of pleasure that still clouded her judgment. "I don't know... maybe 10 or 15... I can't think," she replied, her voice a soft whimper. The idea of being able to squirt that many times seemed impossible, yet her body had already proven it could handle more than she had ever thought possible.

The sharp-jawed man chuckled, his hand moving to cup her chin. "Good, because we're not done with you yet," he said, his voice a dark promise that sent a shiver down her spine. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "We're going to drain you, Minju. Every last drop of cum you're worth."

The fourth man, who had been watching the whole time with a mix of envy and anticipation, stood up from the couch. He was the most muscular of them all, his broad chest heaving with excitement as he unzipped his pants. His erection sprang out, thick and veiny, a testament to his desire. He stepped forward, the smirk on his face growing as he took in the sight of her used body, glistening with their cum.

Minju's eyes widened as he approached, her mind reeling from the sheer size of his cock. It was easily the biggest she had ever seen, dwarfing the others that had already claimed her. A bolt of fear shot through her, but her body, now a willing accomplice in her degradation, responded with a fresh wave of arousal. "No, no," she whispered, her voice a mix of fear and lust. "It won't fit."

The sharp-jawed man leaned in closer, his smile cold and cruel. "Just shut up," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "Because you can't run anymore." His words sent a chill down her spine, a stark reminder of her captivity. She was theirs, and she knew it. The fourth man stepped closer, his hand stroking the length of his erection as he looked down at her with a hunger that was almost palpable.

With trembling hands, Minju reached up and took the head of his cock in her mouth, feeling it stretch her lips to the point of pain. He was so thick, so much more than she had ever had before, and she knew it would be a challenge to take all of him. But she was determined to try, her need for their approval overriding any sense of self-preservation she might have once had.

Her tongue swirled around the tip, tasting the salty precum that had begun to leak out. He groaned in pleasure, his hand coming to the back of her head to guide her movements. His grip grew firmer, pushing her down further, and she felt the head of his cock touch the back of her throat. She gagged, her eyes watering, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she took a deep breath through her nose and relaxed her throat, willing herself to accommodate his monstrous size.

The fourth man's eyes lit up as she took more of him, his hips starting to rock gently, pushing deeper with each stroke. "Ur throat is so tight and wet," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. His words sent a shiver of excitement down her spine, the praise fueling her determination. She took him as deep as she could, her throat convulsing around his shaft as she fought the urge to gag.

The sharp-jawed man watched with a sadistic grin, his hand moving to fondle her breasts as he whispered, "Good girl, take it all." The words were a command, and she obeyed, her mouth moving up and down the thick length of the fourth man's cock. His hands tightened in her hair, pulling her closer, his strokes growing more forceful.

The pressure built in her throat, the taste of him becoming more intense with each passing second. She could feel him swelling, his cock growing even bigger, and she knew he was close. "Aghh, fuck," he groaned, his hips jerking as he buried himself deep into her mouth. "I'm gonna cum, don't you dare spill it out." The threat was clear, and she responded with a muffled moan of understanding, her eyes watering as she braced herself for the onslaught.

And then, with a roar, he did. His cum shot into her throat, hot and thick, filling her mouth. She swallowed convulsively, her eyes squeezed shut as she focused on not choking. He pulled out, his cock still twitching as he stepped back, panting. "Look at her," the sharp-jawed man said, his voice filled with amusement. "Such a good little cockslut."

Minju felt a twisted sense of pride at the words, her cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. The men around her chuckled, their eyes gleaming with lust. "Now, let's see if you can handle this," .

This one was different, she realized with a sinking feeling. His cock was longer and thicker than the others, a weapon of pure pleasure and pain. She tried to sit up, her body already feeling the strain of the previous assaults, but the sharp-jawed man pushed her back down. "No more games, Minju," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You're going to take him, and you're going to enjoy it."

The fourth man took position between her legs, his cock bobbing as he stared down at her trembling form. "Please," she whispered, her voice a hoarse plea. "I can't..." But it was too late. With a brutal shove, he plunged into her pussy, the sound of her wetness mingling with her whimpers of pain. Her body was so sensitive, so overwhelmed, that it was all she could do to not scream.

He began to move, his strokes long and deep, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Please, no more," she whimpered, her pussy clenching around his cock. But he paid her no heed, his focus solely on his own pleasure.

"You're too tight," he grunted, his grip on her hips tightening as he pushed in harder.

The sharp-jawed man leaned in, his hand moving to her clit, his touch surprisingly gentle. "You'll get used to it," he whispered, his thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves.

And then, with a suddenness that took her breath away, the pain disappeared, replaced by a wave of pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable. Her body arched off the bed, her eyes rolling back in her head as she came again, her pussy contracting around the invading cock. The fourth man took her through the motions, his strokes growing more forceful, more demanding. She felt like she was being split in two, the sensation so overwhelming she didn't know if she could handle it.

But she did. Each thrust sent her spiraling higher and higher, until she was a writhing mess of pleasure and pain, her body a canvas for their depravity. "Fuck me," she moaned, the words slipping from her lips unbidden. "Fuck me harder."

The sharp-jawed man chuckled, his eyes gleaming as he watched her degradation. "Look at you," he said, his voice thick with lust. "You're loving this."

The fourth man took her words to heart, his strokes becoming more punishing, his cock stretching her pussy to its limits. She felt herself climbing again, the pressure building until she was on the edge, her body trembling with the effort to hold back. "Agh, I'm gonna cum," she screamed, her voice raw and desperate.

He pulled out suddenly, leaving her feeling empty and exposed. "Do it," he said, his voice a demand. "Squirt on my cock." He stroked himself, his cock slick with her juices, and she could see the challenge in his eyes.

With a trembling hand, she reached down between her legs, her fingers finding her clit. It was swollen and sensitive, the slightest touch sending a jolt of pleasure through her. She began to rub it, her eyes locked on his, her breathing coming in ragged gasps. The sharp-jawed man leaned in closer, his hand moving to her hip, his grip firm and possessive. "Come on," he urged, his voice low and hungry. "Show us how much of a slut you really are."

The pressure grew, her body coiled like a spring about to snap. With a final, desperate cry, she let go, her pussy clenching around the fourth man's cock as she squirted. The sensation was like nothing she had ever felt before, a deluge of wetness that soaked the bed beneath her. The men cheered, their eyes alight with excitement as they watched her body convulse with pleasure.

The fourth man leaned in, his hand moving from her hip to her chin, tilting her head back so he could kiss her. His tongue invaded her mouth, tasting the remnants of the fourth man's cum. "Keep going," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "We want more."

Her hand moved faster on her clit, her hips rising off the bed as she felt the next orgasm building. The sharp-jawed man's cock was back in her mouth, his movements growing more urgent as he felt her body tighten around his shaft. She squirted again.

Her whole body was trembling uncontrollably now, the intensity of her orgasms threatening to overwhelm her. It was as if her body had taken on a mind of its own, the need for more pleasure an insatiable beast that demanded to be fed. "It's too much," she gasped . "I think I'm gonna collapse."

But the fourth man just chuckled, his eyes glinting with malicious excitement. "No, you can't," he said, his voice a dark caress. "We're not done with you yet." He reached down, his hand grabbing her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You're going to keep squirting for us, no matter what."

With a grunt, he pulled her to the edge of the bed and flipped her over, so she was ass up and face down. Her cheek pressed into the wet, sticky mattress, she could feel the coolness of the spilled cum against her skin. The sharp-jawed man stepped back, watching with a cruel smile as the fourth man took his place. His cock was still hard, still thick and demanding, and she knew what was coming.

He didn't bother with preamble, simply pushing her legs apart and sinking into her pussy with a ferocity that took her breath away. Her squirt had only made him hungrier, and now he was going to feast. The first few thrusts were so hard she thought she'd pass out, her body unprepared for the intensity. But she didn't. Instead, she felt her pussy stretch to accommodate him, her walls tightening around him as she took him in, inch by brutal inch.

The sharp-jawed man watched, stroking his own cock as he observed the scene with a sadistic smile. "That's it," he encouraged. "Make her squirt like the slut she is." The other men murmured in agreement, their eyes glued to her ass as it bounced with every punishing thrust.

The fourth man's strokes grew more erratic. With a snarl, he grabbed her hips, his cock slamming into her with a force that made the bed shake. "Do it," he grunted, his voice strained. "Give me your squirt."

And she did. With a scream that was equal parts pleasure and pain, Minju's pussy clenched around him, sending a jet of fluid shooting out, soaking the bed even more. He groaned, his movements becoming more frenzied, his grip on her hips bruising. The sharp-jawed man watched with a mix of fascination and hunger, his own hand moving faster on his erection. "So good," he murmured, his voice tight with his own need.

The fourth man's rhythm grew erratic, his hips slamming into her ass with a force that made her teeth chatter. She felt his cock swell, the pressure inside her building until she thought she'd burst. And then, with a final, guttural roar, he came, his cum filling her to the brim. She could feel it leaking out of her, running down her thighs, mixing with the mess that was already there.

"Yes, yes," she moaned, her body shaking with the intensity of her own orgasm. She had never felt so used, so completely owned.

The fourth man's cock twitched inside her, the final pulses of his cum filling her until she felt like she would overflow. The feeling was indescribable, a mix of fullness and satisfaction that she had never experienced before. Her pussy quivered around him, the muscles clenching involuntarily, eager to milk every last drop.

It's so full," Minju murmured, her voice muffled by the pillow she was face-first in, her body still shaking from the last round of brutal ecstasy. The fourth man's cum was still dripping from her pussy, leaving a sticky trail down her thighs as she tried to catch her breath. The sharp-jawed man took a step closer, his cock still standing at attention despite the depraved scene that had just played out. "Look at what a mess you've made," he said, his voice a mix of amusement and disgust.

The fourth man chuckled, his hand moving to her hip as he pulled her back onto her knees. "Don't worry, baby," he said, his voice a sickly sweet promise. "I've got plenty more where that came from." His grip tightened, his cock, which had only just begun to soften, now growing hard again with the renewed interest in her body.

The sharp-jawed man took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face. "You think you're special?" he sneered. "You think we won't use you up and spit you out?" His hand came down, slapping her ass with a wet sound that echoed through the room. "You're nothing but a cum dumpster to us."

The words stung, but Minju couldn't deny the truth. She was theirs to use, their toy to discard when they were done. Yet, the thought only made her more eager, her body begging for another round of their brutal attentions. "No," she whispered, the word barely audible. "I'm not... I can't..." But she knew she could. Some twisted part of her wanted to, needed to prove she could take it all.

The fourth man grinned, his eyes glinting with the thrill of the challenge. He bent down, his grip strong as he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he positioned his cock at her soaking entrance. The sharp-jawed man moved in, his hand reaching for her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "You're going to take it all," he said, his voice a low growl. "Every drop ."

With a roar, the fourth man thrust into her, lifting her off the bed as he began to pound her from behind. The sharp-jawed man held her hand, their fingers entwined as he watched the scene unfold, his own arousal evident in the tight grip and the way he licked his lips. She could feel the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes raked over her body, and it only made her more wet, her pussy clenching around the thick cock invading her.

"Ahh... yes," she moaned, her voice a desperate cry. "So good, I'm cumming again." The words were torn from her as she felt the familiar tightening in her belly, her muscles contracting as the orgasm built. It was a sweet agony, the kind that made her want to scream and beg for mercy, all while pushing back against the man inside her, urging him to go deeper.

The fourth man's grip on her hips tightened, his own hips slapping against her ass as he drove into her with renewed vigor. "That's it," he grunted, his voice strained with his own approaching climax. "Squirt for me, baby. Squirt like the slut you are."

Minju's body responded to his words, the muscles in her pussy clenching around his cock as she began to squirt uncontrollably. The sensation was overwhelming, her body seemingly having a mind of its own as it sought to please the men who had so completely claimed her. The sharp-jawed man's eyes widened in amazement as he watched the spectacle, his hand moving to stroke his own cock faster. "Fuck, look at her," he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "She's like a fucking fountain."

The fourth man's eyes glazed over with pleasure, his strokes becoming more erratic as he felt his own climax approaching. "Yeah, baby," he grunted. "Come on, let's do it together." His hand moved from her hip to her clit, his thumb rubbing the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts. "I'm gonna fill you up so good."

Minju's body responded to his touch, the sensation of his cock inside her combined with the pressure on her clit pushing her closer to the edge. She could feel another orgasm building, the tension in her abdomen tightening with each passing second. "Yes," she moaned, her voice barely recognizable. "I'm gonna cum again."

The sharp-jawed man's grip on her hand tightened, his eyes never leaving hers as he whispered, "Show us, baby. Let us see it all." His words were a command, one that she desperately wanted to obey. She felt her pussy clench around the fourth man's cock, her body begging for more, for the release she knew was just a heartbeat away.

"I think this is my last squirt," Minju gasped as the fourth man's cock swelled inside her, his cum shooting into her with a force that made her entire body shake. The sensation was indescribable, a mix of pain and pleasure that left her gasping for breath.

And then, with a grunt of his own release, the fourth man pulled out, leaving her pussy gaping and empty. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed to the floor, her body trembling uncontrollably. The sticky wetness of her squirt and their combined cum coated the floor beneath her, a stark reminder of her newfound role.

Minju's eyes had gone blurry, the world spinning around her in a haze of pleasure and pain. She felt like she was going to faint, the intensity of her orgasms leaving her dizzy and weak. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving with the effort to fill her lungs. The sharp-jawed man stepped closer, a look of dark satisfaction on his face. "Look at you," he said, his voice a mix of amazement and contempt. "So fucking pathetic."

The other men chuckled, their eyes glinting with lust as they watched her collapse. The fourth man reached down, his hand wrapping around her arm, and hauled her to her feet. "Come on," he said, his voice gruff. "You're not done yet." He tugged her along behind him, her legs wobbly and unsteady. She could feel the warmth of the cum running down her thighs, a sticky mess that seemed to cling to her skin.

They brought her to the bathroom, the cold tiles a stark contrast to the heat of the room she'd just left. The sharp-jawed man flipped on the lights, and she blinked against the harsh brightness. The room was large, with a claw-footed bathtub in the center and a gleaming chrome shower in the corner.

The fourth man held her up, his grip unyielding as he positioned her in front of the mirror. She looked at her reflection, not recognizing the woman who stared back at her. Her makeup was smeared, her dress torn and stained, her eyes swollen from crying. She was a mess, a shell of the glamorous starlet she had been just hours ago.

"Look at yourself," the sharp-jawed man said, his voice a mix of amusement and disgust. "You're nothing but a used cum rag now." The words hit her like a slap in the face.

Minju's knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the cold, hard floor. Her legs felt like jelly, her body utterly drained from the onslaught of pleasure and pain she'd endured. She lay there, her eyes unfocused, staring at the reflection in the mirror. She could see the bruises already beginning to form on her hips and thighs, the marks of their possession etched into her skin.

The men formed a circle around her, their cocks still hard and glistening with her juices. The sharp-jawed man stepped forward, his expression a twisted mix of amusement and cruelty. "Time to clean up," he announced, his voice echoing in the bathroom. And with that, they began to piss all over her. The warm streams of urine rained down on her body, washing away the cum and sweat that coated her.

Minju's eyes widened in horror, her body tense with humiliation. She had never felt so degraded, so utterly used. Yet, as the urine hit her skin, she felt a strange sense of relief, as if the sting of it was washing away the last remnants of her dignity. The smell was overpowering, the stench of piss mingling with the musky scent of sex that filled the room. She tried to look away, but the sharp-jawed man grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze in the mirror.

"Look at yourself," he said, his voice cold and mocking. "This is what you are now. A dirty little cum slut." His words sent a shiver down her spine, even as her pussy clenched around the emptiness inside her. It was as if her body had been rewired to crave their degradation, to thrive on their contempt.

As the last of their piss rained down on her, she felt herself slipping away, the world going dark around the edges. Her breathing grew shallow, her vision swimming as she teetered on the brink of consciousness. The sharp-jawed man stepped back, his smile fading as he took in her condition. "Looks like she's had enough for now," he said, his voice deceptively casual.

The fourth man chuckled, zipping up his pants. "Let's leave her here to clean up. Maybe she'll learn to appreciate her new role." The others laughed, their footsteps echoing through the room as they left, the door slamming shut behind them.

Alone, Minju lay on the cold floor, her body a map of bruises and cum stains. She could feel the stickiness between her cheeks, the result of the fourth man's merciless assault. The smell of piss hung heavy in the air, a humiliating reminder of her submission.

Her vision swam, and she felt the room spin as the last of her strength gave way. With a final whimper, she passed out, her body giving in to the relentless waves of pain and pleasure that had overtaken her.

When she awoke, it was to the harsh light of morning filtering through the bathroom window. The floor was cold and sticky beneath her, and she could feel the crust of dried cum and piss on her skin. Her eyes felt gritty, and her throat was parched, the taste of bile and semen still lingering in her mouth. She tried to sit up, but her body protested, the ache in her ass and pussy a stark reminder of the night's events.

With a groan, she managed to push herself onto her hands and knees, her head spinning as she took in the room. The bathtub was stained, the floor around it a mess of cum and urine. Her reflection in the mirror was a horror show, her face puffy from crying, her once-pristine dress torn and stained beyond recognition. The sharp-jawed man's words echoed in her mind, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of disgust and shame.

Mr. Park's voice grew louder as he approached the bathroom door, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor. "Minju," he called out, his tone one of forced concern. "Are you okay in there?" The sound of his voice was like a knife in her gut, a stark reminder of the betrayal that had led to her current state. She didn't bother to respond, knowing that her voice would only betray her.

The door swung open, and he stepped inside, his eyes immediately going to the mess on the floor. His expression shifted from concern to one of cold calculation. "You've made quite a mess," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. She could see the disgust in his eyes as he took in the state of her body, cum spurted from her ass and pussy like some grotesque art project.

Minju's eyes fell to the floor, unable to meet his gaze. She felt a tear slip down her cheek, the only sign of the turmoil inside her. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. But she knew that sorry wasn't enough. Not for what she'd done, and not for the way she'd let them treat her.

Mr. Park sighed, his eyes scanning the room before returning to her. "Look at you," he said, his voice a mix of pity and revulsion. "What have you become?" He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to touch her face. She flinched away, the simple contact feeling like a brand of ownership she didn't want.

"Don't," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I can't..."

"You can," he said, his tone firm. "You will." He grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "This is your new life now. Get used to it."

Minju felt a spark of defiance flare up inside her, but it was quickly snuffed out by the weight of his stare. She knew he was right. She had no choice but to submit to their desires, to embrace the slut that she had become. With a heavy heart, she nodded. "Yes, Mr. Park."

The week passed in a blur of pain and pleasure, the men taking her whenever and however they wanted. Her body was a playground for their desires, a canvas for their depravity. Yet, amidst the pain and humiliation, she found a strange solace in her new role. Each time she squirted for them, each time she took their cum, she felt a sense of belonging, of purpose.

When she finally returned to work, she was a different woman. She walked with a newfound confidence, her eyes downcast in submission. The other employees whispered about her, wondering what had changed. But she knew. She was theirs, their little cum slut, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

One night, after a particularly grueling session with the sharp-jawed man and his friends, she sent a message to Mr. Park. "Thanks for that surprise," she wrote, her thumbs moving over the screen with surprising ease. "Right now, I know the truth about myself. I am a slut for a big cock."

The response was almost instant. "Good girl," he texted back. "Keep that in mind. We have more surprises in store for you."

Her stomach fluttered with a mix of excitement and dread. She knew she had no say in the matter, that she would take whatever they gave her and ask for more. And she liked it. The thought of it made her wet, her pussy clenching with anticipation.

The next week at work was a blur of meetings and shoots, each one more grueling than the last. But she never forgot her message to Mr. Park. It played on repeat in her mind, a constant reminder of who and what she was. And she liked it. The idea of being used by those powerful men again, of feeling their cocks fill her up and empty her out, was a thrill she couldn't resist.

On her lunch break, she found herself in the bathroom, her hand slipping into her panties to touch her still-sensitive clit. The thought of their next meeting had her pussy soaked, and she couldn't help but wonder what they had planned for her. Would it be more of the same, or would they find new ways to break her, to make her squirt for them?

The anticipation was almost too much to bear. But she knew she could handle it. She had to. She was their cum slut, after all.

#kpop smut #minju smut #gg smut #kpop gg #girl group smut #izone minju smut #izone smut #male reader

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chromehoney · 3 days ago

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AT THE SAME DAMN TIME, chap one, chap two, chap three, chap four.

synopsis; After a messy, short-lived situationship with Stack—reckless, flirtatious, and all the wrong kinds of possessive—you swear you’re done with hood boys who can’t keep up. But when you drop something off at his mother’s store and find both Stack and his older twin brother Smoke inside, something shifts.

Two weeks passed.

Fast, but heavy.

You hadn’t seen Stack since the pool party—not in person, not online, not even on accident. Word in the group chats was that he was “back on” with Mary, whatever that meant. You didn’t care enough to ask. Not officially. But every time you slid through Ms. Moore’s shop lately, it was Smoke sitting by the register, not Stack.

And Smoke?

He’d been showing you attention like he had time to make up for. Late-night texts turned into all-day conversations. Good morning messages that sounded deeper than friendly. You found yourself laughing at your phone more than you meant to. Thinking about his hands when they brushed yours. Replaying that poolside kiss in the back of your head like a favorite song.

He didn’t move fast. But he moved with intention. Which is why it felt so weird when, today, you pulled open the beauty shop door and saw Stack behind the counter. Not Smoke. Not Ms. Moore. Him. His eyes snapped up before the bell even finished jingling.

He froze.

You stopped mid-step, but it was too late to turn around now.

He looked the same—white tee, black jeans, chain glinting under the soft yellow lights. Only difference was… his energy. He looked at you like you weren’t supposed to be there. Like you’d messed something up just by walking in.

“Oh,” you said dryly. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“Clearly,” he muttered, eyes narrowing.

You walked past him anyway, hips swaying more than usual out of spite, and headed straight to the haircare aisle just as Ms. Moore came out from the back. “My favorite girl!” she smiled, arms open. “What you doin’ back again, baby?” “Needed more of that aloe oil,” you said, hugging her. “My scalp been actin’ up.”

She nodded knowingly and handed you a jar without hesitation. You two talked for a few minutes—hair textures, protective styles, whether or not you should try copper highlights this summer. The whole time, you could feel Stack’s gaze on you from behind. He wasn’t even subtle. His jaw was tight. His hands flexed against the counter like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to say it without cussing.

Eventually, Ms. Moore was called to the back by a client, promising she’d be back in five. You were halfway to the register when Stack finally moved.You didn’t hear his steps—you just felt him near.“So,” he started, low and rough behind you. “What’s up with you and Smoke?” You blinked. Turned halfway. “What you mean?” “I mean,” he stepped closer, “he been smilin’ lately. Textin’ all the damn time. That ain’t like him.” You crossed your arms. “You keepin’ tabs on your brother’s moods now?”

“Nah, I keep tabs on you.” That made your brow arch. You scoffed. “Go be with Mary. Mind her business instead.”He kissed his teeth hard. His hand reached out, fingers brushing your waist, warm and too familiar.

“Cut that shit out wit’ me.”

You frowned. “What—?”

“Cut that shit out,” he repeated, stepping closer, voice lower, darker. “You tryna act like I ain’t ever mean nothin’. Like you ain’t still think about me. Like you cool just givin’ that mouth to my brother.” You froze. His grip on your waist wasn’t tight—but it was there. And it was him. All over again. That same heat. That same pressure. That same familiar pull.

“Stack—”

“You think you gon’ play me to the side and play house wit’ Smoke? That what you think this is?” His voice was so close to your ear now. You could smell the mint on his breath. Could feel the jealousy sitting behind his teeth. “Touch me again and I’ma scream,” you said, soft but sharp.

He let go. But his eyes didn’t back off.

“You just gon’ throw all that away, huh?” he muttered. “For him?” You straightened your top and stepped away. “You already threw it away. I’m just finally done holdin’ it.” Stack didn’t respond. Just watched you with that same bitter grimace as you walked to the counter and rang yourself up. Ms. Moore returned just in time to hand you a sample bag and a smile.

“See you next week, baby.”

“Yup,” you said, eyes pointedly avoiding Stack’s. “Hopefully Smoke’ll be back by then.” And then you walked out. Not flinching. Not looking back. Even if your stomach was doing flips.

who yall think she gone end up wit? and don’t mind how short this shit is, i just wanted to put something out before the fourth of july andddd before my birthday since it is next week! and i ain’t gone be thinking bout writing while i do my birthday festivities! as always ignore errors.

@cursed-carmine for the dividers!

taglist for this series! @thickianaaaa @gwenda-fav @spicypiscesssss @d1gitalb4rbie @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @queenofklonnie22 @gunznroses4life @mjustag1rl @maniifesto @nikkitheunpredict @yana3sworld @katezy2x @kqmbr1a @5starsirl @bl3ssyn

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astrasng · 10 months ago

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SCRATCH || BANGCHAN

MINORS DNI!

pairing: idol!chan x female!reader

summary: thanks to chan's solo stage you finally made him yours.

warnings: blood (from scratches obv), handjob, spanking, petnames (baby, honey, angel, sweetheart) unprotected sex, cursing

author's note: from my previous breakdown post bc of chan got me in an inspired mood so i made a little somethin somethin. still what the fuck was he thinking. also, if you're a regular reader by any chance (ily) you might have noticed i write jealousy tropes, IDKK WHY THO SORRY

important!: this is pure fiction, the act in this story is by my imagination and not based off true events. please do not copy the work.

enjoy!

It isn’t like you’re not supportive of your boyfriend. You’ve always been there for every idea, even if you thought that it wasn’t the best one. The things you have to deal with him being an idol settled deep into your mind, already accepting the consequences that may come in the way. But it’s not like you would ever give up your relationship with Chan just because he’s doing risky things that you may not like.

To be honest, it kind of became an advantage for you.

You would watch him having fun on stage with the other members, sometimes splashing water at each other, making everyone in the crowd either cheer or laugh at their silly behavior. There were times when they got sentimental, wishing all the happiness for STAY and the members for the future. It made you emotional just in the same way as you would watch them through the TV in your shared apartment.

And then there were times where you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together and wait for him.

“Had fun today?”

The sarcastic tone caught Chan’s attention as he’s doing his everyday night routine, just as he’s finishing up his shaving session. He knows exactly why you’re talking and reacting to him this way, you’ve been all fidgety with him since he got home from the first day of the tour, and when he stepped inside the apartment he saw you still sitting on the couch, not welcoming him in with the usual hug he gets.

Chan looks a little bit to the side so he can get a reflection of you changing in the room, the towel you used laying on the ground after taking a shower. Without him.

“Of course.It’s always heartwarming to meet with STAY’s. And the kids were so hyped about getting solo stages too.”

Now that just boils your blood.

“Oh, were they?” You keep your back facing him,not letting him see how frustrated you really are about the game he’s playing. “They were doing an amazing job indeed.” You shut your eyes momentarily before putting on your velvet nightgown, and slowly walking towards the bathroom where your boyfriend is staying.

“Yeah, I assume you saw mine too, right? Did you see the special makeup they did on me?” With pride he chuckles while putting away his shaving equipment, patting his dry as he picks up his toothbrush. His question should have a very easy and simple answer, yet here you are ready to give him a brainwash about not caring about your mental health. Cause what the hell was that? You can’t even form the offensive words you want to say to him out of frustration, you could never say anything negative about his performances in general — but the way he’s talking about it, so full of himself, you can’t help yourself. “I wonder who made all that.” It slips out, biting down on your lip softly to stop yourself from further embarrassment.

“It must’ve been the makeup artist of course, but I could’ve done a better job if you ask me.” You step into the bathroom just as you finish your sentence, Chan unable to answer due to his mouth full with mint scented bubbles.

As you want to pass behind him, you swipe your delicate fingers on his defined back muscles, the photos of him painted in scratches for the performance fills your vision.

“Makeup was unnecessary,to be honest.”

There’s something glinting in Chan’s eyes as a lopsided smile appears on his face, looking at you through the mirror placed above the bathroom counter. As the words leave your lips, he licks his plump lips slowly, putting away his toothbrush he just used. “If I had asked you, would you do it?”

The air stops suddenly in your throat,taking your eyes off of him as you busy yourself with something else infront of you. “Well…it doesn’t matter now.”

“Oh it does, honey.” Chan says lowly, his voice suddenly closer as you want it to, and you know perfectly he’s only a step away from you. “If I only knew my baby just wanted to help me out in my solo,” He snakes his arms around your waist slowly, his bare chest pressing into your clothed back as he’s standing behind you, whispering in your ear. “I could’ve used some help.” With that, he pressed a slow open mouth kiss on the side of your neck. his hands caressing the skin on your stomach.

“Should we recreate it and show it to my makeup artist?”

Chan whispers against your ear, biting down slightly on your earlobe as he makes eye contact with you through the mirror. You look already disheveled just from his touch, your nightgown scrunched slightly up as he kneads your stomach, one of his hands slowly inching up to your breasts. “Would you like that, baby?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Chan – mhphm…” A small moan leaves your lips as he pinches your nipple in his slender fingers, continuing to make out with your neck as you try and compose yourself.

“How did you mean it then?” He grunts out as you push your backside on his crotch, his cock twitching already in his sleeping pants at the thought of you being jealous. “Tell me.”

“I–I just…” You try to form words, keeping yourself together and not yet falling for his words but then Chan sneakily slides his other down towards your waiting heat, his finger immediately meeting with slickness between your pussy lips. He groans again, grinding into your ass to ease the pain from being so hard. “Baby, if you want to scratch my back that badly just say it.” There’s something hiding behind his words which makes you shut your eyes from the pleasure he’s causing, your hands flying on the counter for support. “I kind of…wanted to..” Your breath hitches, cutting off your sentence when Chan flips your nightgown upwards to expose your wet pussy, your naked ass on display in front of him as he takes his hand away from your breast and caresses one of your cheeks. “You wanted what? Do you need some help darling?” He grunts under his breath when he feels you clench around his fingers, plugging it in and out to take your breath away. You moan out when you feel his fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot that makes your back arch.

But Chan doesn’t give in that easily.

You suddenly feel a stinging pain on one of your cheeks, moaning out shamelessly from the sensation he just caused with his hand. When you pick your head up you see Chan already looking at you through the mirror, lust filled eyes raking over your already fucked out face. “Say it baby.”

You can feel his hand smoothing over the place he just spanked, the air in the bathroom so humid you can feel yourself getting sweaty again. His finger never stopped working inside you, with that spank almost knocking you over the edge.

When Chan doesn’t see you changing your mind and finally answer him, he only clicks his tongue and tilts his head to the side. Without a second thought, he slaps your ass again, his finger circling around your clit rapidly when he hears your pornographic moans echoing in the bathroom.

“I–I wanted to mark you!”

And there it is.

As you practically moan out the words, Chan’s finger is coated thickly with your cum as his words made you tip over the edge. Your whole body shaking in his arms as you come down your high slowly, trying to gather your thoughts and realizing what you just said.

When the words finally leave your mouth he can’t help but smirk, the possessive side of you finally showing for the first time in your relationship. “And why is that honey?” Chan teases you, seeing your ears red from the sudden confession you just made.

“Just so everyone knows that you’re mine..” You mumble quietly, shame overcoming you as it paints your cheeks deep red.

Something snaps inside Chan. He can’t help but groan out, his cock painfully hard against his pants as he turns you around and places his hands on your throat, slightly adding pressure on it. Before you know it, you’re pressed up against the wall, his lips already chasing yours.

“Do it baby.” He kisses you, his tongue sneaks through his lips to taste your lip balm you applied earlier he loves so much. “I want you to do your worst on me,” He whispers between kisses, his hand suddenly picking you up to put your legs around his waist. Your whole body welcomes him, your mouth opens as he slides his tongue inside once again, and your fingers landing into his freshly washed hair as he devours your lips. His hand scrunches up your gown once again before he presses his hardness into your slick core.

At the contact you moan out loudly, already wanting him inside you, to ease your pain that he caused.

“Feel that baby? It’s all yours. Nobody else has that but you.”

With a whine you throw your head on the wall, Chan’s lips continuing to leaves red splotches on your sensitive skin as he takes his hand and pushes down his boxers, hissing out the minute the air hits his precum covered cock, tip red from all the waiting and veins bulging with excitement.

He drags his wet tip over your puffy lips, spreading them open more to make room for himself when he circles around your clit. As he slides his length between your folds, you feel all emotions gather up inside you, the feeling too hazy as your vision becomes blurry from the need. “Channie,,please..”

“‘s okay baby,I’ll give it to you.” He chants when he finally pushes his tip inside you, groaning out from you uncontrollably clenching around his cock when he nearly settles halfway in. “You have to relax,angel. You make it impossible for me to–”

“Chan — I’m so sorry, I–” He hears you gasp out, your body all tensed up, your eyes wide open as you look into the mirror across you. He looks swiftly behind him to see your naked bodies melted into one, and then it catches his eye.

With one thrust he settles fully inside you, moaning from how incredibly tight you are around his length, keeping himself back to not buckle into you rapidly. He puts his hand on your chin, making you look into his eyes and not on his blood covered back. “I asked you to do this, right?” With a softened gaze, he makes sure you understand what he’s saying, not taking his eyes off of you until he sees your lust filled expression again instead of worry ones. “Right baby?”

“Y-yes..” You gulp when you see your fingers slightly covered in red around his neck. “But I didn’t want to-”

“It’s fucking hot.” He hisses, his voice whinier than usual as he puts his forehead on your chest, his hips starting to move. “You did such a great job sweetheart.” He pulls completely out before thrusting into you again, this time harsher as he hears your cries next to his ears.

When you take another look in the mirror, you see what you just caused. The moment you felt his cock hitting you so deeply you couldn't help but deepen your nails into his skin on his broad back, now covered with blood here and there. It softly dribbles down his defined muscles, and Chan is right. It is fucking hot.

So you clench around him again when you feel his fingers circling around your clit, his cock hitting the perfect spot as he moans out your name. “Do it again.” He demands, his hand flying on the wall next to your head to thrust up harder into you, making you roll your eyes. As you see Chan so deeply in emotions you scratch his back again, now only deep redness showing on his pale skin.

The pain on his skin makes him inch closer to his release. The jerks of his hips, slamming against your hips are quickening, becoming more erratic, intense and desperate. You cry out his name nonstop, feeling him twitching inside you.

“Give it to me.” He’s breathless as he chants into the side of your neck. “I need you to come around my cock baby.”

His demand tips you over the edge again, moaning out his name as you feel him curl against you, his shoulders on display for you to see what you painted on his back. His grunts are vibrating through your body, the pain melting into pleasure as he paints your insides with his thick cum, feeling so full of him, feeling him everywhere. Chan bites down softly on your skin,kissing the pain away quickly as you both come down from this high.

You are his. He made sure a long time ago, but now, you made sure he was yours too as you watch the crimson red blood slowly sliding down his back, gathering it on your fingers.

“It took a solo stage for you to claim me as yours?” Chan asks when he softly puts you down on the bathroom counter, a bright smile painting his face once again.

like and reblog is much appreciated! ♡

divider by:@enchanthings

#kpop #bangchan #skz #straykids #straykids bangchan #bangchan x reader #bangchan smut #chan what the actual fuck were you thinking #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz smut #stray kids dominate #skz world tour

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theonottsbxtch · 1 month ago

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PARADISE | LANDOSCAR

an: i felt things i shouldn't have felt writing this, this was based off of that monaco video mclaren posted as if those aren't two husbands on their honeymoon bro

summary: monaco, 1984. summer drips gold. lando wears linen and legacy, oscar smells like cigarettes and cash, and their lover? soft-spoken, sun-drenched, dangerously adored. they sip champagne on balconies and ruin each other in bed sheets. it’s love, but it tastes like lust and salt and something that can’t last past september.

wc: 4k

IN THE SUMMER OF 1984, Monaco shimmered with a kind of wealth that didn’t need to shout. It whispered, behind the smoked glass windows of Lamborghinis crawling through narrow streets. It flashed discreetly on wrists and collarbones in casino salons, and it echoed between the walls of penthouse suites high above the Mediterranean. It was a decade that believed in indulgence without apology, and for Lando and Oscar, indulgence had become something of a religion.

Lando had grown up with money. English money. The kind that came with decaying country houses, Savile Row tailors, and inherited attitudes. His wealth was old, but Lando wasn’t. He was young enough to charm, rich enough to own, and clever enough to keep the world guessing. He’d made his first fortune in commodities, his second in art, and his third in what the people never spoke of. Something that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Lando knew how to spend money in a way that made other men feel poor.

Oscar, by contrast, was noise to Lando’s hush. An Australian with the easy magnetism of someone who’d never known cold winters or self doubt, he spoke with the unbothered confidence of a man who had made himself. No old estates in Surrey for him, Oscar’s wealth was fresh, minted in the fast, wild corners of the oil trade and tech before anyone else saw it coming. He’d turned his first million into a billion almost by accident, and then, for sport, bought a vineyard in Marlborough he never visited.

The two of them together made a kind of sense that didn’t need explaining. They were opposites, and exactly the same. Competitive but loyal. Brilliant but restless. And then, there was the girl, the third point in their quietly scandalous triangle. She was younger, though not foolish, and unlike the men, she’d arrived in Monte Carlo not with a bang but with grace. Monegasque by birth, though rarely by presence, she moved like someone who’d never been told no, and didn’t care for the world anyway.

She was never introduced to high society. Not to strangers, not properly. The locals pretended not to gossip, the expats didn’t bother pretending. But all of them watched when she walked into the room, between Lando’s English elegance and Oscar’s Australian charm, a question mark dressed in diamonds.

They weren’t secretive, the three of them, but they weren’t careless either. They lived like royalty on the fringes of a very public world. Champagne breakfasts on the deck of their yacht moored in Port Hercule, sun-drenched afternoons in villas hidden in the cliffs, nights that blurred into each other between the Casio de Monte-Carlo and the back rooms of Hotel de Paris.

It wasn’t just money. It was romance. It was lust. It was a kind of closeness that didn’t fit into polite society’s definitions. They were, in every sense, theirs.

They didn’t worship at altars, unless you counted the marble vanity in the villa’s marble bath, where her lipstick stained the rim of a half-drunk coupe and Lando’s cufflinks glinted like relics in the low morning light. Still, there was something devotional in the way they moved around each other. As if each touch was a kind of prayer, every sigh a hymn half-remembered from some more honest, more ancient faith.

Desire, for them, wasn’t messy. It was choreographed. Sacred. And not because they were restrained, God, no. But because they understood the weight of leisure when it was shared without shame. She had a way of pressing her hand against Oscar’s chest, fingers splayed just so, like she was checking for a heartbeat, or maybe proving to herself that he still had one. And when Lando bent to kiss the inside of her wrist, it wasn’t casual. It was ritual, like anointing a relic.

Their bed, one of several, had seen things that could damn them in three languages. But there was no guilt here. Only indulgence, and something else. Reverence. The kind that only exists when love and lust refuse to stand apart. In another century, someone might have painted them onto a cathedral ceiling: Oscar, the brute angel with wine-dark eyes; Lando, a fallen saint dressed in silk; and her, always her, the holy centre of their orbit, both Madonna and Magdalene, untouchable and entirely touched.

Sometimes, they barely spoke. Monaco outside their window glittered and blinked like a blessing, but inside the villa, it was silence and breath and skin. She’d stretch like a cat in the morning sun, the sheet falling low, and Oscar, always the more impulsive, would murmur something obscene in that thick, drawling voice that made even sin sound charming. Lando, slower, more deliberate, would light a cigarette and watch them, eyes narrowed like he was trying to remember if he believed in heaven after all.

If he did, it was here. Not beyond. Not above. But here, in this villa, in this bed, in this unorthodox trinity that answered to no god but their own appetites.

By day, they played their roles. Lando in his linen suits and watchmaker’s smile. Oscar, loose-limbed and sunburnt, grinning at strangers like he wasn’t scandal in human form. She, the quiet storm between them, never trying to belong, because she didn’t have to. They belonged to her.

No one dared ask how it worked. Not really. People speculated, of course, they always do, when they’re too afraid to admit their own wants. But the truth was simpler than scandal allowed: it worked because it was true. Because the world outside might’ve been ruled by money and manners, but theirs was ruled by touch, trust, and a kind of love that didn’t need translation.

Morning didn’t come loudly in their villa above the port. It slipped in, soft and unapologetic, curling between linen curtains and dappling across skin like a whispered confession. The light touched her first. It always did. She lay half on Oscar’s chest, half draped over the scattered remains of last night, a silk camisole, a pair of cuffed trousers, the unmistakable scent of something rich and forbidden.

Oscar stirred beneath her, not with a groan but with a breath, the kind that pulled from the bottoms of the sea. One arm looped lazily around her waist, the other reaching back to tug at Lando, who’d turned in sleep, one leg tangled in the sheet, lips parted as if in prayer or defiance. He blinked awake slowly, the way someone might rise from a dream they weren’t ready to leave.

No one spoke. They never did, not straight away. It would have broken something sacred, this first, suspended moment, where bodies remembered each other before words had the chance to cheapen it.

She shifted, deliberately, her thigh brushing Oscar’s. A small sound escaped him, half laugh, half groan. Lando’s gaze, hazel-green and heavy lidded, slid from her to Oscar, then back. He sat up, slow as sin, and reached for the cigarette case on the nightstand, pausing only to drag the backs of his fingers across her spine. Goosebumps bloomed like flowers after rain.

Oscar rolled onto his side, fingers skating down the curve of her hip. “You’re dangerous in the daylight,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and sex.

She tilted her head, smiling without showing teeth. “You always say that.” Lando lit his cigarette, exhaled the smoke through his nose, and gave her a look that was part adoration, part warning. “That’s because it’s always true.”

There were no boundaries, not really. Oscar leaned in, catching her mouth with his, and it was unhurried, open-mouthed, full of that quiet, aching hunger that didn’t fade with sleep. Lando, still watching, reached out, his hand curling in her hair, guiding her mouth away from Oscar’s and toward his own. There was no jealousy here, only rhythm. Repetition. Worship.

She moved between them like she was born to it. A shared indulgence. A private ritual. It was never rushed. Desire had space to stretch out in their bed, to breathe, to build itself slowly into something that didn’t need naming. Fingers traced the same paths they'd taken the night before, mouths mapped new ones. There were gasps and half-formed words, hands knotted in sheets, a body arched against another, and somewhere between Lando’s whisper and Oscar’s growl, the morning folded in on itself.

Eventually, they collapsed back into each other like a cathedral ceiling falling gently inward.

They didn’t dress right away. There was no need. Monaco could wait. The world always did.

Breakfast was served on the terrace, as it always was, white linen tablecloth, chilled citrus in crystal glasses, a basket of croissants that no one touched until at least the second espresso. The sea below glittered like a promise someone might actually keep, and from this height, the principality looked like a toy version of itself.

Lando wore a dressing gown that hadn’t been fastened properly in years. Oscar had pulled on yesterday’s shirt, left open, sleeves rolled, like some Mediterranean sailor lounging between conquests. She sat between them in nothing but a man’s shirt, whose, no one ever bothered to check, legs tucked beneath her, sunglasses pushing her hair back like a crown.

They didn’t speak much. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was companionable, indulgent. A silence full of everything that had already been said without words.

Oscar topped up her glass. Lando buttered her toast. She laughed at something neither of them had quite said, and in that moment, as the breeze from the sea stirred the corners of the tablecloth and the sun warmed their bare knees, the whole world felt like it belonged to them.

And for now, it did.

The rest of the morning drifted by like a silk scarf caught in the breeze. The villa had its own rhythm, a kind of hush reserved for the very rich and the very loved, where time bowed politely out of the room and left them to it.

They moved slowly, as though afraid to disturb the spell. She wandered barefoot through the hallways, the marble cool beneath her feet, one of the boy’s shirts brushing her thighs. The scent of vetiver and orange blossom lingered in the air like memory. Oscar followed, eventually, buttoning his shirt for no one in particular, his hair still damp from a half-hearted rinse in the en-suite. He didn’t speak, just watched her, his mouth curled in that half-smile he wore when he was thinking something filthy and poetic all at once.

Lando, meanwhile, lingered on the terrace, cigarette balanced between his fingers, eyes hidden behind tortoiseshell sunglasses. He looked like he’d stepped off a Riviera film set, all limbs and indifference, the sea behind him like a painted backdrop. There was something of the priest about him in moments like these, the high priest of pleasure, maybe, or of decadence. He didn’t move quickly, he never raised his voice, but when he turned his head and said her name, just once, low and slow, it was enough to stop her where she stood.

She came to him without needing to be told. Oscar followed, wordlessly, until the three of them stood together in the dappled light, the scent of coffee and salt air wrapping around them like silk. Lando kissed her then, not urgently, but reverently, as though she were something sacred and rare. Oscar kissed the back of her neck at the same time, his hands warm against her bare thighs, and it was all choreographed without choreography, like something they’d rehearsed in a dream.

There was no rush to their afternoons. Nothing to prepare for. They were the main event. The world outside their villa didn’t intrude; it waited, like an obedient understudy. She lay stretched across a velvet chaise while Oscar read aloud from a novel he'd only half-finished, his voice laced with mockery and charm. Lando poured another round of champagne, the bottle sweating in its bucket like it had been running late.

They touched each other constantly, not always to provoke, sometimes just to remind. A hand on the small of the back, a kiss to the shoulder, a thumb drawn lazily over a pulse

point. Every moment was a small ceremony, a quiet act of possession and tenderness.

At dusk, the light shifted, turning the villa gold, then rose, then blue. She dressed slowly, if at all, and always with an audience. Lando might help with a zip, Oscar with a clasp, but neither of them ever hurried the process. Watching her was half the point. It was theatre, and they were its most devoted congregation.

They didn’t go out that evening. Monaco could keep its baccarat and its grand foyers. The villa had everything they needed: music on vinyl, a clawfoot tub drawn too hot, and the kind of curtains that only ever stayed half-closed. She danced in the living room with bare feet and a glass in hand, the hem of her slip catching the light like a whisper. Lando played records, Oscar lit candles, and everything smelt faintly of citrus and bodies.

It wasn’t perfection, what they had. It was too sensual for that, too lived-in. But it was decadent. It was rich. It was everything those old Hollywood pictures had promised and never quite delivered, except here, it was real.

By half past nine, the villa had exhaled into its evening shape. Lamplight low, shadows long, and Ella Fitzgerald pouring softly from the walnut cabinet radio in the corner of the lounge. The windows were open just enough to let in the sea air, salted and warm, carrying with it the faintest sound of the engines down in the port, like distant applause.

She sat curled in one corner of the oversized velvet sofa, one leg tucked beneath her, a glass of Bourgogne in her hand. Lando was stretched beside her, shirt undone to the sternum, watching her with that same unreadable expression he wore in art galleries and auction houses, part admiration, part calculation. Oscar had taken the floor, leaning back against the sofa’s base, his wine balanced on the parquet behind him, head tilted back into her thigh like it belonged there. It did.

Their dynamic wasn’t written down anywhere. It didn’t need to. It was understood in looks, in pauses, in the slow burn of shared breath. She had softness, yes, but it wasn’t fragility. It was control wrapped in velvet. When she moved, they noticed. When she spoke, they listened. And when she lapsed into French, low, careless, lazy as a cat stretching in the sun, it was a kind of spell.

“C’est une soirée pour ne rien faire, sauf être regardée,” she said, eyes half lidded, looking nowhere in particular.

Oscar let out a breath that was almost a laugh, mouthing the words back without understanding them, then nuzzling into her leg like a man prepared to worship his way into fluency. Lando, on the other hand, understood perfectly. Of course he did, he wasn’t raised in the Surrey countryside without a French tutor.

“She says it’s a night for doing nothing,” he murmured, without taking his eyes off her, “except being watched.”

She smiled, slow and secretive. “Exactement.”

Oscar turned his face, kissing the inside of her knee. “You’re impossible,” he whispered.

“Inévitable,” she corrected, and tilted her glass.

The wine was deep red, slow and full bodied, like everything else in the room. Lando leaned forward and took the glass from her hand, raising it to his lips without asking. When he passed it to Oscar, he did it without looking, already busy with the buttons of her shirt.

She didn’t stop him.

There was something theatrical about it, but not rehearsed. They weren’t putting on a show. It was simply how they were, this slow, unfolding ceremony of lust and love and laziness, every moment a continuation of the last.

Oscar moved first, pressing his mouth higher, chasing the trail of Lando’s fingers left behind. She arched just enough to let him, her hand slipping through Lando’s hair, tugging, not harsh but firm. Commanding.

It was always like this. Lando with his deliberateness, Oscar with his heat and her somewhere between the two, orchestrating without lifting more than a finger. A single word from her, a hum, even silence, it was enough to draw them in like tide to moon.

She slid lower on the sofa, the shirt parting easily, the curve of her thigh catching the light. Oscar was already halfway between her knees, murmuring things into her skin that had no meaning and every meaning. Lando kissed her collarbone, slow and reverent, like a man tasting communion.

There was no need to rush. They never did. Their intimacy was fluent, learned, full of in-jokes and remembered moments: the way she always gasped, softly, when teeth grazed her hipbone; how Oscar would close his eyes, almost in pain, when she whispered something filthy in French. Lando rarely spoke in these moments, he simply watched, kissed, touched, directed with the smallest shifts of hand and gaze.

Oscar then turned his face up toward Lando, mouth glistening slightly from where he'd kissed the inside of her thigh, his chest rising and falling with a rhythm that had nothing to do with breath. Lando, still perched above her, one hand tangled lazily in her hair, looked down at him with that maddening stillness he wore like cologne.

And then, without flourish, without warning, he leaned in and kissed him.

It was unhurried, indulgent. The kind of kiss you gave to someone you knew by scent alone. Their mouths met with a familiarity that was both soft and scorching, as though they'd been doing this forever and would continue doing it long after the wine had dried and the silk had creased. Oscar made a sound, low in his throat, and brought a hand up to the back of Lando’s neck, fingers tightening, pulling him closer.

She watched from beneath half-lowered lashes, her lips parted, hair slipping across her shoulder. The candlelight caught the sheen of her skin, the curve of one breast exposed beneath the fallen edge of her shirt. She shifted, slow and feline, and reached for the camera on the table, the old Leica, silver and black, worn leather strap coiled beside the ashtray.

The click of the shutter was soft but final. A delicate punctuation.

They broke apart at the sound, not startled, but aware. Oscar looked up at her, grinning like sin itself, breath unsteady. Lando didn’t move, just turned his head a fraction, his eyes finding hers, slow as smoke curling from a match just struck.

“What are you doing with that, darling?” he asked, voice low and rough around the edges.

She held the camera up again, one knee drawn beneath her, the shirt slipping further down her shoulder. “Capturing something beautiful,” she said, almost a whisper. “Quelque chose de sacré.”

Something sacred.

Oscar tilted his head. “You gonna keep that one to yourself?”

She smirked. “Maybe.”

“Cheeky.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

Lando reached for her then, hand sliding along her thigh, over the back of her knee, the weight of it grounding. “Let her keep it,” he murmured, eyes still on her. “She sees what the rest of the world doesn’t.”

The camera dangled from her fingers now, forgotten for the moment. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to Oscar’s jaw, then up to Lando’s cheekbone, a line of reverence drawn in lips and heat. The three of them folded in again, arms, hands, skin. A tangle of limbs and desire, lacquered in lamplight.

Somewhere, the jazz track changed. The bass deepened. A saxophone sighed.

And in their villa above the sea, kissed golden by the Riviera night, they became timeless, three parts of a whole, worshipping each other with mouths, with memory, with every quiet, exquisite inch of skin.

The years went on.

Not with fanfare, not with the suddenness that age sometimes brings, but with the long, slow glide of a yacht across calm water. They didn’t rush. Why would they? They had everything they ever wanted.

Money, of course, stayed the same. It always did. In bank vaults and shell companies and discreet portfolios, money sat like a silent fourth in the room, always watching, never needing to be mentioned.

But they changed. Subtly, then not so subtly. Lando’s curls silvered at the temples first, though the tan never faded. Oscar’s frame filled out, more muscle, more gravity, more presence. And she, always slightly younger, slightly unknowable, remained their soft centre. Unchanged in spirit if not in skin. Still their girl, still their flame, still the hand that stirred the glass.

They didn’t settle like the others did. There were no dinner parties with matching crockery, no school runs or shared mortgages with friends who wore linen and said things like we’ve bought in the country. The villa was sold on a sun-washed afternoon, the kind of day where the sea looked painted. They didn’t cry. They packed slowly, kissed each room goodbye, and moved into a terrace flat in the old part of town, slightly crooked floors, a balcony only just wide enough for three chairs and a bottle of wine.

They liked it better that way. Less space, more closeness.

The sensuality never left. It aged with them, like good scotch and secrets. Their touch softened, deepened, became more certain. There was no game, no chase. Just ritual. Just return. Oscar still kissed like he needed to be forgiven. Lando still touched her like he was handling something priceless. And she remained at the centre, still part-muse, part-madonna, part-devil in silk.

They were known, eventually. Not famous exactly, but recognisable in those circles where wealth meets art and no one asks too many questions. They were spoken about in murmurs at parties. You know, the three of them. Still together, apparently. And always followed by a pause. A look. A flicker of envy or desire.

They celebrated the year 2000 on a yacht in the Adriatic. Champagne, stars, a thousand-dollar bottle of something none of them could name. Midnight came in with fireworks over the water, distant cheers from other boats.

And below deck, hot, breathless, skin to skin, she was caught between them again. Oscar above her, his hands braced against the wall as she wrapped her legs around his hips. Lando behind her, mouth pressed to the nape of her neck, then her teeth in Oscar’s shoulder to keep the moan from rising too loud.

“Merde,” Oscar gasped, eyes fluttering. “They’ll hear.”

“They’ll envy,” Lando muttered, voice hoarse.

She just smiled, head thrown back, lit by moonlight and sin.

They visited their respective homes. Oscar’s family in Australia, all wind and green hills and cousins who watched her like she was carved from another world. Lando’s mother in the Cotswolds, in a cottage filled with roses and old jazz records. She brought the wine and wore no bra under her coat. Neither of them apologised for her.

And always, they returned to each other. To the terrace flat, to the chair legs that scraped the tiles, to late breakfasts with no clothes and the clink of cutlery over laughter. The sex became slower. Not softer, never that. But richer, more deliberate, like a song that knew every note didn’t need to be played to be felt.

Their photos filled boxes and books. That old Leica still worked, still clicked in her hands. She never showed the world the ones of the three of them. They weren’t for the world. They were for memory. For quiet nights when the windows steamed, and Oscar’s fingers found her under the tablecloth, and Lando read poetry aloud, pausing only to run his tongue behind her ear.

Time passed. They grew older. The lust remained. Not in spite of the years, but because of them.

And in every room they ever lived in, every bed, every corner of every place they touched each other, there lingered the unmistakable scent of them.

Love. Money. Lust. Still sacred. Still theirs. Always.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana@bookishnerd1132@mercurymaxine

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andvys · 4 months ago

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The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter six

⭐︎ The killing time. Unwillingly mine.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, post apocalypse, gore, mentions of death, killing zombies, mentions of blood

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Another kind of tension starts building between you and Steve the longer you spend time on the road.

Word count: 10k+

Author's note: Things are getting interesting y'all. This is only gonna get better from now on hehe. And a quick reminder, @hellfire--cult helped me with this chapter as always (this is our baby) (Also, I think it's so easy to tell who writes what parts. Roe always writes in past tense, while I write in present tense and most of the time I'm too lazy to fix it oops)

⭐︎ series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter ⭐︎ next chapter

☀︎

Eddie bops his head to some 70s song as he drives on the lone and abandoned highway, tapping the steering wheel, he hums along. Nancy is in the passenger seat next to him with her feet on the dashboard and a book in her hands.

Steve sits on the bench across from you, his hands are on the table, fingers playing with his switchblade as he looks out the window. It’s raining today. Your eyes follow the raindrops that roll down the windows.

There is a comfortable silence between all of you, only the sound of the music and the rain fills the big RV. It’s almost odd how normal this feels like you are just a group of friends going on a road trip and not one trying to survive while making it to the other side of the country after the world ended.

It’s easy to pretend at certain moments. When you are driving through parts of the country that had been untouched by the upside down. Where nature is still blooming and alive, where the roads aren’t blocked by abandoned cars. In those moments it’s easy to pretend that you are just a group of friends doing this for fun. But those moments of pretend only last for a few seconds, until you take a look at your clothes that you can’t stand anymore or when you eat another bowl of something canned but worst of all; when you have to look over your shoulder after every step that you take, fearing something or someone creeping up on you and your friends.

“Guys,” Eddie’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “There’s an exit in about two miles, should we try our luck or keep driving?”

Nancy stops reading her book, narrowing her eyes as she looks outside.

Your eyes meet Steve’s. He raises his eyebrows at you, knowing that you have been desperately looking for new clothes.

“Yeah, we could try.” Nancy shrugs before she goes back to reading her book.

Eddie’s eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror.

“What do you say, sweets?”

You don’t notice the way Steve huffs or the way he rolls his eyes as he sinks back into his seat.

You nod, smiling at the metalhead.

“Let’s try! We all need warmer clothes!”

“Alright, the exit it is,” Eddie grins.

Steve watches the way your smile widens as you still look at Eddie, the way something glints in your eyes as you sigh in contentment keeping your gaze still locked on him for a few more seconds before you look outside again.

Something in his chest stirs, something unpleasant. He suddenly doesn’t taste the mint flavor of his gum anymore as something sour settles on his tongue. His stomach twists in a way it always did when he was a teenager, when he watched others get what he wanted.

You are not something he wants. He has no interest in you. You are a friend, that’s all. But annoyance bubbles up inside of him whenever he watches your interactions with Eddie. Whenever he sees how sweet he is with you and how his flirtations make you blush.

He wonders if you like him.

He isn’t sure if he would like it if you did.

It troubles him more than he would like to admit and it brings up scenarios in his head that he finds unpleasant to even think about.

Your squeal startles him and pulls him out of his thoughts. You jump up, wasting no time to grab your gear before you make your way out of the RV.

Even though it’s Eddie and Nancy who call out to you, it’s Steve who runs after you first. With his rifle slung over his shoulder and his trusted bat in his hand. He gives Eddie and Nancy a stern look, “stay here, I’ll go with her. Keep the motor running.”

Eddie frowns, shaking his head, “I was the one who saw the sign, dude–”

“You stay here, Munson.” He glares at him before he looks down at Nancy. “Both of you.”

He doesn’t give them the chance to even utter a single word before he takes off after you, looking over his shoulder to give another pointed look at Eddie who rolls his eyes at him.

Steve grumbles your name in annoyance as he watches you struggle with the crowbar.

“You can’t just run out like this, just because the area looks safe doesn’t mean that it is safe!” He mumbles. Frustration built up in him.

“Shush, Steve!” You say cheerfully. “I have hope that I will find clothes here!”

He scrunches his face up and squints his eyes as he looks at the sign above the store, it hangs loosely from the wall, broken and shattered and covered in dirt. The windows are still intact and the door seems to be locked. The mannequins are still clothed as well so yeah, maybe you do have a chance.

“You don’t know what could be in there just because this door is locked doesn’t mean that there aren’t other ways to get in–”

A loud click echoes through the empty streets, followed by a cheerful squeal from you. You look over your shoulder, grinning at him proudly.

“Only one way to find out,” you shrug. Putting the crowbar back into your backpack, you reach for your machete again. You press your palm against the dusty door but he stops you with his hand on your shoulder.

“I’m going in first,” he sighs, pushing you behind him slowly.

You give him an innocent smile, blinking up at him in satisfaction.

“I won’t argue with that.”

Steve snorts, rolling his eyes yet again.

“What a surprise,” he murmurs under his breath. He takes another look around, ignoring your eyes that are set on him.

He gets that feeling. Every time something bad is about to happen, he gets that certain feeling that unsettles him. For the longest time, he couldn’t place it and he didn’t understand it until that bad thing had already happened and he realized too late that something was warning him.

It changed after Robin’s death.

But right now, he feels calmness inside of him, nothing unsettling. Yet, he is still careful when he takes the first step inside the abandoned store. His grip is tight on his bat, his eyes scanning the place as he tries to pick up on any sign that something is in here. He is quiet on his feet and he is on full alert.

Just like you are.

You are right behind him, ready to sling your machete at anything that may come running out of the shadows, ready to make you both its feast.

But the store is clean aside from the dust that covers every surface.

You make your way through every aisle. You check behind the cash register just to be sure. You look for any open windows or other ways inside this building. Steve insists on checking the break room by himself but you don’t let him. You follow him, covering his back just in case.

“Alright, it’s clear in here,” Steve whispers.

You watch the tension fall from his shoulders and from his face and you see the way his features soften after he takes a deep breath.

Despite living in a world like this, so unlike from the one you grew up in. You don’t share this tension and this fear with him but you also didn’t lose your best friend and watch her get ripped apart before you. You understand him. Even if you don’t feel the same, you understand him.

He doesn’t want to see that happening again – to anyone.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have jumped out of the RV the way I did.”

Steve swallows, nodding in agreement. His hazel eyes glare a little into yours.

“Yeah you’re right, you shouldn’t have,” he mumbles, sighing. He wants to roll his eyes again when you look down with a guilty look on your face. He hates it when you do that. “It’s fine, let’s get those clothes, sunshine.” He nudges your shoulder with his finger, giving you the smallest smile when you look up at him again.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Please look for a new jacket, a warmer one!”

He chuckles softly. His eyes follow you when you walk away.

“You too.”

Excitement rushes through you so strongly that you don’t even know what section to check first. It’s been so long since you had last stepped foot into a store that still looked so normal, like it has been untouched by this world. This store froze in time, just like the clothes in it, the fashion that was in trend while the world was ending.

Bright colors you normally would have picked, you skip. They don’t fit into this world.

You start by looking for a pair of new jeans before you move onto sweaters, picking some out for Nancy as well. You want to pick the pastel colors out for her so badly, thinking they will suit her but it’s always best to go for clothes that blend in better outside, ones that don’t attract unwanted attention.

The items start piling up on your arm and you end up getting a cart, something that makes Steve chuckle when you finally bump into each other in the shoe section.

“We need to gear up on winter clothes, how are you gonna survive with that?” You ask, frowning at the clothes in his basket. You see some knitted sweaters, t-shirts and wool socks but no sign of what you told him to look for. “You better get that jacket or I’ll get it for you, Steve.”

You glare at him and it only makes him want to chuckle even more – not because he is laughing at you. But because he thinks that the frown on your face is adorable. You threatening him is adorable.

“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands up in surrender.

Your eyes keep scanning the basket and they light up when you notice the socks he threw in there. The Garfield socks.

A smug smile stretches across your face and you look up at him a little evilly.

“You wear Garfield socks?”

Steve looks down into his basket and his cheeks light up suddenly, blushing red. Though he shakes his head when he raises his head to look at you.

“They’re not for me,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes. “They’re for Eddie. He’s like obsessed with Garfield. He had Garfield pajamas at home, I’m pretty sure he packed his Garfield mug into his box somewhere.”

A giggle falls from your lips. You tilt your head to the side, pouting softly.

“Aw! Eddie is so cute! I adore him!” You say before you turn around and continue your little shopping spree.

Oh, so you adore him now?

The unpleasant feeling in his chest spreads even more as he stares at the back of your head. His eyebrows are scrunched together so strongly that there is almost no space left between them.

A huff falls from his lips as he forces his eyes away from you. He gets up, glaring down at the socks in his basket.

“Cute,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes again.

“Get yourself a jacket, Steve!” You call through the store, reminding him yet again.

“Yeah, yeah…” He mumbles as he finally listens to you and goes on a hunt for a warmer jacket. His thoughts are troubled though and he doesn’t even know why. He doesn’t like the thought of you liking Eddie. It’s not that he wants you to like him instead. It’s just that he thinks it would make things complicated in your group when you are all growing closer.

He has been through that before and it only made things awkward. When he was so desperate to feel something again and he set his eyes on his ex-girlfriend again, almost ruining the friendship that just started blooming between them. He confessed his undying love for her when all he wanted was to feel something real. She was the only real relationship he had. Every other relationship was short lived, superficial and meaningless. No one ever bothered to actually get to know him and not the guy everyone liked; King Steve.

He thought she was the exception, that she wasn’t like the others – and she wasn’t. But she never planned on sticking around either and he crashed hard when he realized that he was never something real to her like she was to him.

When those old feelings came back, he didn’t realize that it wasn’t because he wanted her back. It would have been stupid to want someone back who hurt him like that. He was just desperate to feel something again after every failed date and every failed almost-relationship. He wanted to feel even if it was hurt.

Now he knows how stupid it was to almost ruin the new connection that was growing between them – a genuine friendship. It took him a while to see that they were always better off as friends but when he finally did, it started to make sense why they didn’t work.

If he could tell his 17 year old self that he would move on from Nancy Wheeler and lose all the feelings he ever had and become friends with her instead, that teenage boy would probably stare at him in horror.

Steve stumbles around the store, lost in his thoughts as he throws more clothes into his basket. When he is done, he starts looking for you, going through one empty aisle after the other before he finally finds you. It takes him a moment to realize the section he walked into and when he does he freezes a little. A blush creeps onto his cheeks when he looks around the items. The soft colors, the lace, the frill. The mannequins dressed in lingerie.

He scratches the back of his neck and takes a deep breath but it gets stuck in his throat when he finds you standing in the corner, holding up two different types of panties. A pink pair, laced. And the black one is a… thong. Steve blinks as he stares at you, unable to look away even though he knows he should. He knows he should give you privacy. Step away and pretend like he has seen nothing but he can’t.

His blushing cheeks turn red, glowing like they haven’t since god knows when. His body heats up as his mind takes him to places it hasn’t been since years but when he watches you stuff both panties into your backpack, the boyish part in him just can’t help it.

Steve never wondered what you wore under your clothes before, now he knows and it does little to mend the heat in his body. It awakens something in him that died a long time ago.

God. He needs fresh air, he needs it now.

He takes a few steps back, trying to be quiet and discreet but when he turns around, he walks face first into the poorly dressed mannequin, pushing it over and causing it to crash into the other one. It all goes so quickly, he can’t even reach out to catch them before they stumble to the ground loudly.

“Fuck,” he curses through gritted teeth. He shuts his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath before he slowly turns around to face you again despite the blush on his cheeks.

Your eyes are wide and by the expression on your face, he knows that you have flinched.

You look between him and the two mannequins on the ground. Your heart is pounding in your chest from the sudden noise that startled you but you start calming down quickly when you realize that it wasn’t anything to freak out over but something to laugh at.

You have never seen him like this – eyes wide, cheeks red, awkwardness written all over his face. He looks embarrassed and his hands are still frozen in the air after trying to catch the mannequins.

He looks like a teenager caught staring at boobs in a magazine for the first time.

You have to admit, it’s quite a sight, amusing to say the least. You just know that he is beating himself up over this and you can’t help but start giggling, wanting nothing more than to tease the poor guy.

“Do you need me to leave you guys alone?” You ask, giggling as you point between him and the figures lying on the floor.

“I-I’m what…?!” He shakes his head, not getting your joke.

You snort and reach for your cart, you start pushing it towards him, smiling smugly as you stop beside him.

“I thought you were some sort of playboy back in the day?” You smirk, blinking up at him. You want to giggle again when you realize just how red his cheeks actually are. “What kind of playboy starts blushing because of a few naked mannequins?”

Steve knows you’re enjoying this, he can see it in your eyes, they’re flashing with mischief and the smirk on your lips might be a rare sight but it’s so strong right now.

You don’t give him a chance to reply to your teasing comment. Your giggle echoes when you continue your way out of this section, beginning to hum in satisfaction while he still stands there.

“I’ll be outside!” You say with a sing-song voice.

Steve closes his eyes and he finally breathes again.

If only you knew why he is blushing the way that he is.

By the time he comes out of the store and makes his way back into the RV, Nancy and Eddie are kneeling on the floor, looking through the stuff you got for them and for yourself. He avoids your eyes when he walks in. His cheeks are still burning, he can feel that.

“You know me so well, sweetheart.” Eddie grins at you as he holds up a Metallica shirt. “I don’t even have to go in there myself.”

You smile at him proudly.

“Maybe to grab a jacket,” Nancy shrugs as she tries on the olive colored one you got for her. You reach over to her, fixing the brown color.

“Thanks,” she smiles at you.

Steve clears his throat and takes out a black jacket from the basket he carried the whole time, not giving the metalhead on the floor time to react before the jacket hits him in the face.

A grunts leaves Eddie’s face as he catches it before it falls on the floor.

“Give a guy some time to react,” Eddie mumbles as he unfolds the jacket, holding it up to take a look at it. “Fancy.” He squints his eyes as he looks at the price tag. “See, this is what I love about the apocalypse, we can just grab whatever the hell we want. This thing would’ve cost me a liver back then, now? I can just take that shit and go.” He chuckles to himself as he puts it on. “Fits perfectly, thanks man!” He finally looks up at Steve and his grins widens instantly when he notices the red cheeks. He raises his eyebrows at him, tilting his head to the side in question.

Steve huffs at him which only makes Eddie more curious.

“I got you a bunch of panties and socks as well!” You say to Nancy, taking the items out of your backpack and throwing them onto Nancy’s lap.

Her blue eyes widen and she quickly puts the packs of panties away, hiding them from the male eyes’.

Eddie furrows his brows. Amused he looks down at your lap to find the flimsy material, lace and ruffles. He doesn’t think anything of it, though his eyes instantly move back to Steve’s and realization rushes through him quickly.

A smirk tugs at his lips when Steve starts glaring at him, threatening him with his eyes to keep his mouth shut.

Steve knows that Eddie won’t let him live this down. Blushing over a few panties? Ridiculous.

“And for you,” you say, throwing packs of socks towards Eddie and Steve. “For the cold nights, I know the most important part is to keep your feet hot. So we can just wrap them up in many socks. Oh! And–” You pause, shuffling through your bag with a determined look on your face. You fish out something else, something that makes Steve’s embarrassed face even worse. Boxers.

He was so distracted by your underwear, he didn’t even think of getting some for himself and for Eddie.

The metalhead grabs them, nodding. “Cool.”

Steve scratches the back of his neck as he finally sets the basket down on the floor. Taking a seat on the bench, he grabs them from your hands and gives you an awkward smile, not keeping eye contact for long as he looks down at the size. You even got the right one.

And as if Eddie can read his mind – “how’d you know the size?”

“My lazy brother would ask me to get some for him whenever I went shopping, you’re about his size. Steve’s a bit bigger,” you shrug, replying so nonchalantly before you get back to your clothes as you begin to fold them.

Nancy and Eddie share a look, holding back their laughter when Steve’s flustered face gets even worse.

“I bet he is,” Eddie cackles, earning a punch to his shoulder. “Ow! Dude! Take that as a compliment–”

“Munson, I swear to god,” Steve glares at him.

Nancy shakes her head at them, snorting quietly. To her surprise, you pay them no mind.

Eddie rubs his shoulder, still laughing. His eyes widen when he looks down into the basket, a surprised gasp falling from his lips, “are these Garfield socks!? Oh, I love you so much, Harrington!” He says dramatically which makes you giggle loudly.

Steve’s cheeks burn even hotter and he gets so incredibly flustered when you look up at him with lightened up eyes and a grin stretched widely. He tries not to stare but he can’t help it, not when your eyes shine like this and you look up at him so… happily.

He can’t help but hate that feeling that rises up inside of him. He refuses to admit that it is there.

Maybe he would feel better if someone told him that you would be in the same exact state only a few days later.

Weeks have gone by since you left Hawkins and by now you have gotten into a routine. From the start, you quickly realized that Eddie and Nancy are somewhat inseparable and usually stick together – whether it’s perimeter checks, night watch or scavenging for food. It’s always Eddie and Nancy.

You switch up sometimes and either you or Steve replaces one of them but usually it’s those two together. They’re simply inseparable. That’s how you imagine Steve used to be with Robin.

At first you suspected that there was more between Eddie and Nancy. That they were in a secret relationship or that they were just friends with benefits but you quickly came to realize that those two could never see each other that way. They are best friends, it’s clear as day. Their banter is sibling-like, just like Nancy’s and Steve’s. – You never bothered to ask how those two met or how their friendship blossomed. You know that they have known each other far longer than they have known Eddie but you never tried to find out what made them become friends.

They don’t seem to have much in common and Steve behaves more like a big brother around her than a friend. A grumpy older brother.

You look over your shoulder, glancing at the RV. The golden light in the living room shines through the tiny window. You wonder if Steve is still napping. It’s yours and his turn to do night watch.

You look back into the fire you have started, tugging your jacket tighter around you, you rub your palms together, trying to catch more warmth.

The wood crackles before you, the wind blows softly against you. It’s still warm for fall. You have lost track of time but if you had to guess, you would say it’s october. The leaves are red and orange and the air still smells of fall.

You squint your eyes when you notice the two figures in the distance. You don’t reach for your machete or your gun, recognizing your friends instantly. They both carry gallons of water from the stream down the hill.

You push yourself up from the camping chair and make your way towards the RV to wake up Steve. You walk up the stairs and open the door, making your way inside and closing it softly behind you, not wanting to startle him.

You furrow your eyebrows when you don’t hear him snoring or moving around the RV.

“Steve–”

A loud click echoes through the silent space and before you can even blink or move, the door to the bathroom opens and Steve walks out. Almost naked. Your eyes meet his and you see how wide they get when he sees you. His towel isn’t even around his waist, he barely manages to cover himself, quickly placing it in front of his crotch.

You freeze.

You should move. You should apologize. You should hold your hand up before your eyes and turn around again, leave the RV and pretend like nothing happened but you can’t. You are frozen in place, unable to move, unable to look away. In fact, you can’t stop looking. You can’t stop staring at him or at his wet skin. At the water dripping down his face and his hairy chest. At the flush in his cheeks from either the hot water or from running into you dressed in… nothing. His hair looks even longer when wet, darker too. His eyes are looking into yours intensely.

You swallow harshly.

Unable to keep your eyes from taking him in fully, from letting them run up and down his body. His arms are strong, his muscles aren’t huge but defined. There’s thick veins coursing through his skin, through his strong hands.

Something in you stirs. Something in your belly heats up and starts to burn.

He is handsome.

You knew that much already but you haven’t looked at him in this light yet. He has a pretty face and pretty eyes. His smile is contagious. His hair is gorgeous. He is tall and his shoulders are broad. He is a handsome man, obviously.

But he is also hot.

Steve Harrington is hot.

Maybe even the most attractive man you have ever set your eyes on, the longer you look at him now. Your body certainly never reacted this way before. You have never gotten weak in the knees and you have never stopped breathing over a man. Your belly never burned and your mouth never watered either.

This is not good.

This is so not good.

You can feel your cheeks burning and your heart pounding and you can’t seem to snap yourself out of it.

You don’t even notice how he is looking at you.

It was embarrassment that flashed in his features first before he noticed your reaction.

You are flustered. You are blushing. You are checking him out. He can see the way your wide eyes take him in. He can see how your throat bobs when you swallow.

Something in his chest stirs and his lips curl into a smirk. He can’t help but feel flattered but also smug. He forgot what it’s like to be looked at like this.

He fastens the towel around his waist, raising his chin up a bit as he gazes down at you. He clears his throat, pulling you out of your stupor.

“Like what you see, sunshine?”

You blink a few times before your eyes meet his face again and you notice the smugness in his features as he caught you eyeing him like you’re some animal, hungry over something you never tried before.

You want the ground to swallow you whole. You can tell that he is amused.

Your cheeks feel like they have been touched by fire. Shame fills you and panic rises up inside of you. Your eyes widen and you quickly take a few steps back.

“I didn’t know you were taking a shower!” Your high pitched voice bounces off the walls in the RV. “I’m sorry!” You quickly turn around, not realizing how close you were to the door until you walk face first into it, your forehead hitting it harshly.

As though you weren’t embarrassed already.

“Oh my fucking god! Are you okay!?” Steve asks behind you, already taking a step forward.

You scrunch your eyes shut, ignoring the sting in your head. You quickly open the door and make your way outside.

“Yep! Yeah, I’m great!” You say loudly before you rush out and shut the door behind you loudly. Startling both Nancy and Eddie who just put the gallons of water down by the steps.

Worry flashes in her features when she notices you rubbing your forehead while Eddie raises his eyebrows at you, squinting his eyes as he takes in the look on your face.

“You okay, sweets?”

“Mhmm,” you nod your head quickly, avoiding their eyes. “I’m okay, yeah. I’m fine.” You mumble as you make your way back over to your camping chair. Picking up your water bottle, you open it and raise it up to your lips.

Nancy matches the confused look on Eddie’s face. She turns her head to look at him, raising her eyebrows at him when he looks between you and the door to the RV.

Realization crosses Eddie’s face when Steve comes out a minute later. His hair wet, a flush to his cheeks, plaid shirt unbuttoned at the top, sweatpants and the smell of body wash fills the air.

Oh.

You have seen something you weren’t supposed to see.

It isn’t hard to figure that out when he takes another look at you before he detects the smugness in Steve’s eyes.

And even if he didn’t notice then, he certainly would have noticed all the days after.

Not only do you avoid Steve’s eyes whenever you can, you are also clumsier. Way clumsier. Whenever you turn to look at Steve, you falter in your step and Eddie notices. Noticing you are in a very weird state around Steve, which Eddie kind of figures why by now, he takes the opportunity to patrol with Nancy while you and Steve do chores in the RV. Washing clothes, preparing foods, getting lumber, getting water, trying to spare you from spending time with Steve alone in the dark while walking.

Gladly, as the days pass, Eddie can see you becoming calmer, and it seems that your initial shock is gone, but you are still clumsy.

You are startled when Eddie comes up from behind you as you are cleaning your boots behind the RV. He clears his throat as he leans against it, facing you, shoulder against the cold metal and his hands in his pockets. You tilt your head in question, wondering why he suddenly approached you.

“What is it?”

“Sweetheart… Did you see Steve’s dick?” You feel the earth swallow you whole as you stumble backwards and the boots drop from your hands. Your entire body heats up, sweat appearing on your fingertips as you quickly shake your head, almost breaking your neck.

“N-No! Why– Why would you think that!?” Eddie chuckles at you, shaking his head.

“You are fucking obvious. You are literally tripping over everything, princess. You can’t look the man in the eye. You saw something you shouldn’t have seen.” And your heart is beating out of your chest as you swallow harshly, looking down at the floor as your cheeks remain heated up.

“I– I didn’t mean to… He was only covered in a towel and I– I thought he was sleeping! I was only going to wake him up and–” You cover your face with your hands in shame. “I’m so fucking stupid! I should have, I don’t know, made some noise, or knocked or–”

“Okay, calm down. So you didn’t see his dick.”

“No–”

“Then what’s the problem?” You uncovered your face, and rationally, there shouldn’t be any problems. There really shouldn’t. He was just a man… a very… handsome, hot, and attractive man.

“I– I stared a little too much because of the shock and… I feel like I invaded his privacy way too much…” You kind of lied. You are embarrassed to your core because you were caught red handed, staring without any restraint, checking him out completely and he even made fun of you for that.

Eddie rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Princess, I bet it’s not the first male body you’ve seen. If anything, Steve probably felt flattered, and he doesn’t seem bothered by it. You’re worrying too much.”

You take a sharp breath at Eddie’s words but somehow manage to calm yourself down a little bit more… way more. Eddie knows Steve, more than you do, and if Eddie tells you this, it’s because it’s truly what Steve is feeling. You give Eddie a small nod and he smiles at you, his fingers pinching your cheek, making you wince as you pull away.

“What was that for!?”

“For being an idiot. It’s four people in one single RV. We will run into each other either naked, jerking off, or changing clothes. We don’t have individual bedrooms or separated bathrooms.” And that makes a lot of sense, making you nod again, a small smile appearing on your cheeks.

“Yeah… you’re right.” He then smirks, looking out at the horizon where some buildings are spotted.

“Yep. So prepare yourself, cause it’s yours and Stevie’s turn to go scavenging.”

You found a neighbourhood that looked quite untouched compared to ones you have been in, in the past few weeks. You broke into old homes, trying to find canned food and some snacks, even if stale. But you had no luck, all you found were empty shelves and dusty storage rooms.

This one looks quite promising.

The windows are intact, no shattered glass is visible. The doors are closed as well. No monsters, people or infected are around. At first sight at least.

Eddie looks back at you from his spot in the passenger seat, winking at you as he is chewing on some peanuts.

“Good luck.”

You hold onto the strap on your backpack, digging your nail into the material. You pick up your machete and take a deep breath.

Steve looks down at you. With his backpack on, a rifle slung over his shoulder and a crowbar in his hand, he is holding onto the doorknob, waiting on you.

“Ready?” His kind eyes meet yours.

You nod, humming softly.

“Don’t come back with expired chicken noodle soup, please.” Nancy says, earning a glare from the metalhead beside her.

“We’ll try,” Steve chuckles as he gives her one last nod before he opens the door. “Let’s do this.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, following him out.

He closes the door again once you are out. You look around you, keeping a tight grip on your machete just in case.

It is quiet between you both, you don’t make much conversation as you make your way through the abandoned neighborhood. You are both too busy looking out for any sign of life or death.

You don’t notice the way Steve looks at you, the way he glances at you every once in a while. He isn’t blind or stupid, he noticed that shift in your behaviour after the incident in the RV. He couldn’t help but think that it’s cute how you suddenly turned into a klutz – all because of some naked skin.

“Let’s check this one out,” you point out to the blue house with the huge front porch.

“Lead the way,” Steve nods, flipping the crowbar in his hand.

You and Steve continue to walk and work in silence. As you go into the first house, you cover each others’ backs as you clear the building first before you begin to scavenge. You split up once you deem it safe. Though you aren’t so lucky there, nor in the second or the third. All you find are some canned peaches and two cans of corn. One bottle of painkillers and an old first aid kit.

You make your way through the neighborhood, going through one house after the other. But it isn’t until you make it to the last one, to the huge house right by the forest, that you get somewhat lucky.

Just like in the ones before, you clear the building first. Covering Steve’s back as he walks ahead of you with the rifle in his hands, aimed at anything that could come running out of any room.

Your steps are quiet on the floorboards, barely audible. You learned how to be resilient and quiet in this world, tiptoeing through it to save your life, to prevent unwanted attention.

There is something eerie about this place. You can’t figure out what it is but there is something. The silence is nearly deafening. The energy is off. You can feel something in your chest but you can not tell what it is.

When you get to the last room and Steve opens the door with his rifle, he takes a look around before he finally allows himself to breathe again. He turns around to face you, nodding as he swallows.

“It’s clear.” He mumbles, slinging the strap of his rifle over his shoulder.

“I’m gonna check out the kitchen.” You whisper, looking down.

He nods at you, trying to make eye contact, something you haven’t been so fond of lately. “Alright, yeah. I’m gonna check out the bathroom, see if there’s any medicine around.”

You take one last look at him before you part ways. You make your way downstairs, quickly. Determined to find some food and get out of here before it gets dark – you need to set up camp before that. You step into the kitchen and take a deep breath.

You try to ignore that heavy feeling that is cursing through you the longer you are in here.

You open the cabinets and find a pleasant surprise. Peanut Butter. Canned vegetables and fruit. Cans of meat and tuna. You want to squeal but you restrain yourself.

Dropping your backpack onto the counter, you start throwing the cans in, putting in as many as possible. You go through each and every cabinet, filling up your bag in the process until there’s no more space left.

You will be eating well tonight.

A smile appears on your face when you open the door to the storage. Your eyes widen at the amount of snacks on the shelves. You grab one of the empty boxes on the ground and start filling it.

Through all your excitement, you don’t hear the creaking of the floorboard in the hallway or the faint grunting sound coming from the basement.

“We found a gold mine, Steve!” He hears you calling as he makes his way down the stairs. A smile appearing on his face. He opens his mouth to reply, though the words get stuck in his throat and his blood runs cold when his feet hit the ground floor again, just as the door to the basement opens and an infected comes stumbling out, sniffing the air and grunting as though in hunger.

He realizes too late that he didn’t check the basement before.

Steve’s heart is pounding in his chest. He doesn’t move, not yet. His face hardens as anger flashes in his eyes. It wasn’t an infected that killed Robin but he holds just as much hatred for them as he does for the monsters.

He reaches for his crowbar, slowly, not wanting to startle it. The quieter and slower he moves, the less it will pay him attention. They don’t see but they smell and they hear. Just like Steve can smell the decay. He scrunches his nose up and tries to halt his breath. The skin is grey, almost blue. Bloody tear stains on its cheeks. The clothes are ripped and reeking, he can smell it from here.

He takes a step forward, slowly bringing the crowbar up, aiming at the infected’s head, ready to take a swing and let it be over with.

“Eddie is gonna flip out, I found Honeycombs!”

The infected suddenly flips his head into the direction of the kitchen, startled and lured in by the sound of your voice. Steve’s heart falls to his stomach when he hears several footsteps running up the stairs of the basement. More infected. More sick ones ready to feast on you.

Fear grips at him so strongly that his heart nearly beats out of his chest as he makes a run for the kitchen, knowing that the attention is on him now too. He doesn’t care. All he cares about is grabbing you and getting the hell out of here.

But there is no time and he knows it.

You are standing with your back to him, one foot inside the storage room and you turn around startled when you hear his fast and loud footsteps. Your eyebrows furrow and you open your mouth again to question him but he doesn’t allow you to. Steve takes the final step towards you and cups the back of your head, pressing his other hand to your mouth as he signals with his eyes to keep quiet.

Only then do you register the other footsteps and your eyes widen.

He jumps into action once more, pushing you further into the way too small storage and stepping inside with you, not wasting a single second to shut the door and lock you both inside, just in time before all the infected come tumbling into the room in search for the two of you, in search for fresh meat.

He maneuvers you around until your back is pressed against his chest, until your whole body is pressed against his front. His hand is still over your mouth, his arm now fully wrapped around you as he holds you against him. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest, you can feel his hand shaking against your skin.

Your own heart is racing, your knees threaten to buckle and if it wasn’t for him holding you, you are sure that they would.

Fear rushed through you when you listened to the grunts and the screeches out in the kitchen. You didn’t hear them before, you didn’t hear them creeping up on you.

A cold shudder ran down your spine when you realized what could have happened if it wasn’t for him.

A shaky breath falls from your lips as you raise your arm up and you wrap your hand around his wrist, needing to hold onto something. In turn, he holds you tighter against him, pressing himself further into you, allowing you to feel his body heat, the warmth he always radiates.

“Shh,” he whispers into your ear as though to reassure you, thinking that you are scared.

You aren’t scared. You never are.

You feel startled.

You close your eyes for a moment and he removes his hand after a few seconds, allowing you to take proper breaths. He still keeps his arm around you and he tries to move back but there isn't much space in this tiny room.

You listen to the infected outside, surprised they haven’t found their way to this door yet. You are in deep shit and you know that it will take a while until you will get the chance to sneak out, unless you decide to fight your way out but you know that there are too many. It’s too risky. Too dangerous.

And you hope, you really hope that Nancy and Eddie won’t come looking for you and stumble right into this mess you two have gotten yourselves into.

You take another deep breath and you lean your head back into his chest as you keep your hand around his wrist, your fingers touching his skin. Through the adrenaline and the anxiety creeping up on you, you don’t even feel his breath on your neck or register the palm that has settled on your stomach.

You are too focused on the sounds outside this room. On the footsteps. On the groans. On the hungry monsters. You don’t notice how there is barely any air left between your bodies. How your body is pressed against his fully. How his chest is on your back. How his chin is resting on the top of your head. His arms fully wrapped around you. Him. His crotch against your butt. His bulge.

If only you snapped out of it and looked back.

Steve’s jaw is clenched. His heart is pounding for different reasons now. His breathing is heavy and his skin is burning, worse and worse the further you press yourself against him, the more he feels you on him.

It feels good. It feels nice. And he can’t help but curse at himself for feeling this in such a moment.

He blames it on the lack of affection he felt in the past few years. It isn’t because of you.

No, absolutely not.

Your scent is sweet, soft, gentle. The touch of your hand is soft. You are curling into him, showing him that you feel comfortable with him, that you feel safe with him. He would be lying if he said that it didn’t stir something within him.

You don’t know how many minutes pass of you standing stuck in this tiny room, listening to the groans and waiting for the right moment to make your escape but when the silence in the kitchen greets you again and their footsteps disappear further into the house. You tilt your head back and look into his eyes. You silently agree to make a run for it, to try your best to sneak out.

You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the fight you know will happen. There is no sneaking out and getting away so easily, ever.

You lean down to pick up the machete you placed against the wall earlier and turn around to look at him once more and Steve gives you an encouraging nod.

You turn back to the door again as his hands slip from your body. You close your eyes for a moment and take another deep breath before you wrap your hand around the cold doorknob. You twist it and push it open slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible.

You step out, tiptoeing out of the room. You ignore the pounding in your chest as you look around the empty kitchen, keeping a tight grip on the red handle of your machete.

Steve steps out right after, covering you instantly as you bend down to pick up your heavy backpack.

He glances at you, brown eyes filled with anxiety when the cans clatter in your bag.

You shrug at him. You won’t leave this here. You tilt your head into the direction of the backdoor in the kitchen, the one that leads out into the garden.

Steve nods at you, motioning for you to go first.

You twist the machete in your hand, taking one last look around before you turn around and creep over to the glass door. You unlock it as quietly as you can, squinting your eyes and cursing inwardly when the door creaks as you open it.

“Come on,” you whisper as you look over your shoulder at him, glancing into the hallway to make sure that nothing heard you yet.

“Go,” Steve whispers as he places his hand on your back and pushes you out of the house, quickly following and shutting the door quietly. Only as he breathes in the fresh air does he notice just how strong his heart is pounding against his ribcage, how shivers run across his whole body.

While he needs a moment to recover, you are already making your way down the porch, securing the area before you look back at him.

“Let’s get out of here,” you whisper, tilting your head at him.

His eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at you, wondering how you are so… calm.

“Yeah,” he murmurs under his breath. He tries to control the shakiness in his hands, holding the cold metal of the crowbar tightly as he makes his way down the stairs. His boots hit the grass and he steps up beside you. He takes another look at the haunted house before he turns his back to it and follows you away from it and closer back to the road where the RV is parked.

You spot Eddie leaning against it with a cigarette between his lips as he swings his axe back and forth while Nancy kneels down beside him, looking up into the sky.

“I left the box in the kitchen,” you frown, sighing loudly. “Eddie’s Honey Combs!”

“I’m sure he’ll live–”

A loud crash echoes through the neighborhood, startling you both. You turn around just in time to see an infected jumping through the now broken window, screeching loudly as it runs straight towards you and Steve.

Steve’s eyes widen and he presses his hand on your chest, pushing you away before he swings his crowbar at the infected. It hits the ground from the impact, grunting loudly, though it doesn’t take long until it jumps back into action, ready to pounce on him.

Your heart skips from the adrenaline that curses through your veins. You throw your backpack on the ground and grab your machete with both hands as more infected come tumbling out of the broken window.

Ready to make you and your friends their dinner.

You don’t have the time to count how many there are but the groans and the screeches fill the space around you quickly. You swing your machete at the infected that once was a woman, stabbing through her head with the sharp blade, the body falling limply to the ground.

Eddie curses behind you as he finishes off the male infected with his axe – ‘motherfucker’ falling from his lips several times.

Nancy’s shotgun goes off a few times and you already worry what kind of attention that sound must have attracted, what kind of things the sound has lured in just now, what kind of monsters are on the way here now.

“Steve!” Eddie yells as he watches one of them jumping at him, taking him down and pinning him on the ground. It’s teeth clatter as it tries to take a bite of him.

Steve grits his teeth and clenches his jaw as he tries to fight it off, though its hands are strong, way too strong. He hears the shots going off around him. He hears Eddie’s voice calling out to him. He feels his heart pounding stronger than ever. Everything stops moving for a moment, time slows down and he looks death into its eyes.

The infected, a male, something that used to be a man, maybe a teenager. It’s struggling, fighting for his flesh, trying to lean down further, trying to take a bite out of him, craving his flesh, his blood.

Though he notices something else. There isn’t only death in his eyes, there is something else – something like fear, something like grief, sadness. It looks at him like it’s hungry but it also looks at him like it's begging. Begging to do something, begging to make it all be over.

And suddenly it is.

A clear cut appears in his neck, black blood oozing out as its head tumbles off and the body stops struggling against him, though still twitching. He wastes no time to throw it off him, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath again. It takes him a moment to recover. He brings his hand up to his neck, his throat hurting from the inside as he continues to breathe in the cold air. He raises his head to look at his savior, expecting Eddie or even Nancy but not you. For some reason he didn’t expect you to save his life, let alone like this.

Blood is dripping from the blade of your machete. Your chest is rising up and down heavily, worry flashes in your eyes as you look down at him.

“Are you okay?” You ask, needing to make sure that he is fine.

Steve nods, blinking in surprise. He furrows his eyebrows as he takes a look around, at the dead bodies on the ground, the twitching bodies.

Nancy and Eddie are frozen in place as they both look at you, stunned. Eddie even more so than Nancy when the head you cut off rolls before his feet and he looks down, wide eyed.

“Steve,” you whisper, eyes softening when you notice his heavy breathing. “Are you okay?” You ask again.

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat as he slowly pushes himself up, nodding, wiping the blood of the infected that had fallen on his cheek with the back of his free hand.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” he mumbles, trying to smile at you. He ignores the weird feeling in his chest when it dawns on him that you have saved him.

You have saved him.

You nod, tearing your eyes away from him. You make your way over to Eddie.

“The brain.” You clear your throat as you swing your machete, giving it a snap so that the excess blood leaves the blade. “You can cut off the limbs but the bastards regenerate. Their arms go all… gooey and reassemble. Like watching ground beef have a life of its own and just… dragging itself to other parts.”

Steve and Eddie stare at you like they can’t believe what they have seen and what they hear.

Nancy’s eyes widen, her lips part as she tilts her head at you.

“...Like the mindflayer in 1985…”

You nod. You remember what they told you. You look down, scrunching your nose in disgust as blood seeps through the grass. You remember the first time you killed an infected. You remember it clearly… a kid… You had tried to talk to it. You had tried to sing to it, maybe a lullaby, but nothing worked. You had stabbed it in the heart and it still lived, cut off the arms and it regenerated and you were sobbing as you looked at it, at how many times you had to kill it.

You realized it was the brain you needed to kill when you desperately, in a panic attack, smashed the skull in. You were crying afterwards, but then it was just hatred. Hatred towards these things, these monsters, and now all of that was directed at a person. A person who caused all of this. Someone, something, that was already dead from what your friends told you… but hatred nonetheless… Because it didn’t spare anyone.

“We can bring them peace like this…” You mumble as you stab through the head, causing the body to stop moving – even if decapitated.

While Eddie huffs in surprise, looking up at you pleasantly surprised. Steve’s eyes are still wide. He is not only stunned by your action, he is also surprised by the way you handled your machete.

You are swinging it the same way he swings his bat.

“We have to move. My gun was loud enough.” Nancy speaks once again and you nod, bending down to wipe the blade on the grass, trying to get most of the blood off. They all knew the blood doesn’t infect or give you any sickness. It’s the venom. The venom in their teeth.

“... Do you guys think we can eat it?” Eddie suddenly asks, making everyone turn their heads completely stunned to look at him. When nobody replies, he looks up to all of you, shrugging with a frown. “What!? It’s an honest question!”

“Are you out of your mind, Eddie?” Steve asks, still trying to wrap his head around everything that happened.

“Look, it’s fresh, and it’s–”

“Human!” You yell as you all start making your way to the RV. Eddie scoffs at you all as he stands next to the door, waiting for everyone to get it.

“Nuh uh! Their bodies are all purple and some have those petal thingies the demogorgons have, pretty sure they’re not human anymore.” Eddie smirks at his train of thought and all he gets its a punch to the gut. A straight ass punch. Light, but still enough to make him bend over slightly. “Wheeler, what the actual flying fuck–”

“Stop saying nonsense.” She says as she finally steps in the truck, you follow, snickering under your breath but you almost fall over when the weight of your backpack throws you back down and onto Steve’s chest. You heard an ‘oof’ leave his lips as his arms grabbed you.

“You okay there?” And memories flushed to you. At the time, you hadn’t noticed it. At the time, your mind was occupied by the sounds of the infected outside. Now you remember it all. His body against yours, his chest against your back, his hands on your mouth, on your stomach, pressing you against him as if his life depended on it. Then, his hips and his–

You felt your entire body flush over again, and even if you didn’t have his chest against your back right now thanks to your backpack, this closeness was new. You moved away from him and gave him a nod, trying to avoid looking straight at him.

“Yeah– Yeah, I’m fine–” Steve hummed and grabbed the straps of your backpack, and you gulped as you helped him take it off. Another grunt came out of his lips as he lifted it up a few times.

“What the hell are you carrying in here, Sunshine? A fucking machine gun?” His words caused you to look at him, a giggle escaping your lips as you shook your head.

“Better. Food! Lots of it!” Eddie’s voice chimed in, tilting his head to the side.

“See, if we tried to have some of that meat, we wouldn’t have to eat canned food–”

“Munson, catch.” And Steve threw the backpack towards Eddie, who was smiling with his dimples showing, his hands grabbing onto it, only for him to be slammed against the side of the RV with a thud. The weight of the backpack threw him back at the impulse, a surprised yelp escaping his lips.

You started laughing with Steve as you both stared at Eddie who grunted when keeping the backpack up in his hands.

“You are both very mean… I was joking! It’s called ‘clearing the tension’.” He says as if matter of factly and he heads back into the van, groaning under his breath as he struggles to carry the backpack in. Steve stands next to the door, a soft smile on his lips as he nods at you and then at the RV.

“Ladies first.”

And that shouldn’t have made your stomach turn the way it did. This was something common for men to do but– This was the first time it happened with Steve. Or at least, that he said that. Making it known he is letting you go first. Maybe he did it before but never spoke out loud of it, so you never noticed it… Now you do.

You cleared your throat and nodded, shooting him another small smile as you walked up inside the RV. His eyes followed you, his image of you having changed completely as he turns to look at the bodies you have killed, the decapitated smashed head that was about to bite him, to eat him, to turn him.

Just when he thought he got to know you, or figure you out completely, you come up with something new. You startle him each time, but nothing stunned him as much as this one thing did. Your months of survival showed, letting him remember how you traveled alone for most of the time, and how you had to save yourself many times.

You were new. Curiosity invaded him, something he should avoid. Questions he wants to ask, but the farthest he can be of knowing about you, every single detail, the better it will be. But the fucking curiosity, the want and the need to ask you so many things and get to know you entirely, to save him from surprises, like the one that happened just now.

Because these surprises impressed him. You are impressing him. And he doesn’t like that. He looks back to step inside the RV, closing the door behind him, and then seeing how excited Nancy and Eddie look as you beam, taking the cans out of your bag, the snacks, the beverages. You looked so proud as they praised you for finding a ‘jackpot’ and Steve couldn’t help but smile.

You are an enigma… and he hates that he wants to figure you out.

☀︎

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#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington blurb #stranger things angst #grumpy x sunshine

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haniette · 5 months ago

Text

0.04 seconds. // ln4

pairing | lando norris x fem!reader

genre | pure fluff :’), suggestive in one moment, established relationship

word count | 3.7k

warnings | no use of y/n, suggestive !!, cursing, pet names (love, darling), kissing scenes.

summary: it’s valentine’s day, and Lando is late, but you decided to make a surprise for him.

a/n: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAYYYYYY !! <3

Lando had always been fast.

On track, speed was his language. It was his second nature, woven into the way he moved, the way he thought, the way he thrived. His entire career revolved around milliseconds—finding the smallest gaps, calculating the briefest windows of opportunity, and closing them before anyone else could.

It was who he was, who he had always been.

But in real life? He was always a little late. Just like this morning.

The early sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, spilling golden light across the rumpled sheets, catching in the curves of your body as you stretched, slow and drowsy. The warmth of sleep still clung to your skin, the air thick with that quiet, intimate stillness that only existed in the early hours—before alarms, before rushing, before the rest of the world woke up. The kind of morning where time didn’t feel real.

But Lando was moving as if time was slipping through his fingers.

You watched him, half-awake, tangled in the blankets as he darted around the bedroom in his usual frantic way. His hair was damp from his shower, dark curls curling messily over his forehead, dripping onto the collar of his McLaren polo as he yanked it over his head. The fabric clung for a moment before settling into place, and he barely paused before grabbing his phone from the nightstand. His fingers flew over the screen, texting, checking the time, likely responding to a flood of messages from his team.

There was something endlessly amusing about him in moments like these—half-dressed, rushed, yet still managing to look effortlessly good even as he tripped over a pair of sneakers he’d abandoned on the floor the night before.

Lando cursed under his breath, righting himself, then grabbed the wrong jacket from the chair, realized it, and tossed it aside with a sigh that was both dramatic and resigned.

“You said you’d wake up early, Lan.” Your voice was still thick with sleep, barely more than a murmur, but it was enough to make him glance over at you.

“I did wake up early,” He countered, flashing you a sheepish grin as he ran a hand through his curls, making them even messier. “I just… may have hit snooze a few times.”

You smirked, turning onto your side, resting your cheek against the pillow as you watched him. “Only a few?”

“Okay, five.” He shot you a guilty look before his gaze dragged over you, tangled in the sheets, soft and warm and still clinging to the last remnants of sleep. His smile widened, a little more lopsided now. “But to be fair, you could’ve helped, you know? Woken me up with… kisses or something.”

His giggle was boyish, teasing, and you rolled your eyes, groaning as you buried your face in the pillow. “Not my fault you sleep like a damn log.”

With a dramatic sigh, Lando flopped onto the bed beside you, making the mattress dip under his weight. He propped himself up on one elbow, watching you with that playful, mischievous glint in his eyes before leaning in to press a quick kiss to your lips.

It was meant to be short—a fleeting goodbye, a simple gesture before he rushed out the door—but the moment he felt you respond, he lingered.

Your fingers found his curls, still damp from showering, twisting through them as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. His scent wrapped around you—fresh shampoo, the taste of his mint toothpaste, and the faintest trace of his cologne, something clean and familiar. The kind of scent that made you want to bury yourself in his hoodie and never take it off.

The kiss stretched, slow and lazy, melting into the morning like sunlight spilling through the window. His breath was warm against your lips, and when he finally broke away, he didn’t go far. He stayed close, his forehead resting against yours, eyes fluttering open just enough to meet yours.

“You’re trying to make me late, love.” He accused softly, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Maybe.” You whispered, the ghost of a smile playing on your lips.

He sighed, his reluctance evident, but eventually, he pulled away. He sat up, raking a hand through his curls one last time. “I’ll be back by eight,” He promised as he stood, grabbing his keys from the nightstand, “No work, no racing talk. Just us. I swear.”

You raised an eyebrow, looking at him amused. “Swearing on Valentine’s Day? That’s bold, Norris.”

He pointed his finger at you, backing toward the door, his teasing, boyish smile never fading away. “You literally have zero faith in me.”

“Indeed.” You chuckled, stretching lazily beneath the covers.

Lando exhaled, shaking his head, but there was something softer in the way he looked at you—something quieter, something unspoken. He hesitated for half a second, lingering in the doorway, as if debating whether to drop everything and crawl back into bed, but then he sighed, resigned.

“I will be home on time,” He insisted, more serious now. “I’ll make it up to you, darling. I promise.”

You hummed knowingly, watching him disappear through the door, leaving behind the lingering warmth of his presence, the scent of his cologne still clinging to the air.

────୨ৎ────

You gave it two hours before accepting the inevitable.

Lando was, indeed, going to be late.

You weren’t surprised. Disappointed, maybe, but only in the way that came with knowing someone too well—not truly upset, just resigned to the fact that his job always found a way to keep him longer than expected. You had seen the way he hesitated before leaving, how he lingered in the doorway just a second too long, promising—swearing—that he would be home on time. But it wasn’t his fault. And, if anything, it only gave you more time to work on your plans for the evening.

Valentine’s Day had never been something extravagant for you. You didn’t care for the clichés—the overpriced dinners, the grand gestures, the roses that would wilt in a few days. It all felt too polished, too expected, and you’d never been the type to want something predictable.

But making something personal? Something that felt like the two of you? That was different. Something you enjoyed much more.

So, after a slow breakfast, you pulled on one of Lando’s oversized hoodies—the navy one that smelled like him, like warmth and the faintest trace of cologne—and set out into the streets of Monaco.

The city was alive in the way it always was—sleek cars rolling by, the hum of conversation floating from open cafés, the sea breeze curling around the narrow streets. The sun hung low over the water, casting a golden shimmer across the yachts bobbing in the harbor.

You took your time, stopping by the little boutique shops you knew he liked, the ones tucked between high-end storefronts, often overlooked by tourists. But you weren’t in a rush. You took your time, picking up small things that weren’t grand but were significant.

You grabbed Lando’s favorite pastries from the café by the harbor—the one where you two had spent countless mornings, splitting croissants and sipping coffee, watching the boats drift lazily across the water. The barista recognized you immediately, smiling as she packed the order, slipping in an extra chocolate pastry with a knowing glance.

Next was the little boutique tucked between designer storefronts, the one Lando always insisted had the best vintage finds despite being surrounded by high-end brands. You browsed aimlessly, running your fingers over old postcards, worn-in leather-bound notebooks, things that felt nostalgic even though they weren’t yours.

You had also decided to make a scrapbook for him with all the photos that depicted both of you.

But the real surprise? Oh, you were sure he’d enjoy it much more.

By noon, you were sprawled across the living room floor, surrounded by an absolute mess—scraps of paper, markers uncapped and rolling across the floor, glue sticks that refused to work properly. The scrapbook was imperfect, and you loved it for that.

Each page told a different part of your story with Lando. A photo of the first time he took you karting (where you definitely didn’t let him win), a blurry selfie from a trip where you got lost on purpose, a polaroid of him sleeping on a flight, mouth slightly open, hair a mess. And most importantly—your favourite photo, taken secretly by Max during your first encounter. You were both young and happy, smiling at each other while talking about everything and nothing.

Small notes were scribbled in the margins—inside jokes, sarcastic remarks, quiet little confessions that you never said out loud but felt safe writing.

You were in the middle of pressing down a picture of Lando mid-bite—one where he looked utterly ridiculous—when your phone buzzed beside you.

Lando:

I might be a little late.

You smirked.

You:

Shocking.

Lando:

Don’t even start.

I’m trying to leave, but Zak is making me do media stuff.

You could hear the frustration in his words, imagine the way he would run a hand through his curls, sighing dramatically, probably already bouncing his leg under the table from the stress.

Lando:

I just want to be home :(

With you.

Your heart softened, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you typed back.

You:

I’m not going anywhere, Lan.

Just come home when you can.

There was a subtle pause before another reply came from your boyfriend.

Lando:

I love you.

I swear I’ll make it up to you.

You shook your head, smiling at the screen. He always did.

────୨ৎ────

Lando was losing his mind.

Everything that could possibly delay him, did have to happen.

The sim session had gone longer than expected. Then there was a meeting, then an extended debrief with Zak, then another interview that he had to sit through when all he wanted was to be home.

Every wasted second only added to the frustration in his chest, twisting tighter and tighter until it was almost suffocating. The promise he had made that morning felt like a cruel joke now, slipping further away no matter how fast he tried to chase it.

By the time he finally parked outside the apartment, it was 10:16 PM.

His fingers drummed impatiently against the steering wheel, jaw clenched. He hated being late, hated breaking promises, but most of all—he hated the thought of you waiting for him, alone.

The moment he stepped inside, the apartment was quiet, save for the soft glow of the TV flickering across the room. The scent of something home-cooked still lingered in the air, warming the space, even though dinner had long since passed.

Then he saw you.

Curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, wrapped in the hoodie he had left behind this morning. The fabric was oversized on you, swallowing you up in a way that made something primal tug at his chest. Your hair was slightly messy, your fingers loosely wrapped around the stem of a wine glass.

You looked so damn perfect.

But he didn’t miss the way you glanced up at him, eyes unreadable, a quiet amusement playing at the corners of your lips. You weren’t upset. You weren’t fuming.

You were waiting.

And somehow, that made him feel even worse.

Lando let out a slow breath, shutting the door softly behind him. “Before you say anything— I know.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with anticipation. He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling. His voice was softer this time. “I tried. I swear I tried. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

You studied him for a moment, taking in the slight mess of his curls, the tension still lingering in his shoulders, the guilt practically radiating off of him.

Then, instead of calling him out for it, instead of making it worse, you simply nodded toward the kitchen.

“I saved you some pasta for you.” You uttered.

Lando blinked. “Wait. That’s it?” His voice held a note of disbelief. “No yelling? No ‘Lando, you’re such an idiot’ speech?”

You smirked, swirling the wine in your glass. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. You are an idiot, Lan.”

His lips twitched. “That’s all I’m getting?”

“I could have made you sleep on the couch,” You teased, tilting your head. “But…”

He stepped closer, his hands sliding into the front pockets of his jeans, watching you carefully. “But?”

You sighed dramatically, stretching out your legs. “I’d rather have you in my arms.”

Something inside him softened at that. He had spent the entire day rushing, the entire night chasing after time that refused to slow down for him. But here, with you, the urgency melted into something different. Something quieter.

He dropped his keys onto the counter and crossed the room in a few quick strides, reaching for you without hesitation. His fingers found your waist, pulling you against him, and the moment you melted into his arms, he let out a slow, relieved exhale.

And then he kissed you. Slow, deep, lingering—an apology, a plea, a silent promise all at once.

You tasted like wine, warm and sweet, and when your fingers tangled into his curls, tugging him closer, a quiet groan rumbled in his chest. He was desperate, needy in a way he hadn’t realized until now—until he felt you, soft and warm against him, until he remembered just how much he hated being away from you.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath uneven.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” He murmured, fingers still gripping your waist. “I’ll make it up to you, love.”

You hummed, tilting your head slightly, your lips barely brushing against his as you whispered, “I know you will.”

And then—just as he was about to kiss you again—you pulled away.

Slowly. But Deliberately.

His brows furrowed slightly as he watched you stand up, stretching your arms over your head. The movement made the hem of his hoodie ride up, exposing just a portion of your soft, bare skin.

Lando swallowed deeply as you took a step back, your eyes glinting with something playful, something wicked, before your hands went to the hem of his hoodie. And then—without breaking eye contact—you pulled it over your head and let it drop to the floor.

Lando’s breath hitched. Because fucking hell. You looked gorgeous.

You stood there, in nothing but a delicate lace set—black with orange decorations, intricate, hugging every inch of your body in a way that made his mouth run dry. The kind of set that wasn’t just lingerie, but something meant to be seen. Admired. Touched.

And god, he wanted to touch.

His jaw went slack for half a second before he caught himself, blinking rapidly. “Are you—” His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. “Did you—”

You smirked. “Planned ahead.”

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face, his body already burning. His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch you, to undo the straps, to press his lips against every inch of newly exposed skin.

“I—” He licked his lips, eyes dark, voice lower now. “Fucking hell, you’re killing me, love.”

You bit your lip, tilting your head slightly.

“Maybe,” You murmured. “But hey, it is Valentine’s Day.”

Lando groaned, already reaching for you, already desperate to close the space between you. “I swear to god, if I had known this was waiting for me, I would’ve left work hours ago.”

You laughed softly, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulled you flush against him, his hands finally finding their way to the bare skin of your hips. His grip was firm, desperate, his fingers pressing into you like he was trying to make up for every second he had missed.

His lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm, heavy.

“You’re gonna have to make up for it now, then,” you whispered, your nails scratching lightly at the nape of his neck.

His answering grin was slow, teasing, but his eyes? His eyes were hungry.

“Oh, don’t worry, love,” He murmured, voice rough with want as he backed you toward the bedroom. “I’ll do it gladly.”

────୨ৎ────

As the two of you lay in your bed, tangled in the sheets, still naked, but hot and tired, the world outside seemed to fade into nothingness. The soft hum of the city, the faint sounds of night birds, everything seemed distant as Lando gently pulled you into his arms, the warmth of his embrace grounding you.

His heartbeat was steady against your ear, his breath still a little uneven, but it felt like you were the only two people who existed in that moment.

You shuffled in the bed, turning around, and your eyes immediately caught his. The light from the bedside lamp casted a soft glow on his face. His usual confidence had softened in the quiet of the room, replaced by the kind of vulnerability that made him look even more endearing. You smiled, still amused by his frantic apology earlier, and decided to play along a little longer.

“Well, you better be careful next time, Norris,” You said softly, your lips curling into a teasing grin. You looked up at him, eyes gleaming with that playful glint you both loved. “Next time, when you’re even 0.04 seconds late, you’ll be in big trouble.”

Lando raised his eyebrow, clearly intrigued but amused. His lips parted as he tried to suppress the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “0.04 seconds, huh?”

You nodded, still keeping your gaze locked with his, the air thick with a lighthearted tension. “Yeah. You might think you’ve got time to spare, but not with me. I’m very serious about punctuality, Lando. Every second counts.”

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and his thumb gently brushed against your cheek. “So, if I’m even a fraction late again, I’m in trouble?” His voice was low, playful but with an edge of curiosity, as if he was testing the waters to see how far you were willing to take this.

You leaned in, lips just brushing his ear, your voice dropping to a whisper that only he could hear. “That’s right. A fraction could cost you a lot. Next time, you might find yourself on the couch instead of in my bed.”

Lando’s whole body stiffened for a second as he let out an exaggerated gasp. “The couch? Seriously?” He pulled back just enough to look at you, clearly feigning shock. “That’s cold, even for you.”

You smiled sweetly, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I have to keep you on your toes, you know. No one gets special treatment around here.” You softened your tone just a touch. “But I’ll let you off the hook this time. You did make it back eventually.”

Lando leaned in close, his breath warm against your lips. He was laughing, but his eyes were full of affection. “Well, you can’t blame me for trying to get back to you.” He said softly, his voice almost a whisper now, just for the two of you. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb grazing over your lips. “You’re the reason I wanted to be on time. You’re the reason I couldn’t wait to get home.”

Your heart fluttered, and you closed your eyes for a moment, savoring the sincerity in his words. You could feel your own heartbeat picking up as you leaned into his touch, your breath catching in your throat. The playful banter had melted into something deeper, something more real.

Still, you weren’t done teasing him just yet. You smirked, leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose. “I’ll let it slide this time. But next time, I’ll be watching the clock very closely.”

Lando’s lips parted in mock offense as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was at once slow and deep, as if he was trying to convey everything he was feeling in that moment. The kiss deepened, his hands moving to your bafs back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The heat of his body, the steadiness of his touch, all of it surrounded you, wrapped you in a sense of security and comfort.

When the kiss finally broke, you both lay there for a few seconds, breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Lando’s hands slid down your back, fingertips lightly tracing the curve of your hip. His voice was soft, almost teasing but still full of that warmth that made your chest ache.

“You know,” He started, his eyes flicking down to your lips before meeting your gaze again, “I think I’ll make sure I’m never late again. I don’t want to risk it.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the sincerity hidden beneath his teasing words. “You’d better,” You murmured, “Because no matter how much you race in your life, Lando Norris, this is your finish line.” You smiled, your voice soft and warm now. “And I’m always going to be here, waiting for you.”

Lando leaned in one last time, his lips brushing against yours with a slow, lingering kiss that spoke volumes. The banter, the teasing—it all faded into the background as he held you close, as if time didn’t matter anymore. In that moment, it was just the two of you, and nothing else mattered.

When the kiss broke, he looked at you with a soft smile, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t deserve you.” He murmured.

You chuckled softly, rubbing his back. “Maybe not. But I’ll keep you around anyway.”

Lando chuckled at your words, eyes bright with affection. “I’m not kidding. You’re my everything.”

You nodded, a warm, contented smile spreading across your face as you cuddled into him. “And you’re mine. But just remember, next time… 0.04 seconds, Norris. 0.04 seconds.”

Lando laughed, kissing your forehead before whispering, “Understood, love. No more delays. I’ll always make it back to you.”

And with that, the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you—wrapped up in the quiet intimacy of a promise made, and the comfort of each other’s arms.

“But you know I have other gifts for you, right?” You chuckled as you lay tangled in your bed, on the verge of falling asleep.

“Shhh.. let me enjoy this gift for now.”

And next time, you both knew, no matter the time, you’d always find your way back to each other.

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starksweasley · 6 months ago

Text

Chase // Poly!Marauders

Summary: You steal something that belongs to your boyfriends and they chase you all around the castle

Word Count: 1575

It starts with a brilliant, impulsive mistake. You don’t even know why you did it—what possible logic possessed you to snatch the newly minted Marauder’s Map from James Potter’s nightstand and bolt. Perhaps it was Sirius egging you on with that mischievous smirk or the challenge written all over James’s face.

And now here you are, weaving through the crowded halls of Hogwarts, the stolen map crumpled and warm in your palm. Behind you, James’s shout echoes like thunder. “Come back here, you little thief! That’s my map!”

“You’re dead when I catch you!” Sirius’s bark of laughter follows close behind, and you can almost feel his fingers reaching for the back of your robes.

You’re laughing too, exhilaration buzzing through your veins. Students leap out of your way as you dash past, skirts and robes flying. You narrowly avoid colliding with a startled Lily Evans, who’s juggling a pile of what seem like abhorrently long essays.

“What are you doing?” she demands, her green eyes wide.

“Improving my cardio,” you toss over your shoulder, breathless.

“You’re insufferable!” Lily shouts after you, but her voice is obviously tinged with a smile.

Further down the corridor, Severus Snape’s sneer materializes in your peripheral vision. He steps deliberately into your path, wand in hand. You manage to dodge his attempt to trip you with a well-placed foot, but not without a cheeky “Nice try, Snivellus!” over your shoulder. The indignation on his face is almost worth the trouble you’re in.

“Move, Snape! Don’t touch my girl,” James bellows, darting past the greasy-haired Slytherin without a second glance, his protective tone cutting through the corridor like a whip.

Turning a sharp corner, you spot your other boyfriend—Remus Lupin. He’s walking toward you, arms full of books, his expression placid as though he’s entirely detached from the chaos that is your life. Without thinking, you launch the stolen map toward him. It lands squarely on the stack of books in his arms.

“Hold this!” you yell before sprinting past.

“What—?” Remus blinks down at the unexpected burden. Then, James and Sirius leap around the corner, wild-eyed and determined.

“Moony, give it here!” James demands, his hand outstretched, eyes blazing.

“What is going on?” Remus manages to ask just before Sirius barrels into him with all the grace of a wrecking ball. They tumble to the ground in a heap, books scattering in every direction as Sirius sprawls over him with a groan.

“Merlin’s beard, Padfoot, what the hell?” Remus splutters, trying to shove Sirius off him.

“Sorry, Moony, emergency!” Sirius grins down at him, entirely unbothered by their undignified pile on the floor.

James skids to a halt beside them, pointing an accusatory finger. “She nicked the map before we finished it! And she’s getting away!”

Remus blinks, realization dawning. “That little minx." He shifts his gaze to the hallway where you disappeared, a glint in his eye. "She’s cleverer than the two of you combined."

"Rude!" Sirius retorts, brushing imaginary dust off his robes. "You’re supposed to be on our side, Moony. She’s making us look bad."

Remus snorts. "You don’t need her help for that, Padfoot."

“Exactly!” James exclaims, grabbing Sirius’s arm to haul him upright.

“Come on, Moony,” Sirius adds, offering Remus a hand. “We’re not letting her get away with this.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Remus accepts the help, dusting himself off. “I should have known better than to walk peacefully through the castle with you lot running around. Lead the way, gentlemen.”

And just like that, all three boys are after you like a stampede.

You zigzag through the castle, laughter spilling from your lips. It’s a ridiculous, joyous game of cat and mouse. James nearly grabs your arm in the Charms corridor but trips over a trick step. Sirius is close enough to tug at the hem of your robes in the Great Hall, but you wriggle away. Even Remus, calm and methodical, cannot quite match your adrenaline-fueled determination to evade capture.

As you race through the library, Madam Pince’s shriek of “No running in here!” echoes behind you. You throw an apologetic wave over your shoulder, narrowly avoiding a stack of books teetering precariously near the Restricted Section.

Finally, the chase spills out onto the sun-drenched lawn. You’re panting, the blood rushing through your head turning your cheeks a bright pink. But it’s three against one, and you’re cornered. Sirius blocks your escape to the left, James is on your right, and Remus stands solidly between you and the castle.

“You have to surrender now," James pants, a victorious grin spreading across his face. "Face it, love, you’re no match for us three."

"Three brains and still no chance," you fire back, panting as your grin dares them to close the gap. "That’s just embarrassing for you lot."

You're clutching at a stitch in your side when James lunges, catching you around the waist. You shriek and flail, laughter bubbling uncontrollably. Before you know it, he’s hoisted you into the air.

“You’re going for a swim,” he announces with mock solemnity.

“Don’t you dare, James Potter!” you cry, still laughing.

But he dares. Oh, he dares. With a triumphant yell, he swings you toward the lake and lets go. The cold water swallows you whole, and when you surface, sputtering and gasping, the boys are doubled over in laughter on the shore.

“You lot are the worst!” you declare, dragging yourself toward the bank. Sirius crouches and offers a hand, but his grin is wide and unapologetic.

“Truce?” he asks.

You’re not above a little revenge. Grabbing his hand, you yank with all your strength, sending him sprawling into the lake beside you. His outraged squawk is music to your ears.

“You’re absolutely insane,” Remus remarks from the shore, though his lips twitch with a suppressed smile. "But I suppose that’s why we keep you around."

James is clutching his sides, tears of laughter streaming down his cheeks. "Merlin, you’re a menace," he manages between gasps, pointing at you like it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all year. "And now Sirius smells like wet dog."

“Oi! Rude,” Sirius protests, slicking his wet hair back with both hands as he glares half-heartedly. "You’re next, Potter, so wipe that grin off your face."

“You wish," James retorts, stepping out of Sirius’s reach with exaggerated caution.

As Sirius resurfaces again, spluttering and cursing, you lean back in the water, wiping droplets from your eyes. "I’m the innocent victim here," you declare with mock indignation. "You three are clearly conspiring against me."

"Innocent, my foot," Remus says dryly, but there’s warmth in his voice as he kneels at the edge of the lake. "Come on, troublemaker. You’re going to catch a cold."

You eye his outstretched hand with suspicion. "Promise you won’t drop me back in?"

Remus chuckles. "Scout’s honor."

As you grab his hand and let him help you out, Sirius lunges forward with a wicked grin. "No one’s safe, Moony!"

And with that, he shoves you both back into the water, splashing James who's doubled over in fresh hysterics. Spluttering, you surface again, glaring daggers at Sirius. "You’re all really the worst!"

James, still laughing, finally steps into the lake with a theatrical groan. "Well, now I’m wet anyway. Might as well join in."

Before you can react, he’s diving in with a splash that soaks you further. The moment he surfaces, you pounce, clambering onto his shoulders with a triumphant giggle.

"That’s it! You’re doomed now, Prongs," you declare, wrapping your arms around his head in mock victory. He steadies himself under your weight, looking up slightly to glance up at you.

"Doomed, am I?" he chuckles. "Careful, Menace. You’re about one move away from being launched again."

You lean down, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of his head, catching wet strands of his hair against your lips. "This is for being the sweetest idiot I’ve ever met," you tease, ruffling his already messy hair.

James flushes, but his grin remains intact. "Sweetest idiot? That’s almost a compliment, love."

"Don’t let it go to your head," you reply, laughing as he spins around, causing water to spray everywhere.

From the shore, Remus shakes his head, calling out, "If you two keep this up, we’ll need to fish you out by sunset."

Sirius smirks, now lounging lazily at the water’s edge. "I’ll fetch the fishing pole, Moony. Let’s reel in our Menace and her besotted knight."

James rolls his eyes dramatically, hoisting you higher on his shoulders. "Don’t listen to them. They’re just jealous they’re not as fun as us."

"You’re delusional, Prongs. They’re plotting your downfall right now."

Remus crosses his arms, his lips twitching with amusement. "Oh, she’s not wrong. If Sirius keeps scheming, you’re going to end up face-first in the lake tomorrow too."

"Don’t tempt me!" Sirius shouts, already pushing himself to his feet. "You know I can’t resist."

As he slowly steps into the water, James lets out a dramatic sigh. "Padfoot, I’m warning you. One wrong move, and you’ll regret it."

"Promises, promises," Sirius quips, wading closer. His grin widens, but before he can act, you splash him directly in the face, sending him stumbling back.

Laughter erupts from everyone, the sound carrying across the lake. You tilt your head back, smiling as James’s warm laugh rumbles beneath you. Moments like these, with your chaotic, wonderful boyfriends, make every stolen map and wild chase worth it.

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austinbutlerslovers · 1 month ago

Text

Poor Judgement

Label Mature 18+

Summary Drawn in by the temptation that is Hank Thompson, you keep finding excuses to keep him in your life, under the guise of it being more than just a fling.

🔗Masterlist

⚠️ Hardcore Smut ⚠️ Hank dom• bad decisions • heavy make outs • necking • constant physical touch• size kink •crawl to me• body worship • oral on male • oral on female • nipple play • clit play• ride me• girl on top • male bucking/ up thrusting • simultaneous orgasms • creampie • after care

*Heavily based on the trailer ✨Inspo multiple asks 💕 dms 💕 comments💕

Poor Judgement

The neon glow of the bar’s sign buzzes above you, casting a green hue over the locked glass door of a dive bar tucked into a gritty corner of New York’s Lower East Side.

It’s 1:17 a.m. and the city night is filled with the sounds of distant sirens and the occasional stumble of late-night stragglers.

You’re leaning against the window, your breath fogging the glass, heart jumping as you peer inside.

Hank Thompson, all six feet of him, is stacking barstools, his San Francisco Giants cap low over his blue eyes, his sandy blonde hair peeking out in soft curls at the nape of his neck.

His broad shoulders strain against his fitted black T-shirt, and his muscles flex with each barstool he stacks. Hank is all power and presence, and you’re utterly gone for him.

You knock on the glass lightly, and his head snaps up. Those sharp blue eyes lock onto yours, and a slow, teasing smirk forms on his full lips.

He strides over, all confidence, and presses his big palm against the glass right to yours, his voice, muffled but clear cuts through the window. “Can’t get enough of me, can you?”

You tilt your head, batting your lashes, playing coy despite the heat rising in your core for him. “Let’s go back to your place so you can take advantage of my poor judgment.” you tease.

Hank’s smirk deepens, eyes glinting with intent. “I depend on your poor judgment.” He confirms his voice low, like he’s already imagining what’s next.

He holds your gaze a beat longer, then gestures with a tilt of his chin. “Meet me out back.”

You’re around the corner in seconds, pulse racing. The alley is narrow, smelling of damp concrete and stale beer, but when Hank steps out, locking the bar’s back door, the world narrows to just him.

He flips his cap backward to see his hands lock up under the alleyway light, exposing more of that tousled sandy blonde hair, and when finished, he walks toward you, all heat and promise.

You’re on him before he can say a word, your hands sliding up his firm chest, feeling the hard ridges of his pecs. He chuckles, deep and warm, catching your wrist in one big hand.

“So eager for me,” he teases, but his free hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up. “We have all night,” he whispers, his full lips pressing onto yours, heavy and demanding.

Your mouths slide together in a hard, hungry kiss, and your already lost in his taste—whiskey and mint, all heat and control. His tongue sweeps against yours, and you press so close you can feel the steady beat of his heart under your palms.

You barely make the block to his apartment, stopping every few steps to make out like teenagers. At one point, he backs you against a brick wall, his massive frame caging you in, one hand braced above your head. “You’re gonna wreck me before we even get there,” he says, nipping your lower lip, but his grin says he’s loving every second.

By the time you reach his building, he’s fumbling with his keys, and you’re pressed against his back, hands slipping under his shirt to trace the tight muscles of his abs.

He groans softly once he opens the door, and turns to pin you against the entry wall, kissing you so fiercely your knees buckle. His cap’s still backward, blonde curls spilling out, and you clutch at them, anchoring yourself as you lean into his kisses, earning a low groan from his chest.

You’re a mess, hands sliding down to his firm biceps, practically climbing him as his hands roam your hips, squeezing hard enough to make you moan as he grinds his hard cock against you. Your mouths devour each other, heads tilting, lips and tongues clashing with reckless hunger

You’re whimpering into his mouth, when a door creaks open and an elderly woman in a bathrobe steps out, clutching a trash bag.

“Come on kids get a room” she snaps, eyeing you both with unamused disapproval.

Hank pulls back, trying not to flash a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Ms. Kitty.” He says lowering you down and tugging you toward his door, unlocking it with a quick twist as you both step inside.

His apartment is small but quaint, a shrine to baseball, Giants pennants pinned to the walls, a New York borough map framed above the couch, empty beer cans on the coffee table.

The air smells faintly of his cologne and something warm and unmistakably him.

You’re barely inside before he’s on you again, kicking the door shut and pulling you close. His hands are everywhere, roaming and possessive, sliding under your shirt to grip your waist.

You feel tiny against him, fragile but cherished, like he could easily break you but he never would.

“Bedroom,” he says, his voice rough, and you nod, too caught up to speak. He leads you down a short hall, his hands guiding you with a firm grip on your hips.

The bedroom’s dimly lit by a warm amber glow from a small bedside lamp, casting soft shadows across the bed. You pause, heart pounding, as you turn to him. “I’ve got a surprise for you, Hank.”

His brows lift, intrigued, as you step back, to the bed pulling off your top and lowering your skirt to reveal the orange lingerie in Giants colors beneath. It’s a lacy bra and panty set that hugs your curves just right and Hank’s eyes darken with desire as his jaw tightens taking you in.

“You’re a goddamn dream, you know that?” he says, his voice low and thick, utterly enraptured as his blue eyes lock on to yours.

He places his hat on the bed as he begins undressing too, kicking off his Puma sneakers and pulling his black shirt off over his head, revealing the hard lines of his chest and abs.

You bite your bottom lip, arousal surging as your eyes rake over his strong chiseled form, your eyes filling with lust by how impossibly hot he looks.

His sun-kissed skin is ripped with muscle, his thick arms flexing as he slides out of his jeans. His white boxers cling to his thighs, the outline of his large cock straining against the fabric with a faint trail of blonde hair leading down from his navel.

You’re practically drooling with want, but he just smirks, picking up his cap and settling it back on his head.

“Wearin’ my Giants colors,” he says, his voice low and husky, blue eyes glinting with pride. “Gonna make you my MVP tonight.” he says, and you grin, loving his claim.

He gestures you to him with his hand, a dark, seductive look in his blue eyes. “Crawl to me,” he says, his voice low and commanding, and your heart races at the possessive edge in his tone.

You climb onto the bed, crawling slowly, your eyes locked on him as he watches the way your hips sway, your breasts framed perfectly by the lacy bra.

When you reach him he lowers one big hand, and you rest your chin in his palm, gazing up at him with lust-filled eyes.

He pulls his lower lip in with a slow bite, arousal written all over his face. “Good girl,” he praises, his voice filled with promise, and you ache for him.

He leans down, lips brushing your ear. “You want me so badly, don’t you?” He says, his voice a seductive tease, and you nod, breathless, as he straightens back to his full height.

“Show me how much,” he says, his hand lowering to his boxers and releasing his thick, heavy cock, its size daunting as your eyes widen with desire.

You look up at him, eager to please, your lips parting wide as you take him into your mouth. His hand slides to the back of your neck, guiding you with just enough roughness to make you moan around him.

He slides his cock in and out, as far as it will go, and you’re lost to him, eyes watering, loving his taste, how he takes control, how he makes you want to be his.

The sounds become lewd, a loud sloshing noise as you whimper around him, your core clenching, your panties soaking through. Your eyelashes flutter as he guides you faster, your cheeks hollowing as you suck harder.

He groans, the sound heavy with approval, his blue eyes glinting with dark satisfaction as he watches you. “That’s it, keep that mouth working for me,” he says, his voice low and controlling with a teasing edge cutting through. “You’re trying so hard to please me, aren’t you? Fuck, I love seeing you desperate like this.”

You’re beyond aroused now as you press your thighs together, desperate for friction, and your mind numbs from the sensation as he fucks your mouth, your moans vibrating around his cock, aching for release.

He suddenly pulls out, a loud slick sound, as you gasp for breath, chest heaving. “Fuck, you suck my cock so good,” he says, his voice rough with approval, “But I’m not ready to come yet, I want more of you,” He says, as his hand returns to your jaw, pulling you up to him.

His lips crash into yours, full and demanding, tongues tangling in a heated in a desperate kiss, your mouths moving together in raw passionate need. His hands slide up your waist as you pull back from the kiss to stare at him.

“Hank…I can’t get enough of you,” you confess, your voice filled with lust as your fingers trail along the brim of his cap. He looks at you with reverence, his blue eyes darkening. “I want you in every fucking way,” he confesses, his voice low and ravenous.

He tilts his head and kisses you again, your mouths sliding together with an all consuming need. He pulls off his cap, tossing it aside, his blonde hair falling loose, framing his face.

He’s stunning, his broad shoulders rolling as he slides your soaked panties down your legs, the fabric clinging to your slickness.

You step out of them, and his hands trail up your thighs, gripping the backs to brace you as he trails kisses down your stomach. “Gonna eat you out until come for me,” he says, his voice heavy with promise.

You nod eagerly standing on the edge of his bed, the perfect height difference for him as he settles between your legs.

His mouth meets your pussy, and his tongue slides in hot and relentless teasing your sensitive folds as you moan desperately, your head tipping back as chills roll up your spine feeling Hank eat you out.

You’re soaked as his tongue rolls expertly over your clit, teasing and sucking it with pleasure. “Oh, Hank… so good,” you moan, incoherent praises spilling from your lips.

Your hands thread through his sandy blonde hair as he rubs his mouth between your legs, grazing your sensitive skin. He starts flicking his tongue in quick, precise circles, as his fingers slide in spreading you open, making faint cries fall from your lips.

The pleasure throbs in your core, his rapid licks and gentle nips at your clit enough, to make you clench inside as his fingers coax you to the edge, and your body trembles as you suddenly come with a soft cry escaping your lips.

You’re lightly headed and breathless as he easily guides you onto his lap. He settles on the edge of the bed as you sit on his thighs, his large hands sliding up to the back of your neck, pulling you into another heated kiss.

Your tongues clash, breaths mingling desperate and needy as his lips claim yours with unrelenting hunger. His rough hand strokes his cock already thick and ready. “Ride me,” he whispers, his voice firm. “My cock is so fucking hard for you.”

You nod, arousal consuming you, your mind a void of bliss, lost in the heat of his words.

You straddle him, the tip of his cock hot and thick as you sink down slowly, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as he fills you and stretches you at the same time.

His hand holds the back of your neck guiding you, as his other hand lowers to flick the clasp of your bra and sliding it off.

“You feel so fuckin’ good on me,” he breathes kissing your neck before leaning in for more, his tongue swirling over your nipple.

Your back arcs pushing your chest to his face and he sucks your nipple into his mouth, sending tingles down your body.

“Hank, please,” you gasp, desperate, your pussy so wet as you roll your hips, your barely able to focus.

“Keep going, your riding me so perfect” he praises, sliding his mouth to your other breast. His warm breath fans over your skin before he pulls your nipple into his mouth and the wet suction makes your core clench as your moans turn soft, breathy, almost angelic.

“I know that sound so well,” he says, voice low and hushed. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you?” You nod, lost in him, and his hands grip your hips, guiding you to sink deeper onto his cock.

“Let me feel you,” he whispers, and the sensation of sliding up and down on his cock is so good that your thighs tremble feeling the how achingly deep he reaches in your core.

“So fuckin’ good,” he groans, staring into your eyes, his pleasure evident in the way he tilts his hips, angling his cock perfectly as you slide up and down on it, his full lips parted, his blue eyes hazy with lust.

You’re a whimpering mess, chasing the rhythm he sets his hands guiding your hips as he watches you with an intense, ravenous gaze.

His cock is hitting so deep it’s overwhelming, and your core throbs in pleasure. His fingers glide around your clit until a slick mess coats the base of his cock then he flicks and pinches it, until you’re begging breathless. “Hank, please fuck,” gasping for breath.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he says, widening his thighs and angling his cock up into you. Your eyes roll back, hands sliding to his neck as you feel up thrust up. You bounce on him, trying hard to keep balance as he pistons you up and down in his lap, his pelvis smacking up against yours.

“Fuck, you feel so good on my cock,” he praises, his voice rough, and his words send you spiraling, a loud moan escaping as your arousal peaks.

The sounds of his thrusting become loud, almost obscene, and he groans deeply with each one, his abs flexing, until his thrusts are so fast and hard you begin to climax.

Your pussy throbs, a wet smacking sound filling the air as you moan his name and you start to orgasm.

“That’s it come for me” He says and you tilt your head back, too lost in pleasure to even form words. Your body arches, hips grinding down hard, taking his cock deeper as your thighs quake, the pleasure making you rhythmically squeeze around him, chasing every last moment of ecstasy.

“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he groans, his eyes closing, his entire body flushing pink. “Fuck, I’m done for,” he rasps, his voice raw with pleasure.

He starts to come deep inside of you, his cock pulsing fiercely. “Fuck yes,” he groans, his voice raw and triumphant, guiding your movements to milk every last drop as he throbs spilling more.

When you both finish, shuddering and breathless, he pulls you up into his arms, his cock slowly slipping out of you with a slick, wet sound, leaving a sudden ache of emptiness. Your chest heaves as you breathe against his ear, feeling the loss of his warmth.

You’re both covered in a sheen of sweat as he guides you to the middle of the bed laying down to rest you against his broad chest.

His fingers stroke your shoulder, his blue eyes softening as he gazes into yours.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he says, trailing his fingers along your temple, his thick bicep flexing.

You glow under the praise, but there’s also an ache…your heart wants more. You already know you’re desperately in love with Hank.

“Your something else too” you reply softly your fingers sliding over his chest.

Your eyes are filled with want as you look deep into his, desperate for him to make it official, to claim you as his.

He doesn’t say it, instead he just nestles you a little closer and you give in to the overwhelming exhaustion of your body.

As you drift off to sleep, his lips softly kiss your forehead, and you think, maybe, just maybe, Hank is in love with you too.

END 🧢

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